She put the purse on the bed without taking her eyes from the motionless form sprawled in the bathroom doorway.
“Laura!” she breathed, and went on without looking in my direction: “You… you killed her!”
“That’s right. I killed her. But who did I kill?”
That brought her head around sharply. “You know perfectly well—”
“Sure. You told me. A schoolteacher on vacation, a harmless lady tourist from California. A tourist who opened up with a silenced gun when I stepped into this room. What was I supposed to do, take your word for it she was harmless while she was blasting away with her little .22?”
Priscilla licked her lips. “You’re being ridiculous! You’ll never get away with this, Helm! You’re going to pay for it. You’ve killed a fellow U.S. agent—”
It was what I’d already guessed, and having my guess confirmed didn’t really make me happy, but there was no need for her to know that. I just sighed in a relieved sort of way.
“At last. Somebody has finally admitted, now that she’s dead, what the dame actually is. Or was.”
“You can’t stand there and pretend you didn’t know—”
I said patiently, “Look, doll, I just saw the woman once outside this room, in the airport with you. Something about her made me curious. I had a hunch she was someone I ought to know more about, so I asked you. You gave me the harmless-tourist runaround. Being a persistent fellow, I reported your story through channels and asked for the real dope. That got me a slap-down from my boss, who obviously got some kind of security door shut in his face when he passed my innocent query along. Apparently he was told to inform me that the lady was none of my goddamn business, and he did. Well, anybody who shoots at me is my business…”
“She wasn’t shooting at you!”
“Sweetheart,” I said, “when I walk into a room and a gun goes off in my face, it’s shooting at me. At least I operate on that assumption until I learn different. Unless I’m warned in advance, and I wasn’t warned.” I looked into the girl’s pale face and angry eyes. “Why wasn’t I warned, Miss Decker? You presumably took Miss Waterman to the airport to identify me for her. Why were you all so dead set against identifying her for me?”
She didn’t answer the question. She just said insistently, “But you must have recognized her, right there across the room with the light on. It was on, wasn’t it?”
“Sure it was on.” It was like arguing with a stubborn, stupid child, but I kept trying. “But even if I’d recognized her, so what? I’d asked for identification twice and got a negative answer both times. That made her just a stranger with a gun, shooting.” I grimaced. “And as a matter of fact, all this is beside the point, because I didn’t recognize her in that damn transvestite outfit she had on.”
Priscilla’s breath caught. “Really, Mr. Helm! That’s a perfectly respectable and fashionable costume these days, and you have no right to imply—”
“I wasn’t implying anything. I was just saying flatly that the dame was dressed like a man, at a hasty glance, and I had no reason to be considerate of a man of that general description. Nobody’d told me to watch what I shot at. Okay, so it turns out you had a trap set for Vadya, and I suppose you were more or less using me for bait. Fair enough, but why wasn’t I warned?”
Priscilla glanced at the still, dead figure in the white dress, lying at her feet. She brought her glance back to my face. When she spoke, her voice had its familiar prim inflection.
“How could we warn you, Mr. Helm? We knew of your past record of association with this woman. We knew that you’d been under orders to kill her, if possible, a year or so ago, and only managed to wound her. For a man of your experience and reputation, that was a very Freudian mistake, Mr. Helm, if it was a mistake. And after the fond way I’d seen you greet her down there on the beach—an enemy agent high on the priority list!—how could we warn you and risk having you alert her?”
I’d been in the business too long to blow a fuse just because a sanctimonious kid cast aspersions on my loyalty. I said, “Next time I meet a beautiful enemy agent, I’ll remember to knock her teeth down her throat for the benefit of any juvenile U.S. Mata Haris who may be snooping around. Proceed.”
Priscilla went on stiffly: “The woman had to die, not only because she was on the list, but because she’s been interfering with our work, both here and in Acapulco—it was one of our agents she killed there, not a Britisher as I told you. You’re right in thinking you were brought here partly to distract her from the trap we were setting—as bait, if you like. We were hoping that, once you were in Mazatlán, Vadya would concentrate on you and more or less ignore us, as she did. But there was reason to believe that your emotions were involved where this woman was concerned; we simply couldn’t gamble on taking you into our confidence.”
“Sure,” I said sourly. “I congratulate you on your discretion. I’m sure Miss Waterman is very happy that security has been preserved.” I went on before Priscilla could speak: “Well, we’ve got a nasty mess on our hands. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do about it while there’s still time.”
I glanced down at the short-barreled revolver I still held. After a moment, I carefully smudged a couple of fingerprints that might have been classifiable, and bent over to lay the gun near Vadya’s outflung hand. Then I picked up her purse and got her gun: a little Browning 9mm pocket automatic, shooting the short cartridge also designated as .380, not the huskier 9mm Luger load. I tucked this inside the waistband of my pants and looked at the girl still standing by the bed.
“Do you get the sketch, or do I have to draw it for you?”
“They shot each other, is that it?”
“Very good, Miss Decker,” I said. “So now what do you do?”
“Why, I—” She stopped uncertainly.
I said, “First of all, you search her luggage discreetly to make sure she hasn’t any spare ammo kicking around. It wouldn’t do for her to be found with a .38 Special gun and .380 ammunition; the rounds are not interchangeable. And then you get your people in Washington on Operation Coverup, real quick. We’re not going to fool the Mexican police if they don’t want to be fooled, but perhaps, with a little diplomacy, the desire can be created. Check with your superiors. Find out if they can get local cooperation somehow. If not—” I paused, thinking hard. “What about Mrs. O’Leary? Does Los Alamos really want her, or was that just camouflage for your fancy mousetrap?”
“Of course Los Alamos wants her! This was just a… a side issue. We were killing two birds with one stone.”
I said, “Well, two birds got killed, all right. Okay, I take the O’Leary north as planned. The plane is supposed to leave at nine-ten tomorrow morning, but it’s been known to be quite late. It’s supposed to arrive in Los Angeles at eleven-thirty-five, but we’d better allow for the possibility of a two-hour delay, at least. And as long as we’re in the air, over Mexican territory, we can be called back. Therefore I’m not really in the clear until I’m on the ground in Los Angeles. You see the problem, I hope.”
“I think so. Go on.”
“If your people assure us they can count on getting cooperation here, swell. But if not, you’ve got to keep the hounds off my trail until around one-thirty tomorrow afternoon. How you do it is your business.”
She looked at me bleakly. “Thank you very much, Mr. Helm. It sounds like a lovely assignment.”
I grinned. “Glad you like it, ma’am,” I said. “Okay, I’ll give your regards to Mr. Hartford now, and take the subject off his hands.” I hesitated. “Are you sure you can handle things around here?”
That stung her youthful pride, as it was supposed to do. “I can handle them,” she said stiffly. “Don’t worry about me!”
“That’ll be the day,” I said, and I walked out of there without looking at the bodies on the floor, either of them.
7
As I moved away, I had the feeling I was leaving something important behind in that room, and maybe
I was, but it wasn’t anything I could ever go back for. I went quickly to number 116 and knocked. The door opened cautiously. Seeing me, Hartford put his gun away and stepped aside to let me in. His tanned, boyish features looked kind of pale and shocked.
“Priss just called,” he said. “God, Mr. Helm, it’s terrible! Poor Laura! I don’t know what to say!”
I said callously, “Well, that’s what happens when you try to kill two birds with one stone and don’t bother to let the stone know what’s expected of it. I guess we’ve kind of loused up part of the job, although it got done after a fashion. But let’s see if we can’t handle the rest of it a little better.”
“Sure, Mr. Helm.”
I looked at Annette O’Leary, watching us silently from the big chair she still occupied. “I’ll take over now,” I said to Tony. “I’ll take her to my room and keep an eye on her until it’s time to go. I’ll need her tourist permit to get her out of Mexico, and then I’ll need proof of her citizenship and a recent vaccination to get her into the U.S.”
“Her papers are all in her purse, in the suitcase.” He indicated the green bag on the luggage stand.
“That’s hers? Swell, I’ll take it. Come on, Mrs. O’Leary.”
The girl rose reluctantly and put her feet into the white pumps standing by the chair. The high heels made her look taller, but she still wasn’t anybody you’d turn to look at, except for the flaming hair. I couldn’t help thinking of a woman I’d known who’d managed to look a lot more interesting, even when masquerading as a mousy brunette or faded blonde…
But that was beside the point, now. Picking up the suitcase, I moved towards the door. Tony stirred uneasily.
“But I don’t know what you want… I mean, don’t you have some instructions for me?”
I stopped to look at him. “Sure,” I said. “Go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.”
“But…” He hesitated. “In the morning, don’t you at least want me to cover you on the way to the airport?”
I said, “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you about it here: I have it on good authority that this room is wired for sound. But just so everybody’s got everything perfectly clear, including Mr. Harsek if he’s listening in, I’ll say it once more: I’m using no cover and no tricks. I’ve got nothing up my sleeve. All I’ve got is a 9mm Browning pistol with six cartridges in the magazine and one in the chamber. If anything happens, or starts to happen, or even looks as if it just might happen, between here and Los Alamos, New Mexico, that pistol goes off. And whatever this lady might have said to anybody just doesn’t get said. Let’s go, O’Leary.”
She moved past me reluctantly. I followed her out into the night. The rain had stopped, but water still dripped from buildings and trees, and thunder rolled in the distance. We proceeded along the walk to my room, which differed from the one we’d left only in that the beds stood out from the wall side by side like beds, instead of masquerading as sofas. I threw the suitcase on the nearest one, and extracted the white purse nesting among the clothes inside. It held a current American passport, an international health certificate with several immunizations including smallpox properly validated, a Mexican tourist card, and a book of travelers’ checks, as well as the usual feminine maintenance equipment and supplies.
“If you’re through with it,” Annette O’Leary said grimly, watching, “if you’re quite through with my purse, may I have it please?”
I took the essential documents, checked the purse for weapons and found none, and gave it to her. I watched her go to the dresser and do a little repair work in front of the mirror. Normally, I find that there’s something kind of sexy about a woman combing her hair, particularly long hair, but tonight I got no kick out of the performance. She was just a skinny kid fixing her hair and to hell with her.
“You’re really pretty incredible, dad,” she said without looking around. “So you’re going to shoot me just like that!” She closed her purse with a snap and brushed hairs off her shoulders. Then she pulled down her jersey and smoothed down her skirt and made a wry face. “God, I look like a tramp who’s been sleeping in the woodshed!”
The green jersey looked all right to me—you can’t do much to jersey—but now that she was standing up I could see that the brief white skirt was a little mussed and grubby. Well, it’s only in the movies that the heroine can endure days of cruel captivity without a few smudges and wrinkles to show for it.
I grinned. “What’s the matter, wouldn’t they let you change your clothes?”
“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t about to let them get my clothes off without a fight. They’d have left me sitting there in bra and panties, or nothing but a towel, just to make sure I wouldn’t try to escape. There’s nothing as helpless as a girl in her undies.” She gave me a sideways glance. “I mean, of course, as far as escaping is concerned.”
I grinned again. She was a pleasant change from Missy Prissy and her sanctimonious expression. “Speaking of helplessness,” I said, “why didn’t you try doing a little work on Tony while you had the chance? Or did you?”
“That creep? Ugh.” Her voice expressed total revulsion. “Besides, I’m not sure he really likes girls, if you know what I mean. Come to think of it, I’m not sure she really likes boys.”
The sharpness of her tone reminded me that she had good reasons for prejudice, not to say malice. Nevertheless, the possibility she suggested was one that had already occurred to me. After all, the fake lady gym teacher had been a fairly typical specimen. On the other hand, I reminded myself, we sometimes have to put on some fairly unsavory impersonations in the line of duty. Anyway, their sex life wasn’t my worry.
Annette O’Leary said, “You haven’t got a drink around here, have you, dad?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind bourbon.”
“It sounds but heavenly-divine. Just between you and me, I’m getting pretty damn tired of all the quaint local concoctions of rum and tequila. Have you tried a Coco Loco yet? They serve it in a coconut, using the milk for a mixer, for God’s sake… Thanks.”
I watched her gulp the drink I handed her, while I sipped at my own more cautiously. Presently she turned to look at me again with suspicion in her eyes.
“You’re a fast man with a glass, dad. And you don’t seem to be working very hard on your own. Could it be that you wouldn’t mind if I got just a wee bit drunk?”
I said, “Hell, you asked for it. If you don’t want it, flush it down the john.”
She was watching me closely. “If I did get just a wee bit drunk, what would you do? Would you take advantage of my inebriated condition, and if so, how? I mean, would you seduce me, or just ask me a lot of silly questions?”
I said, “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. O’Leary. At the moment you interest me, biologically, just about as much as that chair over there. For seduction, you’d better come back tomorrow or the next day.”
There was curiosity in her look now. “You mean… you mean killing somebody affects you like that? Oh, I heard Tony-boy talking on the phone about what a trigger-happy character you are. But I always thought a man wanted sex after blood, so to speak. Is it because you made a mistake, or because it was a woman you shot?”
I said, “O’Leary, you’re a ghoul.”
Her greenish eyes were watching me intently, back in the shadow of all that hair. “Oh, I see! It’s not that woman that bothers you, it’s the other one who got killed tonight. The one you went for in a big way, so they said. Mr. Helm, is this your quiet way of mourning the dead?”
I grinned. “You bitch,” I said. “You need another drink.”
When I came back with it, she was sitting on the end of one of the beds with her shoes off. “How long does the effect generally last, dad?” she asked, taking the glass. “I mean, do you lose your manhood with every dame who dies or goes off and leaves you, and if so, what brings it back and how much later?” She studied me in a speculative, malicious way. “I bet I could bring it back. Tonight. If I really wanted to. An
d I’ve never slept with a killer. It might be fun. Cool. At least you don’t spend half the day combing your peroxide locks, like the other one. God, I can’t stand a man who keeps fussing with his lousy hair.”
I laughed. “You know, I’m going to miss you if I have to shoot you. You’re quite a girl. Well, let’s hope nobody pushes me into a spot where I have to use the gun. Which reminds me—”
I sat down on the other bed and took out Vadya’s automatic and checked it over. I don’t ever really trust a weapon that’s been loaded by somebody else, even by a pro like Vadya. I heard the redhaired girl make a small sound, like a sigh. She finished off her drink abruptly.
“You win, dad,” she said softly. “I was trying to needle you, but you topped me. Put the damn thing away, please… Helm?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared. Do you know that? I’m scared silly. What the hell have I got myself into, anyway? Please put it away.”
“Sure, Mrs. O’Leary.”
“Don’t keep calling me that. It makes me think of the lady whose cow burned up Chicago. Call me Netta, if you’ve got to call me something.”
“Sure, Netta. I’m Matt.”
“Hit me again, will you, Matt,” she said, holding out her empty glass. “I might as well be good and drunk as the way I am. And if you really have some questions you’d like answered, go ahead and ask.”
Bartending again, I said in what I hoped was a casual tone of voice, “Okay, if you insist. Just what the hell did you see out there on the water that’s so damned important?”
“Your prune-faced girlfriend has already taken that story down on tape. Why make me repeat myself?”
“Because some gents in Los Alamos have that tape by now, and I don’t really expect them to play it for me,” I said. “And I’m getting kind of curious about what kind of a yarn you spun for them. Try it on me.”
She looked up at me as I returned with her drink. “You don’t sound very much as if you were planning to believe me.”
The Menacers Page 5