The Menacers

14

CARRYING THE suitcases into the unit that had been assigned to us, I was surprised at the icy sharpness of the wind off the gulf. I remembered the sweltering heat of Mazatlбn, only a few hundred miles south on the same coastline-well, seven or eight hundred. Apparently the weather had changed drastically during the couple of days I'd been out of Mexico.

I set the bags down and went over to investigate the primitive gas heater set into the wall. The room was just a cinderblock cell, gaudily painted and cheaply furnished; and like any beach house in autumn, it had a damp and clammy feel. I felt Carol come up to stand behind me.

"Matt, what's a spook?"

"I believe the word is a colloquialism for ghost or disembodied spirit, ma'am," I said without looking around.

"But it's also slang for intelligence agent or spy, isn't it?" Carol laughed softly. "She really let your cat out of the bag, didn't she?"

I turned the valve, applied a lighted match to the outrushing gas, and closed the battered cover of the heater. "I've never seen the dame before in my life," I said. "It was a simple case of mistaken identity. You heard her admit it."

"Of course, darling. There are so many men six-feet-four running around these days, you just can't tell them all apart."

I got up and turned to face her. She looked at me for a moment, smiling; then her smile died, and she reached out and touched my cheek with her fingertips. "I'm sorry. If you aren't allowed to tell me anything, you aren't, and I shouldn't tease you. Matt, do you love me? Or is that classified information, too?"

I made the standard response to that ancient question. I took her into my arms and kissed her hard. Her lips were warm and responsive, and as I held her I couldn't help the thought, that comes to us dangerous gents from time to time, that it would really be pleasant to have an understanding woman to come home to between assignments-particularly if the understanding woman were blonde and lovely and nice to be with like, say, Carol Lujan. After a little, she held me off gently.

"That's not… not answering my question!" she said, rather shakily.

I grinned. "Why are women always so dead set on having it put into words?"

"Maybe-" She licked her lips, looking up at me. "Maybe because they're afraid. I'm scared, Matt. I've got a funny feeling… I don't like this place. I don't like that girl on the veranda. It isn't really going to be romantic and exciting, is it? All right, all right, I know you can't tell me anything. But I wish we could just turn around and drive back across the border to that nice motel in Lordsburg and forget the whole thing." She laughed abruptly. "There! I've got it off my chest. Now I'll let you wander over to the bar for a beer, or something, while I rinse the alkali dust off the face and body."

I looked at her suspiciously. "Why the sudden modesty?" I asked. "I'm a big boy now. I've seen girls undress before, present company included."

"You're being stupid, darling." Her voice was a little sharp. "Don't you see that I'm giving you an opportunity to make contact with your fellow-agent without my embarrassing presence? Run along now like a good little spook. Shoo. Scat!"

The late afternoon sunshine struck me as I stepped outside, but so did the wind, making me wish I'd taken time to grab a sweater or jacket. I walked along the low wall separating the motel compound from the beach. Down at the shore, some kids were playing in the breaking waves. I noticed that several of them were wearing those black-rubber wetsuits for warmth. I didn't blame them. It wasn't exactly what I called ideal swimming weather. Other kids were setting off the usual Mexican firecrackers. A couple of beach buggies were racing around on the sand: stripped-down Volkswagens, by the look of them, with little open bodies and big tires.

I turned into the bar, which wasn't crowded, and found myself a stool without really looking around.

"Una cerveza, POT favor," I said in my best Spanish, which isn't very good. I was aware that somebody was taking the seat to my left, and I caught a whiff of cheap, strong perfume. "Make that dos cervezas," I said.

"How do you know I want beer?" Priscilla Decker asked.

"If you don't want it, I'll drink both of them, and you can buy your own damn booze," 1 said. "God, you stink! What is that stuff you've got on, insect repellent or varnish remover? And just what the hell are you and that smoothie boss of yours trying to pull now?"

"What do you mean?"

I put some American money on the bar, and tasted my beer judiciously. After the long, dry drive it tasted very good, but then, beer is something they always do very well down here.

"You know what I mean, sweetheart," I said. "Blowing my cover, such as it was, by greeting me like a long-lost friend!" She started to speak, but I went on: "Okay. If that's the way you want to play, that's the way we'll play it. But let me just remind you of the last time you and your clever chief and your smart colleagues tried to get tricky with me. Think hard, doll, and maybe you'll recall a hotel room not so far from here, and a short-haired lady whose costume consisted mainly of a mannish pantsuit and three bullets in the chest. Concentrate, Decker. I'm sure it will all come back to you if you concentrate."

Priscilla's eyes were narrow. "Are you threatening me?"

I grinned without humor. "You're goddamn right I'm threatening you! Just take your choice. Either we're working on this job together, or I'm working on it alone and you're working against me. Just so I know. There isn't really room for any stupid interdepartmental feuds, but if you want one, I'll give it to you in spades. If so, just tell me: would you rather have the remains shipped to Leonard in Washington, or is the local cemetery satisfactory?"

She looked at me hard for a moment, with anger burning brightly in her eyes. Then she picked up her glass and drank. When she looked at me again, the anger was gone-well, gone or skillfully concealed.

"Okay, Matt," she said quietly. "Okay, you've made your point. And of course you're right. We've been instructed not to like you, and to conduct ourselves accordingly."

I said, "Jesus Christ, are you working for your country or just helping some jerk in Washington play musical chairs?"

"I know," she said. "I know how you feel, and I feel the same way. But after all, he is my boss." She shrugged and held out her hand. "But let's call it a truce, just between you and me, Matt."

"Sure."

I took her hand, which was small and firm, and looked into her eyes which were warm and friendly now. They almost made me ashamed of my boorish outburst-which was, of course, exactly what they were supposed to do.

I grinned, and flipped my fingertips lightly across the front of her skimpy jersey. "You can help me decide a bet with myself," I said. "Is it Kleenex or compressed air?"

She laughed. "What makes you think they aren't genuine, sir? Oh, of course, you saw me without them, didn't you? I was really a rather naпve and underdeveloped little girl in Mazatlбn, wasn't I?"

"What's the theory behind this getup?"

"Don't be obtuse. We'd like the inside track with Seсor Solana, naturally. And Mexican gentlemen, even very respectable Mexican gentlemen, make a kind of cult of virility, and seldom turn down an obvious challenge."

I grinned. "Well, you're obvious enough. Is it working?"

"Don't rush me. After all, I just got out of jail, changed my clothes and hairdo, and came racing up to the border to meet Solana and thank him for interceding in my behalf. That was when the news of the latest incident came through. He wasn't really planning to bring along a U.S. observer on this trip, but he did. So I guess you can say it's working pretty well, even though I haven't had time to get myself seduced yet."

"Have you been out to the scene of the interplanetary crime?"

"Of course not. We just drove in a few minutes ahead of you, remember? But Solana's promised to take me as soon as he's gone through some formalities with the local authorities."

I said, "It would be nice if you got me and my camera girl included in the invitation."

"Is that what she is?" Priscilla made a face. "Well, I don't know why I should do your snooty blonde any favors. And I'm not nice, particularly not to large bullying gents who threaten to kill me." She laughed at my expression. "Au right, Matt. I'll see what I can do." She hesitated, and went on: "Don't tell Mr. Leonard, but I'm really kind of glad you're here. This job could get too big for one girl to handle alone. Solana seems to think things are coming to a head fast. Whatever we do, it had better get done in the next day or two."

"Sure," I said. "Well, I'm probably supposed to try to beat you to whatever it is and grab all the credit for my team, but under the circumstances I think we can work out a compromise if you're willing. Let's first take care of the heavies from heaven, and worry about the characters in Washington later."

"It's a deal," she said. "And I will talk to Solana, I promise."