“Jesus H. Christ, man, I’m saving her from all that! How I wish I could get you to stop worrying so much! Let’s just grab hold of reality, pard. Karin’s okay, you’re getting her back, we aren’t going to try her for war crimes. I’ve saved your life and you’ve saved mine, we’ve faced the enemy together. Ease up. We get through this week, we can shake hands and go home.”
“You really are a bad man, Sam.”
MacMurdo stood up, threw up his hands in a mixture of impatience and disgust. He marched back and forth across the deck, cigar glowing like hellfire.
“No,” he said finally, “no, I ain’t, old pard. What I am is a patriot. I love my country. I owe her the best I’ve got in me and I’ll do what I’ve got to do for her. You say I’m a bastard and a bad man and all I can see is that I’ve been puttin’ my life on the line for the Stars and Bars. Well, I guess it all depends on where you’re standin’ when you take a look at me—
“Stars and stripes,” Cassidy said. “Not bars.”
“But I’ll tell you one thing, my friend, I’m a good man to have on your side when you’re pinned down in no-man’s-land and the rats are chewing on your buddies and the barrage has started. Look, I’m gonna have Moller. You’re gonna get Karin. Life could be a lot harder on you, Lewis.”
“Who is Vulkan?” Cassidy was still having trouble talking. “Tell me if you know.”
MacMurdo shook his head. The red glow of his cigar moved back and forth like a trainman’s swinging lamp telling you to stop if you valued your life. “That’s the problem,” MacMurdo said. “I have no idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CASSIDY LAY ON THE STRANGE bed in the strange room trying to sleep and having a tough time of it. The rolling thunder hung on in the night sky and a cool breeze played at the curtains. He could smell the wild hillside and half thought he heard animals in the underbrush. He closed his eyes but knew sleep wouldn’t come. Finally he threw the covers back and went to the window, stared out into the darkness.
It was the war-criminal thing.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Was it all a lie? What about Rolf? What was the work he’d done at the clinic? How many of his patients had died as a result of his work? What role had Karin played? Unanswerable questions. Unaskable questions, with Rolf dead and Karin … the way she was. He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever be able to ask her, for fear of driving her back into her shell, for fear of the answer.
Terry had brought her home from the movie and they’d all been tired, worn down by the stress of the party and the confrontation with Manfred Moller. Karin had gone off to bed almost at once. The rest of them soon followed. Lew hadn’t told Terry what MacMurdo had told him: he didn’t know if he ever would. Now he stood at the window knowing full well that any attempt to order things more clearly was bound to stretch the night, make it unendurably long. But he was awake. There was nothing else to do. His mind would go its own way.
All the deals in the air …
One, his own deal with Mona Ransom, the deal to kill Tash Benedictus in exchange for Manfred Moller, seemed unreal by night. A deal of convenience. He’d have agreed to anything if it meant finding Moller. Now, was he going to bring MacMurdo in on it? And just how was he going to kill Benedictus? For that matter did he have any true intention of carrying out his end of the bargain?
My God, it was absurd! He wasn’t going to kill Tash Benedictus. He felt as if he were losing his grip, raving inside his head.
He had never intended to murder Benedictus. He was simply going to get Mona out of there and Benedictus was going over in MacMurdo’s tender grasp, probably to prison for trafficking in Nazi loot. Cassidy’s mind was sluggish, not working well enough to survive in a high-speed game. He’d actually been worrying about having to murder Benedictus! There was too damned much going on, he couldn’t keep it all straight.
And now he knew the truth of Karin’s deal with the Devil. War crimes. What had they really done at the clinic? How bad had it been? Had men been murdered? Had Rolf been an honest-to-God war criminal? Was MacMurdo powerful enough to spring such a man for a mission like this one?
The questions were driving him crazy.
What was true?
Were any of them what they seemed?
Cassidy was lost, back in the wilderness of mirrors.
Or was it all a single strand of lies, carefully manufactured by Sam MacMurdo, strung on a wire, ready to yank tight around someone’s neck … but whose? And to what end?
Well, there was no getting inside the Colonel’s mind. It had all begun with MacMurdo, in that gamesman’s fertile brain. Would it end with him? Let’s see, Dr. Rolf Moller and Karin, two war criminals. And Rolf wasn’t around to defend himself anymore. …
He climbed back into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when something swam toward him from his subconscious, something he was nearly able to recognize. …
Something about who might have murdered Rolf Moller.
They sat on the deck having breakfast beneath a hazy sky. The sun floated like a rumor over Los Angeles. The fringe on the umbrella over the white wooden table flapped lazily in the soft damp breeze. They were alone, just Leary and Cassidy, two old pals.
“When’s Harry due in?”
Cassidy put down his coffee cup. “Any minute, I’d think.”
“I never thought I’d say it but I miss the old bastard. The three of us, like the Hole in the Wall Gang. The Wild Bunch. That’s what he calls us. … Do you realize, Lew, he can remember some of those guys. Knew ’em, talked to ’em. And Bat Masterson.” He sighed.
“Listen, Terry. You know what you said about Karin back there in Kansas? Said there was something funny going on. I’ve been thinking about that. You know what? The more I think about it the less I like it. In fact, old pal, I don’t like it a goddamn bit, not if I got your drift right. Now, what the hell were you implying? You’ve known her damn near as long as I have, you know her—so you’d better make it pretty clear just what you were implying—”
“Hey, come on, Lew. It’s me, Terry Leary. We’re on the same side here. I’m trying to look out for you—”
“Sure, sure. Amigos. Now get on with it.”
“Jeez, keep your shirt on, Lew. You’re not thinking so clearly here. You’re forgetting who your friends are—”
“And I’m tired of this conversation already. You’re beginning to sound like MacMurdo, and that worries me.”
“MacMurdo’s the one guy we can trust, you’d better get that straight—”
“Trust MacMurdo,” Cassidy repeated. “But don’t trust Karin. You’re losing me, Terry.”
“Listen to me, amigo. There are a few things you’d better get straight in your mind while there’s still time. Everybody’s playing for keeps—”
“Spare me this, Terry.”
“Damn it, Lew! This woman is not—get it?—is not your Karin. Once, a long time ago, she was your Karin, but not anymore. She’s led a whole new life, there’s been a war, it’s a whole new world. And she’s become this new Karin … and you don’t know a single goddamn thing about this new woman. You really don’t. Think about it. A man you’ve never seen before shows up with this Karin, he tells you this amazing story about what happened to her in the bombing of Cologne, about her amnesia and her doctor who saved her and this SS man she married—so what can you do? You’re stuck with the story he tells. You believe him, you damn well believe her and all these haunting little dreams she has about her past with you, you’re so glad to have her back you’d believe any damn thing … and then all of a sudden guns and grenades are going off, people are dying all around us, we’ve got quite a body count and it’s on the rise, y’know? And you’re off in the snowy woods at some castle and movie stars are screwing you and crazy one-armed, one-eyed Irishmen are pretending to be people they’re not and all of a sudden you’ve got an emerald from the Nazi treasure and we’re scraping the good doctor off Park Avenue and now we’re fucking around with more Nazi loot and all these m
ovie types. … Well, I mean, Jesus, Lew!”
Terry Leary sank back in the chair and stroked his mustache and gave his coffee cup a severe look.
“Well,” Cassidy said, “all that goes to show you’ve been paying attention. You haven’t missed a beat. But what I asked you was what are you telling me about Karin? My Karin, your Karin, everybody’s Karin … the only Karin we’ve got? You think she’s faking amnesia. … You think she’s part of some dark plot. Hell, you’re accusing her of God only knows what, and I want to know why.”
“Look, Lew, I’ve spent a long time being slightly twisty but damned good at my job. With damned good instincts. And I’m just about perfect at surviving. And the one sure thing I’ve learned is not to trust anyone. I don’t trust anybody … but you and Harry Madrid and me—”
“Don’t forget your pal MacMurdo.”
“You and Harry and me, that’s the lot. Harry and I have had our differences, but all that’s past. He’s a stand-up guy. And you? Well, if I had a brother I wouldn’t trust him the way I trust you. But Karin? Who the hell is Karin? I sure as hell don’t know. You knew her for a few years … then she was gone. You knew her, amigo, but you don’t know her now, that’s all I’m saying.”
“But I do know her. I’ve loved her and I still love her and she’s not part of some crazy plot. You’ve lost your bearings, Terry. You’re outsmarting yourself and when it comes to Karin I resent it like hell!”
“Fine, you resent it,” Terry Leary said. “But you will see Popescu, right? What can it hurt?”
“We don’t even know if he still lives here, Terry. He’s probably back in Seattle or Portland or some goddamn place, and anyway he was a crazy man, he was an actor—”
“He was among other things a perfectly legitimate hypnotist. Come on, let’s give the guy a break.”
“I wonder just how legit—”
“Well, we’ll soon know. I found him. He’s living in what might be called reduced circs in Santa Monica. He occasionally does his act in a club or at USO shows. He’s alive and kicking, amigo. I told him we’ve got a job for him.”
“I don’t like it,” Cassidy said. “He’s a quack.”
“But he can’t do any harm, Lew. Just let him talk to her.”
“I’m going to have to tell her. You know that. Rolf said it could be dangerous for her, she’s got to know what we’re getting her into—”
“Of course, that’s the point. We’re putting a little pressure on her if she’s faking it. If she’s not, she’ll be game. She’ll want to dig into this past of hers. That will be the Karin you love and remember, amigo.”
Cassidy sat watching the sun burning through the morning haze. What was happening? Somehow life had been turned inside out.
He felt as he had when his father and Terry had come to break the news that Karin was alive and coming home. With her husband.
He was back to having no idea of what the hell was going on.
MacMurdo and Cassidy were watching Karin swim. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sky over Los Angeles had turned flat gray. Karin moved easily in the water, swimming methodically, building up laps.
“She is one beautiful girl.” MacMurdo was speaking with uncharacteristic softness.
“For a war criminal.”
“It’s nothing to joke about.”
“My view exactly. How do we take Moller and Benedictus?”
“At the auction. The art will be there. This Englishman who’s in on it will be there. We’ll have everybody in one place. But it’s your job to find out from Mona Ransom the time and place.”
“So we’re going to take Benedictus, too. That’s sure?”
“Why not?” MacMurdo smiled.
“I just want to make sure there isn’t some other game going on that I don’t know about. I made a deal with Mona and I’m making sure we keep it.”
“Well, you made the deal. Not me. So it’s your problem. Mercy, you should ask me about those things.” MacMurdo was chuckling. “Look, pard, you got yourself a case of divided loyalties, that’s your problem. You’re thinkin’ about Mona Ransom when you should be thinkin’ about Moller and Karin. Mona Ransom’s nothin’ to you—”
“She’s plenty. To all of us. I made the deal with her and she led us to Moller, gave him to us on a platter. We owe her, Sam. Not just me. All of us.”
“Well, she’s gonna be all right, so don’t get yourself in an uproar. You gotta keep your eye on the main chance—”
“Mona is the main chance. She’s the buffer between us and Benedictus. She’s the one keeping his mind off us.”
“Okay, pard,” MacMurdo said soothingly. “Okay.”
“Mona’s the key, Sam. If Benedictus catches on and spooks, then there won’t be an auction. Then it’ll be every son of a bitch for himself—”
“Relax. We’ve made our deal with Moller … now we shut up and wait. Moller isn’t going to grab his minotaur and run for it, because he wants his wife. And we’ve got her. Remember, Lew, Benedictus is just a by-product of the Moller investigation. A bonus. My masters will, of course, be delighted. … You know me, once a hero, always a hero.” He slapped Cassidy on the back. “Cheer up, pal.”
“Just so Mona gets out of this free and clear.”
“Right, right.”
“We owe her,” Cassidy said again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CASSIDY SAW THE MAN STEP down from the bus a block away and start walking toward them. He was tall and broad and wore a flowing cape that caught the breeze and furled out behind him. He was carrying what seemed to be a conical object that didn’t look like much of anything Cassidy could identify.
It was late evening for Santa Monica, about ten o’clock. The street was a four-block cul-de-sac with scrawny palm trees and uneven paving. The bungalows were small and plain and looked as if the next quake would be the last one for them. The people in the houses were on their way down or had maybe never gotten much of anywhere. It wasn’t a happy block. It was just a block.
They waited beside the car, smelling the salty night winds. The house was a two-bedroom job with cream siding and some stucco, a screened-in front porch with a swing, a stoop with three steps, and a muddy lawn. There was a sandbox with a length of garden hose curling into it from around the corner of the house. The source of the water, thus the mud. There were tin shovels and buckets in the sandbox, the remains of a rudimentary sand castle. What had once been a lawn gave the impression of having been grazed to death. A rusted tricycle lay on its side, along with a red wagon, a doll, some toy soldiers, a tank with a gun turret that needed repair. The funny thing was, no children lived in the house.
The man from the bus had taken the conical shape and put it on his head. A sorcerer’s cap with astrological symbols pasted on it. He was whistling the song about the Buffalo girls dancing by the light of the moon. He stopped suddenly at the sight of Cassidy, who was standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Lewis, Lewis, it’s you! It is you. Leary said you were out here.” He came forward, took Cassidy’s hand so vigorously that the wizard’s cap toppled off his head. He had a full head of thick curly hair.
“Popescu,” Cassidy said. “You old fake!”
“Not Popescu now, you fool. Don’t you read Variety? I am the Great Magnetico these days. Don’t blame me. My agent, the abominable Silberstein, thought of the name. A reference to my magnetic powers of understanding—”
“You don’t have to convince me. You taken to playing with toy trucks and little soldiers?” He nodded at the sandbox.
“Camouflage. I’ve made peace with my neighbors, they think I’m weird, but I leave all this crap out for their kids to play with. They can screw up my yard as much as they want to. Makes me a nice old fart. I don’t grab their sorry little peckers, their folks are happy. My yard’s a playground. Live and let live. Terry, how the hell are you? And Karin, for God’s sake, it’s been years, you were just a kid in skates …”
Karin looked at h
im, a shy smile on her face, hesitant. “I’m afraid I just don’t remember. I’m sorry.”
“I understand. I hear you’ve been through your share of troubles. A little memory difficulty. Well, we’re going to see what we can do about that.” He picked up his funny hat. He took Karin’s arm and started picking his way through the rubble on the cracked sidewalk leading up to the stoop. “Let’s see what the Great Magnetico can do for you. You should all come and see my horrible little act at the famous Club Crummy. God, you’d have a laugh with old Popescu. A little magic, a little telepathy, I damn well do have the second sight, you’ll never convince me I don’t, so don’t bother trying. A little hypnotism, of course, and I’m not bad at that. Magic’s my weak spot, I’m afraid. I have trouble making a hamburger disappear. Come on, come on. Look out for that Blondie doll, Terry. My, you’ve got a copper’s big flat feet. Come on in, come on in.”
He led the way into his house, which was somewhat overheated and full of birds in cages, chattering away, hopping about on their little crooked claws. The living room was antiseptic, compulsively neat. Except for the birds, which the Great Magnetico utterly ignored. Cassidy stood by one cage, transfixed by the colors of one of the birds, soft pastels, clearly demarked from one another, purple and baby blue and yellow and lime green. The bird bounced along its little trapeze, brainless, quite unaware of its own beauty and quite possibly the better off for that. After all, it was stuck in the cage. It wasn’t going anywhere. What good was beauty there in the cage?
The lights were dim. Dance music played faintly on a radio in the kitchen. Popescu went to the kitchen and kept up a steady stream of chatter about magic and his days in the movies and how he taught Orson Welles card tricks. When he came back he brought steaming tea for himself and Karin, a plate of dried-out sugar cookies, a bottle of tequila with a worm floating in the bottom, two bottles of Tecate. Cassidy was sweating but couldn’t quite work up the desire for a beer. Terry Leary took one, dropped his hat on the end table, wiped his forehead with a napkin, and sucked up half the bottle. It was too hot in the tidy, lifeless room that itself was so unlike Popescu.
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