Assignment — Angelina

by Edward S. Aarons

  Durell nodded. He heard thunder rumbling in the distance, and knew that a Gulf squall was coming across the delta toward the town. The air felt oppressive. Sweat ran down his chest under his shirt.

  * * *

  He went back to his grandfather's steamboat to pack; there was nothing more he could do here. He had had them in his hands, and they had slipped away. Because of Angelina, he reminded himself. McFee would have his hide if he knew he had gone soft back there at Moon's and chose Angelina's safety over hailing these people. You don't risk success because of human weakness. You're not supposed to remember the sweet taste of a girl's lips or the wild exaltations of first love.

  Slago would have taken Angelina in the car as a hostage, and afterward, Slago would have killed her. Was he supposed to have risked that for the chance of stopping them at Moon's? He had made his choice and diverted their attention to give Angelina a chance to break free. She was safe, but he had let them escape.

  "Samuel?"

  His grandfather stood on the wind bridge beside the pilothouse. His hair looked sharply white against the dark thunderheads in the sky. Durell went aboard and walked through the salon of the old side-wheeler, with its dusty plush draperies and Victorian elegance fading from gilt to peeling decay. Jonathan met him on the bridge.

  "Are you all right, son? Angelina is here." His eyes were anxious. "She told me what happened at Moon's. You lost your throw, eh?"

  "Yes, Grandpa."

  "Because of her?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it bad?"

  "Bad enough. I feel as if I've let a plague germ loose. That's what it's like, and I don't know where it will hit next. It wasn't my job to stop them — just to find out where they're going. But I've got a feeling it's going to be bad." Durell felt the warmth of his love for his grandfather. "I'm sorry, but I've got to cut this visit short. I'm going back to Washington."

  "I expected that. Angelina is going with you."

  "No," Durell said.

  "Then you'd better talk fast to her. She's waiting in your cabin and she's made up her mind, and she's the kind of woman it isn't easy to argue with."

  "I'll talk to her, Grandpa."

  "She was never in love with Pete Labouisse, Samuel. She's always been in love with you. She tells me you saved her fife today. But that ain't what drives her. She's a strange woman, more like a man in some ways. She's tough and she's loyal; she won't forget what she owes a man, even to Pete, no matter what she really feels in her heart. She'll go with you. She's made it her business, now."

  Durell went down the ladder to the cabin deck and walked down the corridor to the room he had used as a boy. The old steamboat was full of restless sounds. A wind had come up, thrashing and stumbling through the bayou like an uncertain drunk, lurching in from the Gulf. Even though the side-wheeler was secure in the mud, her ancient sides trembled under the irregular pressures of the wind.

  * * *

  Angelina was lying on his bed when he entered the cabin. Lightning flickered beyond the big square windows and touched everything with a blue light for a moment. The crash of thunder that followed shook the deck underfoot. He saw two new suitcases on the floor beside his own.

  "Angelina?"

  She opened her eyes and looked at him and sat up. She wore a light cotton traveling suit that hugged the full, womanly lines of her body. She looked exciting under the tight-fitting suit But he didn't like the look in her fine, dark eyes.

  "Are you going back to Washington, Sam?"

  "Yes. What do you think you're doing here?"

  They got away, didn't they? I knew they would."

  "Answer me."

  "I guess your grandfather has already told you. I closed my store, Sam. I'm going with you and I'm going to find those men."

  "Why?"

  "Because of what they did to Pete. I can't forget it."

  "You can't help me," he said flatly. "You'll only get in my way and make things tougher for me. Will you please stay here?"

  "No, I won't. You'll see. Don't argue. Please, please. Nothing is going to change my mind." She lifted her skirt and he saw the smooth tan of her thigh. She took a long Bowie knife, an antique that was sharpened to the keen edge of a razor, and weighed it in her hand. The blade glittered strangely in the light from the coming thunderstorm. "I can use this, Sam. I'm going to. The same way it was used on Pete."

  "So you'll do to Slago what was done to Pete?" he asked sharply. "To be like Slago? Is that what you want to become?"

  "Maybe."

  "But you can't help," he said. "And you're safe here. Those men won't come back to the bayous again. They're not worried about your identifying them, because they don't expect to operate around here again. I don't know where they are now, Angelina. They got away, probably heading north, but it's a big country and it's going to take a lot of men and teamwork to track them down again. What can you do? I've got my own job to take care of. You'd only be in my way."

  She shook her head. "I'm going, with you or without you. I can find them."

  "How?"

  She stood up and put the Bowie knife away, held by elastic high inside her thigh. All her movements were lithe and graceful. She looked at his tall figure in the cabin doorway and then looked down again, her long lashes hiding her eyes. She was part of her environment, Durell thought, a huntress, with a primitive code and an earthy sense of justice. Her father had taught her the Bible since she could understand the spoken word. An eye for an eye...

  "Listen to me, Sam," she said quietly. "Maybe you'll be angry for what I've done, but I can't help it. I think you'll get over it. We understand each other, don't we? Nobody knows me better than you. And I think I know you, too. We're not children now, and you haven't forgotten how it was. I can't lie to you, Sam. I don't feel any differently now than I did long ago, about you. I know it's different with you, but you don't have to worry about that part of it."

  "I know their names." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Mark Fleming and Hugo Slago — he's the one with the knife — and a couple named Corbin. I got that much from Pete, when I found him in the pirogue. I'm sorry I lied to you and told you he hadn't been able to say anything. He told me a little bit, and I didn't know your part in this, so I kept it to myself. I'm not stupid, Sam. I know it all goes back to whatever Pete took when he was in Germany. It's something important, but I don't care about that, I just care what happened to Pete. It's something I've got to do myself, for his sake. He was going to marry me, and I was happy enough about it, I guess, even if I didn't love him the way I ought to. But I can't leave it to the sheriff's men, or that MacCreedy fellow, or to you and the people you work for. Not to strangers. It's my job, mine alone. And I've already asked some questions."

  "Where?"

  "In New Orleans. I asked about Fleming and Slago. I telephoned after you left me, after Moon's this afternoon. You know what this country is like, Sam. Wide open for all the rackets. Maybe you think now that we're all simple, unsophisticated people. But the rackets came down here, even into the swamps. Every slot machine in the bars, every gambling joint that hides behind a roadside cafe, every bottle of liquor run in from Cuba without a tax stamp, is worked out of New Orleans. I know some of those men pretty well. I've done favors for them, sometimes, when it paid me to do them favors. Does that surprise you?"

  "No," he said. "I guess not."

  Angelina said simply: "I'm pretty important around Peche Rouge. "I think I'm the richest woman around here, with Papa's store in my hands. I've made a lot of money and I ve got investments the sheriff might not like. Profitable investments, Sam. A lot of men owe me a lot, so when I called some names in the city, I got some answers. I know more about Fleming and Slago than you think. I know where to start looking for them, where they began and where they're likely to end. I'm going north, and I'll ask more questions there."

  "I can't let you do that," Durell said.

  "You can't stop me."

  "You'll only interfere with my work."
r />   "How? By asking my questions in the wrong places, perhaps, and warning them off? We can solve that, Sam. We can go together. If we do that, I promise I won't step out of line. I promise I'll do as you say and not spoil anything for you."

  Durell lit a cigarette and looked at her. He knew her well enough to realize he couldn't change her mind. But for all her skill, Angelina would be lost, an easy victim to their violence.

  Thunder crashed outside, and he heard the quick patter of rain on the deck overhead. The girl moved close to him.

  "Are you angry with me, Sam?"

  "No. Just a little surprised about your knife."

  "I have more surprises for you," she said softly. "If you will only accept them."

  Chapter Ten

  There was something wrong with Slago, something crazy. Mark feared him because he could not understand it, although he kept a grip on himself and operated smoothly and efficiently. Getting them all out of Louisiana safely with the loot, slipping past the cops and heading north out of the area, was his business. He was in his element, and for the time being nobody questioned his command. Not even Slago. If Mark had had his way, he would have thrown Slago to the cops. Killed him and left him for the crumby sheriff to worry over. But Jessie said they still needed him. And he found it easy to listen to Jessie when she made suggestions.

  They had split up in New Orleans. Corbin and Jessie had taken a plane north to Milwaukee. Slago and Mark took a bus to Mobile, and from there they drove north in a second-hand car Mark bought with some of the bank money. He sold the car in Louisville and they flew from Kentucky to rendezvous in New York with the Corbins at their old apartment. The escape took three days. Once out of Louisiana, the ripple of excitement caused by the bank operation had gradually died. They had had no trouble. It was easy to lose yourself in the country, if you knew where to go. For the most part, the cops were not alert enough to be even looking for them, and Fleming began to feel they didn't even have a decent description. The girl had kept her mouth shut, back in Peche Rouge, but he couldn't guess why. Slago was Mark's biggest worry.

  He was alternately sullen, drinking silently and heavily; or he was loud and abusive. There was a queer glitter in his eyes that never quite went away, no matter what mood he was in.

  Mark was cautious enough not to pin the whole blame on Slago for what had happened at the fishing camp. Slago was like an unexploded bomb, ready to go off if you touched the wrong piece of mechanism. So Mark left him strictly alone. He felt it was Slago's fault the girl had spotted them when they cracked the bank. And he knew that Slago was wrong in wanting to go on to another bank now. For a few hours, back there, everything seemed to have blown up.

  It was Durell, Mark thought. They should have been on the watch for him, since Peche Rouge was his home town, too. He had rightfully belonged on the list from the start. Slago had remembered about him, as far back as Indiana, and had wanted to look into him. The Cajun had acted like a cop back there at Moon's, and Mark wished he knew more about Durell. He didn't like the way he had shown up like that, breaking up the operation. Since Durell had been with G-2 back in Germany, it made sense to suppose he had gone on being a cop of some kind. Maybe he was working locally out of the sheriff's office in the bayou parish. Maybe. Mark still felt uneasy about him, wondering how much Durell might piece together out of the past, remembering how close he had brought them to disaster back there at the fishing camp.

  The meet in New York took place without trouble. Nobody was looking for them up North. Mark and Slago checked into a midtown hotel on Forty-seventh Street. It was a sleazy place, occupied by transients and unemployed actors, and the sort of permanent resident who finds a dark hole in the middle of the teeming city and hides in it for uncounted years, unnoticed and unmourned when they go. Mark and Slago checked it at four p.m. on Tuesday, and he started to call the Corbin apartment as soon as he dropped his bag and locked the door.

  Slago went to the window and looked sullenly at the crowded street below. "This the best we can do, with all the dough?" He scowled at Mark, his head thrust forward on his thick shoulders. "I thought we were going to stay down South and knock off a whole row of hick banks."

  "This is the best place for us now," Mark said. Thanks to that girl."

  "So what do we do, settle for the dimes we took?"

  Jessie will know what to do. Now shut up and let me her."

  Slago's eyes glittered. "You still think I goofed, huh? You think I shoulda sliced the girl?"

  "No. As far as we know, she hasn't described us to the cops, and nobody has an idea who we are. Forget it."

  "And Durell?" Slago sneered. "You had a gun on him and he took it from you like you were a kid playing Hopalong."

  "We both made mistakes," Mark said wearily. "Let's drop it."

  "All right, call her. But I don't take orders from a dame."

  Jessie answered the phone on the second ring. She sounded cool. "We've been here since morning," she told Mark. "But I don't think it will be wise for Erich and me to remain long. I have a feeling we might be tagged here."

  "You could move in with us," Mark said. "Are you okay?"

  "There was no trouble on the trip."

  "I want to see you," Mark said. "Alone."

  "Erich wants to discuss the next step."

  "To hell with Erich. I want to see you. Just the two of us."

  "Mark, don't be unreasonable. It's important that we all work together. We're not checked because of a little trouble. That's not vital. The main thing is that Erich was right, and everything worked fine."

  "Except that the cops may be onto us now," he said bitterly.

  "That won't matter. Well begin our next move tomorrow. We won't sit still and wait for them to pick us off. Be reasonable, darling. Don't make any trouble now."

  "Alone," he said stubbornly. "Right away."

  He heard her sigh on the telephone. All right, I'll send Erich out. Come over in twenty minutes."

  Mark hung up. Slago was still at the window. "What's so important, you've got to get cozy with her?"

  Mark didn't reply. He found it best to ignore Slago lately. The sound of Jessie's voice had stirred him, and all at once he felt confident and optimistic that things would work out. He looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. He still looked sharp. A little tired, but good. Jessie knew what he wanted. He had asked, and she had agreed. The thought of seeing her alone... Then Slago suddenly put a brutal hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

  "All right, Mark, spit it out. What's on buddy boy's sneaking mind? You cutting me out? You making a play for the girl to cut me out?"

  "Don't be a fool."

  "Then why alone?"

  "You think I want to put on a peep show?" Mark smiled.

  "Smart bastard. She isn't putting out for you."

  "Well see," Mark said.

  "You're fixing a deal with her, buddy boy, to cut me out."

  "You're stupid," Mark said flatly. "We've only started. So the bank was for dimes. So maybe the other banks are going to smarten up. But she's got a deal. She's got a place in mind. Like Fort Knox, she said. Until we get Erich to make us a supply of the gas, we play cozy. I see her alone. I get to her once, Slago, and she's around my little finger."

  "You think you've got that much," Slago said.

  "I can teach her a thing or two. All I need is the first time, just once. Then you and I don't need the Corbins, once we learn the place where all the loot is, and a supply of Erich's gas."

  Slago stepped back to the window. His big arms swung loosely at his sides, his head was thrust forward. He looked like a puzzled gorilla.

  "I don't trust you, Mark. You cross me, and I kill you."

  "Don't worry about a thing," Mark said.

  * * *

  Mark liked being back in New York. He liked the asphalt heat of the streets, the excitement in the air — the crowds, the taxis, the traffic. Some day he would own it all.

  The apartment was on the sec
ond floor of a private brownstone in the East Seventies, with a black wrought-iron rail on the steps, a brass carriage lantern polished and gleaming against the bright red door, and antique number plates above. He rang the bell and waited and wondered what the apartment cost per month, and when the buzzer clicked he went on up quickly, two steps at a time until he was close to the top of the carpeted stairs, where he slowed to a deliberately casual walk.

  Jessie wore a cool print frock of lime green. Her hair looked different. She had cut it, and it looked like one of those Italian deals, like a boy. It made her seem taller, and her whole look revived the quick excitement in him.

  "Baby."

  "Come in, Mark. Erich has gone, but we won't have much time. We have a lot to talk about. Let's get the business out of the way, shall we?"

  "We can talk business later," Mark said. "Do you have any idea how it's been with me, since that last time?"

  "Mark, I thought you were tough and intelligent. There will be time to play later, time enough for you and me, just the two of us. Right now we have work to do."

  "You said Erich will be back soon."

  "There will be a few minutes."

  "Who likes to rush?" he said, grinning.

  She laughed. "You're hopeless.

  "I'm crazy about you."

  "And you can have me," she said quietly. "I feel the same way, believe me. But not right now. Come here, Mark." She took his hand and led him through the octagonal foyer into the huge living room. It was quiet and hushed and rich and elegant, remote from the teeming city outdoors. He felt a moment's awe. "Sit down, Mark. You see, I've been working all the time. Look at these."

  There was a library table against one wall, and it was covered with rolls or blueprints and tracing paper. He preferred to watch Jessie as she walked toward the couch and sat down with him.