Between the two of us, we’d managed to conquer the other little bow. From there on nature had taken its breathless course, with some expert guidance from her…
I was aroused from my intriguing reverie by the brisk tapping of high heels on the sunporch tiles. I found myself doing very well by my scrambled eggs, while my hostess kept me company with a second cup of coffee. Our conversation, after that one sly reference to the fastenings of her dress, had been very polite, with hardly any double meanings. Now we watched Sandra return. Without looking at us, she carried her cold breakfast over to Maria, who replaced it with a fresh plate holding a warm serving. Sandra marched back to us and resumed her former place at the table. She began eating industriously. When she spoke at last, it was as if she had never left the room.
“Are we still heading for New England, Matt?” she asked. “Have you arranged for our flight yet?”
I said, “We’re not flying. That airlines firearms hassle could leave me naked just when I need a gun most; and driving will serve our purpose better, anyway. I’m having my car driven down from Washington; I hope you people can put up with me until it arrives.”
Lia said, “Of course you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, Matt.”
I heard Sandra draw a quick breath; but whatever sharp remark she’d intended to make, she stifled it. Clearly, she’d come back resolved to be good.
She said, “It’s over a thousand miles, Matt, closer to fifteen hundred.” When I didn’t speak, she shrugged. “Well, all right, but what’s so special about your car?”
“Washington is willing to supply normal transportation to its agents; but you should hear the screams if somebody asks for a sports car.” I grimaced. “I want us to have a little edge, if they come at us on the highway. Something reasonably fast and agile. My old Mazda RX-7 isn’t the hottest thing on the road, but it will get out of its own tracks.”
Sandra hesitated. “If you don’t mind a suggestion…”
“Suggest ahead.”
“I’ve got something faster than your RX-7, and we don’t have to wait for it because it’s right here in the garage. A Porsche 911. Two hundred horsepower. With a good tail wind it’ll break one-fifty. Daddy gave it to me as a wedding present.”
“I thought you got a sailboat for a wedding present.”
“That was graduation.”
I studied her for a moment. “Your wedding present could pick up some dents. Or even some bullet holes.”
She grinned. “Daddy was going to buy me a new one when the ashtray got full, anyway.”
12
The Porsche was blue with black upholstery. It was brought out of the garage for us by the current family chauffeur, Richard, the one who’d driven us away from the Mariposa ambush. He was in uniform today. I wondered if he’d inherited the late Leonard’s spare whipcord suit or had one run up overnight for himself. Before putting our suitcases aboard, he gave the car some final touches with a polishing cloth. It gleamed like a jewel; but it wasn’t really as flashy a car as I’d have expected a mobster to buy for his only daughter. The color was subdued and there was hardly any chrome. More evidence of Varek’s striving for respectability.
The car had power windows, power sunroof, stereo, and air conditioning; and the seats would adjust themselves to the peculiarities of your anatomy at the touch of a button or two or three. It was a considerable change from the last Porsche I’d driven, years ago, a fairly noisy and rugged little beast, but it still carried its engine behind. After giving me a quick briefing, Sandra handed me a pair of keys. For traveling, she’d put on a loose blue shirt over her T-shirt.
“You’d better keep those, they’re extras,” she said. “And you’d better drive, at least at first, so you’ll have the feel of it if things get tricky.”
“I’d better drive, period,” I said. “We don’t know how or where they’ll be laying for us, and I probably know a few useful maneuvers, defensive and aggressive, that you don’t.”
“But it’s my car!” Then she laughed at her own childishness. “Oh, all right. That makes sense, I suppose. Maybe I’ll learn something, watching you. Daddy says you’re supposed to be a pretty hot wheelman.”
I raised my eyebrows. “An exaggeration, to say the least. Where’d he get that idea?”
She laughed. “Daddy’s got his sources, just as you have yours. Apparently you’ve brushed up against the organization a few times in various parts of the country. They do compare notes, you know.”
I looked at her for a moment. The jeans and the bulky shirt made her look sturdy and not particularly feminine; but we weren’t setting out on our honeymoon.
“Are you carrying?” I asked. “If not, I’d better get one of the spares out of my suitcase.”
“Carrying? Oh, you mean a gun. Yes, I got Philip to get me one.” She patted the big purse she was holding. “It’s right in here.”
“I hope it shoots straighter than the last one you had.”
“I checked it out on our pistol range this morning. It’s okay.” She laughed shortly. “By Hollywood standards, that’s the true test of a villain, isn’t it, having a shooting range in his house. If a wealthy man likes tennis and puts up a couple of courts on his property, okay. If he likes golf, nobody minds his shelling out a few grand for a putting green; and of course everybody’s got swimming pools. But if the guy just happens to like to shoot and installs some soundproof facilities so he won’t bother the neighbors, according to the movies he’s just got to be a homicidal baddie practicing his murder techniques… Oh, here’s Daddy now, coming to see us off. And Lia, too, how nice.”
It wasn’t the most comfortable farewell scene I’ve ever attended. I shook hands politely with the husky, white-haired gent whose wife I’d slept with, and with the lady herself. She patted my hand, holding on to it.
“We just loved having you here, Matt,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Alex?”
His eyes held no expression whatever; but I got the impression that, while he might have sent his wife on her midnight mission, he didn’t have to like the guy he’d sent her to. Not that we’d been bosom pals before that.
“Sure,” he said. “Come back anytime.”
“Well, take good care of our little girl,” Lia said.
She pressed my fingers lightly before releasing them. She was smiling, obviously getting some perverse enjoyment from this face-to-face encounter between two men who’d shared her favors. I had a hunch that, instead of moaning about the terrible humiliation to which he’d subjected her by sending her to make love to another man, she was punishing her husband by acting as if she’d enjoyed every minute of it and wouldn’t mind a return engagement. Sandra gave her father a peck on the cheek and turned away, ignoring her stepmother.
“Come on, Matt, we’d better put it on the road.”
I followed her to the car, helped her in, and walked around to slide behind the wheel. I realized that the little heap was fancier than it looked; the upholstery was real leather. The seat wasn’t adjusted properly for a man my height. I played with the levers and buttons until I was comfortable; then I took us away down the winding driveway. In the mirror, I could see Lia waving goodbye to us, standing in the sunshine in her bright sundress. I could see her husband, too. He wasn’t waving.
The iron gates opened to let us out. I must say I drew a breath of relief as we left old Homer Ganson’s estate behind. It occurred to me that I hadn’t thanked my host and hostess for their hospitality, but they might have wondered just what they were being thanked for. Well, Lia wouldn’t have wondered. She’d have known.
“At least you’re brave,” Sandra said at last. Her voice was cold.
“A veritable lion, that’s me,” I said. “But what made you think of it now?”
“I told you Daddy was a dangerous man. To make love to his wife right there in his own house…! That takes real courage, in a kind of sneaky way.”
“Talking about sneaky, you seem to have been peeking through keyholes
, little girl.”
She glared at me. “Don’t you start that little-girl routine! And of course I was peeking. Well, listening, long enough to find out who you had in there. My timing was great. I caught her big God-am-I-lousy scene.” Sandra laughed scornfully. “I’m surprised at you. An experienced man like you falling for a tearful act like that!”
I said, “An experienced man like me always figures that when a normally well-painted female comes to him with all her makeup removed, she’s expecting to have to do some pitiful weeping pretty soon and doesn’t want to be caught with a smeary face afterwards.”
Sandra stared at me, shocked. “You mean, you knew…”
I said, “Sweetheart, you’ve been reading mushy novels about sweet, sensitive love and perfect passion. This was strictly a business transaction between professionals; but we never like to be crude about it. I thought she did a very smooth job of getting herself into my consoling arms so the rest could follow naturally, didn’t you?” I hesitated, but the kid had to grow up sometime. “Incidentally, it was a three-cornered deal. Your pop was one of the pros involved,” I said.
She frowned. “You mean, he knows that she went to you last night?”
“I mean, he sent her,” I said.
“You’re crazy! Even… even Daddy wouldn’t do a thing like that!”
I said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake! She admits herself it’s what he hired her for in the first place, to find out certain things he needed to know about certain people—well, certain male people—with whom he was dealing. Or influence them in certain ways. Only after employing her like that for a while and getting to know her, he decided, being between wives at the time, that he liked her well enough to keep her around on a slightly more permanent basis. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to use her in her old capacity if a situation required it.” I shrugged. “I don’t think she’d mind my telling you; she was perfectly frank about it.”
Sandra licked her lips. “I think that’s horrible!”
“You’re entitled to your reaction. It’s pretty routine stuff in my line of work, and your pop’s, but go ahead and be shocked if it makes you feel better.”
“So cold-blooded!” she breathed.
I said, “Yes, I must admit I like to wrap sex in a little sentiment and romance when I can, it’s more enjoyable that way; but as I told you, this was strictly business. I needed to have your daddy trust me, and the only way I could do it…”
“Was by sleeping with his wife? That’s nuts, that’s positively perverted!”
I said patiently, “Look, if I’d turned her down, kicked her out of bed, your pop would have figured I just had to be the kind of high-principled government freak who couldn’t bear to contaminate himself by screwing the wife of a criminal he was planning to trap and arrest. Now he has pretty convincing evidence that I’m not one of those fine, honorable federal agents who’ve been trying to nail him for years. He’s even got a little something on me. At least he can understand me. I’m not an incomprehensible, self-righteous, law enforcement prick in a three-piece suit; I’m just a normally larcenous and lascivious guy who’ll steal anything that’s lying around loose, including wives. Okay. He knows me now. Maybe he can even trust me enough to believe what I tell him—well, what I told Lia to pass on to him, afterwards. You must have heard me.”
Sandra shook her head quickly. “I just caught part of the prelims, I didn’t stay for the main bout. Ugh! I said to hell with both of you and ran back to my room!”
I said deliberately, “Actually, it was rather nice. She’s a nice, sexy lady—”
“Lady!”
I was getting a little tired of the kid’s attitude. I said, “What the hell have you got to be so proud of, small fry? Here you are, educated with dirty mob money, sailing a boat bought with dirty racketeering money, driving a car paid for by dirty drug money, feeling superior to someone who’s had to make her own way with her own talents…”
“Talents! That’s a new word for it, talents.” Sandra’s voice was choked. She drew a long breath, cleared her throat, and spoke in a different tone: “You cross U.S. 1 up ahead, and drive on until you hit the Florida Turnpike going north. It’ll swing northwest up around Fort Pierce. That’s where we switch to I-95, which will take us all the way up to New England.”
“Check.”
We drove along in silence for a little. I followed the turnpike signs to the on-ramp; soon we were rolling northwards along the interstate at a cagy sixty-four. I didn’t want to make it hard for anybody, friendly or hostile, who was following me; and I didn’t want to get into a hassle with any cops. They’ll usually give you ten miles over the idiot limit, even in a sports car.
“Matt.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I glanced at her. “Let’s both be sorry together. I shouldn’t have said that about your dad’s money.”
She shook her head quickly. “I had it coming; I was acting like a disillusioned little juvenile ninny. Daddy can take care of himself and it’s none of my business whom you sleep with. It isn’t as if she were my real mother. And you’re perfectly right about Daddy’s money. It’s bothered me for years, but I’ve never had the guts to refuse it, so what makes me so great?” She gave me a tremulous grin. “How’s that for an apology? You want sackcloth and ashes, just ask. It’s the little-sister syndrome, you know.”
I frowned, watching the highway come at me smoothly. The Florida freeways take you through the green countryside inland, where you can see that it must have been a pretty state once, before they loaded it with all that condo crap around the edges.
I asked, “Are you trying to say that you don’t like to see me misbehaving because you want to think of me as your noble and stainless big brother?”
“No, that’s not exactly what I was trying to say.” Her voice was carefully devoid of expression. She went on: “It’s a well-known fact that, if a man loses his wife after a happy marriage, he’s very apt to turn right around and marry her kid sister, if available. It makes sense. He’s looking for something as close as possible to the marvelous girl he lost. Well, Matthew’s kid brother wasn’t handy, and he’s a little young for me, anyway; and there was no marvelous older brother available. But Matthew did have a kind of… kind of intriguing daddy; a tall, sinister-looking, romantic-looking, secret-agent type. An older man, sure, but hardly ancient.”
“Thanks for the flattery,” I said dryly. “But, Sandy…”
“Shut up and let me finish!” she snapped. “I don’t normally go around listening at bedroom doors. I… I didn’t sneak down that hall in my sexiest nightgown to listen, damn you! Do you understand?” When I didn’t speak, she said harshly, “You really had them standing in line last night, didn’t you? Lia, and I; and maybe our pretty little Maria was waiting on the stairs in her best negligee! What is this strange power you have over women, Mr. Helm?” She swallowed hard, and went on: “Anyway, when I got there on my tippy toes, all breathless and scared, asking myself how could I be doing such a crazy, shameless thing… when I got to your door, I heard voices inside. Lia’s voice! Lia’s theatrical sobbing! It was like having a bucket of ice water dumped on my head. I didn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but I simply couldn’t move at first. Then I fled, very happy that I hadn’t opened the door and made a complete fool of myself.”
It seemed better not to embarrass her by looking at her, so I concentrated on passing a long semi. The little sports car tracked nicely; but with only our suitcases up front holding down the tires that were doing the steering, it was a bit more wind sensitive than my old front-engine Mazda, although it had a lot better acceleration. Sandra stirred beside me.
“So now you know. Don’t say anything. I mean, just tell me what it was that Daddy sent Lia to find out from you.”
I hesitated, but it wasn’t my place to tell her she was a silly girl with a juvenile crush on an older man; and it seemed likely that last night had cured her of the aberration, anyway.
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“It’s very simple,” I said. “There are a lot of sentimentalists in this country. Even now, when terrorism is unpopular enough that people will support military action against it, we’d get some backlash if it were known that a government agent like me had been sent out with orders to arrange for the demise of seventeen or more people, no matter what kind of ruthless murderers they may be. Well, look at your own horrified reaction. It seems to be all right to blow them up wholesale with military boom-booms—men, women, and children, innocent and guilty together; but if you pick your terrorist targets carefully, and shoot them neatly through the head one by one, it’s considered too brutal for words and you could get your wrist slapped. At least that’s the current thinking in Washington.”
She said, “But you are going after all those people, regardless. Aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer directly. “That’s the situation as far as governmental action is concerned,” I said. “But there’s a double standard operating here. If an individual fights back, even if he’s pretty ruthless about it, he generally gets forgiven, like that gent in the New York subway who was the most popular guy in the country for a few days. By God, somebody’d turned the tables on Them at last! So here’s your dad, his son-in-law killed by a terrorist blast, his daughter cruelly injured—and They won’t even leave the poor young widow alone to heal her heart and body in peace! Driven by fear of exposure, They’re still coming after her! Can this loving father be blamed if he tracks down the bomb-throwing creeps and punishes them appropriately, even if his reputation isn’t all it might be? Hell, Sonny Varek may even be hailed as a hero for a change!”
Sandra threw me a sharp glance. “I see. You’re asking Daddy to take the rap for…”
The Demolishers Page 11