“As a matter of fact, I didn’t come to your motel just because I was lonely. I was. well, kind of curious, too.”
Her face was pink. I grinned. “You were going to play Mata Hari, is that it?”
She said, with some stiffness in her voice, “I haven’t done too badly, baby. You’re her ex-husband, all right, I don’t suppose there’s any doubt about that. But you’re something else, too. Something—” She hesitated.
“Something what?”
“Something kind of special, in a gruesome sort of way.” She didn’t smile. “I’ve met a lot of them, you know; I’ve spent my whole life, it seems, falling over snoopers of one kind or another trying to get something on Dad. Half of them had their hands out wanting to be bought off—ninety per cent is closer, I guess—and the rest were so sincere they made you sick, saving suffering humanity, for God’s sake. Those I can spot a mile off, both kinds. But I don’t dig you, baby. You’re not hungry and you’re not particularly sincere. It makes me wonder just what you’re after.”
I hesitated, and asked, “How much do you care for your old man, Moira?”
“I hate his guts,” she said readily enough. “He put my mother away in an. in a home, I guess you’d call it. Some home! She could probably have been cured, lots of alcoholics are, but he couldn’t take the trouble. I guess he just didn’t want her around drinking tomato juice at his parties and reminding people that Sal Fredericks’ wife had been a helpless lush; anyway, she wasn’t very pretty any more, and he likes his women decorative. So he had her put away, in a nice friendly place where she could drink herself to death without disturbing anybody. She hasn’t quite made it yet, but she’s working on it...” Her eyes were intent on my face. “That’s the answer to your question. But if you’re asking what I think you’re asking... Don’t get any wrong ideas, Matt. I didn’t pick him and he didn’t pick me, but there are certain things you can’t do a damn thing about. He’s my pop and I’m stuck with him, if you know what I mean.”
“I know,” I said. “I know what you mean.”
“It’s corny,” she said. “I know, these days if your best friend turns out to be a Red or a crook or something, you’re supposed to turn him in right now; it’s your duty to society and to hell with friendship and personal loyalty and all that crap—people used to die for it, but nowadays it’s crap. And as for family ties, I went to college, I learned all about it. I know it’s perfectly all right if Junior takes an axe to ma and pa. He’s just getting rid of his repressions, the dear little thing. But the plain lousy fact, Matt, is that I’m not one of those complex types, and I’m just a real lousy citizen; I don’t give a damn about my duty to society. I’m a dumb and simple country girl, and my old man is my old man. Even if he’s a sonofabitch, he’s my sonofabitch.” She drew a long breath. “What I’m trying to say is—”
I said, “It’s all right, kid. I know what you’re trying to say. Even if the situation should arise, I won’t ask you for help. And I’m really not very interested in your old man. Honest Injun.”
She ignored this. “What I’m trying to say is, maybe you’re a swell guy and maybe you’re saving the country, but I’m not going to be a stool pigeon or a judas goat for anybody.”
“I read you loud and clear,” I said. “Drink your martini; you’ll never find another like it, I hope.”
She hesitated. After a moment, she said, “Matt.”
“Yes?”
“I was coming back from Mexico a couple of weeks ago. They stopped me at the border. You know, usually they don’t pay much attention to you, coming out of Juarez. You tell them you haven’t bought much of anything except some cheap liquor, and they send you over to pay that lousy hold-up tax to the state of Texas, and that’s it. But this time they gave me the works. They practically took the car apart. I thought they were even going to get a matron or something and make me strip, but I guess whatever they were looking for was bigger than that. When Dad heard about it, he almost blew his safety circuits.”
“So?”
She looked at me steadily and said, “Damn you! It’s dope, isn’t it?”
There was a little pause. The waiter picked that moment to come up and stick his elbow in my face so he could put some food in front of her. Then he stuck his elbow in her face so he could put some food in front of me. He went away, proud that he’d remembered to serve us in the right order.
“Isn’t it?” she said. “He’s tried every other lousy racket; he was bound to get to it sooner or later. It’s dope, and they’re expecting him to receive a... a shipment, perhaps, and they thought maybe I was running it across the border for him?” She waited a little. I didn’t say anything. She said, “Well?”
I said, “You’re doing the guessing. Don’t expect any help from me.”
She sighed. “No. Of course not. But I think I’m right. That would explain why Duke Logan left him. The Duke always said he’d run guns to anybody who’d pay—he’d done it, too—but he drew the line at trafficking in dope and women.”
“Good for old Duke,” I said.
“Don’t sound so cynical.”
I said, “These guys who keep drawing lines never impress me very much. I know a dozen fishermen who’ll let a trout fight its heart out against a nylon leader, but who are real proud of themselves because they’ve never shot anything in their lives. And then there’s a man I know who’ll shoot any bird that flies—ducks, geese, quail, doves, you name it—but he feels quite moral because he’s never killed a big animal like a deer or an elk. And I even know a deer hunter who gets his buck every fall but who’d never dream of going to Africa and murdering a great big elephant just for sport, he thinks that’s terrible. They’ve all got something they won’t do, and it makes them feel swell.”
She studied my face for a moment. “And you?” she murmured. “What won’t you do, Matt?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I draw no lines, kid.”
She said, “We were talking about dope—”
“You were talking about dope.”
“It’s a lousy business, isn’t it?”
I moved my shoulders. “I never could get very excited about saving people from themselves, but some folks seem to.”
She said, “You’re a funny man. You ought to be giving me a lecture on the evils of this horrible trade, showing me where my duty lies.”
“I should worry about your duty,” I said. “I’ve got trouble enough with my own.”
“Yes,” she said. “I just wish I knew what the hell it was.” After a moment, she said, “There’s something that worries me. I’m going to tell you about it. Probably I shouldn’t, but I’m going to anyway.”
“Think it over first,” I said.
She laughed, a little sharply. “Don’t overdo it,” she said. “It’s the old reverse-English technique, isn’t it? Pretend you’re not interested and they’ll spill their guts. Particularly if you’ve gone to bed with them first.”
I said, “Let’s not make cracks about that. You can’t help having the thought, but just keep it in your head, will you? I mean, you can talk things to death, you know.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I know,” she murmured after a little pause. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re really a pretty nice guy, aren’t you?”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Hell,” she said, “you’ve got to count on something. What kind of a life would it be if you didn’t? There’s a man here who worries me, Matt. He’s working for Dad, and he scares me. He looks like... well, he looks a little like you. I mean, he’s about five inches shorter, and his hair is dark, and I’d never want to be alone in a room with him, but he’s got the same—”
“The same what?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. There’s really no resemblance, now I think of it, but... It’s just a feeling, but somehow he reminds me of you. And Duke Logan. I bet he’s got bullet-scars on him, somewhere. Watch out for him.”
She reached out to touch my hand. “You see, I
did stool-pigeon for you, just a little.”
10
After dinner, we made the rounds of the gambling places. She was a roulette addict, which was nice for my simple mind. I never have understood the more complicated ways of losing money, like craps. As a matter of fact, I can’t get much of a kick out of playing games where I know the odds are mathematically and inexorably against me—money games, that is. I played a few times, enough to make certain this wasn’t the night I was meant to get rich; and then I just followed her around and watched her throw the stuff away.
What she did with her money didn’t bother me, but she’d started drinking quite heavily, too, and you can never be sure, when they’re young, just how much they know about their own capacities. I was tempted to warn her to slow down; but I had a hunch she was just waiting for me to make like a stern parent so she could inform me again that she was no teen-age kid, particularly not my teen-age kid, and that her alcoholic intake was none of my business. They’re always so damn sensitive about their new-found adult independence, at that age. I kept my mouth shut and made each of my drinks last out two of hers, so that at least one of us would be able to find the way home when the time came. It was a long time in coming.
“Matt,” she said abruptly, well on towards morning.
“Yes, kid?”
“Over by the pillar there. The man in the dark suit. I thought we might run across him, if we stuck it out long enough.”
I didn’t move at once. Then I picked up her white purse, took a cigarette from it, and a silver lighter with the initials M.F., for Moira Fredericks. I lighted a cigarette, took it from between my lips, and placed it between hers.
“Thanks, baby,” she said. “Do you see him?”
I had him spotted, in the mirror inside the flap of the purse. “I see him,” I said.
“That’s the one.”
She didn’t have to tell me. I was looking at Martell. As usual, the picture and description I’d seen hadn’t added up to anything much like the actual man. He had thick, black, glossy hair brushed straight back from his broad forehead, and a long mouth with thick, meaty, sexy lips—I remembered his weakness for women, that had cost him two official reprimands.
As Moira had said, he was wearing a dark suit, one of the few dark suits in the room. He had dark glasses on. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference. He could have been wearing a mask and I would have known him. You learn to have a feeling for the people in your own line of business.
If you were working for a criminal organization Mac had said, you’d be called enforcers... removers is a very good word. Martell was playing both roles now, proving, I guess, that there isn’t much difference in actual practice.
He was packing a shoulder gun, I noted, to go with his cover as Fredericks’ bodyguard. Judging by his dossier, he’d be fast with it, as fast as you can be with a rig like that. Not that it mattered. We don’t go in much for face-to-face showdowns. When the time came that he needed a gun on my account, he’d either have all the time in the world to get it out, or no time at all.
“A real attractive specimen,” I said, closing the purse. It took a little effort to do that, and to leave my back to him. I found myself wishing I hadn’t left the .38 back at the motel. There’s only one answer to a good pistol-man, and that’s another pistol. It’s something they don’t do so well across the water, where they tend to think of a handgun as just a portable rifle—sometimes they even equip them with folding stocks, for God’s sake! They haven’t got the fine old pistol traditions that we have. But Martell had been playing gangster long enough to be thoroughly acclimatized, I was sure. “How long’s he been working for your dad?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Not very long, I think, but he was here when I got back from. Don’t pump me, Matt. I only pointed him out to you because. well, because there’s something about him that frightens hell out of me.”
“I know,” I said. “He reminds you of me. That would frighten hell out of anybody.”
She looked up from the table and made a face at me. “Get me a drink, will you, baby?”
I hesitated. Her voice was steady enough, but she’d had a lot and her eyes showed it. Her hairdo, as always when it was subjected to stress, had come slightly unraveled— but only enough to look kind of cute and windblown, and in other respects she was still quite presentable. But I didn’t know what another would do to her, and I didn’t really want to find out. You never feel quite the same about someone you’ve had to mop up after.
Well, she wasn’t my child, she wasn’t my wife, and it was hard to say if I could even call her my girl. I went and got her the drink, noting that Martell had disappeared. I wondered if he’d recognized me. It seemed unlikely, unless he had special information. They wouldn’t have much of a dossier on me yet. After all, I’d only been back in the organization a year. He’d been away from his master files a long time. He’d looked at me, to be sure, but, as Fenn, it would be part of his job to keep track of guys hanging around the boss’s daughter.
When I returned, Moira had left the wheel and was waiting by a potted palm nearby.
“Thanks,” she said, and lifted the glass to her lips, and tasted the contents. Then she grinned at me over the rim, turned, and deliberately poured the liquor into the gravel at the base of the palm. “Okay, baby,” she said. “That does it. You can stop worrying now.”
“What have we been proving?” I asked.
“The books say it isn’t hereditary,” she answered, “but every now and then I kind of have to check up on the books—like after learning for sure my dear old daddy’s a dope peddler.”
“I never said—”
She paid me no attention. “Or am I insulting him by calling him that? I suppose his position is strictly administrative, and he never touches the nasty stuff with his own white manicured hands. That makes it much better, of course. That makes it just swell!” She swayed slightly, and steadied herself, and spoke in a totally different tone: “Jeeps, I’m starting to feel them, now I’m standing up. How do I look, ghastly?”
“No, but a comb wouldn’t hurt.”
She reached up. “The damn stuff’s always falling down on me. I’ll be right back. Stand by to carry out the body and revive it with black coffee.” She took my hand and turned it so she could see my wristwatch. “My God, it’s almost time for breakfast! Food? Ugh, what a horrible thought!”
We’d taken my truck, although it was less aristocratic than her open Mercedes, because Sheik would be more comfortable in it. The fact that I might not like a large hairy animal being comfortable among my bedding and camping gear obviously hadn’t occurred to her. When she returned from making repairs—her hairdo neatly reconstructed for the second time that evening—we rode the elevator down, crossed the hotel parking lot in silence, and got into the pickup’s cab.
“Where do you want this coffee?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Have you got some in that box of stuff in back? And a stove?”
“And water,” I said, “but you’re hardly dressed for a picnic.”
She leaned against me sleepily. “You spend more time worrying about this damn dress!” she murmured, and grinned reminiscently. “Well, talking about it, anyway. Just turn right and keep going. I’ll tell you when to turn again.”
The transition from the gaudy night life of Reno to the dark, silent desert nearby, was almost shocking. Presently we were rolling across an arid landscape that might have been the surface of the moon or Mars, vaguely illuminated by the threat of dawn in the east. Following her instructions, I turned onto a dirt road leading back into the bleak, low hills. When there wasn’t any sign of civilization around us, I stopped the truck, set the brake, and cut the lights and motor.
I wasn’t really feeling very amorous, but common politeness seemed to indicate a kiss, at the very least, so I reached for her. She shook her head, holding me off.
“It’s Fenn, isn’t it?” she said.
I could barely see
the white shape of her face, and her shadowy eyes watching me. “What’s Fenn?” I asked.
“The man I pointed out to you. Jack Fenn. He’s the one you’re after, isn’t he?”
I said, “Don’t be too clever, Moira.”
“You said you weren’t really interested in Dad, and I believed you. So it had to be Fenn. So I showed him to you. You didn’t give yourself away much, baby. Just a little.” She licked her lips. “It was. kind of scary, watching you. Like a hawk or something.” Then she was in my arms, holding me tightly, her face buried in my shoulder. Her voice was muffled. “Why couldn’t we just be two ordinary people, with ordinary jobs and parents? Why does it have to be. Why? That’s a lousy, useless word, isn’t it? You’re really not after Dad, are you? But if he should get in the way.”
You had to hand it to the kid. She kept coming up with all the right answers. I’d met professionals who’d have taken a week to get the information she’d wormed out of me in one evening—and the funny thing was, the more she learned, the more sure I became that she was just exactly what she seemed. There was something naive and direct about her prying that, more and more, led me to believe that my earlier suspicions had been unjustified.
She sat up beside me suddenly, looking through the windshield.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s a jack,” she said. “Look!”
She pointed, and I saw a long-legged jack rabbit take off through the sparse brush. There was light around us now, although the sun was not yet in sight. Moira freed herself from my arm and reached for the door handle.
I said, “What—”
“I promised to show you something this morning, remember? Have you got a pair of binoculars in this caravan? Well, get them quick while I get the dog.”
She was a screwy kid. I dug around behind the seat and got out the war-surplus 7x50’s that I carry there—I picked up some fine, light, compact Leitz glasses overseas, but they’re too nice to leave around like that; besides, they don’t have the light-gathering power of the big old optical relic. When I came around the truck, she had Sheik out, at the cost of some paw-smudges on the front of her dress. While she brushed herself off, he was stretching lazily, looking completely ridiculous with his bony rump in the air and his long body flexed like Robin Hood’s bow.
The Removers Page 6