The By-Pass Control

by Mickey Spillane

  “You’d better stick around. This might be a stiff one.”

  “Sorry, buddy.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Anything from the teams in the field?”

  “Only that the last trace of Agrounsky was in the Myrtle Beach area.”

  “How about the Post Office Department?”

  Charlie didn’t answer for a moment, musing over the question. “You sure about that letter?”

  “Check it yourself. Well?”

  “They went through every General Delivery station in New York, Jersey and Connecticut and didn’t turn up anything.”

  “So try Pennsylvania.”

  “I’ve already asked. They will tomorrow. Now what about Lavois?”

  “Tonight I’ll type out a report for your eyes only. Process as you think fit.”

  “Don’t take too big a bite.”

  “It seems like I always do.”

  “Keep in touch.”

  I put the phone back, stepped out of the booth and carried my bag outside and walked two blocks before I picked up a cab and had him drop me a few blocks away from Fifty-sixth. When I was sure I didn’t have a tail I cut east until I saw the sign that said Shigley’s, found the doorbell and pushed it.

  I had seen these strange people Martin Grady had in his employ before—funny little people who were well paid, asked for nothing, and did what they were told. I said, “Hallmark,” and the little old man in the worn sweater barely gave me a second glance over his glasses before taking a single key from his pocket and pointing upstairs.

  Grady took good care of his operatives. The three-room apartment had every convenience anybody could ask for, completely antithetical to the outside of the house or the neighborhood. The kitchen windows led to an exterior fire escape and a steel ladder going to the roof had been recently installed outside the bathroom, not visible unless you looked up to spot it. Two escape ways and a normal entrance. The back of the door was steel plated and fitted with a massive slide bolt designed to give the occupant time to clear out before it could be battered down.

  I threw my bag down beside the bed, undressed, and got into bed. For an hour I lay there thinking of the times Don Lavois and I had had together since the first drop into occupied France in ’43 and all I could picture was him lying there on the floor with a damn .22 bullet through his skull.

  Okay, buddy. The old ones are fading away, but we’ll even the sides up little by little. Virgil Adams didn’t have to tell me what I already knew ... that Niger Hoppes was the man without a face whose prints were on file, but of whom no photo existed. He could come and go as he pleased and no one would recognize his face. Except people on his own side.

  I met Dave Elroy at Newark Airport, told Mason Armstrong to stand by and took Dave into the lounge where I briefed him on events up to date. He was a tall, lean kind of guy, his face weatherbeaten out of season, a little older looking than the thirty-two years his staff card indicated. He wasn’t the talkative type, preferring to listen and to look, but every question was pointed and direct.

  He knew most of those involved in the international narcotics cartel who lived out of reach of the law, but he enjoyed working on a local level where his attitude and personality could make his work profitable to the Grady organization. I didn’t have to ask for his record—he was fast with a gun and would go in anywhere low and quick, able to make snap decisions and make them right. In a way I envied him the plus ten years he had on me—he had that much longer to go before something gave out that made you want a quiet life with a place in the country.

  Dave wrote nothing down, committing it all to memory, then said, “That big a buy of H Salvi made would leave some taking behind it. No pusher handles that much stuff so it probably was made direct with the importers.”

  “Know who to contact?”

  “For the kind of money I’m authorized to pay for information, I know a lot of them.”

  “Okay then, take it from there. We’ll stay in touch through Newark Control. Adams will assign you quarters and you can handle it on your own.”

  “How’re you going to play it?”

  “From Hamilton’s end. He’s still the key.” I gave him a copy of the Agrounsky photos and let him study them. “Show them around and see what you come up with. If Salvi was after him and Salvi was involved in a narcotics transaction there might be a three-way connection. We can’t afford to pass up any possibilities. If you do get anything, contact me before moving in.”

  “Suppose there isn’t time?”

  “You know the answers then. Just make sure you leave a record behind in case you feel like keeping company with Don.”

  “Hell, you’re a happy one,” he said sourly, hiding a grin.

  “It’s happened before,” I told him.

  “All right, Tiger. Good to see you again. Sorry Don caught one, but we all know the risks involved. Nice to be working with you.”

  “Same here.”

  We shook hands briefly and split up at the cashier’s counter. I started out to the cab stand, stopped just inside the door, then turned back to the telephone booths and called Charlie Corbinet. The police had already been notified about the body in my room, but I.A.T.S. had kept a lid on the news and Hal Randolph was raising hell about my involvement, threatening everything he could think of if I didn’t show.

  I said, “Relax, Charlie, I’ll come in when I have something going for me. Look, I forgot to ask you something.... Doug Hamilton filed reports on everyone he investigated including the unsatisfactory ones. Washington has copies of his information. You know what bureau handles that sort of thing?”

  “I can find out.”

  “Then get me the names of those not considered fit for jobs requiring security. I’d say hit the reports dated from the last two months. How long will it take?”

  “If I call now and it’s available it will be in the mail tomorrow and here the day after.”

  “Good. Suppose we meet at the Blue Ribbon for lunch then ... twelve o’clock.”

  “In the open? I have a feeling Hal Randolph is going to be watching me a little closely now.”

  “So I’ll give you something to ease the pain. You know the shot that killed Don?”

  “22 Magnum. Nobody heard it so the gun probably had a silencer.”

  “Throw a net out for Niger Hoppes. That’s his trademark and he’s in this country now.”

  “Hoppes!”

  “You remember him, don’t you?”

  “Certainly. He’s been suspected of being the gun in quite a few high-level political kills in Europe.”

  “Check through ballistics. Interpol can get you a telephoto of the slugs they have there and if they match you know who to go after.”

  “Nobody’s ever seen him.”

  “Don Lavois did,” I said. “Somebody else will. I hope it’s me.”

  “Okay, Tiger, if this matches out maybe some of the heat will come off you. Just do me one favor.”

  “What?”

  “Pass on any information. Don’t go into this alone.”

  “That’s too big a favor to ask, Colonel. Don’t forget, I have an official position now.”

  “And I outrank you.”

  “So I’ll resign,” I laughed and hung up.

  It had started to rain again, a dreary, slow rain that seemed to ooze out of the cloud cover overhead. There was a chill in the air too, but I couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or what I was thinking.

  And what was I thinking?

  An annoying little faraway thought that was always there because I was playing in a dangerous game where the stakes were beyond comprehension and the rules limitless. If there were any rules at all.

  By now the committee in Moscow would know how Vito Salvi died. They had their own ways of finding out things just as we did and the orders would be out. No matter where I went I would be a target whether on assignment or not. They wouldn’t know just how I got involved ... they wouldn’t k
now what Vito Salvi had told me in a vain attempt to stay alive. They’d figure I was in at the beginning the same as they were and an obstacle to be eliminated in the search for Agrounsky.

  Unlike Niger Hoppes, my photos were on file. I wasn’t exactly unknown in the operational areas and until now could be reached without too much trouble. The only thing that slowed the process of elimination was that the Soviets had too much to lose by knocking me off as a direct project because they could expect the entire Martin Grady machine to grind into action and take their men out of play ten for one.

  That was before. Now with the stakes what they were it would be worth the risk. Oh, they’d play their game well. It could be direct or insidious, but it would have a purpose. If they couldn’t get me directly, they’d get to me somehow and that was the little faraway thought that was always there like a snake waiting to strike from the shadows.

  I hopped in a cab and gave the cabbie Rondine’s address and sat against the cushions while he threaded through the traffic to the Jersey Turnpike and in the Lincoln Tunnel. He cut right on Forty-second, turned north on Eighth Avenue, making the lights all the way, then eased across town and stopped outside her apartment.

  The big doorman gave me a nod of recognition after I paid off the cab, his battered Irish face that had seen too many prelim fights in the Garden squinching up a little because he had lent a hand in a game before with me and knew the results. I asked, “Edith Caine at home?”

  “Yes, sir,” he nodded. “Came in about an hour ago.”

  “Alone?”

  “Staff car from the U.N. brought her. Somebody was with her but didn’t get out,” he told me. “Everything all right?”

  I knew what he was thinking. I said, “Anybody nosing around?”

  He shrugged his heavy shoulders under his uniform, his mouth twisting into a thoughtful grimace. “Nothing I can say for sure.”

  “You don’t have to be sure.”

  “So I know the regulars in the buildin‘, y’know?”

  “So?”

  “Like I know most of ’em who go up and down the street. People from the other apartments, tradesmen, the walkers from the other block ... all that. Standin’ out here all day for a few years you get to know them things. So today I get a cruiser in a cab, like a guy looking for a street number.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “Hell, man, the cabbies do the lookin’ for you. They all know this number anyway. I see this guy just looking and the cabbie going straight ahead like he’s been told to do or somethin’ and it’s outa place. Later he does it again. Sometimes they cruise for broads that way but not on this block. No hookers work this section. The next time it’s the same face in a blue sedan.”

  “Think you could recognize him?”

  “Hell no. It was just a face. It was what he was doing, I saw. He was lookin’ only didn’t want to be seen.”

  “When did he go by the last time?”

  “Maybe a half hour ago.”

  I reached in my pocket and took out a ten-spot, folded it and handed it to him. “Keep your eyes open. I’ll be upstairs if it happens again. Don’t let anybody into the building you don’t know and if one comes in supposedly asking for anybody else, call me right away. Watch the elevator pointer and tell me what floor it stops at.”

  “Sure enough.” He put the bill in his pocket with a grin. “I could stop ’em here for you to look at if you want.”

  “Don’t bother. Just make sure you’d be able to recognize them again.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “All the time, friend.”

  “I’m on your side,” he said. “If you need help I can always get Bert from across the street or Herman from next door. They was both heavies a few years back. They owe me some favors.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him, then went inside and pushed the buzzer under Caine and waited impatiently for the series of clicks that would unlock the door.

  When I reached her apartment I knocked on the panel, saw the light shoot through the thick glass of the peephole in the door, and heard her low, throaty chuckle behind it. She held it open, pleasure bathing her face, and reached out her arms for me. “Hello, my darling,” she said and let her lips tickle against mine in a teasing gesture before I grabbed her with all the hunger I had built up inside me.

  I kicked the door closed with my foot and held her off with a grin. “Ummm,” I said.

  “You Americans have barbarous reactions. Ummm indeed.” She took my hand and tucked it under her arm, nestling it against the firm rise of her breast unconsciously. “I didn’t expect you tonight.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here, either.”

  “Then ... ?”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” I told her.

  She turned and gave me a sober glance, the curious expression in her eyes telling me she had sensed the reason for my stopping by. “I see. This has to do with the Hamilton affair?”

  “Make me a short drink, then sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “The usual?”

  “Natch.” Once again, out of sheer habit, I checked through the rooms while she mixed the two drinks, making sure we were alone and all points of entry were locked. Not that it meant too much ... anybody who really wanted to could force an entrance anyplace but at least a lock breaking or a window snapping gave you a little advance warning.

  When I got back to the living room she handed me the drink and sat beside me on the arm of the big chair beside the record console and ran her hand over my hair. “Do you think you should break security by telling me?”

  I tasted the drink and leaned back into the chair looking up at her. “I’ll pick my own security levels, Rondine. You’ve been trained in the British Intelligence Service and gone the route with me. Damn it, right now we need every experienced hand we can get.”

  “But that isn’t the point you’re trying to make, is it?”

  “No.”

  “You rather think I might be a stumbling block for you, is that it?” she asked.

  “In a way. I’d hate to have any heat put on me through you. Not now.”

  “Oh?”

  “This is too big, kid. It’s more than you or me. If someone got hold of you to force me into the open I might take up the challenge and land in their net. It’s a chance I can’t take.”

  Her fingers stroked my forehead easily, then slipped down the back of my neck and kneaded me there gently. “I don’t think you would, Tiger. I really wouldn’t expect you to.”

  The love was there in her eyes, bright and full, but knowledgeable love that realized the fullest extent of the job that had to be done. Before I could answer her she moved her hand and touched my mouth with her fingertips. “Don’t argue against it. We have both adopted an ideal that can’t be altered or destroyed no matter who has to fall. It’s the chance we know we all have to take.”

  “You amaze me, doll.” I squeezed her hand, then kissed it.

  “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

  And I gave her the picture all the way. If she was going to be in it she had a right to know. An informed agent can make a lot more progress than one working in the dark. If you were alerted to an attack you could prepare for it and reach the enemy before he reached you and I didn’t want her sticking her neck out any further than she had to. When I finished she took the empty glass from my hand, made another and curled up at my feet.

  “What do you suggest I do then?” she finally asked me.

  “Stay with me. If Hal Randolph puts a stakeout on you to reach me the operation can be slowed down if it works. If the Soviets corner you it puts a crimp in things because it diverts time and attention. I’d sooner have you within reach where nobody can screw things up.”

  “I have time coming to me,” Rondine mused. “With this latest shakeup in the Kremlin our embassy will be holding fast awaiting developments before they set policy so there won’t be anything critical
for me to do.” She leaned her head back against my legs and looked at me upside down. “So I await your command, master.” She gave me an impish little grin and added, “Just don’t yell at me again.”

  “Only if you need it, baby.”

  “Okay.”

  “So pack a bag, make your call to your boss and let’s get out of here.”

  Rondine spiraled up from the floor with a single, smooth motion and held a glass out to me. “One for the road. You make them. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Do I leave a forwarding address?”

  “No.”

  She gave me another one of those grins again. “Your country has a thing called the Mann Act, remember?”

  “That’s a different Mann, honey,” I said. “If I take you across a state line it won’t be for immoral purposes.”

  “You mean you might even marry me?”

  “One can never tell.”

  She gave me a little laugh and said over her shoulder as she walked to the bedroom, “Either Mann sounds interesting. But I think I like your way better.”

  Inside, she went about the business of emptying drawers into a suitcase while I made a pair of soft highballs for both of us. My watch read a little past seven and outside the sun was fading into a hazy twilight that had the look of rain again. I walked over to the window fronting on the street and held the curtain aside, watching the traffic below. The big doorman kept up a slow pace under the canopy, appearing on either side at regular intervals like a sentry on patrol, hands clasped behind his back while he watched each passing car. He wanted to really earn that ten bucks I gave him.

  When I let the curtain fall back I crossed to the bedroom with the glasses and pushed the door open. And there are times when sudden movement just can’t be accomplished ... like being upwind of a deer and watching him feed, unaware of your presence, or coming on a wild turkey, so normally given to flight they’re never seen at all.

  That was the way Rondine was, beautifully half naked, skin glistening in the light, her breasts arrogantly thrusting out and upwards from the athletic grace of her body, their ruby-hued tips like tiny warheads capable of destroying a man on contact unless they were disarmed first with a gentle touch.