The Liquidator

Six

When night falls along the shores of Greece it turns dark with great suddenness. I found a fairish hotel close to the docks, recommended by me to the captain of a charter boat I’d been talking to earlier. He offered to show me some of the nightlife, but I turned him down as graciously as possible; I was still in the process of psyching myself up for the assignment that still hadn’t really begun, and I didn’t want any friendly distractions.

My room was clean and neat. No television, for which I was mildly grateful. It had been a long day, and I wasn’t accustomed to the intense sunlight that can drain the strength from a man before he’s aware of it. In the morning I would travel across to Pirgos to make my rendezvous with the girl, and I was anxious to get moving.

I took dinner in a little tavern not far away. A party of Americans sat close by, and one of the women in the crowd kept glancing over at me. She wasn’t bad-looking in a sort of leathery way, as though she spent every daylight hour baking her hide and had left the oven on a little too long. But I ignored her, studying a cruising guide I’d picked up at the tourist office in Athens.

The woman wouldn’t stay ignored. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her get up and totter over on those high-heeled wooden clogs that women go for these days. She stopped across the table from me, staring and frowning as though I were some kind of odd specimen she’d come across in the jungle.

“Can I help you?” I asked politely. I didn’t rise.

She shook her sun-streaked brown-blonde hair. “I don’t know.” She pointed an accusing finger at me. “Galveston. Three, four years ago. You were a friend of Sue-Ellen’s, weren’t you?”

I froze, trying not to show it. “I’m afraid you must be thinking of someone else.”

Her frown deepened. “I swear I never forget a face. And certainly not one like yours.” Quick smile, to show she was appreciating me. “Come on, now. The name is... Nick? Yes. That was it, and give me a minute; I’ll come up with the last one.”

“I’m sorry, my name is Daniel McKee.”

She nodded knowingly. “Uh-huh. And mine is Jackie Onassis. What’s the matter? You here with your wife or something?”

“No, but...”

“Funny thing, we were just with Sue-Ellen today. On her yacht?” As she spoke, the woman’s accent seemed to become more and more southern. I wasn’t surprised; just thinking about Sue-Ellen was enough to put a little corn pone in my mouth.

“I really don’t...”

She went on as though she hadn’t heard me. “You know she finally got her divorce after that time, but I guess you know about that since you and Sue-Ellen were such close friends. Married again, of course, but her old Greek husband don’t spend hardly any time with her at all these days. I guess Sue-Ellen’ll be real glad to hear you’re around these parts.”

I was acutely aware of other eyes on me now, not only the rest of the talkative woman’s party but people at several nearby tables as well. I got to my feet. “Believe me, ma’am, I’m Daniel McKee.” I took a card from my wallet. “As a matter of fact, I happen to be a yacht broker. Maybe your friend Sue-Ellen would be interested in talking to me. Where is her boat, exactly?”

She looked at the crisp white card scornfully. Then she peered at my face, her eyes not quite focused. Finally she shook her head and backed a step away. “I could have sworn it was you, Nick Somebody. Only Sue-Ellen wouldn’t have any truck with any boat salesman. Not even for just a weekend.”

“Well...” I managed to look embarrassed, finally returning the disdained card to my wallet.

The woman shook a finger at me. “But maybe you’re not what you say, right? I remember that Nick, he was a crafty one, wouldn’t hardly give anybody the time of day. You stick around, Mister yacht broker; Sue-Ellen said she might drop in here later on. Then we’ll know for sure, huh?” She wobbled away back to her table.

I wanted to get away from here quick, but forced myself to finish my meal, ignoring the stares of the other men and women in the party. They were a prosperous looking crew, mostly in their late thirties and forties I judged, the sort who turn up at just about any tourist spot in the world. The sort who would be casual friends of someone like Sue-Ellen Baylor, or whatever her last name was these days, and make sure all their friends knew it.

But this was no evening to be thinking of Sue-Ellen or of her buddies, so I put her out of my mind as soon as I left the taverna after a smile and a nod to the woman in the American party. I could feel her appraising eyes on my back as I stepped out into the clear night air.

It was cool, a steady breeze blowing in off the water. Out in the harbor a big cruise ship was anchored, every light blazing, and even at that distance I could hear the thump and twang of an amplified rock band. Crazy, I thought; people come from all over the world to see Greece, and they stay aboard their ship to listen to American music.

I walked slowly, outwardly casual but jangling inside. The Sue-Ellen business was bugging me, and I caught myself checking dark side streets as I passed them. The dock area itself was well lit, with enough activity even at this time of the night to give me a sense of comfort. Still, I appreciated the presence of Hugo, snug now in his forearm sheath. Just the fact that there was someone nearby who knew who I really was, and especially my name, was all I needed to tune my senses up to that pitch I knew so well.

Not a soul approached by the time I got back to the hotel, and as I stood in its doorway for a last, leisurely look around the quiet little square, I saw no movement that looked remotely suspicious. Finally I shrugged, walked inside and up the single flight of wide stairs to my room.

They were waiting for me when I unlocked the door, and they were damned good. No threats, hardly any words; one of them slammed the door shut as I entered, the other turned on a light across the room. Both men were heavy set, wearing ordinary dark suits, and the automatics they carried were small but deadly.

I waited for one of them to talk, noting that my luggage was open on the bed closest to the window. I hadn’t bothered to unpack, and from what I could see my two visitors had been very neat in their search. So far.

“Mr. Daniel McKee?” The man furthest from me spoke; he was slightly taller than the other, his dark hair clipped short but sporting a glorious drooping mustache.

“Yes,” I replied evenly, slightly relieved that they hadn’t used my real name.

“You are back early.”

I could have sworn the man smiled, but with that mustache it was hard to be sure.

“Obviously,” I said.

He pulled a flat, worn wallet from his hip pocket and flipped it open. I saw a blurred picture and an official-looking card under badly scratched and yellowed plastic, and then he put it all away again.

“You are seeking some sort of business connection, Mr. McKee?” the man asked. His partner, standing against the squat wooden dresser near the foot of the bed, never said a word or moved a muscle.

“Not exactly.”

“You are... a yacht broker.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“You seek to buy or sell boats in Greece?”

“No,” I replied cautiously. “I was just looking things over. A sort of vacation, you know, combined with a little business.”

“You find much of interest in our boating industry?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?”

The man guffawed, mouth wide; for a moment, when I saw the gap between his front teeth, I was forcibly reminded of Alex Zenopolis. But Alex, I told myself, was a good six inches taller...

“You will be in this country for long?” the man went on after he’d had his laugh.

“I don’t know. A few more days, maybe; I don’t have any special plans.”

“Yes, of course. Our country is a land of leisure... for visitors.” His dark eyes turned stormy as he said the last couple of words, and I kept a wary eye on the pistol he still held leveled at my middle.

“What was it you wanted, exactly?” I asked, trying to sound more nervous than demanding.

He gestured with the gun hand, but it didn’t give me any ideas about trying to take him; his partner was positioned well away from him and there was no way I could take them both without adding at least another scar to my hide. Besides, there didn’t seem any reason to. Not so far.

The man with the mustache shrugged. “To find out more about you, Mr. McKee. When any foreigner, pardon me, American, comes to this country and begins making inquiries, it naturally stirs the curiosity of my government.”

“You could have found out by just asking,” I pointed out.

“Oh, perhaps. But my country... please understand, Mr. McKee, we are in a highly precarious position, beset by forces on every side which are not friendly to us. So we are forced to be suspicious of everyone, and believe me, sir, we regret it much more than you do. So we use the most direct, even crude, means to learn what we feel we must know. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” I said sourly. “And I guess you’ve found out enough, haven’t you?”

“Well... perhaps.” To show his good faith, he put his gun away in a belt holster. “There’s only one more thing.”

“Oh?” I noted that his partner still held his automatic, though it wasn’t exactly pointed at me.

“If you wouldn’t mind...” He held his hands wide, showing his good will as he moved around the bed toward me. “A small search? Of your person?”

Christ! This was all I needed, with Hugo sheathed on my left forearm. I backed up a step. “I don’t see why that’s necessary,” I said, in my best imitation of a mildly outraged American tourist. “God knows, I’m not smuggling any boats out of your country!”

“Of course not. Nevertheless.” He was still walking toward me. “It would satisfy all of us, no?”

“I don’t see why...?”

The partner had his gun up again, pointing it in my direction.

“Please, Mr. McKee,” the mart with the mustache was saying. “We do not wish to insist.”

He was stepping around the foot of the bed, arms out placatingly and looking about as friendly as a rhinoceros.

“Hold on!” I cracked.

“Yes?” Mustache stopped, but he didn’t seem to be taken aback in any sense.

“You say you’re police, or whatever. Can I have a closer look at that card you showed me?”

That stopped him. He glanced quickly at his partner, then started to move in my direction. His mistake. I took a half-step to my right, putting him between me and the one with the drawn gun. Before either of them knew what was happening, I had a grip on Mustache’s wrist, turned him and held him against my chest. He was solid and heavy, but the hold I had turned him limp.

“Mr. McKee...” he gasped.

I was glad to hear that; whatever was going on, he evidently didn’t know who I really was.

“The wallet,” I rasped in his ear.

He started to dig in his hip pocket for it. I was so intent on keeping my hold on him that I didn’t notice what the other man was doing. Not at first. Then I saw him calmly fitting a silencer to the muzzle of his pistol. Before I could react, he took careful aim and plunked two shots into the bulky chest of the man I held. I’m ashamed to say that my first reaction was relief that neither bullet went through the body and hit me.

Mustache sagged, his weight suddenly doubled, in my arms. I let him drop; obviously he was no good to me as a shield any more.

The other man waved me back. “I take him. You don’t worry... Mr. McKee.”

I didn’t like the way he grinned at me, especially when I caught a glimpse of metal teeth framed by rubbery lips. “What the hell,” I said, trying to get back into my role as businessman-tourist. It was clear he didn’t intend to shoot me.

“Fonny things happen sometimes, Mr. McKee,” he was saying as he bent over the lifeless body at my feet. Some blood was leaking out of the neat punctures in Mustache’s chest, but it was all being absorbed by the material of dark suit jacket.

“Uh-huh,” I responded, holding my left arm out a little in case I needed Hugo in a flash. It was then that I wanted Wilhelmina so badly I could taste her. “What the hell are you going to do?”

The gunman looked up, his little eyes dead as a snake’s. “You want to know, Mr. McKee?”

I didn’t say anything.

He heaved the dead man to his feet, ducked his thick body and took Mustache over his shoulder. “There is fire escape,” he announced, as though I didn’t know it, and headed toward the window overlooking the little square below. After only a moment’s pause he stepped over the sill and out on the iron grating. The body on his shoulder thumped painfully against the raised window sash, but Mustache couldn’t have minded.

The gunman paused for a second after he had his burden outside, and when he looked at me his smile was almost friendly.

“We see you again some time, eh Mr. McKee?” He patted Mustache’s body on the rump. “And next time, we don’t make stupid mistakes, eh?”