Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer 10]

by The Body Lovers

  Dulcie Mclnnes came on with a pleasant laugh and said, “Mike, how nice. I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. For some reason you seem to bring a little excitement into an otherwise staid life.” Then she turned serious a moment with, “Mike ... the girl we saw ...”

  “I notified her brother. That was all I could do. He wanted to be sure she was safe, that’s all.”

  “Well, it sure caused a flurry around here. Do you know the police have been here inquiring about Teddy Gates?”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody knows where he is. He isn’t at home and he hasn’t shown up at work. I wish you’d tell me wliat’s going on.”

  “He may be caught in the middle of a big one,” I said. “If he’s found he’ll supply a lot of answers.”

  For a second she didn’t say anything, but I could hear her steady breathing. “Mike ... can this hurt the Proctor Group? You know, will there be any publicity?”

  “I don’t see how. If he was engaged in something outside the office it shouldn’t touch you.”

  “Please, Mike. Be sure. If they find out ... well, even though I helped you ... the Board certainly won’t like it. I can’t afford to be involved in anything sensational and neither can the magazine.”

  “We can keep a lid on it. Look ... can I see you again?”

  “I’d love to, Mike. When?”

  “As soon as possible. I want you to exert a little of your influence for me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want to meet Belar Ris.”

  Her laughter was a clear tinkle. “Social climber,” she told me. “I should think you could do better. Now there are several young ladies of respectable and wealthy parents who ...”

  “I’m not kidding, Dulcie. Can it be arranged?”

  She caught the imperativeness in my voice and got serious again. “Do you have a black tie?”

  “I’ll get one.”

  “Tonight there’s a reception at the Flamingo Room for one of the delegations. Mr. Ris will be there. I’m invited and I’ll be happy to have you escort me. Suppose you meet me at seven-thirty in the lobby. Now, can you tell me why?”

  “Later.”

  “Mike ...”

  “What?”

  “If you hear anything about Teddy Gates...”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll turn up. I’ll make sure we keep a lid on it.”

  “‘Thank you, Mike.”

  “See you tonight.”

  When I hung up I waited a few seconds, then tried the number in Bradbury that Velda had given me. There was no answer in her room and no messages for me either.

  I tried Pat and got him in. He told me he had to go uptown and to meet him at the Blue Ribbon in an hour.

  New York was still under its blanket of gray. There was a damp, clammy chill in the air and the streets were devoid of their usual crowds. I had forty-five minutes to waste, so I headed west, taking it easy, and got to the Blue Ribbon in time to have coffee with George before Pat got there He came in exactly on schedule, tossed his hat on the rack and pulled out a chair opposite me. He looked tired, tiny lines pulling at the comer of his eyes and mouth.

  He waited until his own coffee came before he said, “The Corning deal washed out.”

  “What happened?”

  “We picked up the guy in the neighborhood he was spotted in. It was one of those damn look-alike situations and I couldn’t blame the guy who fingered him. He was pretty indignant, but played the good citizen bit and even let us print him for a positive I.D. The guy was clean ... service record in Washington, executive job in Wall Street for fifteen years. A real bust.”

  “Scratch one sex fiend”

  “There’s something else.” Pat reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded white sheets and handed them to me. There was a peculiar look in his eyes and he edged forward in his chair. “Our M.E. ferreted this out. Remember me telling you about chemical substitutes that induce the same symptoms he found in the Poston girl?”

  I nodded.

  “There’s the formula. The stuff isn’t even produced in this country at all. It’s made in limited quantities by a French firm and distributed to selected outlets that use the stuff for chemical analysis tests in locating certain rare elements in earth samples. One of those buyers is Pericon Chemicals.”

  I looked up from the report and felt my eyes start to narrow. “Ronald Miller, Mitch Temple’s friend. He’s with them.”

  “Yeah, his army buddy, the book writer.”

  “We got hold of him this morning,” Pat told me. “He confirmed the use of this product ... called it C-130 ... and even knew of its side effects. In fact, its properties are clearly stated on the containers. Before they handled it properly, the stuff killed a lot of people by being induced through skin abrasions. It’s been manufactured since 1949 and a record is kept of its sales and use.

  “Now here comes the kicker. A year ago part of an order going to Pericon Chemicals was stolen in shipment. None of it has ever been recovered, although the manufacturers conducted an exhaustive search and even issued notices as to its deadly effects. A check with the company showed that two previous inquires had been made to them requesting a sale of the product, but were turned down because they only sell to specific companies for specific purposes. Both inquiries were by phone. And now here it is—that C-130 was being shipped on board the Pinella on a trip from Marseilles to Tangiers.”

  “Ali Duval,” I hissed.

  “He was a steward on the ship then too.”

  “There’s a weak point there, Pat.”

  “I know,” he said. “Mitch Temple didn’t know for sure how the Poston girl might have died. He had no reason to check with Miller on that angle.”

  “He wanted something, that’s for sure,” I said.

  Pat nodded. “Pericon Chemicals got involved in some litigation over the theft and we’re going into that for what it’s worth. There’s got to be some connection.”

  “How expensive is that stuff?”

  “It sells for twelve hundred dollars an ounce.”

  “That’s more than H.”

  “And a half liter is missing.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of loot. Somebody was still taking a chance on handling it.”

  “The package wouldn’t be very large. It could be moved around. Hell, the stuff is even soluble in water and can be impregnated into clothes and recovered later the same way.”

  “No sign of Ali Duval?”

  “Nothing yet. He was of French Arabian parentage and we’re covering all the places he might go to find his own kind. Photos of Duval are being circulated and if he’s around, we’ll find him.”

  “And charge him with what?”

  “We’ll break him down.”

  “I didn’t ask that.”

  “That’s the other hole in the picture. I’d rather not think about it right now. If he’s wrapped up in anything, maybe another country will want to pick him up. The inquiry to Interpol is out now and I’m waiting for an answer.” Pat paused and finished his coffee. He put the cup down carefully, his eyes watching my face. “Have you got anything more to add?”

  “Not yet.”

  He would have known if I were lying. He nodded and said, “I’m going to check a couple of belly dance places tonight. Native music ... the real stuff they say. Want to tag along?”

  “Not tonight. I got a date.”

  “Better than a belly dancer?”

  I looked at him with a slow grin. “Much.”

  Pat felt in his pocket, extracted a two-by-two photo and tossed it on the table. “Here’s a passport telephoto of your boy Duval. You might want to know what he looks like.”

  I said thanks and Pat walked off. I looked at the picture, studying the ineptitude of some photographer. The telephoto process and subsequent reproduction had modified the features, taking out the sharpness of the original photo, but Duval was sti
ll distinguishable. He was a tanned face with nothing spectacular about him until you saw the eyes and the innate savagery that lay behind them.

  chapter 10

  The curb in front of the hotel on Park Avenue was lined with limousines. Photographers roamed the sidewalks, picking their way through the curious, trying for a spot to snap the greats of the international set for their society pages.

  Most of the cars were chauffeur-driven, and pulled away after discharging their passengers, but another group bearing DPL plates parked wherever they wanted to, insolently occupying the space in the no-parking zones. Two mounted cops on horseback disgustedly ignored them and concentrated on keeping traffic moving the best they could.

  I got out of my cab and went into the lobby past one of the photographers who looked at me uncertainly a second before he spotted someone he was sure of. I stood in line, checked my hat and coat, then drifted off looking for Dulcie. From any side except the front, most of the males were indistinguishable in their identical tuxedos, but the women stood out in the plumage and I wondered what the hell ever happened to the order of things. In nature, the males wore the gaudy colors and the females were the drab ones.

  You could tell the pecking order of this barnyard by the preferential treatment accorded the greater luminaries. They were fawned upon, deferred to and waited on incessantly, always surrounded by their retinue. The babble of sound was punctuated by foreign tongues and the shrill laughter of the women, stuffy animals who strutted for the benefit of anyone who would look.

  This is society, I thought. Brother.

  Some of them had already formed their little coalitions and were drifting toward the elevators, deep in conversation, the women trailing behind them, their attitudes artificial, their posturing inane. There were some who had the earmarks of complacency and I figured them for either the genuine articles, born to build and control empires, or those who just didn’t give a damn.

  A couple of times I caught sight of myself in one of the mirrors and I looked uncomfortably out of place. Twice, men I cased as security personnel went by and we nodded imperceptibly. I was being taken for one of their own and their eyes didn’t miss the way the jacket was tailored to conceal a gun or the mark of the professional any more than my own did.

  At seven-thirty Dulcie arrived with several others, made her rounds of formal cheek-kissing and handshaking, but all the while searched the faces around her for me. I waved, let her get done with it all, check her wrap, then walked over trying not to grin like an idiotic schoolkid.

  Dulcie wasn’t the peacock type at all. Her gown was a black sheath that fitted as though there was nothing beneath it at all. Her hair was up in a mass of soft waves with lights bouncing off the silver accents like an electrical display. There was a diamond necklace at her throat and a thin diamond bracelet watch on her wrist.

  But she was the most striking thing there.

  I said, “Hello, beautiful.”

  Her fingers grabbed my hand and she tilted her head back and laughed softly. “That’s not a proper society salutation, big man.”

  “It was the only thing I could think of.”

  “You did fine,” she said and squeezed my fingers. “I like.” She ran her eyes up and down me and said with approval, “You make quite a figure in that tux.”

  “Only for you, baby. I’m not a clothes horse.”

  “That’s what I thought. I was afraid you might not come.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I could use exposure to some of the nicer things in life.”

  Dulcie threw me a tilted glance. “Don’t expect too much. Some of these people come from strange comers of the world. It’s still rough out there.” She hooked her arm under mine. “Shall we go up to the Flamingo Room?”

  “That’s what we came for,” I said. We started in the direction of the elevators, mingling with the others. While we waited I asked her, “Any thing new on Gates?”

  “No. One of the other boys took over his appointments. He’s left quite a gap in things. Mike ... what do you think happened to him?”

  “If I knew I’d be making him spill his guts out. He’s got himself in some kind of bind and is riding it out.”

  “I went to the trouble of calling the agencies who give him assignments. He isn’t out on any of theirs. What he had to do was either for us or for himself in his own studio. One of his friends had a key to his apartment and inventoried his equipment. He didn’t take anything with him at all.”

  “He won’t get far.”

  Dulcie shook her head, her face thoughtful. “I don’t know. Matt Prince who does our developing and Teddy were pretty close. He said Teddy kept a lot of money in his office desk. It isn’t there now.”

  “How much?”

  “Over a thousand dollars. He was always buying new cameras or lenses. Matt said Teddy never worried about leaving it around. He had plenty of money anyway.”

  “He could go a long way on a grand.”

  The elevator came before she could answer me and we stepped back in the car. Going up Dulcie introduced me to a few of the others there who looked at me strangely, not sure who I could be, but certain I must have some importance since I was with her.

  The Flamingo Room was a burst of color and noise when we walked into it, a montage of patterns made up of people in motion, under the flags of all the nations that dangled from the ceiling, waving in idle motion under the pressure of some unseen breeze. An orchestra was at the rear, varying its selections to suit every national taste, and tables were arranged around the sides piled with delicacies from countless countries. Champagne corks popped constantly and the clink of hundreds of glasses punctuated the hum of voices.

  “What ever happened to the poverty program?” I asked her.

  She poked me and said, “Hush!” with a stifled laugh.

  Dulcie had an incredible memory for names, even the tongue twisters. She mingled easily, the right words always ready, her capacity for pleasing others absolutely incredible. More than one man looked at me enviously for being her escort, trying to catalogue me in their minds.

  When I had to I could play the game too. It didn’t come as easily and began to wear thin after the first hour. I hadn’t come to hobnob and Dulcie sensed my irritation and suggested a cocktail at the bar.

  We had just started toward it when Dulcie saict casually, “There’s Bdar Ris,” and swerved toward one comer of the room where three men were grouped. talking.

  One dog can always tell another dog. They can see them, smell them or hear them, but they never mistake them for anything but another dog. They can be of any size, shape or color, but a dog is a dog to a dog.

  Belar Ris stood with his back angled to the wall. To an indifferent observer he was simply in idle conversation, but it wasn’t like that at all. This was an instinctive gesture of survival, being in constant readiness for an attack. His head didn’t turn and his eyes didn’t seem to move, but I knew he saw us. I could feel the hackles on the back of my neck stiffening and knew he felt the same way.

  Dog was meeting dog. Nobody knew it but the dogs and they weren’t telling. ·

  He was bigger than I thought. The suggestion of power I had seen in his photographs was for real. When he moved it was with the ponderous grace of some jungle animal, dangerously deceptive, because he could move a lot faster if he had to.

  When we were ten feet away he pretended to see us for the first time and a wave of charm washed the cautious expression from his face and he stepped out to greet Dulcie with outstretched hand.

  But it wasn’t her he was seeing. It was me he was watching. I was one of his own kind. I couldn’t be faked out and wasn’t leashed by the proprieties of society. I could lash out and kill as fast as he could and of all the people in the room, I was the potential threat. I knew what he felt because I felt the same way myself.

  He had the skin coloration of one of the Mediterranean groups. His eyes were almost black under thick, black brows that swept to a V over a h
awklike nose that could have had an Arabian origin. Pomaded hair fitted like a skullcap and his teeth were a brilliant white in the slash of his smile.

  Dulcie said, “Mr. Ris, how nice to see you. May I present Mr. Hammer?”

  For the first time he looked directly at me and held out his hand. His forearm that protruded from his jacket sleeva showed no cuff and I knew I had been right. Even under a tux he wore a short-sleeved shirt.

  “Delighted, Mr. Hammer.” His voice was accented and deep, but devoid of any of the pleasure his smile feigned.

  “Good to see you, Mr. Ris.” The handshake was brief and hard.

  “And are you a member of our great United Nations group? I don’t remember having seen you....”

  I wasn’t going to play games with him. “Hell, no,” I said. “I’m a private cop.”

  For a split second there was a change in his eyes, a silent surprise because I couldn’t be bothered acting a part. For Dulcie’s sake he played it with an even bigger smile and said, “I certainly approve. Anyone as charming as Miss McInnes certainly needs a protector. But here, my dear, as if there was any danger ...” He let his sentence drift and glanced at me questioningly.

  “Half these people here are fighting one another a few thousand miles away,” I said.

  Belar Ris wouldn’t drop his smile. “Ah, yes, but here we are making peace. Is that not so?”

  “That’ll be the day,” I said. I knew what my face looked like. I wore my own kind of grin that happened automatically when an enemy was in front of me and felt my eyes in a half squint and a funny relaxed feeling across my chest.

  “You are not one of those who have confidence in the United Nations then, Mr. Hammer. That is too bad. It is such a monument to ... to ...” He paused, searching for words. “The integrity of the world.”

  I said, “Bullshit.”

  “Mike!” Dulcie’s face had turned pink and she nudged me with her elbow. “What a terrible thing to say.”

  “Ask the boys who were in Korea or Viet Nam or Stanleyville. Ask ...”

  Belar Ris threw his head back and let out a deep chuckle. “That is perfectly all right, Mr. Hammer. You see, it is people like you who must be convinced, then you will be the most firm advocates of the united world. It will take much discussion, many arguments and positive persuasions before things are resolved.” He held out his hand to me again. “Good evening, Mr. Hammer.” His fingers tightened deliberately and I threw everything I had into the grip. I could do it that way too. He felt me buck him, then let my hand go. “It is a good thing to have the opinion of ... the man on the street,” he said. He nodded to Dulcie, gave her a small bow that was typically European.