A Hard Act To Follow

by Troy Conway

  I whistled under my breath. “Three for the see-saw.”

  “Huh?”

  “Skip it. Just tell me this: you’re sure you heard all three of them talking?”

  “Yeah. I could tell the three different voices.”

  “But they always spoke in English?”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t’ve understood them otherwise. English is the only language I know.”

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “I waited a while after they left, just to make sure nobody’d see me sneaking around. Then I took off. I figured you might be interested in what was happening with The Big Head while all this other stuff was going on with the broads, so I went to his apartment. He and Chiquita were there together. I needed some excuse for going there, so I told him about the Chinese guy who claimed he had taken over the Treasury Department platoon and I asked if the guy was on the up-and-up. The Big Head didn’t even get a chance to answer me. Chiquita told me that the guy was okay and to do whatever he told me. Then she sent me on my way. I breezed around the East Village for the rest of the night, talking with other guys I knew who were in on the thing. Nobody seemed to how what was happening, so finally I went home and sacked out.”

  “You had a pretty busy day.”

  He chuckled. “It was nothing, You should’ve seen what I went through today. At nine in the morning the Chinese guy came pounding on my door. He said The Big Freak-Out was ready to roll. I had twenty-four hours to get myself squared away in New York. Then, tomorrow at nine, I was supposed to fly to Washington and go to the platoon headquarters in Arlington. Everybody had to check in the headquarters by noon, he said, because the LSD was going to be dumped into the Potomac that afternoon and the city’d get it in the water supply the next morning. He wanted all of us in town early just to make sure there were no slip-ups.”

  I whistled under my breath. “So the stuff is going to be dumped tomorrow afternoon.” I glanced at my watch. “We’ve got just about sixteen hours.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, after the Chinese guy left my place, I went over to yours. You still weren’t back from jail. I thought abut leaving you a note telling you to get in touch with me, but I didn’t want to take the chance that somebody might find it. So I killed an hour, then went to The Church to catch the meeting between Chiquita, Carla and Corinne. I waited in the coffee shop across the street until all three of them had gone inside, then I followed them. The door was locked. I didn’t want to take a chance going in through a window, so I went back to the coffee shop and waited until they came out. They came out together this time, not one by one, and they had suitcases with them. They started trying to flag down a cab. I went to the corner of the street, so I got get a crack at a cab before they did. When I got one, I had him pull down to the other end of the street and wait until they go their cab. Then I had my guy tail them. They went to the airport and checked in for the fight to Aruba I bought a ticket on the same flight.”

  “it’s a good thing you had enough money with you.”

  “Yeah. The Decline of the West got paid for two nights work, and I hadn’t given the money to the guys. I hope you can pay me back, or I’ll really be in trouble.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re on an unlimited expense account What happened after you bought your plane ticket?”

  “I didn’t want them to see me get on the plane, because I knew Chiquita would recognize ma. I picked a seat in the back of the coach section, then waited for them to board. A few minutes later, I boarded and went straight to the john. I sat there on the throne until we were in the air. Then I went back to my seat and turned toward the window as if I was asleep. I don’t think they spotted me.”

  “You really touch all the bases, don’t you?”

  “I try. Anyway, after we landed in Aruba, I followed them here to the Hotel Ortega. They took a suite two doors down the hall from this one. I found that out by slipping the desk clerk ten bucks and telling him I had the hots for Chiquita. I hid in the lobby until they came back down. Then I followed them to the ferry for Karlota. When they got on, I checked out the schedules at the ferry office, then came back to the hotel and took this room.”

  “Why didn’t you follow them to Karlota.”

  “Because I had to let you know what was happening.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Karlota’s a real small and primitive island. I learned all about it some time ago from some guys in the East Village who had been there. it’s only about a mile long, and there’re no telephones or other contacts with the outside world. The only way you can get on or off it is by taking the ferry. The only makes three trips a day. It leaves Aruba at seven in the morning and comes back at nine. Then it leaves again at one in the afternoon and comes back at three. Then it leaves at eight in the evening and comes back at ten. I saw them get on the one o’clock run. Then I came back to the hotel, took a room and phoned Lola to tell you what was happening. At three I went back to the dock to see if they made the return trip. They didn’t. So I came back to the hotel and waited for you. Now here we are. You tell me what to do next.”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. “we’ll check out the ten o’clock return trip and see if They’re on it,” I said. “If they are, we’ll make our play then. If not, we’ll take the seven o’clock ferry to Karlota tomorrow and try to find them there. Good enough?”

  His eyes widened slightly. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. What do you mean when you say we’ll make our play?”

  I smiled. “we’ll place them under arrest.”

  He gulped. “Uh, Damon, ol’ buddy, uh, let’s see if I understand you. you’re saying that we’ll arrest them? With guns?”

  “If guns are needed, yes.”

  “But they’ll have guns too.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, ah, I don’t want to be a killjoy or anything like that, but, well, uh, guns aren’t my game, you know? I mean, I don’t like getting shot at. it’s against my religion. I’m a devout coward. So, uh, why don’t you just lay some bread on me so I can fly back to the States, okay? Then we’ll call it even. You don’t owe me and I don’t owe you.”

  My eyes found his. “I need all the help I can get on this caper, Egbert.”

  He looked away. “Well, uh, I know that But, uh, well, you see, it’s my mother. I mean, I wouldn’t care if it was just me, but I’m an only child. And my mother has a heart condition. If anything happened to me, it’d just kill her. You know? So, just give me my bread and let me split, okay? Not for me. For my mother.”

  I took ten twenty-dollar bills from my wallet and held them in front of him. “Whatever you say, Egbert I won’t try to coerce you.”

  He took the bi and folded them into his pocket. His eyes were fixed to the floor. For a minute neither of us said anything. Then he looked at me. “Uh, Darnon, uh, I don’t want to sound fickle or anything, but, uh, do you really think you’ll need me?”

  “I don’t know. But r d like to have you along just in case I do.”

  He took the bills out of his pocket. “Well, uh, why don’t I just sort of tag along then? I mean, what the hell, We’ve done okay so far.” He thrust the bills at me. “Hold these until it’s all over. we’ll square the account then.”

  “What about your mother?” I reminded him.

  “She doesn’t have a heart condition. She’s healthy as a horse. I’m sure she’ll bury the both of us.”

  “If Corinne LaBelle and her chums don’t bury us first.”

  “Huh?”

  “Skip it.” I shoved the bids back toward him. ““Keep the money. You may need it. Then let’s have another drinkpartner.”

  He poured two fresh ones and I placed a long-distance call to Aunt Matilda She promised to have Walrus-moustache phone me at the Ortega as soon as possible. I returned my attention to Egbert and his account of what had happened while I was in jail.

  We went through hi story twice more, poring over every detail. I was espec
ially interested in the Chinamen who had suddenly entered the picture—the one who had been pulled off the LSD vat detail to take over Ray Devaney’s Treasury Department platoon and the other one, Chang, who was now going to man the vat. Egbert didn’t how anything more about either of them than he had told me. But I was .willing to bet that they had a lot more to do with The Big Freak-Out than vat-dumping and platoon-leading.

  Another thing that interested me was the fact that Carla had spoken English during the overheard meeting with Chiquita and Corinne. At my apartment she had pretended to speak only Spanish. Why?

  And most interesting of all was the sudden emergence of Corinne as one of The Big Freak-Out’s top brass. Had she been in on it from the beginning? If so, why had she filed the report about the Red Chinese infiltration of the hippies. If not, what had made her change her mind and decide to throw in with the agents of a country whose ideology was diametrically opposed to everything she ever stood for?

  Was it possible that she had been brainwashed?

  Possible. A person who had been brainwashed can be induced to do a great many things. But someone else must always be present to do the inducing. Judging from what Egbert had said—especially the bit about “If e could do it with Jimmy, we can do it with Matt”she was anything but a passive follower.

  But if she hadn’t been brainwashed, what was her game?

  Or possibility number two: could it be that the girl I had thought was Corinne wasn’t Corinne after all but someone who merely looked like her? My only means of identification had been a photo, and cameras can play fumy tricks.

  If the girl wasn’t Corinne, the involvement of James Hartley would be pretty hard to explain. But certainly no harder than the involvement of Corinne herself!

  It was twenty minutes to ten and the ferry from Karlota was due at the dock at ten. Egbert and I hailed a cab and were waiting for the ferry when it pulled into port. None of the debarking passengers resembled the trio we were looking for so we headed back to the hotel

  Egbert sacked out. I poured myself a tall Scotch and soda, and sat waiting for the call from Walrus-moustache. while I waited, I tried to piece together the loose ends in the case. The harder I tried, the more confusing things became.

  Problem number One: Chiquita She had all but falls over herself giving me clues that she was a Cuban rather than a Puerto Rican Why?

  Problem Number Two: James Hartley. Why had he been killed?

  Problem Number Three: The Big Head. He had been killed because be knew too much. What did he know?

  Problem Number Four: Corinae. Was she really Corinne? One look at her left breast would answer that question, but with A-Day just hours away, how could I get a look at her left breast?

  Problem Number Five: the two Chinamen. If they were Red Chinese agents, how did they get into the United States? If they weren’t Red Chinese agents, who were they?

  I pondered the problems, but nothing seemed to fit into place. I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was overlooking an important cluea that had been all but dropped into my lap.

  I replayed the events of the past week, sifting through every conversation, examining the nuances of every statement.

  Nothing seemed to stand out.

  I poured myself another drink and did another replay.

  Still nothing seemed to stand out.

  I began to get drowsy.

  My eyes closed, and my muscles relaxed.

  I was exhausted.

  I wanted only to sleep.

  As I lay there, random phrases and sentences fluttered my mind.

  “. . . textbook solution . . .”

  “. . . The Big Head knew too much. . .”

  “. . . Guantanamera . . .”

  “. . Was this trip necessary. . .”

  “. . . Treasury Department platoon . . .”

  And then suddenly I didn’t want to sleep anymore.

  I was wide awake and my pulse was pounding furiously.

  I had found my clue.

  It had come during my conversation with Egbert at Tompkins Square Park.

  I had asked him, “When was the last time you saw James Hartley?”

  He had replied, “Just before The Big Head broke the group down into platoons. After that I only went to the Treasury Department platoon meeting, so I never saw him again.”

  The Treasury Department platoon.

  The ideal place for any accountants who happened to be among the conspirators. And James Hartley was an accountant.

  But he wasn’t in the Treasury Department platoon.

  Why?

  I had an idea why, and if my idea was on target, it explained a lot of things about Corinne LaBelle.

  The phrases and sentences raced through my mind again.

  “. . . textbook solution . . .”

  When I roughed up The Big Head, I hadn’t been following the textbook solution. And that threw a lot of people’s plans off kilter.

  “. . . The Big Head knew too much . . .”

  Right. He knew what I now knew, and That’s why he was too dangerous to be kept alive.

  “. . Guantanamera . . .”

  The Cuban folk song that Chiquita had sung to me. Chiquita, the ostensibly poverty-stricken young girl. Where does a poverty-stricken young girl get money for piano lessons?

  “. . . was this trip necessary? . . .”

  Why had Chiquita zonked me out on LSD? So I couldn’t meet The Big Head. Why didn’t she want me to meet The Big Head? Because she was afraid he’d tell me what he knew. The trip was necessary to keep me from Learning who the real people behind the conspiracy were.

  I sipped my Scotch and watched all the pieces fall into place.

  CHAPTER 12

  The telephone rang.

  It was Walrus-moustache.

  “The Big Freak-Out is ready to go,” I told him. “The LSD is supposed to be dumped into the Potomac tomorrow afternoon. The guy who’s supposed to dump it is a Chinaman named Chang. he’s a Communist. he’s a Chinese Nationalist, an extremely right-wing Chinese Nationalist, who wants to goad us into war with his Red Chinese enemies. he’s working hand-in-hand with Corinne LaBelle. She was in on the deal from the beginning. Her reports of Red Chinese infiltrating the hippies were out-and- out fiction.”

  “Damon,” he sputtered, “where the hen are you?”

  “Aruba. don’t you remember? You just phoned me here. Corinne LaBelle isn’t far away. She’s on an island called Karlota. She and her two aides-decamp went there for two reasons. One: to get out of New York because things were getting too hot. Two: to pick up the man who’s just been tapped to replace The Big Head as the nominal chief conspiratora Black Muslim named Swami Swahili. According to their plan, Swahili will be the first non-elected and the first Negro Resident of the United States.”

  “Damon, you’re confusing the hell out of me.”

  “it’ll all be very clear when I get back to the States with my prisoners. I’m going to arrest them tomorrow morning. I”ll have them in Washington for you tomorrow night. Meanwhile, get every man you can get your hands on and start prowling the Potomac. There’s a barge somewhere on the river that contains enough LSD to turn on the whole city. you’ve got to find the barge.”

  “Damon, you must be out of your mind. The Potomac is two hundred and eighty-seven mile8 long. It starts in the Allegheny Mountains in West Virginia and flows all the way to Chesapeake Bay. There are dozens of barges on it, hundreds of barges, maybe even thousands of barges.”

  “The one you’re looking for has a vat on it. The vat is full of LSD. I’ll try tomorrow to find out for you exactly where it is. If I can, I’ll get word to Aunt Matilda. If I can’t, you’re on your own. Bye now.”

  I hung up the phone and set my wrist-alarm for six. Then I undressed and crawled into bed. I went out like a light the minute my head hit the pillow.

  At seven, Egbert and I boarded the ferry to Karlota. Unless I missed my guess, Corinne LaBeIle and her contingent would be waiting on the doc
k when we got there.

  They were. Corinne, Chiquita. and Carla were decked out in almost identical short shorts and white cotton blouses. With them was a tall, muscular Negro with a nylon stocking wrapped around the top of his head—the badge of the Black Muslim.

  Egbert and I waited until they started up the gangway. Then we retreated to the lower deck. When the ferry started moving, we returned to topside. Our quartet of conspirators was standing at the rail, gazing out over the blue waters of the Caribbean.

  I didn’t want to make a move just yet. The only reason I had made the trip to Karlota was to make sure Corinne and Company were taking the first ferry back instead of the second. Now that I had them in sight, it was time to play a waiting game.

  I waited until we docked at Aruba. Then I tailed them down the gangway and back to the hotel. They went straight to their room. Posting Egbert in the lobby just in case they should give me the slip, I went up behind them.

  I’ll give them credit.

  They worked fast.

  In fact, they worked very fast.

  They hadn’t been in the room for more than two or three minutes when I thrust open the door.

  Yet, during those two or three minutes, all four of them had managed to shuck their duds and hop into bed.

  I found them in a crazy-quilt quadrangle straight out of Marquis de Sade’s La Philosophie dans le Boudoir.

  Swami Swahili was on bottom. His chocolate-colored skin glinted dully against the white bed sheets as he ministered to—and availed himself of the ministrations of—his three comrades.

  Chiquita and Carla flanked him. They were lying with their heads toward his feet as they regaled him with the same sort of pasa doble treatment they had given me that first night back at my apartment. Their arms were wiled around his legs and their legs were coiled around his arms. His massive hands were between their thighs.

  Corinne LaBelle was squatting over his face. His tongue lapped at her while she squeezed Chiquita’s left breast with her right hand and Carla’s right breast with her left hand.