The Menacers

6

IT WAS A silenced pistol, which made it an automatic because, despite what you may have seen on TV, revolvers aren't really amenable to silencing. The necessary clearance between the front of the rotating cylinder and the rear of the fixed barrel lets out too much noisy gas regardless of what magic gizmos you screw on the muzzle. The little plopping sound meant that it was a fairly small-caliber gun, probably a.22. The big blasters can't be quieted so effectively, at least not by any device you'd want to smuggle into somebody's hotel room.

I don't mean I stood there figuring all this out; but it's always useful to know what kind of a weapon you're up against. As I got my reflexes working, I kept in mind that I was dealing with a fast-firing little gun probably holding in the neighborhood of ten shots, a gun with which the other guy would have to hit me dead center, since he didn't have much shocking power at his disposal. Not that any pistol will really knock a man off his feet, but since the ambusher had missed his first shot I did have a bit of a fire-power edge with my heavier.38 special-if I could get it out in time.

I couldn't use my right hand. That angle was blocked by Vadya, probably deliberately. I remembered the sadness I'd seen on her face when she'd suggested coming back here; and her odd hesitation outside. I remembered also that she did owe me a bullet for old times' sake. Apparently this was the payoff. Well, one shot had already been fired and I wasn't dead.

All kinds of fragmentary thoughts like this were flashing through my mind, but I was already going for the gun in my belt left-handed, twisting it free as I dove to the side. The maneuver is fairly awkward, and while I'm a pretty good shot I'm not really an expert gun-juggler. My performance wouldn't have earned any applause from the boys with the big hats and the tied-down holsters who play fast-draw games with electronic timers. The silenced gun had time to spit once more before I could get lined up properly, but I still wasn't hit.

Then the sawed-off.38 in my hand went off with a deafening report. I mean, in a situation like that, if you've had the training and practice, your gun kind of fires itself as it comes on target. I gave it free rein, so to speak: I don't insist on economical one-shot kills. I'm willing to waste a little ammunition to insure that the other guy gets dead and I stay alive. I let the gun keep firing until the target went down.

It took three shots. Suddenly the room was very quiet again, until lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. I listened intently afterwards, expecting to hear excited voices and hurrying footsteps coming my way, but the hotel was silent. Whatever noises had been heard beyond this room, they'd apparently been attributed to the storm-or to the Mexican kids and their inevitable firecrackers.

I drew a long breath and shifted the revolver from my left hand to my right, which shoots better. Not that the left had done too badly tonight. Belatedly I looked around for Vadya. I found her lying on the floor almost at my feet.

This wasn't on the program, or what I'd thought was the program. It was her room and her ambush, wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to be hurt; I was.

Bewildered, I glanced at the man I'd shot, lying face down across the bathroom threshold. He was wearing a light suit, almost white, but dark blood was crawling out from under his motionless body in large quantities and spreading across the tiled floor. I didn't have to worry about him. They don't make trouble when there's that much blood.

I knelt beside Vadya and lifted her gently. There was some blood here, too; a round stain of it on the white dress over the breast, and a trickle across the face. She'd taken both of the dead man's bullets, and both had been placed squarely in the spots most vulnerable for a small-caliber weapon: the heart and the head. One could have been an accident, not two.

I sighed and lowered her carefully to the floor and stood up. Things were becoming a little clearer, but no more pleasant. I walked grimly over to the body in the bathroom doorway and raised it a bit with my foot, enough so that I could see the face. By this time I wasn't really surprised to learn that it wasn't a man at an.

It was the short-haired blonde lady Priscilla had identified as Laura Waterman, the California gym teacher with the fullback figure. She was wearing one of those idiot pantsuits that have recently come into style, with a man-tailored jacket and sharply creased trousers: a real natty gents' outfit complete to soft silk shirt and flowing tie. Well, if they will dress like men, they can't complain if they get shot for men when things get hectic.

I was glad to see that, as I'd guessed, the gun was a silenced.22 automatic. At least I'd been right about something.

I drew a long breath and went back to Vadya. I didn't lift her this time. I just crouched beside her body briefly and had some thoughts. They weren't very nice thoughts. Obviously she'd sensed that she was being set up for the kill-the touch, as we call it-and most likely she'd thought I knew all about it. Perhaps she'd even credited me with planning it. Yet she'd walked right into the room ahead of me. I would probably never know why. I didn't even want to know why. Perhaps she'd just known that the game was over between us, although that was a bit of sentiment I wouldn't really have expected to influence her to such an extent, flattering though the thought might be.

I got up slowly and went to the phone and asked for room 116. When a girl's voice answered, I said, "Priscilla, get over here right away."

"Mr. Helm? Where-"

"Cut it out," I said. "You know where. On the double. And tell Hartford to lock the door behind you and stay awake."

I hung up and sat on the bed with my thoughts and my gun until she knocked on the door. Then I rose and walked over and yanked it open, letting it swing wide of its own accord while I took a quick step in the other direction. Most room-entering techniques are based on the assumption that the man inside the room will go the same way as the door he's opening for you, and there was an instant, looking for me over there, when Priscilla was off guard.

I said, "You see, you did know where to come." She spun around to face me. I said, "Sweetheart, if that purse swings live degrees more in my direction, or if there's anything in your hand when it comes out of there, this room will be just loaded with corpses. Now bring it out empty like a good girl. That's better."

"Mr. Helm, what in the world…?" Her voice stopped. Her eyes widened. "Laura!"

"Hold it!" I snapped as she started forward. "First, the purse. On the bed, if you please. Second, watch your step. We don't want to go tracking a lot of gore around the place, do we?"

She put the purse on the bed without taking her eyes from the motionless form sprawled in the bathroom doorway.

"Laura!" she breathed, and went on without looking in my direction: "You… you killed her!"

"That's right. I killed her. But who did I kill?"

That brought her head around sharply. "You know perfectly well-"

"Sure. You told me. A schoolteacher on vacation, a harmless lady tourist from California. A tourist who opened up with a silenced gun when I stepped into this room. What was I supposed to do, take your word for it she was harmless while she was blasting away with her little.22?"

Priscilla licked her lips. "You're being ridiculous! You'll never get away with this, Helm! You're going to pay for it. You've killed a fellow U.S. agent-" It was what I'd already guessed, and having my guess confirmed didn't really make me happy, but there was no need for her to know that. I just sighed in a relieved sort of way.

"At last. Somebody has finally admitted, now that she's dead, what the dame actually is. Or was."

"You can't stand there and pretend you didn't know-" I said patiently, "Look, doll, I just saw the woman once outside this room, in the airport with you. Something about her made me curious. I had a hunch she was someone I ought to know more about, so I asked you. You gave me the harmless-tourist runaround. Being a persistent fellow, I reported your story through channels and asked for the real dope. That got me a slap-down from my boss, who obviously got some kind of security door shut in his face when he passed my innocent query along. Apparently he was told to inform me that the lady was none of my goddamn business, and he did. Well, anybody who shoots at me is my business…"

"She wasn't shooting at you!"

"Sweetheart," I said, "when I walk into a room and a gun goes off in my face, it's shooting at me. At least I operate on that assumption until I learn different. Unless I'm warned in advance, and I wasn't warned." I looked into the girl's pale face and angry eyes. "Why wasn't I warned, Miss Decker? You presumably took Miss Waterman to the airport to identify me for her. Why were you an so dead set against identifying her for me?"

She didn't answer the question. She just said insistently, "But you must have recognized her, right there across the room with the light on. It was on, wasn't it?"

"Sure it was on." It was like arguing with a stubborn, stupid child, but I kept trying. "But even if I'd recognized her, so what? I'd asked for identification twice and got a negative answer both times. That made her just a stranger with a gun, shooting." I grimaced. "And as a matter of fact, all this is beside the point, because I didn't recognize her in that damn transvestite outfit she had on."

Priscilla's breath caught. "Really, Mr. Helm! That's a perfectly respectable and fashionable costume these days, and you have no right to imply-"

"I wasn't implying anything. I was just saying flatly that the dame was dressed like a man, at a hasty glance, and I had no reason to be considerate of a man of that general description. Nobody'd told me to watch what I shot at. Okay, so it turns out you had a trap set for Vadya, and I suppose you were more or less using me for bait. Fair enough, but why wasn't I warned?"

Priscilla glanced at the still, dead figure in the white dress, lying at her feet. She brought her glance back to my face. When she spoke, her voice had its familiar prim inflection.

"How could we warn you, Mr. Helm? We knew of your past record of association with this woman. We knew that you'd been under orders to kill her, if possible, a year or so ago, and only managed to wound her. For a man of your experience and reputation, that was a very Freudian mistake, Mr. Helm, if it was a mistake. And after the fond way I'd seen you greet her down there on the beach-an enemy agent high on the priority list!-how could we warn you and risk having you alert her?"

I'd been in the business too long to blow a fuse just because a sanctimonious kid cast aspersions on my loyalty. I said, "Next time I meet a beautiful enemy agent, I'll remember to knock her teeth down her throat for the benefit of any juvenile U.S. Mata Hans who may be snooping around. Proceed."

Priscilla went on stiffly: "The woman had to die, not only because she was on the list, but because she's been interfering with our work, both here and in Acapulco-it was one of our agents she killed there, not a Britisher as I told you. You're right in thinking you were brought here partly to distract her from the trap we were setting-as bait, if you like. We were hoping that, once you were in Mazatlбn, Vadya would concentrate on you and more or less ignore us, as she did. But there was reason to believe that your emotions were involved where this woman was concerned; we simply couldn't gamble on taking you into our confidence."

"Sure," I said sourly. "I congratulate you on your discretion. I'm sure Miss Waterman is very happy that security has been preserved." I went on before Priscilla could speak: "Well, we've got a nasty mess on our hands. Let's figure out what we're going to do about it while there's still time."

I glanced down at the short-barreled revolver I still held. After a moment, I carefully smudged a couple of fingerprints that might have been classifiable, and bent over to lay the gun near Vadya's outflung hand. Then I picked up her purse and got her gun:.a little Browning 9mm pocket automatic, shooting the short cartridge also designated as.380, not the huskier 9mm Luger load. I tucked this inside the waistband of my pants and looked at the girl still standing by the bed.

"Do you get the sketch, or do I have to draw it for you?"

"They shot each other, is that it?"

"Very good, Miss Decker," I said. "So now what do you do?"

"Why, I-" She stopped uncertainly.

I said, "First of all, you search her luggage discreetly to make sure she hasn't shy spare ammo kicking around. It wouldn't do for her to be found with.38 Special gun and.380 ammunition; the rounds are not interchangeable. And then you get your people in Washington on Operation Coverup, real quick. We're not going to fool the Mexican police if they don't want to be fooled, but perhaps, with a little diplomacy, the desire can be created. Check with your superiors. Find out if they can get local cooperation somehow. If not-" I paused, thinking hard. "What about Mrs. O'Leary? Does Los Alamos really want her, or was that just camouflage for your fancy mousetrap?"

"Of course Los Alamos wants her! This was just a. a side issue. We were killing two birds with one stone."

I said, "Well, two birds got killed, all right. Okay, I take the O'Leary north as planned. The plane is supposed to leave at nine-ten tomorrow morning, but it's been known to be quite late. It's supposed to arrive in Los Angeles at eleven-thirty-five, but we'd better allow for the possibility of a two-hour delay, at least. And as long as we're in the air, over Mexican territory, we can be caned back. Therefore I'm not really in the clear until I'm on the ground in Los Angeles. You see the problem, I hope."

"I think so. Go on."

"If your people assure us they can count on getting cooperation here, swell. But if not, you've got to keep the hounds off my trail until around one-thirty tomorrow afternoon. How you do it is your business."

She looked at me bleakly. "Thank you very much, Mr. Helm. It sounds like a lovely assignment."

I grinned. "Glad you like it, ma'am," I said. "Okay, I'll give your regards to Mr. Hartford now, and take the subject off his hands." I hesitated. "Are you sure you can handle things around here?"

That stung her youthful pride, as it was supposed to do. "I can handle them," she said stiffly. "Don't worry about me!"

"that'll be the day," I said, and I walked out of there without looking at the bodies on the floor, either of them.