I drew a long breath. “Sure. I got it.”
“You take him. That’s the word. I’ve got more good news for you. That little artist girl, the one with the attic studio and the black eye, came to the Montclair Hotel about half an hour after you left. She was looking for you.”
“Antoinette Vail? What did she want?”
“She had a letter for you. When she was told at the desk that you’d checked out, she wanted to have it sent after you, but you’d left no forwarding address and we hadn’t anticipated this possibility and tipped off the desk clerk, so he wouldn’t take it. So we still don’t know what the communication was, but by the looks of things you’ll soon have an opportunity to find out.”
“I will?” I said. “How?”
“While she was trying to learn how to reach you, who should appear but a certain Dr. Mooney, looking pale and favoring his left arm. Who’s responsible? Your report is eagerly awaited. Anyway, he heard her asking questions about you. He had an idea. He approached her. She started to brush him off, but something he said caught her interest and they went up to his room to talk. A little later, very friendly, they drove off together in his car—a light blue Chrysler convertible, if it matters. She was driving, presumably because of his arm. Time of departure, ten-fifteen. Course, due east, Pensacola-wards. Speed, excessive. So you can expect company soon, you lucky boy.”
“I see.” I frowned. “And you have no idea what it is the girl wants to tell me.”
“Not any.”
“Damn,” I said. “Can you have her picked up?”
“For what reason? On what charge?”
“Hell, have the cops pick them both up on the Mann Act or something. They’ll be crossing plenty of state lines between there and here.”
“And this will accomplish what?”
“It will get the fool kid off the street before she gets herself clobbered again,” I said.
“I don’t think Washington is interested in getting fool kids off the street, friend,” said the man in New Orleans. “Not enough to risk the publicity involved in pulling in a respectable Pensacola physician for associating with a pretty New Orleans artist. Can’t you see the papers? And the girl has kept her mouth shut so far, but who knows what she’ll do if we put her face to face with a lot of policemen and reporters asking questions. No, better let her come through. You handle her when she gets there. And find out what her urgent message is. After all, if it’s important enough for her to write you a letter, it’s important enough for us to know. Maybe she’s remembered something about Kroch from last night, something she forgot to tell you.”
He was right, of course. I said, “All right. But it’s going to be a hell of a honeymoon.”
The man in New Orleans laughed. “Your wife will understand. That’s more than mine does. Well, you’re out of my territory now. I’m switching you over to local control. You’ll make contact at the Flamingo Lounge. Your bride can tell you where, or consult the city directory. Use the men’s room routine. The urge to wash your hands will strike you at five-thirty sharp. The time is now two-oh-four.”
I checked my watch. “Description?”
“You’ll know him when you see him,” said the voice on the phone. “There’s an I-team standing by. Your contact will tell you how to whistle them up when you have the patient ready for the operation. Or you can do the work yourself, but rockface is to be captured, taken apart, and made to talk, soon. That’s the word marked final.”
There was nothing for me to say except, “Transmission received and acknowledged.”
I heard a click and put the phone down, wondering if I’d ever met the man who’d called. Probably not. I looked up to see Olivia watching me, obviously puzzled and disturbed by what she’d heard.
“The Flamingo Lounge,” I said.
“It’s in the middle of town,” she said.
“Driving time?”
“You’d better give yourself at least half an hour. Pensacola is bigger than it looks from the road we arrived on.”
“Do you know the place?”
“Well... yes, I know it,” she said after a brief hesitation. “It’s right around the corner from Harold’s office. We sometimes used to meet there for lunch or a drink before dinner.”
“Can you tell me where the men’s room is located?”
She glanced at me sharply to see if I was joking. She said, “Both rest rooms are to the left as you come in, back in the corner. You’re going to meet somebody there?” When I nodded, she asked, “Am I going with you?”
“Not to the final rendezvous,” I said. “It might cause comment. But as far as the lounge itself, yes. I wouldn’t leave my bride home alone on our wedding night, would I? Besides, the last time we separated you wound up facing a man with a gun.” I shook my head irritably. “I wish I knew for sure that Kroch is really as cocky and irresponsible and erratic as he acts.”
Olivia was watching me steadily. “What’s wrong, Paul? What did that man tell you on the phone?”
“Everything’s wrong,” I said. “Time seems to be running out on us, for one thing. Washington is jittery and screaming for immediate action; I’ve got orders to pick up Kroch at once, regardless. Well, as soon as I’ve conferred with some local guy I’m to meet at five-thirty. And just to make things real complicated, Antoinette Vail, the girl who got mussed up last night because I bought her a dinner, is heading this way with a mysterious letter in her hot little hand, intended for me. She’s driving your friend Mooney’s car, and he’s right beside her. What he thinks he’s doing, God only knows, but I’m sure it’s clever as hell. I’m getting damn sick and tired of devious and clever people, Doc. I wish I could meet just one direct, stupid slob on this job—besides me, I mean.”
Olivia laughed. “I don’t recognize you from the description, Paul.” After a moment she went on, “You’re worried about the girl, aren’t you? I gathered that much from what you said on the phone.”
“Well, I dragged her into this,” I said. “She’s just a kid. She’s probably still got some kind of glamorous, juvenile notions about this business. Well, to hell with her. I can’t be responsible for every crazy little girl who wants to play Mata Hari or something.”
After a moment, Olivia turned away. I followed her into the next room, a living room. It had books along the walls—lots of books, a record player and records, and some furniture that looked comfortable but not particularly new or expensive. The only intriguing piece was a nice little table with a built-in chessboard upon which the men were set up, ready for a game. I remembered that I hadn’t got very far into Capablanca.
Olivia wasn’t in sight, but she soon came back through a swinging door that apparently led to the kitchen. A nook at that end of the room served as a dining alcove. She had a glass in each hand. I took one and raised it to her.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Corcoran,” I said. We drank, and I looked at her for a moment. It was quiet and peaceful in the little house, and she was kind of a pleasant person to have around, and I was tired of thinking about Kroch and Antoinette Vail and my orders. Thinking wasn’t getting me anywhere, and I said, “We have a couple of hours to kill, Doc, before we head for the Flamingo. I have a suggestion to make. It’s subject to veto; I’m not pushing it; but I have a sudden urge to lock the doors and windows of the bridal cottage and consummate this crazy marriage. What do you say?”
She was silent. I saw that I had shocked her. “You put it crudely, Paul,” she murmured at last. “I mean... well, we had the excuse of being rather drunk last night, but we’re not drunk now.”
I said, “It was just a suggestion. We can play chess instead. That was your original idea, remember?”
She smiled faintly, but the smile died at once. “I... I don’t think I want to be made love to just to kill time. Besides, it’s broad daylight and I’ve never... I don’t know if I really could. No, I’d rather not.”
“Sure,” I said. “Well, if you’re going to change clothes for this evening excu
rsion, put on something dark, not too tight in the skirt, not too high in the heels.”
She said, “I don’t mean to be difficult or overly finicky. But there should be something more to it, shouldn’t there? Not love necessarily, I don’t mean that. Just so there’s something.”
I said, “You’ll need this,” and took the .38 Smith and Wesson out of my pocket. “That is to say, you may need it.”
After a moment she reached for the gun. I flicked it open and laid it in her hand that way.
“As you can see, this time it’s loaded,” I said. “Those round brass things are the cartridge heads. You can kill five men with that, Doc, more if you line them up and shoot through two or three at a time, and don’t think it won’t. The brassiere is supposed to be a good place, or the top of the stocking. The purse is not so good; you may lay it down somewhere or have it snatched from you. Use your imagination. Whatever happens from now on, don’t go anywhere without this gun, not even to the john. And remember what I told you, if you have to use it.”
“I’ll do my best if it’s necessary,” she said, rather uncertainly. “But you’ll forgive my hoping I won’t have to.”
“Sure. There’s another possibility,” I said. “We don’t know just how this will break. In the juvenile gangs, I understand, the girl generally carries the rod so the boy will be clean if he’s frisked by the fuzz—police to you. If we should get in a bind together, I might want this back, very secretly and suddenly. Your signal is when I wiggle my ears like this... What’s so funny?”
She was smiling. She looked down at the blunt, business-like little revolver and stopped smiling. “All right. When you wiggle your ears...” She broke up again.
“It may be funny now,” I said severely. “It won’t be when and if the time comes.”
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m just being silly.”
I grinned. “You’re a pretty good soldier, Doc.”
“You don’t know that yet,” she said.
“I’m sorry if I stepped out of line,” I said.
She hesitated for as long as a couple of seconds. Then she looked up at me. “But it wasn’t out of line,” she said in an even tone. “I was the one who was out of line, Paul. I forfeited all right to be prudish last night—and after all, we’re married. Your request was perfectly legitimate.”
I said, “Doc—”
“No,” she said. “I’ve been protesting very loudly that I’ve had enough of romance and sentimentality and that I approved your lack of it. Why should I expect you to dress up your very sensible suggestion with tinsel flowers, like a lovesick boy? Just put my suitcase in the big bedroom and give me five minutes, Paul.”
She started to turn away. I caught her aim and swung her back to face me. I said, “If you’re trying to make me feel like a damn lecher—”
Then I stopped, because there were tears in her eyes. We looked at each other for a moment. I reached out and took the gun she was holding and put it on a nearby table. I took off her glasses and laid them beside the gun. She stood quite still while I was doing this. I kissed her carefully. Her arms went around my neck, and I kissed her again with less restraint.
We’d both been under strain of one kind or another for quite a while; we were both fed up with one thing and another, including ourselves, I guess. There comes a time when you need another human being for reasons that have very little to do with love.
She freed herself breathlessly at last. “No, darling, leave my dress alone. Maybe some other time you can rape me on the living room sofa. Today we’ll use the bedroom like respectable married folks. Just... just wait here a minute, like a good boy, while I slip into something nice and sexy.”
“Well, I’ll wait,” I said.
16
The Flamingo Lounge was located in the base of a tall new building on a wide boulevard with palms down the middle. Even after all the times I’ve been in California and Florida, not to mention the great Southwest, I can never quite get used to the idea of palm trees growing in the United States of America. They still look exotic and foreign to me, and I expect to hear natives beating on drums at night and lions growling in the bush. There was a parking lot across the street. I put the Renault into a vacant slot and went around to help my bride out.
There was some constraint between us. This business was no longer all playacting, but neither was it all for real. It was an uneasy, artificial relationship and I guess we were both aware that there would be a good deal to straighten out once the job was over, assuming we were both around to straighten it out afterward, and that it could be straightened.
She was wearing another good, smart, reasonably expensive dress that might have upped the circulation of Vogue slightly but did nothing much for her. It was dark brown wool, a tunic job. I looked her over for bulges and spotted none that weren’t natural.
“Where is it?” I asked.
She laughed and touched her side where the tunic was loose. “It’s tucked into the top of my skirt,” she said. “I’m praying it doesn’t fall through and go clattering on the floor at an inopportune moment.” She made a face. “You can tell your information that the brassiere is a highly overrated place of concealment for anybody who isn’t built like a Jersey cow; and I ruined a perfectly good stocking trying to hide it down there.”
I said, “Sure. Well, we’re in good time, but we might as well go over... Damn!”
“What’s the matter?”
We were walking out of the lot. I’d been checking the parked cars routinely. Now I stopped, looking down at a low, racy, red topless job with big wire wheels. I knew it, of course. I’d ridden in it to New Orleans and back. You’ll know him when you see him, the man on the phone had told me cryptically.
“What is it, Paul?” Olivia asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing, but I wish they’d just let the kids play with their damn marbles and leave the dirty work to us grown-ups. Come on.”
At five-twenty, it was still daylight outside, but in the Flamingo it was a cloudy and moonless midnight. We had to pause for a moment to let our eyes get used to the blackness.
“No,” Olivia said suddenly. Her fingers tightened on my arm.
“What’s your problem?” I asked.
“That blonde. At the bar.”
I didn’t rubberneck. “So there’s a blonde at the bar. Think I’m going to start chasing her?”
“She’s Harold’s nurse. Receptionist. You know the one. I told you. The one who laughed.”
“Well, you said it was right around the corner from the office. Maybe she’s stopping for a quick one on her way home. Maybe she needs it after answering the phone all day and telling the yearning ladies Dr. Kildare’s out of town.”
Olivia was gripping my arm hard. “I don’t think I can stay in the same room with her, Paul. I’ll either get deathly sick or attack her.”
“Only men attack women,” I said. “In one sense of the word, at least. And you’re faking, Doc. Nobody hates nobody so much they can’t keep their lunch down.”
After a moment, she laughed. “Oh, dear. Can’t I even exaggerate a little?”
“Not on duty,” I said. “Tell me more.”
“She must have stopped on her way home, as you say. She’s still in her uniform.”
“The transparent white nylon one?”
“With the pink undies showing through. Not to mention where the undies aren’t. She’s got a good-looking boy with her, standard TV model, nicely tanned, with wavy brown hair and flashing white teeth. He’s in civilian clothes, sport coat and slacks, but he wears them like a uniform: I think he’s Navy, from the base, off duty, probably an aviator. The airplane sailors have a slightly different look from the ship sailors. After a while at Pensacola you can distinguish them pretty well. Harold would be green with jealousy if he knew his little office queen was stepping out with a younger man.”
I turned my head casually. It was Braithwaite, of course. It figured. After all, I had requested further in
formation on Mooney. Put somebody to really digging for dirt, I’d said. Cover his background, his home, his office... How the Navy boy had got the job of approaching Mooney’s nurse wasn’t immediately clear, but it wasn’t likely they’d met by accident.
She was young and quite pretty, I saw. Well, she would be. With Mooney’s record for philandering, he’d hardly pick a hag to share his office hours. I remembered being told the turnover was considerable.
The current incumbent had her nurse’s cap perched on a piled-up mass of pale hair that made her look a little top-heavy. It seemed like a lot of hairdo to take to work every day. She was slightly plump for my taste, sticking out rather obviously and spectacularly in front, but the waist was small and the arms seemed to be nicely proportioned inside the semitransparent sleeves of her uniform. The white stockings and sturdy, low-heeled white shoes couldn’t hide the fact that the round calves and trim ankles would pass inspection anywhere.
“You’ve got a good eye, Doc,” I said. “He is Navy and he is a fly-boy.”
“That’s not where you’re looking,” Olivia said dryly. “But since you know him, I suppose he’s the one you came here to meet.”
“Maybe. He’s obviously got one job already. We’ll see if he has two.” I glanced surreptitiously at my watch. “Let’s grab a booth. You don’t want to be left standing when nature calls me, a hundred and forty-three seconds from now.”
I seated her at the side of the room. She started pulling off her gloves, glancing toward the young couple at the bar.
“I don’t understand... Oh. He’s trying to get her to tell him things about Harold for you, I suppose. Well, he’s come to the right person. She should have a lot of fascinating information on the subject.”
“Let’s hope she does,” I said, and then it was time to go. I rose and said in clear, husbandly tones: “Order me a bourbon and water, dear, if you can catch a waiter. I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t look toward the bar as I went off, but I was aware that Braithwaite was still engrossed in his conversation with the blonde girl in medical white. Either he’d forgotten, or he wasn’t my man after all, or our watches were out of sync, or his time had been set a minute or two later than mine. I entered the tiled precincts and stalled a little in the obvious way. When I turned to wash my hands, he was there, washing his hands. We were alone in the place.
The Shadowers Page 11