The Judas Goat

19

While Kathie was still in the bathroom, Hawk and I took one body each and slipped them under the twin beds. In the bathroom, the faucet still ran in the sink, masking any other sound. “What you suppose she doing?” Hawk said. “Nothing probably. She’s probably trying to think what to do when she comes out.”

“Maybe she perfuming up in case we want to rape her.”

“Still waters run deep,” I said. “Her idea of a good time is probably to be beaten by Benito Mussolini with a copy of Mein Kampf.”

“Or to be raped by you and me,” Hawk said. “Especially you, big fella. I know what they say about you black folk.”

“And quick,” Hawk said, “we very quick and rhythmical. ”

“That’s what I heard,” I said. I got a can of Spot-lifter off the top closet shelf and sprayed the blood stains on the rug. “That stuff work?”

“Works on my suits,” I said. “When it dries I just brush it away.”

“You make a fine wife someday, babe. You cook good too.

“Yeah, but I’ve always wanted a career of my own.”

Kathie shut off the running water and came out of the bathroom. She’d combed her hair and smoothed out her dress as much as possible.

I was on my hands and knees working on the blood stains. “Sit down,” I said. “You want something to eat? Drink? Both?”

“I am hungry,” she said.

“Hawk, get her something from room service.”

“They got a late night special here,” Hawk said. “House pate, cheese, bread and a carafe of wine. Want that?” Kathie nodded.

“That sounds pretty good,” I said to Hawk. “Why don’t we all have some.”

“That how it is eating that Indonesian food,” Hawk said. “An hour later you hungry again.”

Kathie sat in one of the straight chairs near the window, her hands in her lap, her knees together. Her head lowered looking at the crossed thumbs of her clasped hands. Hawk called and ordered. I brushed away the dried Spot-lifter and applied some cold water to what was left of the blood stain.

The room service waiter appeared with the late night special and Hawk took the table from him at the door. Hawk set the circular table into the room with the pate and cheese, French bread and red wine.

“Go ahead, kid,” Hawk said to Kathie. “Sit down, we gonna eat.”

Kathie came to the table and sat down without a word. Hawk poured her some wine. She drank a little and her hand shook enough so that some spilled on her chin. She wiped it with a napkin. Hawk cut a wedge of pate and broke a piece of bread and said to me, “What we gonna do with Kathie?”

“Don’t know,” I said. I drank some wine. It had a rich mouth-filling taste. Maybe the people who didn’t chill it knew what they were about.

“How about what we doing here. I mean, we gonna do what the note said? We done what you was hired for?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “This pate is terrific.”

“Yeah,” Hawk said. “These little nuts pistachios?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You want to go home?”

“Me, man? I got nothing to go home to. It’s you getting moony about Susan and all.”

“Yeah.”

“Besides,” Hawk said, “I don’t like that Paul.”

“Yeah. ”

“I don’t like how he was gonna kill us, and I don’t like him saying he will if we keep after him, and I don’t like much how he dump his girlfriend on us when we get close.”

“No. I don’t like that much either. I don’t like walking away from him.”

“Besides,” Hawk’s face widened into a brilliant humorless smile, “he call me Schwartze.”

“Racist bastard,” I said.

“Whyn’t we tell him we ain’t taking the deal.” Kathie ate and drank in silence.

“You know where he is, Kathie?”

She shook her head. There seemed no more venom in her.

Hawk said, “Sure you do. You must have some place where you people make contact if you get in trouble.” She shook her head. Tears had begun to run down her cheeks.

Hawk took a sip of wine, put down the glass and slapped her across the face. Her head rocked back and then she seemed to collapse in on herself, shrinking down into the chair. The tears came in sobs then, shaking her body as she bent over. She put both hands over her ears and squeezed her face between her forearms and cried. Hawk sipped some more wine and looked at her with mild interest. “She do take on,” he said.

“She’s scared,” I said. “Everybody gets scared. She’s alone with two guys she’s tried to kill and the man she loves has ditched her. She’s alone. That’s hard.”

“It gonna get a lot harder if she don’t tell us what I want her to,” Hawk said.

“Beating up on a lady isn’t your style, Hawk.”

“Women’s lib, babe. She got the same rights to have me bust her up that a man have.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Take a walk then. When you come back, we’ll know what we want to know.”

I stood up. I knew we were playing good-cop bad-cop, but did Hawk?

“Oh my God,” Kathie said. “Don’t.”

Hawk stood up too. He took off the jacket, slipped out of the shotgun shoulder rig and peeled off his shirt. Hawk had always had a lot of muscle tone. His upper body was taut and graceful. The muscles in his chest and arms swelled slightly as he made a slight loosening gesture with his shoulders. I started for the door.

“Oh God, don’t leave me with him.” Kathie slid out of the chair onto the floor and crawled after me. “Don’t let him. Don’t let him debase me. Please don’t.”

Hawk stepped between her and me. She grasped one of his legs. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.” The saliva was bubbling again at the corner of her mouth. She was gasping for breath. Her nose ran.

I said to Hawk, “I don’t want to know this bad.”

“Your biggest problem, man, you a candy ass.”

I shrugged. “I still don’t want to know this bad.” I reached down and took Kathie’s arm. “Get up,” I said. “And sit in the chair. We aren’t going to do anything bad to you.” I put her in the chair. Then I went in the bathroom and got a facecloth and soaked it in cold water and wrung it out and brought it in and washed her face with it.

Hawk looked like he was going to puke. I gave her a glass of wine. “Drink some,” I said. “And get it back together. Take your time. We got lots of time. When you’re ready, we’ll talk a little. Okay?”

Kathie nodded.

Hawk said, “You remember she blew up some guy’s wife and kids? You remember she trying to set you up in the London Zoo? You remember she gonna stand around while her boyfriend wasted you in Copenhagen? You remember what she is?”

“I’m not worrying about what she is,” I said. “I’m worrying about what I am.”

“Gonna get you killed someday, babe.”

“We’ll do it my way, Hawk.”

“You paying the money, babe, you can pick the music.” He put his shirt back on.

We ate the rest of the late night special in silence. “Okay, Kathie. Is that your name?”

“It is one of them.”

“Well, I’m used to thinking of you as Kathie so I’ll stick with it.”

She nodded. Her eyes were red but dry. She slumped as she sat.

“Tell me about you and your group, Kathie.”

“I should tell you nothing.”

“Why? Who do you owe? Who is there to be loyal to?” She looked at her lap.

“Tell me about you and your group.”

“It is Paul’s group.”

“What is it for?”

“It is for keeping Africa white.” Hawk snorted.

“Keeping,” I said.

“Keeping the control in white hands. Keeping the blacks from destroying what white civilization had made of Africa.” She wouldn’t look at Hawk.

“And how was blowing up some people in a London restaurant going to do that?”

“The British were wrong on Rhodesia and wrong on South Africa. It was punishment.”

Hawk had stood and gone to the window. He was whistling “Saint James Infirmary Blues” through his teeth as he stood looking down into the street.

“What were you doing in England?”

“Organizing the English unit. Paul sent me.”

“Any connection with IRA?”

“No.”

“Try?”

“Yes.”

“They’re only concerned with their own hatreds,” I said. “Are there many more left in England of your unit?”

“No. You… you overcame us all.”

“Gonna overcome all the rest of you too,” Hawk said from the window.

Kathie looked blank.

“What’s shaking in Copenhagen?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why did you go to Denmark when you left London?”

“Paul was there.”

“What was he doing there?”

“He lives there sometimes. He lives many places and that’s one of them.”

“The apartment on Vester Søgade?”

“Yes.”

“And when Hawk busted that up you and he came here.”

“Yes. ”The address on the Kalverstraat?“

“Yes.”

“And you spotted us watching?”

“Paul did. He is very careful.” I looked at Hawk. Hawk said, “He pretty good too. I never saw him.”

“And?”

“And he called me on the telephone and made me stay inside. Then he watched you while you watched me. When you left for the night he came in.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“And you moved out of that place?”

“Yes, to Paul’s apartment.”

“And today while we were staking out the empty place on the Kalverstraat, Paul brought you and the two stiffs here.”

“Yes, Milo and Antone. They thought we were coming to ambush you. I did too.”

“And when you got in here Paul burned Milo and Antone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Paul killed the two men.”

“Paul and a man named Zachary. Paul said it was time for a sacrifice. Then he bound me and gagged me and left me for you. He said he was sorry.”

“Where’s the apartment?”

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t be there.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“It’s on the Prinsengracht.” She told us the number. I looked at Hawk. He nodded, slipped into the shotgun rig, put on his jacket and went out. Hawk needed a shotgun less than most. “What are Paul’s plans now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know something. Until last night you were his darling.” Her eyes filled. “And now you aren’t. You should start getting used to that.” She nodded. “So being as you were his darling up till today, didn’t he tell you anything about his plans?”

“He told no one. When he was ready we were told what to do, but not before.”

“So you didn’t know what was coming down tomorrow?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You didn’t even know what was going to be done tomorrow.”

“That is right.”

“And you don’t think he’s at the place on Prinsengracht?”

“No. No one will be there when the black man gets there.”

“His name is Hawk,” I said. She nodded. “If the police penetrated your organization, or if they raided the apartment on Prinsengracht, where would the survivors meet?”

“We have a calling system. Each person has two people to call.”

“Who were you supposed to call?”

“Milo and Antone.”

“Balls.”

“I cannot help you.”

“Maybe you can’t,” I said. Maybe I’d used her up. And maybe she couldn’t.