Day of the Guns

Chapter 11

The upheaval in the United Nations was already well under way when I got there. One of the nations from the Soviet bloc had entered its proposal on the subject under discussion and the United States delegate had countered with our own and was backed up by the entire Western group with such unanimous approval that the Soviets were thrown into a partial panic. It was totally unexpected and both proposals of such divergent nature, and the Western one so evidently the proper approach that the Soviets were passing notes and making hurried consultations and from some of the black scowls showing I knew they were wondering what went wrong with their inside track.

Burton Selwick was on his feet acknowledging Britain’s acceptance of the United States’ proposition, his voice thundering, yet persuasive. Two Russian delegates were trying to pull their usual stunts of attempting to disrupt the proceedings but were being ordered to quiet down. Some sort of signal passed between them simultaneously and, as one man, a dozen of them got up and began to file out of the room.

There was an immediate rush of reporters to the phones to get the latest news to the press and it was plain that with this latest move the discussions were going to end in the general snafu that always accompanied the Soviet action.

Burton Selwick was still talking, but there was a hesitancy in his voice now. From where I stood I could see him plainly and there was a whiteness to his face and he pressed his hand against his side and held it there. Abruptly, he excused himself, sat down and leaned back in his seat tiredly. Two of his associates spoke to him, helped him to his feet and led him from the hall.

In the corridor they sat him down again and by the time I got there both Edith Caine and Gretchen Lark were at his side along with a dozen others. John Fredericks Talbot took up a position a little behind the group with four others and from their stance and demeanor I knew they were more than spectators or part of the party.

Someone asked for a doctor, but it was Gretchen Lark who told them it wasn’t necessary, she was a nurse and familiar with the situation. She sent someone into an office who returned with a glass of water and some tablets, had Selwick take them and when the color returned to his face, helped him up.

There was too much hubbub to hear what they were saying, but Selwick and Edith spoke a few words, he said something reassuring to her, patted her shoulder with a smile and let himself be led away to a room. At the door Talbot and one other took up a post there, telling the reporters that it was a minor gastric attack and that everything was all right and well under control.

Toomey came out of nowhere, nodded and said, “What do you think?”

“He’s been pretty sick.”

“Yes, I know, but he was to be a key speaker today.”

“What are you driving at?”

“He could have been out of action despite the Russian move. I’m wondering if that brought it on or not.”

“Poison?”

“Not necessarily. There are other things... stimulants, irritants... that can incapacitate a man.”

“I think I know a way of finding out.”

Toomey glanced around him and said softly, “They fell for the gambit.”

“I wonder if it can happen again?” I speculated.

“They aren’t going to enjoy this development. Whoever steered them wrong is on the spot now.”

“Unless he comes up with the new answer.”

There was a half-smile on Toomey’s face. “If it’s worth mentioning, I caught a glimpse of Stovetsky’s face a few minutes ago. He saw you standing there and he tightened up like a wrung towel.”

“I saw him.”

“Before K gave him this post he was assistant head of their secret police.”

He wasn’t telling me anything new.

“Talbot was watching you pretty closely, too.”

“Good for him.”

“You’re playing this pretty close to your vest,” Toomey said.

“Am I? You read the report. I.A.T.S. wants me to be a target so I’m trying to accommodate them. You have to push these slobs. They think they have the whole world by the tail and it’ll yell when they give it a twist. It scares hell out of them to know we’re loose and whenever we dump one of them we get a bonus. They don’t like knowing there are people more ruthless than they are and like poverty protects Communism, money can protect capitalism. They push our bunch around knowing we go by the book because we like the public image of being good guys. Well damn it, the bad guys seem to have the edge these days and if you’re going to be a bad one, be good and bad. That’s the part they can’t understand... people like us stepping out of character to enforce a principle and not a law. Believe me, buddy, when you play guns, nobody wants to be on the receiving end, no matter how bad or tough they are.”

“Nice speech.”

“Screw you, too.”

“I’m too old for that nonsense. What’s your next move?”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly five o’clock. “We split,” I told him. “Wait at the hotel until I call you.”

Toomey said “Roger,” and sauntered off, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Downstairs there was a public phone and when the two girls waiting had made their calls I dialed Charlie Corbinet’s office and gave my name to his secretary.

The Colonel’s voice was tight and I knew he had something. He said, “I checked that grand note through you gave me.”

“Go on.”

“Somebody was in too much of a hurry. The mistake was made. It becomes evidence now.”

“Yeah?”

“That bill was part of a hundred thousand dollars given to the Russian delegates in exchange for rubles when they first came over for the present session.”

“The finger points,” I said.

“Definitely.”

“How will you use it?”

“As a lever, Tiger. It will get you a certain amount of latitude of action from our own agencies. Just don’t go too far and if there are positive developments be sure to let them handle the final phase.”

“Is this official?”

“Nothing is official because as far as anyone is concerned neither I.A.T.S. nor you nor Martin Grady even exist. I had to do a lot of talking to get this concession.”

“Thanks, Colonel. Let me know if you ever need a favor.”

“Keep me informed,” he said and hung up.

I stepped outside the booth, turning it over to an elderly guy in a bowler who thanked me politely. There was another behind him with his back half turned, apparently thumbing through an address book. I caught the slight motion of his finger and followed him when he gave a look of annoyance and went to the directory rack to look up a number.

Gregory Hofta.

I played the same game, making sure we were unobserved. I stayed behind him, waiting my turn and he spoke face down into the book while I put on the impatient, but casual act.

“There is trouble, my friend.”

“What’s the pitch?”

“There will be no moves until they have control again. They’re calling a special meeting of the deputies at their Embassy tonight.”

“You on this?” I asked him.

“By special instructions from Mr. Randolph.”

“Target?”

“Edith Caine. I don’t enjoy the assignment at all.” He paused and thumbed through a few pages, found a number and began to write it down. “She was with Selwick before the session. He picked her up and they arrived together.”

“Then you’re thinking the same thing... Selwick’s attack on the floor could have been arranged?”

“Let’s say we are overlooking no possibilities. His previous attacks have been real enough.”

“Where’s Edith now?”

“Still upstairs with Selwick and the others. They’ll be taking him out shortly. What happened isn’t serious, but it will incapacitate him long enough to slow down proceedings.”

“Why this contact?”

“One of the Hungarian nationals recognized an embassy clerk who works for Stovetsky. He was one of his chief agents and assassins when Stovetsky headed the secret-police section. His name is Alexis Minner and he was behind the scenes when the Russians tracked down the Freedom Fighters in Hungary. It was mentioned to Stephen Midros and I was told to pass it on to you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Hofta closed the book, passed by me to go to the phone booth and I completed the act, giving him time to get clear. When I was sure I had it made I went back upstairs and over to the door where John Talbot still talked to a lone reporter.

When he was finished I walked over and said, “Tiger Mann, Mr. Talbot.”

There was an amused glint in his eyes. “Yes, I know you, sir. Can I... help you with something?”

“I’d like to see Edith Caine.”

“At the moment she’s occupied.”

“It might benefit us both if you broke her loose a second. Just tell her I’m here.”

“I’m afraid...”

“We missed each other on the ASO fiasco. I got Connors and White out. The chase was labeled ROCKPILE. Do I spell it out further for you?”

The amusement in his eyes disappeared and there was a hardness there and recognition, his mind going through the mechanics of whether or not to play it out. Then he made his decision. “I’ll see her. Wait here a moment.”

“Sure,” I said.

Edith Caine came out alone, her face drawn. The fingers of both hands fidgeted nervously and she had chewed away most of her lipstick. But she was still lovely, still desirable. Only now she was scared.

Why scared, Rondine? Of me because your time’s running out... or scared because you fluffed and gave the boys a bum steer and you know what happens when you muff a critical play. Or maybe you’re scared because you got wind of what was going to come off and had to pull a cutie to slow down Burton, Selwick and left yourself wide open if they check it through far enough. Espionage laws still provide a death penalty, baby, and you damn well know it.

I said, “Hi, doll.”

Her nostrils made a tiny, flaring movement and when she saw my smile her eyes half shut. Was she tired... or was her age showing now?

“Mr. Talbot said you wanted to see me.” Her head moved and she seemed satisfied that there were others passing by and she was safe for the moment.

“I just wanted to compliment you, Rondine. It came off pretty well. Good timing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s not kid each other.” I let my grin go bigger. “Tonight I’ll get a line on your boys.”

“Boys?”

“Come off it, doll. You’ve had it. If it’s worth anything to you I have a suggestion to make.”

She said nothing, just waited.

“Make sure nothing happens to Burton Selwick. If it has to be, a simple rub-out can solve a lot of things. I don’t have to go through the slow torture of making you sweat it out, kid. Either way will please me, but either way, your death will solve a lot of things. Clear?”

Before she could answer, the door behind her opened and Gretchen Lark stood there. “Oh... oh, hello... Mr. Mann.”

“Hello,” I said.

She looked at Edith and told her, “Mr. Selwick wants you a moment, Edith. Do you mind?”

Without a word she passed Gretchen and went through the door. I said, “How is he?”

Gretchen gave a sigh of relief. “Fine enough to throw dictation around. It was an ulcer attack, that’s all. The doctor’s orders were explicit, he was to stay in bed, but try to get him to do it. Right now he’s back on his feet, but they’ll try to keep him quiet if it’s at all possible. It won’t be easy.”

“That’s good.”

She looked at me quizzically, her eyebrows going up. “What are you doing here?”

“Interested spectator. Quite a show.”

“You must have some pull to make the audience.”

“I’m getting favors returned. Look... they have a doctor with Selwick?”

“There’s one there now.”

“Then I guess everything’s under control.” I paused, grinned at her meaningfully and said, “When do I see you again?”

“You mean... that’s why you’re really here?”

“A guy has to try anything.”

She let out a tinkly laugh. “Call me when I get squared away. I think it can be arranged.”

I winked at her and she went back inside. The door closed and locked with a soft click and I walked away. So I’d see her again, all right, but not just for a bed routine. I wanted to know what the doctor’s verdict really was and since Gretchen Lark had been a nurse, she ought to know.

The evening had come early to the city. It had clouded over again and the rain smell was back. The air felt sticky and in the east a sudden yellow glow of heat lightning brightened the sky momentarily and there was the distant rumble of thunder.

I caught a cab in the middle of the street and had him take me across town to the Eighth Avenue station, got there five minutes before six and held down the booth faking a call. Just before the hour I elbowed the receiver down until the phone rang then let it up.

The deep bass on the other end of the line belonged to Evans of the Newark control and when I identified he said, “There was a single lead through the ticket seller of a movie house that puts on foreign films.”

“How was it established?”

“She remembered the right hand with the straight forefinger when he laid down his money. There was a purple scar on the palm and the back of the hand. At first she thought he was pointing at her. The second time she saw him she realized that it was a deformity.”

“Any description?”

“Only the hand. That’s all she remembered, the money, the ticket, the hand. She doesn’t look at faces.”

“It’s a starter.”

“They start a three-day run of a new Russian film tonight. There won’t be another for two and a half weeks since they intersperse their program with Polish, Greek and Hungarian pictures.”

“Right,” I said, “I’ll cover it.”

“One other thing.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Peter Johnson called from London this afternoon. They completed the check on the Caine family and they’re clean. Getting a past on the deceased members wasn’t easy... there’s a natural reluctance to talk about the dead, but he found squadron mates of Vernon who were there when he was killed. Vernon Caine had nine victories flying Spitfires, was a squadron leader in his outfit, had several decorations and went in near Dover. He was positively identified and buried in the family plot near the town where he was born.”

“There wasn’t too much on Diana Caine. She had the usual schooling, all in England and was something of a wild one when she was young, which fact nobody seemed eager to discuss, but understandable. At the beginning of the war she joined a volunteer group in London. According to a former friend of hers it was to be where the excitement was and escape the pomp and protocol that was so much a part of her family. She was killed along with about seventy others during a raid on the docks.”

“He find out what volunteer group it was?”

“No. It was before the call went out for women in the services or the outfits really got organized. Her bunch were collecting money and using it to establish mobile canteens for the defense workers on the docks. Johnson managed to locate some of the men who were employed there at the time and he got one piece of news that sounds interesting. Those girls gave more than their time. Their patriotism extended to the bedroom and they had a reputation for being willing to go to any extent to keep the boys happy. Think it means anything?”

“Maybe not to us,” I said, “but to a family that puts virginity on a par with sainthood it might mean a lot. At least enough to be glad she’s dead and not part of their immediate history. Get a report into Central right away, will you?”

“Already done. Is there anything you need?”

“Not yet.”

“Very well. There’s been one alteration made yesterday. Ernie Bentley has moved into the loft where Caldwell’s was. You know the place?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve consolidated and all armament and analysis will be worked through him now. He’ll handle special equipment there too. His phone number remains the same.”

“Okay and thanks.” I hung up.

One lead now. The power of money had bought something, a natural. A man away from home who retained the tie by going to native-tongue movies. He was violating every rule in the book, but nostalgia had gotten the better of him.

Dillinger had made the same mistake and died because of it.

I called Toomey at the Chester and told him I was going on a stake-out at the theater and to wait there until I needed him. He didn’t like the idea of me playing it alone but that was the way I wanted it and it was my chase and I was calling the shots. I told him to stay in my room in case Watford or Randolph called and that I would check in at intervals until something broke.

The feature at the Grenoble Theater didn’t start until seven-thirty and the ticket window didn’t open until seven, so I had a forty-five-minute wait. I wasn’t going to stake out on the sidewalk where I could be spotted, but through the doors I could see the benches in the lobby and figured it would be better to pay my way in and wait. If necessary I could take a seat in the last row, let my eyes get accustomed to the dark and sit it out. If Churis showed he certainly wouldn’t take a chance of walking down the aisle but would do pretty much the same thing I did. It just depended on who saw whom first.

In case Churis had a spotter going ahead of him, I cut out of the area and grabbed a cab to the Village. At Gretchen’s place I told him to wait and went up the three flights to her apartment and knocked on the door.

Nobody answered, but inside a radio was playing softly and I tried the knob, pushed open the door and gave her a call in case she was in the shower. I edged my luck a little bit and walked on in. There was one light on in the living room; it was the radio behind the bar that was playing and nobody was home.

She had probably gone to the store, but I didn’t bother to wait. I flipped over the drape cloth that covered Selwick’s picture, saw the progress she had made on it, even to catching some of the realism of the sickness he had and made a mental note to tell her to pretty it up for his wife. Then I went back to the cab.

This time the ticket booth was open at the Grenoble Theater and I passed in two dollars, took the ticket and the change, found a spot in the shadows where I could watch the door and sat down with the .45 loose in the holster.

In twenty minutes the place was filled but there was no sign of Vidor Churis. I found a seat in the last row, sat through a garbled propaganda picture and wished K could have seen the reaction. The only reason the public was there was to hear something in their own language, but they laughed at the wrong places and could have been against the wall for it in Moscow.

During the intermission I double-checked the faces in the lobby, waited for the second show crowd to file in, took ten minutes to be sure he wasn’t going to show and cut out.

One lousy lead and it wasn’t paying off. I could feel that funny sensation crawling up my back and walked it off down to Forty-second Street because you can’t afford impatience when you’re playing the game of big guns.

From a drugstore I called Toomey and broke him loose from the TV set. He said there had been one incoming call that our subject had left the U.N. complex, walked to the automat with John Talbot, then taken a cab to her apartment. Talbot had returned to the Embassy building and was presumed there still. Before going in he had been joined by two members of the British staff and Vincent Case, all cleared personnel.

A stake-out was in progress outside Edith Caine’s apartment with a team on the street and one deployed inside the building somewhere. The call had come a half-hour ago so it was a good bet she hadn’t left the apartment.

I told him to stay there and he wasn’t anxious to argue about it. The rain that had been threatening all night had finally found its way through the smog and was angling down against the window outside the phone booth. All I wanted was for him to put a signal call through to Martin Grady with my initial negative-contact report and request a new approach if possible and an expedite order.

Now it was time to stick the needle in deeper.

I spotted the two stake-outs early and felt like telling them to take a refresher course. Both should have known better, they were old enough to have gone through the mill from both ends. One was smoking in a car and all the windows were frosted over from the humidity and the other was standing out of the rain trying to be inconspicuous. They could have walked or doused the butts but the weather got the better of them and they played it down. One day they’d die for being stupid if they stayed around that long.

The other one was on the floor below Rondine’s making a pretense of waiting for the elevator, but actually watching the cables to see if the car stopped at her floor or not. If it had, he would have checked. I had to ride up and walk down six times before I had him clocked, made like I rounded the bend in the corridor to some apartment, then took the fire exit up to her floor.

I put my finger on the buzzer and waited. I touched it again and her voice said, “Yes?” from somewhere inside.

“Tiger, honey.”

There was no hesitancy. She didn’t try the peephole or call out again. No talking through the door. She swung it wide and stood there gorgeous and radiant in a sweeping white gown that accentuated every luscious curve in her body, showing the V glint of chestnut and dagger pink of womanhood, proud and obstreperous in their anger at being accosted so deliberately and I said, “Can I come in?”

“By all means,” Rondine smiled, and the smile went back to years ago when she could hook me with wet lips and the sight of a body that belonged to a lewd calendar and a voice that was a snare and a challenge all at once.

This time she looked at me, a quick glance that ran up and down me, knowing how I had reacted before, watching to see a visual sign of a sexual attraction. Maybe somebody else would have made the grade, but I had had the full treatment and nearly died for it. It didn’t happen now.

I said, “Thanks, kitten,” and walked on in.

She closed the door and followed me into the living room. This time the music was from Wagner... the Love-Death theme. Fitting, I thought. Nice. It went right with my mood. It had an undulating quality that seeped into your mind and set the scene so nearly perfectly that Hollywood couldn’t have staged it better.

Rondine looked tired now. There were shadows under her eyes and lines down the sides of her mouth that seemed to pull the years together and inside I had that goddamn terrible feeling I had back in the loft when I had loved her so much.

She was as good as dead and I was going to do it. She knew it and l knew it and nothing would change it. If I missed again somebody else from Central would do it and without feeling, but if I did it the feeling would be there. So how do you want it, kid, from a stranger or someone who loved you so much he’d die for you?

I tossed my hat and coat on a chair, sat down against the arm of the sofa and stretched my legs out. There was a nervous quality in the way she moved and she tried to hide it by walking to the bar. “Drink?”

“Why not?”

“Scotch?”

“You made enough drinks for me before, kid. You know what I take. I haven’t changed any. Just cheap bar whiskey and ginger ale and don’t burn it.” I was beginning to wish she’d quit the act in front of me. There wasn’t any reason for it or sense to it. We were alone. It had all come to an end long ago, except for the climax. What was going to be done was going to be done.

I said, “How was your Mr. Selwick?”

Rondine put the drink on the table at my feet. “Well taken care of. He’ll be at work again Monday as usual.”

“I understand you had lunch with him?”

Her eyes darted my way. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Possibly.” I picked the drink up and tasted it. Good. She had the balance down pat. I said, “That was nicely timed for him to have an attack.”

She frowned, not getting the point. “He’s had them before.”

“And you’ve had lunch with him before.”

Then she realized what I was intimating and the glass in her hand shook visibly. I could sense her searching for words, but they didn’t come. They couldn’t get through the dark rage that suffused her face.

Before she could think of anything I changed the subject. “We have some information on Diana Caine, honey. Interested or do you know it all already?”

She couldn’t help it. The glass dropped right out of her fingers and spilled all over the floor. One piece of ice skidded across the room and I kicked it back casually with my toe. There was a stricken look on her face and tight, corded lines ran down her neck into her shoulders.

I grinned at her, a nasty thing that twisted my mouth out of shape. “So you got to the Caine family through her. That just leaves one thing left and that can blow you, doll. Where is the real Edith Caine?”

She didn’t answer. She sat there, her face a cross between horror and rage, hating me with everything inside her.

I said, “I’ll spell it out for you then. Somewhere the right Edith is supposed to be in hiding. My bet is that she’s dead. You wouldn’t leave any loose ends like that around. So far all your recommendations are from people who knew Edith Caine as a child, not an adult. Because the family has always been above reproach they never considered that one of the Caines would be a phony and a plant. I bet the family is turned inside out over this. When they see this thing laid out across the papers they’ll do a mass Dutch act.”

Her fingers trembled so hard they barely were able to hold the cigarette. I fished a packet of hotel matches out of my pocket, lit the butt for her and tossed them on the table. She choked once on the smoke, forced herself to a degree of composure. “You are so wrong, Tiger.”

“Not me, sugar.”

“You really wouldn’t...”

“Try me and see.”

She took a deep drag on the cigarette, snatched it away and snubbed it out in the ash tray until the butt came apart in fragments. Her eyes arched up, caught mine and she said, “I can’t let you drag down the Caine name,” in a cold, calculated tone that was the Rondine of old.

“How do you figure on stopping me? Vidor Churis?”

The pause before she spoke was a long one. There was a note of near-sympathy in her face and she said in a whisper, “You fool, you.”

“I like your dogs, Rondine. They’re the kind I know. I’ve been playing games with that type twenty years and left them lying stacked up behind me like cordwood. I’m surprised you aren’t more subtle. There was a time when you worked every device a woman could and parlayed a smile and a figure into some first-rate kills. This new act of yours stinks. It’s either too obvious or I’m getting jaded... I’ve had it pulled on me down in Mexico and twice in France. Each time the broad took the big fall because it takes more than an act to put a gun on me.”

“Tiger...”

“Come here, Rondine. I’ll let you take the act right to the end. Remember the kiss you gave me the last time? That was a real kiss, a real kiss of death. So come here, Rondine. I want to taste you again.”

She stiffened in her seat, her eyes never leaving mine, both hands gripping the edge of her seat.

“I want to see if you taste the same knowing what you’re doing to a fine family and with a young kid named Edith Caine lying dead in a hole somewhere. I want to know if having the smell of your own death in your nose can make you taste any different. Come here, Rondine.”

She rose like an automaton at first, stood there momentarily with mind and body as taut as a bowstring.

“Come, my darling,” I said. “I still have that same blaster on me. You might even have a chance to slip your hand inside my coat, grab the rod and spill my guts out again.” I knew I was smiling. I could feel my lips tight across my teeth and the kill feeling chasing itself across my shoulders.

Something happened to her then. It started in her eyes and flirted down across her mouth. The tension went out of her shoulders bit by bit until she was the Rondine I had known so well, lovely, desirable, deadly... suddenly finding the situation to her liking and under her control. Each step across the room deliberate, the golden flesh of her thighs breaking through the opening of her gown as she walked toward me. Her pose was provocative, her breasts undulating beneath the sheer fabric totally unrestrained in their movement. The light was soft and kind to her and when it was behind her the glow outlined the sleek flow of her body.

I sat there and looked up at her, reading her mind. It wasn’t hard.

She said, “Tell me how much you loved me, Tiger.”

I had read it wrong. It had to be something else again.

“More than anyone could ever know.”

“Do you still?”

“I told you there are some things that never change.”

“As much as ever?”

“As much.” I wasn’t smiling any more. My stomach was tight and the words came out harsh and a little too loud.

“Once you would have done anything for me.”

“That was a long time ago. Now there’s only one thing I’m going to do for you. Kill you, Rondine.”

“If... you must... can you do one thing for me?”

“Nothing.”

She knelt on the couch beside me, then eased into a sitting position and her knee was a gentle pressure against my leg. The top of her gown had parted with the movement and the deep cleft between her breasts was an open invitation she made no attempt to hide.

“Please hear me,” she said with almost innocent simplicity.

“Why?”

“Because you love me.”

I reached out and pushed her knee away. “And how about me, kid? Tell me how much you still love me.”

“Still?”

“You used to make beautiful love talk, baby. I used to lie in bed with you and listen to the sound of your voice and it could turn me inside out. All the while we were having each other whether it was in the mud or in a bed you’d tell me over and over how much you loved me, so let’s hear you say it now. I want to see if you can still get that feeling in your voice.”

“I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you, Tiger.”

“Now you’re being trite, kid. That used to be one of your favorite statements. Try something new.”

Gently, she reached out and touched my face with her forefinger. “I love you, Tiger,” she said.

And she reached me with it. She knew she did and I hated myself for feeling that slow wave of warmth that started in my brain because it was twenty years ago all over again.

“Can I ask you now?”

When I didn’t answer she said, “Don’t do anything to the Caine family.”

“Killers don’t change,” I finally told her.

Her face remained impassive, but there was something new in her eyes. “I’m sure they don’t.”

I tried to stop what she did, but I couldn’t. She leaned forward, eyes partly closed, her hand along the side of my face and then her mouth was on mine and the tip of her tongue searching and feeling. My fingers tightened on her arms, pinioning them and the past came closer and closer. I forced her shoulders back and the gown opened under the pressure and she was tight against me, a perfumed, hilly delight, fire-hot and moaning softly.

The incredible desire was there and I knew I was going to take her. I was going to do something I swore I’d never do again and couldn’t help myself. But it was Rondine who made the move. Her breath jerked in her throat and she went rigid under my hands and tried to wrench herself away with a sudden sob. There was fright in her eyes and something else I couldn’t fathom and, as quickly as it had started, it was over. I let her go and she twisted, grabbing for the front of her gown, and scrambled to her feet. She stood there breathing heavily, watching me, her mouth working until she half-blurted, “I’m... sorry. Truly...”

I grinned at her. The act was still going strong. A new act, a damn good one, but an act just the same. The only thing that surprised me was that she didn’t make a try for my gun.

I eased out of the chair, got my hat and coat and turned to smile at her. “Soon, Rondine. I’ll spoil it for you first and kill you. Sleep on it.”

All the way out the door I knew her eyes were on my back and I was giving her one hell of a target, but somehow I knew she wasn’t about to try one damn thing.

The rain was driving down now, whipping up the streets in front of the intermittent gusts that whistled around the buildings. All the cabs that came by were filled so I turned west and started walking. The last time I made the trip I had company and wound up with dead men at my feet. Maybe this time I’d have better luck.

By the time I reached Broadway I was soaked through my raincoat and still hadn’t seen an empty cab. But there was an empty bar that was warm and dry so I went in for a drink. An old movie was running on the “Late Show” that got me caught up in it and it was an hour and a half before I left. I got a cab on the comer this time, told him the Chester Hotel and rode back still damp.

I knocked, but Toomey didn’t answer so I supposed he was asleep and stuck my key in the lock. I closed the door, flipped the light on and saw Toomey face down on the bed. But he wasn’t asleep. There was a neat little hole at the base of his skull and a pool of red on the mattress that seeped up into the pillows. The body had barely lost any of its heat so the kill was only minutes old and I knew I had the answers.

Nicely timed, Rondine, I thought. A book of hotel matches carelessly left in your apartment, a phone call to a killer named Vidor Churis who gave me time to sack out, a passkey in the door, one nice shot with a silenced gun and out. The bad joke was on Toomey. The big joke was on the killer. He thought he had nailed me. He couldn’t see Toomey’s face while he napped and didn’t think a positive make was necessary. It was my room and a guy asleep in my bed and it looked pat.