The By-Pass Control

Chapter 9

The street that ended at the beach was deserted, flanked by two empty summer cottages with shuttered windows that accentuated the eerie feeling of desertion. Wind had blown the sand up into a soft roll at the edge of the concrete, partially covering the walks on either side. I cut the engine and sat there staring out into the rain toward the blackness of the ocean, occasionally taking a drag on the cigarette.

Dave said, “Spell it out, Tiger.”

“They had this going a long time, buddy. It was no sudden thing. The Soviets keep their people around all our hot spots looking for a weak link and somebody spotted it in Agrounsky.”

“When he went back on the needle?”

I nodded. “They ran their own supplier in and got him hooked but good, then cut his source off to put the squeeze on him. When an addict is cooking he’ll talk, rationally or not, and someplace he let the cat out of the bag about the by-pass control. That put the finger on him. Once he was on H strong enough they could control his supply and make him come across. They just didn’t figure on him doing a disappearing act, that’s all. He was important enough to call in their best man to run him down, so Vito Salvi got the job.”

“Salvi was working in New York,” he reminded me.

“Hell, they knew where he was heading. They were lined up waiting for him. Agrounsky was out of cash and the biggest source of the stuff was the city. And don’t bet his moves weren’t prearranged. That little guy he did the favor for by sharing his junk was probably part of the setup. He put Agrounsky in touch with the other peddlers who slipped him out cut loads and reported back to Fish where Agrounsky was.”

“I can check it out fast enough.”

“Then do it.”

“Where did they slip up?”

“I’ll know for sure when I contact Ernie Bentley.” I turned the key in the lock and started the engine. Dave had left his car back in the middle of town and we drove over to it. When he got out I said, “Locate your contact and call me at the Sand Dunes.” I looked at my watch. “I should be back in an hour.”

“He may not be available that fast.”

“I’ll wait. If he’s in on it he might steer us to somebody else.”

“Okay, Tiger. See you later.”

Flight 804 was taxiing up to the ramp as I parked the car. Four men came down the anus-like stairs in the rear of the plane before I saw Camille Hunt. She had her suitcoat over her shoulders, leaning against the downpour with her head ducked into it. I ran over, took the briefcase from her hand and said, “Hi, spider.”

“You would drag me out into this.”

I grinned at her. “You don’t know how easy you have it. The car’s over here.”

She got in, shook the rain from her shoulders, and tossed the silly hat she had on in the back seat. “My goodness, Tiger, is this really necessary?”

“It was.”

She gave me an exasperated glance. “Was? You mean I made the trip for nothing?”

“I’m here.”

“That’s a consolation.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Camille nudged me with an elbow, her face still shining wetly from the rain. “Seriously, what is this all about?”

As I threaded my way out to the road I said, “I wanted you to make an identification. It isn’t important any more. Henri Frank is dead.”

“Dead? But... how?”

“He blew himself to bits trying to knock me off. It was a case of a guy who couldn’t understand his own failure and tried to check on it. I was there before him.”

“Tiger... this whole thing...”

I let it hang there. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you back to Belt-Aire in the morning.”

She gave me a long, steady stare. “You just haven’t read the weather reports. My flight was the last one in. They expect everything to be grounded tomorrow. If it weren’t for some slight mechanical trouble we would have gone on into Miami.”

“So you got an unexpected vacation.”

“My foot,” Camille exploded. “With all the work piling up I can’t afford it. Do you know orders came in from Martin Grady himself this morning to arrange for an expansion program? The Belt-Aire project has been approved and goes into full production at once. I shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well, I’ll try to make your stay enjoyable.”

“Swell,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Where will we go?”

“First, to a whorehouse.”

She turned her head to see if I were joking or not, then decided I was serious and frowned with annoyance. “I don’t understand you.”

“That’s good. We’ll never have any trouble then.”

Louis Agrounsky had frequented a place that had all the earmarks of respectability if you didn’t know what it was. The house was a two story affair barely different from its neighbors; better kept, if anything. The lawn and hedgerow were trimmed, the siding freshly painted, and the two cars in the double garage were both late model Fords inconspicuous anywhere.

The woman who answered the bell was the full-blown type, tall and pleasant, with a ready smile under vivacious blue eyes and a pert tilt to her pretty blonde head. She started to say something, then saw Camille and divided her glance between us, as though we had come to the wrong house.

“Yes?”

“Lisa McCall.”

Her eyebrows went up questioningly. “Yes, I’m Miss McCall.”

“I’d like to speak to you about a friend of mine. Can we come in?”

The blonde nodded and opened the door wider, the smile curious now. She could smell the trouble, but rather than be frightened she was curious because of it. When she shut the door behind us she walked ahead and ushered us into a well appointed living room dominated by a masculine bar that was out of place among the obviously feminine decorations.

Out of routine, she went behind the bar, waited until I said I’d have a rye and ginger with Camille nodding for the same, then mixed the drinks and placed them in front of us.

“I know you,” she said quietly.

“Do you?”

“La Plata Bar in Rio. Four years ago. There was an attempted revolution and you killed two men who tried to take the one you were with. He was a General named Ortega Diaz.”

“You get around, kid.” Beside me I could feel Camille tense suddenly, then relax. In the mirror behind the bar I could see her eyes watching me as if I were something in a zoo.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Tiger Mann.”

“Yes. I have heard it mentioned. There were a lot of stories about you in Rio.”

“They were troubled times. But I don’t remember you and I don’t like that. I don’t generally forget faces.”

The girl made a sad motion with her hands, but smiled and said, “I was younger then, and pretty. Time and this business does things to one. I was twenty pounds lighter and my hair was black. A nose job to correct what a drunken seaman did to me makes a big difference.” She stopped smiling then and looked at me seriously. “But you came to see about a friend.”

“Louis Agrounsky. Hardecker gave me the tip and told me about bugging the room for information. Now I want your version.”

Her expression was bland a moment, then a furrow appeared between her eyes. “But what is there to tell?”

“Your reaction. I’m more interested in your opinion of the association. You’ve been with enough men to read through them.”

Lisa McCall dropped her head a moment, then peered up at me. “It probably was as professional as it can get.” She looked over at Camille and the corner of her mouth twisted in a funny smile. “Am I embarrassing you?”

“No... not at all.” I caught the implication in her tone of voice. Camille was quietly objective, observing every facet of a type she had never come into contact with before.

Lisa said, “There was little conversation. Mr. Agrounsky wasn’t given to talk and it was obvious that he was inexperienced with women. He called here and I immediately called Captain Hardecker who installed the tape recorder in the room. When he arrived he simply paid his... fee, then we left for the bedroom. He demanded nothing out of the ordinary, was quite incompetent sexually from lack of experience, thanked me when it was over and seemed a little bit shaken for having resorted to such an extreme.”

“He was here on six different occasions.”

“That’s right,” Lisa agreed readily. “Twice when I wasn’t here Marge attended to him. Each time Captain Hardecker was notified. There never was any change in his routine. If anything, it was very formal. I know why Captain Hardecker was interested... it wasn’t the first time this happened nor the last. Several times this... establishment has been useful to him.”

“So I understand. I’m not complaining. But I still want your opinion.”

“Of... the arrangement?” she asked me.

“No... just Agrounsky.”

Lisa let her eyes wander to the wall, then came back to me with a knowing expression. “For what it’s worth, I’d say we were substitutes.”

“For what?”

“Your friend wasn’t a forward type at all. Under all that reserve he still had masculine drives but didn’t know how to compensate for them. My guess is that he visited here after he had had some previous contact with a woman. She probably aroused him somewhat, but he was unable to approach her and came here as a last resort for... physical release.”

“Did he ever mention this?”

“No, but it was a very familiar attitude. It isn’t at all unusual.” She stopped a moment, touched her lips with her tongue and said, “I didn’t mention it to Captain Hardecker because it slipped my mind, but once after he left another... client saw him go and made a remark about it when he was with me. Something about Mr. Agrounsky being so aloof at the project when all the time he had the hots over some young technician in his laboratory. He used to blush whenever he saw her legs but never bothered looking away, either. It was sort of a joke with the men, I think.”

“This client...”

“No use, Mr. Mann. I told you what you asked me.”

“The girl?”

“Never mentioned her name. You can probably ask around.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for your trouble.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Mann. I’ve been around enough to realize the possibilities in this sort of thing. I hope everything comes out all right.”

“So do I,” I told her. “If you think of anything else, I’m at the Sand Dunes Motel. Or you can call Hardecker.”

Lisa went ahead of us and opened the door, smiling politely at us both. As I went out she said, “Hurry back,” but before I could answer Camille gave me another short jab in the ribs and grimaced as the rain sliced into her face. She wanted to say something, but a sneeze stopped her short.

“Damn,” she told me as she climbed into the car, “if I get a cold out of this you’re a dead fly.”

“Mud dauber, remember?”

“All I remember is that I came down here without a thing to wear and I’m soaking wet. What are you going to do with me?”

“Get you in a motel and dry you out.”

“That’s the first exciting thing you’ve said to me today,” she chuckled.

The little old lady at the desk of the Sand Dunes gave me a knowing nod when I checked Camille in and asked if I wanted an adjoining room for her. Rather than shake her faith in her supposed powers of observation I tossed a bill down and said, “Why sure. I’m too old to be chasing around in the rain.”

Her mouth pursed with indignation and she didn’t know whether to believe me or not, so she just handed over the key, a late paper and asked if I wanted ice water in the room. I told her no and drove on down to the end of the row.

“Man and wife?” Camille asked with a small leer.

“That takes all the fun out of it,” I told her. “It’s better to have to kick your door down.”

“You would too, wouldn’t you?”

I shook my head. “I’m too handy at picking a lock.”

“Well, never mind either. I’ll leave the door open. I have my own way of handling you virile types.” She stifled another sneeze, shook her head with annoyance and got out of the car in front of her room.

It didn’t take her long to get in the shower. I heard the water run at full blast and a short yell as she found it too hot and settled it down to an even temperature.

I picked up the phone and called Ernie Bentley. I gave him the coded ID and said, “Tiger. Did you follow up my request?”

“Got it right here. Hit it with the second call and no protest. Louis Agrounsky sold two patented devices to D.L.W. Enterprises for a thousand dollars apiece. The deal was made by phone, confirmed and paid for by telegram sent and received out of Wilmington, North Carolina, with a following letter from the same city signed by Agrounsky assigning them all rights and residuals. The patents comprised mini components for TV transmitting cameras and were worth a hundred times that but all he wanted was immediate cash and a deal that could be made without going through lengthy legal maneuverings. D.L.W. was happy to go through with it and even took the chance on it being a phoney to wrap it up.”

“The telegraph office demanded identification?”

“They did... and he presented it. The check was cashed at the receiving office in small bills. The clerk remembered him well enough to describe him and there’s no doubt about it being Agrounsky. I passed the information on to Newark Control and they tried to pick it up without any luck. He never checked in at any of the local hotels or motels and the clerk didn’t remember him having a car.”

“He could travel a long way on two grand.”

“Or he could stick around and spend it,” Ernie said.

“That’s what I’m thinking too.”

It was making better sense now. Wilmington was a seaport and a possible drop for narcotics that flowed into the country. If Agrounsky drew a blank in the Myrtle Beach area after he sold his car he could have headed north by bus looking for another supplier and Wilmington was the next logical spot on the route to New York. If a source had been prearranged for him he’d know where to go, but he wouldn’t be taking any chances on being caught short again. Even though he was still an amateur in the business, a hophead could be crafty. He had to learn fast to stay on his kick and keep the monkey off his back. That was where the Soviets went wrong. They weren’t dealing with a rational person at all. Agrounsky the scientist they could deal with. Agrounsky the addict was unpredictable. He wasn’t taking any chances getting screwed with a cut deal any more. He had picked up his own bundle and was getting the H his own way now.

Ernie cut off my thought with, “Your package will be at the post office in General Delivery tomorrow morning. There’s still a check on all Bezex sales and one was reported at the Atlanta air terminal yesterday. If Hoppes is on his way down it’s along the route. Other sales were scattered. Miami reported several, but the salespeople knew the buyers.”

“What’s the life of the container?” I asked him.

“About two days of constant use. Built-in obsolescence, European style. Potent, but of short duration. A real sales gimmick. Scatter the batch down there and watch for a reaction.”

“Will do, Ernie.” I paused, thought a moment and said, “Has Rondine made contact yet?”

“No. Your message will go through when she calls. Virgil Adams said she and her friend Talbot went to Washington but haven’t been located yet. They may still be there or on the way back.”

“Right.”

“Now here’s one direct from H.Q. Grady wants action fast. You’re not getting through often enough and he’s hot. Word has leaked out of some of the ICBM installations that something big’s going on and the newspapers are yelling for official statements on what’s happening. A smart assed reporter dug out a history on Vito Salvi and wanted to release it but I.A.T.S. reached him in time and he’s been in protective custody since this morning. It’s gotten as far as overseas and there’s a storm brewing, Tiger. Nobody is going to be able to sit on this much longer.”

“But nothing’s been located?”

“Not as far as we know. They completely cut off the installation at the March Station and are rebuilding the system. Unless the by-pass is found they’ll eventually do it all over, but that will take a year anyway and will leave us in the cold. Technical crews went into the Nordic and Vesper Stations in California, but that’s only a drop in the bucket. All it takes is one and Agrounsky was involved in nine of the projects. Damn, this thing even has me shaking.”

“It should.”

Ernie’s voice changed then and he said almost quietly, “How does it look, Tiger?”

“Lousy,” I told him and put the phone back.

Next door the water was still running hard and I heard Camille’s voice half muted in some song. I lifted the phone again and gave the operator the number of Helen Lewis’ apartment in Sarasota I had picked up from Hardecker’s report sheet.

After a two minute wait I got the superintendent of the building who came on with a high flutey voice and told me who he was. I said, “Can you reach Helen Lewis for me?”

“Miss Lewis? Why, I don’t believe she has a phone.”

“Can you get her to this one?”

He giggled, then said, “I’m afraid not. Miss Lewis has been on vacation and isn’t expected back for some time. Can I take a message?”

“Do you know where I can reach her?”

“You might try Rome,” he giggled again. “That’s where she said she was going. She travels a lot, you know. In fact, if she weren’t paid up for a year in advance I’d be tempted to rent her apartment out.”

“Don’t do that,” I told him.

“No, of course not. I was only joking. Sorry I can’t be of help.”

“Tell me one thing... is her apartment furnished?”

“Naturally, all of our apartments are. Why, may I ask?”

“No reason. Thanks anyway.”

“Certainly,” he said, and broke the connection with another giggle.

And there it ended again. A short road with nothing around the bend. Everything petered out into a puff of dust. The whole world was sitting on the thin edge of destruction, never knowing how close to the edge it was, and every thread to the man upon whose whim annihilation or life depended was broken off short.

The trouble was that it wasn’t a planned arrangement. It was something totally accidental that was stumbled upon, and before an arrangement could be properly set up, circumstances became accidental again. Agrounsky’s condition was seized upon quickly enough. The importance of his defection from logical principles was recognized, but he couldn’t be handled in an ordinary manner, his susceptibility to narcotics was minimized, and he got out of the circle because of his immediate need for the big jolt.

He was fair game now, but above all, he was his own biggest target.

Next door the water stopped and I heard the shower doors open and shut as Camille Hunt stepped out to dry herself. I opened the bureau drawer, took out a blue oxford shirt and unfolded it, then stepped outside and knocked on her door.

When she called to come in I pushed the door open. She hadn’t bothered to lock it. The electric wall heater was going full blast with a chair drawn up in front of it, her clothes draped over the back to dry off. Tendrils of steam still came from the partially opened bathroom door and I walked over and stuck my hand in with the shirt in it.

“This is all I could find,” I said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“It ought to be long enough to cover up the goodies. Tie the tails between your legs and be glad I’m so thoughtful.”

She snatched it from me with a laugh and slammed the door shut just as I got my hand out of the way. A minute later it opened again and she came out. Camille hadn’t tied the tails like I told her, but it was long enough. She stood there smiling at me and said, “Damn you. It’s indecent.”

“I saw your picture in the office, remember?”

“That’s not the same,” she told me.

And she was right. Her body was still damp from the shower and the fabric clung to her skin, her breasts full and high, centered with emotional punctuation marks she couldn’t hide, rising pertly with each nervous breath she took.

The taper of the shirt was too big, blousy at the waist, but swelled out over hips that filled it and draped down across a flat stomach that arched outward gently from her navel before outlining the female beauty that lay beneath. The shirt ended at the middle of her thighs and somehow she seemed more naked than if she had been wearing nothing at all, and with the light from the bathroom behind her, filtering through the cloth, all the essence of the woman in the picture was magnified in front of me.

“This is all I could find,” I said.

“Yes, I know. With an oiled feather.”

“I’ll go dig up a chicken.”

“Don’t bother. Just help me get my clothes dry.”

The black half-slip, bra and bikini pants hung across the slats of the ladderback chair were barely damp, but the wool skirt and suitcoat were heavy with moisture, dripping on the floor while tufts of steam rose lazily upward. The room was beginning to have the feel of a Turkish bath.

“Those things’ll shrink,” I told her.

“And I’ll charge it all off to Martin Grady. Tomorrow, a new suit and you can pay for it.”

She had been smoothing the skirt out on the seat of the chair and stood up suddenly, turning around with a smile, close... too close, and my hands went around her waist. There was a startling warmth to her and under my fingers I felt her body tighten, tiny muscles responding to the unexpected touch. Her smile dissolved into a half-helpless look and the rich, ripe mouth that was about to say something parted wetly and her breath was like a stifled sob.

Camille Hunt had spent too many years being objective. She had been the watcher, not the doer — her reflexes were geared to the other person’s reactions and someplace she had forgotten about her own. She came to me with an instinctive gesture that had been inborn in women thousands of generations ago, yet conscious of the bewildering fact that she was capable of it and moved to its demands with a volition she couldn’t and didn’t want to control. Her eyes were sleepy things, knowing, yet pleading for it to happen quickly before the trained consciousness could reject the animal impulse that was activating her.

Her body began to press against me in a rolling motion, coming to me in a slow arc, her thighs touching first, then her belly in a timorous touch that changed to a powerful thrust as she ran her hands up my back and pulled me against her breasts that had stiffened into hard probing mounds of pure desire and when our mouths met it was with a fierce, driving contact like being sucked into a hungry vortex of violent passion. Her lips and tongue were lively things that worked to drain away the last reserve and with a mewing little cry her fingers tore open the shirt so that the buttons fell to the floor like raindrops and she crumpled slowly, pulling me down on top of her.

The reflected warmth of the heater was lost in the glow we created ourselves. Her hands were wild things working at me to expose flesh to flesh, her desire for satisfaction beyond belief, her imagination transcending that of any woman I had known before. Time after time we fulfilled ourselves until sheer physical limitations put an end to it and we lay there amidst scattered clothes in the exhaustion only pleasure can bring.

We would have stayed like that if I didn’t hear the muffled call of a phone from my room next door. I snaked myself loose from her arms, hearing a small, disappointed protest, and picked up the receiver from beside her bed and told the switchboard in the office to transfer the call there.

Dave Elroy caught the change in circuits and coded himself properly, then waited for my own proper ID before he said, “Tiger... what the hell’s going on? Trouble?”

“Everything’s fine,” I told him and he knew by my choice of simple words we were clear to speak. “What’s up?”

“This town’s crawling with Federal men. C.I.A., F.B.I. and I.A.T.S. are stationed all over the place. I spotted those who would know me and stayed out of sight. Charlie Corbinet’s in with them and they’ve shaken your other hotel room down, so they want you.”

“Where’s Corbinet at?”

“He checked into your old digs and is waiting around. As far as I can tell he’s the only one there.”

“Good. I’ll make the contact then.”

“Let it wait. I need you, old boy.”

“Why?”

“I found the guy you wanted found. Get over here now... and I mean now. I’m at 124 Pino Lane... and expedite.” That was all he said. He hung up on me.

“You have to leave?” Camille was looking at me through eyes half closed in sleep. Stretched out there naked with the reddish heat from the wall unit lighting her body, she looked like a big, lovely doll, languid in repose, the tiny smile showing the pleasant satisfaction of a woman who had enjoyed the completeness of her womanhood.

“I have to.”

“Don’t leave me here, Tiger.”

“Business, kid.”

“I don’t care. I just want to be with you for a little while longer.”

“Okay, get dressed,” I said, then finished buttoning my shirt. Camille wrinkled her nose at me, rolled into a ball for a second, then pushed onto her knees and stretched, holding a statuesque pose for a moment before getting to her feet.

“Turn around,” she told me.

“Now you get modest,” I said, laughing at her. “Great.” I checked the clip in the .45, jacked one in the chamber, put the hammer on half cock and slid it in the holster. By the time I had finished knotting my tie and getting into my coat she was almost finished. I looked at her, wondering why it was some women could come out of a rainstorm and a flurry of passion in a matter of minutes with nothing more than that look in their eyes and others couldn’t be budged for hours.

Evidently she knew what I was thinking because she smiled with those sleepy eyes and said, “Treat it like enthusiastic applause, my Tiger. The desire of a woman who has found her desire and wants to keep it as long as possible.” Her hands made a pass at her skirt and blouse for those small adjustments that build clothes onto a woman. “Neat but not gaudy. Can you stand me a little bit wrinkled?”

“As long as it isn’t deception.”

“Oh?” She glanced at me, eyebrows raised.

I said, “Isn’t it at this point the spider takes her victim? The male performs, the male satisfies, the male dies from a lethal bite.”

“Ah, but that’s only between spiders. You’re the wasp, the mud dauber. There seems to be something indecent about the relationship and we’ll probably breed a hybrid. However, this is one spider who knows when she’s well off despite the basic biological premises. I like you.”

“You’re weaving a web again.”

She laughed at me, a low, throaty chuckle, and said, “Well, let me try, anyway.”

The storm had taken on a new tone. Thunder rolled out over the ocean, lightning flashes illuminating the terrain briefly with a startlingly white brilliance. Rain drifted in front of the wind, angling sharply as the gusts increased momentarily, then came straight down to flatten out the ripples that disturbed the great puddles that ran from curb to curb.

Pino Lane was a dead-end street in a section that had started as a new development, then was discarded when progress stretched the city in another direction. Number 124 was the last house in the row, a small boxlike affair, never completed. Paint had weathered the siding and the path to the door was a line of two-by-eights laid from the curb to the house through the mud and weeds once intended for a lawn.

No lights were on behind the windows, but Dave’s car was parked fifty feet away in a turning area, nosed back for a quick move if he had to get away fast. I drove by slowly, looking for any sign of movement or fresh tracks laid in the muck, and seeing none, turned beside Dave’s car and drove back to the front of the house.

I didn’t like it at all. There were too many places for a quick gun to be crouched in the shadows, waiting. The thunder could cover the sound of a shot and a getaway would be an easy thing through the brush to a car parked on the next street. I sat there with the .45 in my hand and let the lightning brighten the area twice, scanning the spaces between the houses during the momentary daylight.

Nothing moved.

No dark blotches indicated a possible assassin.

I touched Camille’s arm and said, “I’m going in first. When I reach the door and wave you run for it.”

She nodded curtly, her tongue a nervous little thing that wet her lips. She was scared now, her voice stuck in her throat, but I knew she’d do as she was told so I opened the door, slid out and ran up the planking to the house, ready to dive into the mud if anything at all showed. I reached the two unfinished steps, flattened against the wall, turned and waved to her. She came out of the car running, hobbled by her heels and tight skirt, head down against the rain, but didn’t stop until she got to me. I grabbed her arm, pulled her behind me and waited.

Still nothing.

Then the door opened and I had Dave lined up on the end of the .45 when he said, “I was covering you all the way, Tiger. Come on in. No lights.”

I pushed Camille in first, closed the door and stood there listening.

“We’re clear, Tiger,” Dave said quietly. He flipped on the narrow beam of a pencil flash and pointed it across the room. “How about this?”

The shaft of light hit a worn mohair armchair in the comer of the room, then ran down until it traced the outline of a shapeless bundle sprawled on the floor. Nobody had to be told he was dead. There’s something special about the human body that has stopped functioning. There is a release from tension, an attitude of terrible finality in the way it can sag and drape itself in total relaxation as it kisses off the world and goes about the business of death. Even the terror and pain of dying disappear and it’s a thing in clothes that never fit over an incongruous posture impossible to attain in life.

“Beezo McCauley,” Dave said. “Puncture scars up both arms and legs. He was holding four caps of H and a new kit with two syringes in his pocket. The house has been leased to him three years; he’s got receipts showing a total disability pension from the Army, deposits in a checking account to match with occasional one-thousand-dollar discrepancies here and there, and the stubs show withdrawals that could mean a big blast off every so often.”

“What’s the rest?”

“I went through a few leads, got one that located him and came right here. Nobody answered the door so I came in a window. He had been dead about a half hour by then.”

“How?”

“Small calibre high-velocity steel slug through the heart. Damn good shot and close. The bullet penetrated his chest with a minimum exit hole, went through the chair and is still in the wall. My guess is a Magnum.”

“Niger Hoppes.”

“He’s caught up with you.”

“Not yet,” I said. “He’s just here.”

Behind me Camille let out a strangled gasp and turned her head, covering her mouth with one hand. “It’s... terrible.”

Dave lowered the flash to hit the floor at our feet. “I shook the place down as well as I could but there was nothing here. The door was unlocked and one light on by the chair that I switched off. It looks like the killer simply came up, opened the door and shot McCauley while he was sitting in the chair. No wet tracks on the inside... nothing. The rain would have obliterated all footprints outside anyway. Beezo has a fresh hole in his leg and one of the needles was still wet from being washed. Evidently he had mainlined one and was sitting back to enjoy the effects when he got hit. A nice clean wipe out.”

“Where are his papers?”

Dave reached in his pocket and took out a half-empty checkbook, a pack of receipts wrapped with a rubber band, a few folded papers and handed them to me. I didn’t bother looking at them then. Time for that later.

“You calling this one in or letting it stay this way?” Dave asked me.

“Nobody can help him now. Let’s leave him sit. If we stir things up now we’ll be doing too much explaining. If Hoppes is in the area it means he’s here to eliminate us or else he has a line on Agrounsky.”

“Hell, Tiger, with all the Feds around they ought to be able to run down a new face in the town. It isn’t that big. Hoppes has to hole up someplace.”

“He’s a pro, Dave,” I reminded him. “He won’t take a room where he has to register or be cooped up in a dead end. Either he’s moving around or he has himself a spot where he can stay buried until he wants to come out.”

“Still, it might be worth a try.”

“Let’s not scare him in deeper. If we curtail his activities he’ll be all the more careful. I’d rather give him latitude to pull something in.”

“Somebody else can die too.”

“Like the man said, you all got to go sometime. The picture’s bigger than just that.”

“Those thousand-dollar deposits...,” Dave started.

“McCauley’s payoff for his part in steering Agrounsky to the contacts up north. We’ll check out the dates and they’ll match. The nut never figures the final payoff would be bigger than he bargained for. The Soviets aren’t going to leave anybody alive who can mess up their play.”

“Then they wouldn’t run Hoppes in alone.”

“He won’t be alone. They’re screening every move down here. You can damn well bet the C.I.A. and I.A.T.S. have specialists on this operation that can identify all known Soviet operatives, so they’ll have people in they’ve been holding for an emergency. No... the faces will be new, all right.”

“That leaves us holding the bag.”

“Like hell it does,” I said.

In the semi-darkness of the room, lit by occasional strikes of white lightning from the outside, Dave watched my face and grinned. “What have you got going for you, boy?”

“Some thinking people whose memories need jolting,” I said.

“I’ll wait.”

“Won’t we all?”

Camille’s fingers plucked at my sleeve. “Tiger... can we go? I... feel sick.”

“Sure, kid.” I tapped Dave with my thumb. “Cover us going out. I doubt if anybody’s around, but no sense taking chances. We’ll run right after the next flash. You get to the motel and stay there until you hear from me. I’ll make all the contacts. Call Newark Control and give them a full report. Tell Virgil not to assign anybody else down here, but keep a team on tap if they’re needed.”

“Roger.”

I led Camille up to the door, waited until there was another sudden stroke of white from the rolling clouds overhead, then opened it and ran down the plank walk to the car and held the door open for her. Dave would make his own way out after making sure no prints or tracks were left to identify us. Camille slumped in the seat, her body heaving with an occasional convulsion of nausea, hands covering her face. I started the car, drove down to the intersection, then turned north up a road flooded from side to side.

Overhead, the world seemed to crash down in an exhibition of its own fury.

I left her at the motel still shaking, but better than she had been. She was wet from the rain again and her voice had gone hoarse, and although she grinned at me between a sneeze, I knew she was calming down after going through the experience of seeing violent death for the first time. She didn’t want me to leave, but knew better than to ask me to stay.

Her hand fell over mine and squeezed. “Will you be long?”

“No.”

“Tonight... you’ll stay with me?”

“Tonight,” I said.

“I’ll weave another web. You broke the first one.”

I kissed her lightly, then pushed her from the car. When she was inside I turned around in the gravel drive and cut back across the highway.

Vincent Small came to the door, saw me and opened it without a word. When I stepped inside I had a chance to look at a face that had become haggard with worry and the drink in his hand was potent enough so that I could smell the liquor through the mixer and the ice. His eyes had a hazy look, requiring seconds to focus, and his expression was drawn. Somehow he seemed ten years older, a philosopher drowned in his own subject matter. He finally frowned, peering at me and said, “The police...”

“Sitting in a car out front. I parked around the comer and came through the back.”

“What... has happened?” The ice clinked in the glass as his hand shook.

“We found a guy who had contact with Agrounsky. He was part of the pattern. Maybe you’d like to see him.”

“No... no, it doesn’t matter.” He swallowed hard and waited for me to speak.

I said, “The contact was minimal but important. Like yours. He’s dead. I thought you might like to know because you might be next in line.”

Small backed away, staggered to a chair, and sat down heavily, the drink forgotten in his hand. “But why... why me?”

“Louis Agrounsky talked just enough. They all do when they’re riding the horse. If he told you and Claude about his little hideaway he could have told somebody else about that too. Narcotics addicts don’t keep secrets very well, especially when they’re hurting for the junk.”

“Mr. Mann...”

I stopped him short. “You call Boster and tell him what I told you. Then sit and think. You go over every word he ever said and chew it good. Between you and your friend, you’re holding this explosion in the palm of your hand, and buddy, if you think your own neck isn’t on the line, you’re wrong. If you doubt it, a short ride across town will prove it to you. A dead man is pretty convincing evidence.”

“I never thought...”

“That’s the trouble with everybody... they never think,” I said.