The Code

Seven

I left Los Angeles at ten o'clock in the morning, driving south. The second name in Moose's little black book was Therese and Therese was in San Diego. I hoped to be talking to her before the day ended.

The race was on now. The Mafia knew almost as much as I knew. They would be sending out soldiers to hunt down Moose. My only edge was the little black book with the seven names in it.

I kept an eye on the rear view mirror, trying to pick out the car that would be trailing me. I decided it was the brown sedan, the Buick. The driver made an effort to throw me off: he let another car come between us briefly, and when I slowed down, he forged ahead of me for a few miles.

While he was up there, I whipped off the main highway onto the first available side road. I pulled up at a service station and told the attendant to fill the Ford's tank and check under the hood. I went inside and opened a soft drink.

The brown Buick came along before the attendant finished checking the oil. Two men were in the front seat. One turned to look at the Ford, but they kept going. They still hoped they hadn't been spotted.

Still holding the pop bottle, I walked out the side -door of the station and climbed the hill behind it. The attendant called after me, but I kept going. I stopped in a clump of trees and squatted down. I could see the station clearly, but no one there could see me.

The driver of the brown car would idle along waiting for me to come into sight again. When I didn't, he would turn around and return.

I finished the drink and watched the attendant clamp down the hood of the Ford. My behavior puzzled him, but he had my car. He wasn't worried about my running out on the bill.

The Buick came back. The two thugs consulted the man at the service station. He pointed in the direction I had taken. The hoods talked it over. Then they started to run up the hill. They were afraid I had abandoned the Ford and was trying to elude them on foot.

Come on, boys, I thought.

As they drew closer, panting and cursing, I slid behind a tree. The taller man was in better shape. He led his companion by three strides. He sprinted past my hiding place, running along the fringe of the thicket. The shorter man yelled after him, "Hey, Joe. Slow down. You think this is the Olympics?"

Holding the pop bottle by the small end, I stepped from behind the tree. "Hey, Shorty," I said.

He stopped as if he'd run into a clothesline. "Joe!" he yelled.

I hit him on the head with the empty pop bottle and he dropped in a heap.

Joe had paused He looked back and saw me coming at him. His hand streaked inside his coat and reappeared with a .45. Then he hesitated. He didn't shoot.

I didn't ask why he held his fire. I tackled him.

The thug wrapped his legs around me and swung at my head with the .45. We rolled over wild grass and brush as we wrestled. I captured his wrist and wrenched. I broke it. The sound was like a dry stick snapping. The thug moaned. I hit him twice and then crawled away.

He got up and kicked the Luger from my hand. I tripped him. He got up again, broken wrist dangling, and hit me with his good hand. He was tough. He kept coming. Finally I dropped him with a right cross.

His persistence was amazing. Once again he staggered to his feet.

I was getting tired. This was the most I had exerted myself since I'd been shot and I was feeling the drain on my energies. Compared to Joe, the Mighty Shang had been an easy mark.

"The party is over," I told him. I slid Hugo down into my palm. "I was saving you for talk, but I can change my mind."

Sunlight glinted on the stiletto's blade as I weaved toward him. Joe put up his good hand. "I'm not about to try to take that thing away from you. Let's talk."

"Which of you worked on Trudy?"

"The guy you kayoed. But I would have done it. Business is business."

I stepped closer and put the point of the knife to his Adam's apple. "Who's your boss?"

"Valante. Marco Valante."

"And what did you have to tell him the last time you reported?"

"That you're looking for a heist man named Moose. We got that from the girl. Valante told us to stick with you."

I gathered up the weapons, thrust his .45 in my belt, sheathed the stiletto, and marched him back to Shorty with the Luger against his spine.

Joe looked down at his partner. "He's going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow. Valante warned us you were no pushover."

"How long have you been tailing me?"

"We picked you up in L.A., but there's been somebody on you since you got out of that hospital. Valante kept switching the troops."

Valante was a clever man. If he had stuck with one set of soldiers, I'd have noticed them.

I flipped Shorty over and extracted the gun from his shoulder holster. I straightened up and looked at Joe, wondering how much he knew. He was a young, good-looking Italian, neatly and expensively dressed. I couldn't believe he was a run-of-the-mill thug. He was too cool, too tough, standing there with his broken wrist hanging but holding back any signs of pain except the lines tightening near his dark eyes.

"I'm flattered that Valante put your kind of talent on my tail. You must be his number one boy."

"I was until this happened. Maybe I won't be anymore."

"Who killed Meredith?" I asked the question suddenly, hoping to get a reaction that would tell me if he lied.

What I got was a puzzled scowl. He clasped his broken wrist to his belly, flinching slightly. "Who's Meredith?"

"He worked at a service station in Idaho. Someone cut his throat."

"Not me. Not anybody I know. Valante was in Idaho, but he didn't see any action. It was over when he got there. He found the girl dead and you shot up. Man, you know all this. Valante stopped you from bleeding to death."

"He had a use for me. He wanted to know what I'd found out."

It had worked, too. He'd had to wait until I left the hospital and give me a loose rein, but his boys had stayed with me long enough to obtain Moose's name. The way matters stood, my venture to L.A. had proved more profitable to the Mob than to me. Hawk wouldn't be very happy about that.

"Valante may have had his own reason for helping you, but you're still alive," Joe said. "I wouldn't knock it."

"How would you like to enjoy the same privilege?"

"Living, you mean?" He laughed nervously. "I've answered all your questions, man. What more do you want?"

"So far you've told me no big secrets. Nothing Valante would mind me knowing, considering the circumstances. The tough questions are coming up." I pointed the Luger at his heart. "Think carefully now. How did Valante know about me in the first place?"

"He went to a meeting of the board, the top men in the Organization. They talked about the Frank Abruze killing. Your name was laid on the table. The board voted to turn the matter over to Valante. He had a special interest. He and Abruze were close."

"There was another man in Bonham, Idaho. He went there to hit the girl. He tried to kill me." I held the Luger steady, still aiming at his heart "What do you know about Coogan?"

"The Mob didn't send him. They sent Valante."

"What will Valante do now?"

"I can't read his mind, man." Joe was beginning to speak in a tighter voice. "I can guess a part of it. He'll ask for a meeting of the board. He'll throw down Moose's name. The word will go out to every family in the country and they'll start combing the places where the crazy bastard could be hiding."

"I take it you'd heard of Moose before Trudy gave you his name."

"Just gossip. Talk of the trade. He's a psychopath. The Organization try to steer clear of his type these days. That's the reason he operates on his own. But word about a guy like that gets around."

"That's good, Joe. You've been a lot of help." My lips peeled back from my teeth in a cold smile. "There's just one more point to cover. Which one of you tried to pick me off this morning?"

"Me or Shorty, you mean? Valante told us to stay with you, but we had no orders to make a hit. We didn't do it."

"Don't kid me, Joe. The man was a pro, like you."

Joe was sweating. "There's a joker in this deck somewhere. Meredith, Coogan — those aren't people I know anything about. The board didn't want Abruze's girl friend dead before she'd sung them a song. I told you my orders from Valante. He said stay with this guy Carter, he's smart, he may help us to find the Moose. He said I wasn't to plug you unless it became absolutely necessary. Didn't I have a chance just a little while ago?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sure, you did And you're right. There is a joker in the deck."

There had been one there ever since Bonham. A man who knew what the Mafia knew and a lot about AXE. A man who had hired Coogan, slit Meredith's throat, and set the trap for me at the motel. I lowered the Luger and left Joe and his unconscious companion on the hillside. I paid the wide-eyed attendant for the gas he'd pumped into the Ford. Then I raised the hood of the Buick and ripped out the wiring.

"They'll be along," I said. But they wouldn't get away from the station in time to catch up with me.

I drove the rest of the 110 miles to San Diego with the speedometer needle steady on the limit. By noon I was within sight of the bay. Circling gulls rode the wind with stylish grace.

While I ate a hurried lunch, I made my plans. I had to call Hawk. There was something I wanted him to have AXE sources check out.

But first there was Therese, who had inspired the second glowing passage in Moose's black book. By now I knew all the telephone numbers in the book by heart I dialed. Therese's and talked to a woman with a whiskey voice.

She cut through the preliminaries. "You want a date with Therese?"

"Yeah." The question didn't surprise me. There was a strong possibility that every girl in the book was a hooker or a call girl.

"You got any special tastes, sweetheart?"

"I'd rather not discuss them on the telephone."

She laughed and gave me an address. It was in a rundown neighborhood near the waterfront, in the middle of a street that looked as inviting as a cellblock.

I locked the door of the Ford when I got out, wondering if even that precaution would assure the car's being there when I returned. This was a part of town where a man could get rolled in church.

The building I approached was an eyesore that should have been razed years before, but the buzzer set in the worn door frame worked. A woman with yellow hair peered out, then glanced up and down the street as if to make sure I hadn't brought a paddy wagon with me.

"I called," I said. "I came to see Therese."

She was suspicious. Maybe I didn't look like her usual customer. "You aren't one of Therese's regular friends."

"I'd like to be one. I've heard a lot about her."

The woman decided to smile. Her teeth weren't the best. Her yellow hair had been dyed long ago, and not well, and her painted eyebrows looked like batwings. She swung the door wider so I could squeeze past, then slid a bolt.

"Are you expecting a raid?"

"These days you never know. It's not easy earning an honest living anymore."

I was sure she knew nothing at all about earning an honest living, or even anyone who did. She wore white boots, skin-tight pants, and a pullover blouse with zebra stripes that were drawn taut over her copious breasts. Big nipples studded the blouse like rocks.

"You're a nice-sized boy," she said, running a quick and experienced eye over me. "I'll bet you're really sweet."

I had been called any number of things, but never sweet. I forced a grin, playing the role dictated by the circumstances. This woman certainly wasn't one who would be interested in doling out information to a stranger.

"Here's Rondo now," she said, laying a hand on my arm. Her fingers were the size of sausages.

A man had come out of a door at the foot of the stairway that ran to the house's second floor. The sleeves of his shirt were cut off and exposed his broad upper arms. Metal studs gleamed in his wide belt. His pants fit as tightly as the woman's, showing the bulges in his powerful legs. His face was moon-shaped, fat pinching in the corners of his small eyes.

"Tell us what you'd like Therese to do for you, sweetheart," he suggested, baring teeth that were in even worse shape than the woman's.

I felt a prickling on the back of my neck. I was in no ordinary bordello. There seemed to be no one in the house but the three of us and the girl I hadn't seen.

"I'd like to see her first."

"She's a lovely chick. You won't be disappointed."

"Let him go up, Rondo," the woman said. "It's a reasonable request."

Rondo shook his head. "I've got a feeling he's a ringer. He didn't give you any references, did he?"

"Moose," I said. "Moose gave me Therese's number."

"That's a good name." He stuck out his hand. "Put fifty right here. It's like a cover charge. A fifty-dollar job is the cheapest trick this chick pulls."

I crossed his palm and he climbed the creaking stairs to confer with Therese, then waved to me from the landing. "She says come on up."

The first thing I saw when I opened the bedroom door was the array of whips and belts laid out on a wooden table. The second thing was the girl. She really was lovely.

"What's your name, darling?" she said in a husky voice.

A thin slip was her only piece of clothing. She was leaning against a stack of pillows on an unmade bed. The furniture in the dim room was old and dilapidated. The dresser held only a hairbrush and a cracked washbasin and the faded curtains smelled of dust. Therese was the only item of value there. She had black hair, an olive complexion, and high cheekbones that drew the skin of her lean face taut. Her body was young and lithe and she looked as though she'd be all that Moose had said in his little black book.

But he hadn't mentioned the whips.

"Ned," I told her. "My name is Ned."

"And what's your game?"

My eyes swung back to the table. I knew now the kind of house I was in, and the games that were played here were very rough indeed. It figured, I thought. Given Moose's leanings, it figured he'd be carrying the number of a place like this. Only the girl didn't figure. She was too lovely to be here.

"You're going to be surprised when I tell you my; game," I said.

"I like surprises." There was perversity in her smile. She was the kind of woman Faust had soul his soul for.

"I want to know where Moose is."

"I'm surprised, all right. And a little disappointed."

"I've got to find him, Therese."

"You didn't mention this to Rondo. If you had, he wouldn't have let you see me."

"That's the reason I didn't mention it."

Therese put a crudely-rolled cigarette in her mouth and struck a match on the wooden floor. The slip skidded down her shoulder, baring a small, round breast. She gave me the tantalizing smile again. "Moose left town."

The odor that took over the room told me her cigarette wasn't the kind she'd have offered the chief of police. I walked closer to the bed. "If you wanted to find Moose, where would you go?"

"To Hell. That's where he ought to be." She laughed, showing her teeth. They were clean and even and white. Everything about her was perfect, everything but what she was.

"Did he have friends in San Diego that I could look up?"

"I look at people and right away, that first time, I know if I'm going to like them or not. I like you." She leaned her head against my leg. Her voice was soft. "If it's important, I'll help you. Why are you trying to find Moose?"

"He killed some people."

She raised her head. "You aren't a policeman. I can tell policemen by the way they walk." She stroked my leg. "You don't feel like a policeman, either."

"He killed a friend of mine."

The door to the bedroom burst open. Rondo and the yellow-haired woman came in.

Therese straightened up, her lovely mouth twisting. "You should have waited, Rondo!" she yelled "I could have gotten him to tell me more."

"We heard enough." He picked up the biggest whip on the table. "Mister, if Moose ever found out one of us set you on his tail, we'd all be sorry."

"Don't worry. I won't tell him."

"There won't be anything to tell." He snapped the whip as he moved toward me. "I saw that fat wallet of yours when you shelled out the fifty. You're carrying a nice hunk of cash."

"Get him, Rondo!" the yellow-haired woman said.

I realized that they were perfectly willing to kill me for the cash I carried, or even just as a favor to Moose.

Rondo drew back the whip and as he did, I picked up the straight-backed chair near the bed. The whip sang through the air and snaked around the leg of the chair as I raised it to protect my face. Rondo cursed and tried to pull the whip back.

I took two steps toward him and smashed the chair down over his head. It splintered and he sank to his knees. I belted him in the face with my fist and blood spurted.

With a squeal, Therese bounded back on the bed, reached under the pillow, and hauled out a .25 caliber Bauer automatic. They were ready for anything, this crowd.

Therese didn't tell me to stop where I was or to put up my hands. She pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the wall. She was too excited to shoot straight.

I had rapidly revised my opinion of the girl. She was lovely, but I wouldn't have wanted to run into her in a dark alley.

"Shoot him, Therese," urged Yellow Hair. She was a great cheerleader. I backhanded her and dived for the girl.

I hit the bed on my belly and it collapsed under my plunging weight. Therese spilled off one side with her feet flailing. She was wearing nothing underneath the slip. The force of my dive carried me across the bed like a hockey puck skidding on ice and I landed on top of her. The fall was cushioned for me, but the girl made a sound like a sick bird.

The vest-pocket gun danced from her hand, careening along the floor. Rondo wiped his bloody nose, got to his feet, and staggered for it.

I reached for the Luger, but Yellow Hair leaped on my back. She must have weighed 160. I spun around and threw her over my shoulder and she crashed upon the bed.

Rondo was trying to pick up the little automatic. He seemed to be having trouble seeing it. I clamped one hand on the back of his neck and jerked him forward so that his head butted the wall. He spilled down on his face and lay still.

Yellow Hair reared up on the broken-down bed and cried out. "Rondo. Did he hurt you, Rondo?"

"No, sweetheart," I said. "He likes butting his head against the wall."

"You bastard. If you've hurt Rondo..."

I pulled the Luger out and her voice choked off in mid-sentence. "What did you say, darling?" I asked in a sarcastic voice.

She crouched on the bed and glared at me silently.

I grabbed the dazed Rondo by his belt, lugged him to the center of the room, and turned him face up.

"Don't shoot Rondo!" the woman screamed.

I had the Luger pointed directly at Rondo's ugly face. I said, "Why shouldn't I shoot him, baby doll?"

"Ill tell you about Moose. That's what you want, isn't it? He left town a few months ago. They had stashed the loot from a heist with some broad and she ran off with it. They were hunting her."

"You did say they, didn't you, sweetheart?"

"Moose and Jack Hoyle and a third man. Hoyle is a short guy, comes to Rondo's shoulder. He has a tattoo right here." She touched her left forearm. "We never saw the third man."

I dug in Rondo's pocket and got my fifty dollars back before I left.