The Removers

Chapter Ten

AFTER DINNER, we made the rounds of the gambling places. She was a roulette addict, which was nice for my simple mind. I never have understood the more complicated ways of losing money, like craps. As a matter of fact, I can't get much of a kick out of playing games where I know the odds are mathematically and inexorably against me-money games, that is. I played a few times, enough to make certain this wasn't the night I was meant to get rich; and then I just followed her around and watched her throw the stuff away.

What she did with her money didn't bother me, but she'd started drinking quite heavily, too, and you can never be sure, when they're young, just how much they know about their own capacities. I was tempted to warn her to slow down; but I had a hunch she was just waiting for me to make like a stern parent so she could inform me again that she was no teen-age kid, particularly not my teen-age kid, and that her alcoholic intake was none of my business. They're always so damn sensitive about their new-found adult independence, at that age. I kept my mouth shut and made each of my drinks last out two of hers, so that at least one of us would be able to find the way home when the time came. It was a long time in coming.

"Matt," she said abruptly, well on towards morning.

"Yes, kid?"

"Over by the pillar there. The man in the dark suit. I thought we might run across him, if we stuck it out long enough."

I didn't move at once. Then I picked up her white purse, took a cigarette from it, and a silver lighter with the initials M.F., for Moira Fredericks. I lighted a cigarette, took it from between my lips, and placed it between hers.

"Thanks, baby," she said. "Do you see him?"

I had him spotted, in the mirror inside the flap of the purse. "I see him," I said.

"That's the one."

She didn't have to tell me. I was looking at Martell. As usual, the picture and description I'd seen hadn't added up to anything much like the actual man. He had thick, black, glossy hair brushed straight back from his broad forehead, and a long mouth with thick, meaty, sexy lips- I remembered his weakness for women, that had cost him two official reprimands.

As Moira had said, he was wearing a dark suit, one of the few dark suits in the room. He had dark glasses on. It didn't make a damn bit of difference. He could have been wearing a mask and I would have known him. You learn to have a feeling for the people in your own line of business.

if you were working for a criminal organization, Mac had said, you'd be called enforcers… removers is a very good word. Martell was playing both roles now, proving, I guess, that there isn't much difference in actual practice.

He was packing a shoulder gun, I noted, to go with his cover as Fredericks' bodyguard. Judging by his dossier, he'd be fast with it, as fast as you can be with a rig like that. Not that it mattered. We don't go in much for face-to-face showdowns. When the time came that he needed a gun on my account, he'd either have all the time in the world to get it out, or no time at all.

"A real attractive specimen," I said, closing the purse. It took a little effort to do that, and to leave my back to him. I found myself wishing I hadn't left the.38 back at the motel. There's only one answer to a good pistolman, and that's another pistol. It's something they don't do so well across the water, where they tend to think of a handgun as just a portable rifle-sometimes they even equip them with folding stocks, for God's sake! They haven't got the fine old pistol traditions that we have. But Martell had been playing gangster long enough to be thoroughly acclimatized, I was sure. "How long's he been working for your dad?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "Not very long, I think, but he was here when I got back from… Don't pump me, Matt. I only pointed him out to you because… well, because there's something about him that frightens hell out of me."

"I know," I said. "He reminds you of me. That would frighten hell out of anybody."

She looked up from the table and made a face at me. "Get me a drink, will you, baby?"

I hesitated. Her voice was steady enough, but she'd had a lot and her eyes showed it. Her hairdo, as always when it was subjected to stress, had come slightly unraveled-but only enough to look kind of cute and windblown, and in other respects she was still quite presentable. But I didn't know what another would do to her, and I didn't really want to find out. You never feel quite the same about someone you've had to mop up after.

Well, she wasn't my child, she wasn't my wife, and it was hard to say if I could even call her my girl. I went and got her the drink, noting that Martell had disappeared. I wondered if he'd recognized me. It seemed unlikely, unless he had special information. They wouldn't have much of a dossier on me yet. After all, I'd only been back in the organization a year. He'd been away from his master files a long time. He'd looked at me, to be sure, but, as Fenn, it would be part of his job to keep track of guys hanging around the boss's daughter..

When I returned, Moira had left the wheel and was waiting by a potted palm nearby.

"Thanks," she said, and lifted the glass to her lips', and tasted the contents. Then she grinned at me over the rim, turned, and deliberately poured the liquor into the gravel at the base of the palm. "Okay, baby," she said. "That does it. You can stop worrying now."

"What have we been proving?" I asked.

"The books say it isn't hereditary," she answered, "but every now and then I kind of have to check up on the books-like after learning for sure my dear old daddy's a dope peddler."

"I never said-"

She paid me no attention. "Or am I insulting him by calling him that? I suppose his position is strictly administrative, and he never touches the nasty stuff with his own white manicured hands. That makes it much better, of course. That makes it just swell!" She swayed slightly, and steadied herself, and spoke in a totally different tone: "Jeeps, I'm starting to feel them, now I'm standing up. How do I look, ghastly?"

"No, but a comb wouldn't hurt."

She reached up. "The damn stuff's always falling down on me. I'll be right back. Stand by to carry out the body and revive it with black coffee." She took my hand and turned it so she could see my wristwatch. "My God, it's almost time for breakfast! Food? Ugh, what a horrible thought!"

We'd taken my truck, although it was less aristocratic than her open Mercedes, because Sheik 'would be more comfortable in it. The fact that I might not like a large hairy animal being comfortable among my bedding and camping gear obviously hadn't occurred to her. When she returned from making repairs-her hairdo neatly reconstructed for the second time that evening-we rode the elevator down, crossed the hotel parking lot in silence, and got into the pickup's cab.

"Where do you want this coffee?" I asked.

She hesitated. "Have you got some in that box of stuff in back? And a stove?"

"And water," I said, "but you're hardly dressed for a picnic."

She leaned against me sleepily. "You spend more time worrying about this damn dress!" she murmured, and grinned reminiscently. "Well, talking about it, anyway. Just turn right and keep going. I'll tell you when to turn again…"

The transition from the gaudy night life of Reno to the dark, silent desert nearby, was almost shocking. Presently we were rolling across an arid landscape that might have been the surface of the moon or Mars, vaguely illuminated by the threat of dawn in the east. Following her instructions, I turned onto a dirt road leading back into the bleak, low hills. When there wasn't any sign of civilization around us, I stopped the truck, set the brake, and cut the lights and motor.

I wasn't really feeling very amorous, but common politeness seemed to indicate a kiss, at the very least, so I reached for her. She shook her head, holding me off.

"It's Fenn, isn't it?" 'she said.

I could barely see the white shape of her face, and her shadowy eyes watching me. "What's Fenn?" I asked.

"The man I pointed out to you. Jack Fenn. He's the one you're after, isn't he?"

I said, "Don't be too clever, Moira."

"You said you weren't really interested in Dad, and I believed you. So it had to be Fenn. So I showed him to you. You didn't give yourself away much, baby. Just a little." She licked her lips. "It was… kind of scary, watching you. Like a hawk or something…" Then she was in my arms, holding me tightly, her face buried in my shoulder. Her voice was muffled. "Why couldn't we just be two ordinary people, with ordinary jobs and parents? Why does it have to be… Why? That's a lousy, useless word, isn't it? You're really not after Dad, are you? But if he should get in the way..

You had to hand it to the kid. She kept coming up with all the right answers. I'd met professionals who'd have taken a week to get the information 'she'd wormed out of me in one evening-and the funny thing was, the more she learned, the more sure I became that she was just exactly what she seemed. There was something naive and direct about her prying that, more and more, led me to believe that my earlier suspicions had been unjustified.

She sat up beside me suddenly, looking through the windshield.

"What's the matter?"

"There's a jack," she said. "Look!"

She pointed, and I saw a long-legged jack rabbit take off through the sparse brush. There was light around us now, although the sun was not yet in sight. Moira freed herself from my arm and reached for the door handle.

I said, "What-"

"I promised to show you something this morning, remember? Have you got a pair of binoculars in this caravan? Well, get them quick while I get the dog."

She was a screwy kid. I dug around behind the seat and got out the war-surplus 7x50's that I carry there-I picked up some fine, light, compact Leitz glasses overseas, but they're too nice to leave around like that; besides, they don't have the light-gathering power of the big old optical relic. When I came around the truck, she had Sheik out, at the cost of some paw-smudges on the front of her dress. While she brushed herself off, he was stretching lazily, looking completely ridiculous with his bony rump in the air and his long body flexed like Robin Hood's bow.

"Come on," she said. "Let's see if he'll pick it up."

We made a peculiar procession heading out across the desert, she in her high heels with the unlikely-looking dog on leash, and I following gingerly in my sporty loafers, carrying the binoculars, cased. I 4on't know if we found the same bunny or another-they're hares, actually

– but suddenly there was a thumping sound and one took off ahead of us. Moira knelt down quickly and put her arm around the dog's neck as she snapped off the lead. She hugged him tightly and released him.

"Go get him, Sheik!" she breathed. "Go gut him, big dog!"

The Afghan didn't pay much attention to this pep talk. He didn't seem much interested in the vanished jack rabbit, either. He just stood for a moment, kind of looking around vaguely and testing the breeze with his nose- why he'd bother with that, I don't know, since they're supposed to be sight-runners without much sense of smell. Maybe nobody'd told him.

Then he started forward deliberately with that gilding gait I'd seen once before. He didn't really seem to be gathering speed, any more than a train pulling out of the station so gradually, at first, that you don't realize it's moving… By the time I realized Sheik actually had something in view and was going after it, he was lost to sight over the nearest ridge.

"This way!" Moira said. "Up on the knob here! We can see it all from there, I hope."

We labored upwards. The Nevada desert is a prickly place-maybe all of them are-and I kept getting small sharp spikes driven clear through the leather of my shoes. How she was doing in her thin pumps, I didn't even want to think about. We reached the top, panting, and looked around. There wasn't an animal visible that I could see.

"Let me have them," she said, taking the binoculars from me. "There he is!" she said presently, passing them back. "Look way out there. See, along that arroyo-"

The dog was out there, all right. I just hadn't looked far enough out. I found him with the naked eye, first. He didn't seem to be moving very fast, just kind of ambling along. Then I put the glasses on him, and drew my breath sharply. You hear loose talk about how beautiful deer are, running, but actually it's kind of a bunchy progress, if you know what I mean: great big muscles going off in great big explosions of power. This animal was running faster than any deer ever dreamed of, and he didn't seem to be expending any energy at all.

She spoke beside me. "He's not really traveling yet. They've been clocked at sixty. Wait till he cuts in the afterburners… There! Now he's getting down to work. Watch!"

I'd almost forgotten she was there. I remembered my manners and started to pass her the binoculars.

She said, "No, you keep them. I've seen it. I'm going to sit down over there and get the prickles out of my feet. Tell me when he makes the kill."

I had the rabbit in sight now. The big jack was going flat out, running for his life, every muscle straining, and behind him came the lean gray dog, running silently, its long fur rippling with the wind of its own motion, its head well forward, its long hound ears streaming back. There was no strain here, no effort; there was just pale death flowing over the ground… It was over in an instant, just a snap and a toss of the head. I started breathing again and turned away.

Moira looked up as I approached. "Did he get it?"

"Yes," I said. "He got it. My God!"

She smiled. "I told you I'd show you something." Her smile faded. "It's kind of horrible, actually, but it's what he' was bred for, isn't it? Well, gazelles and things, but we're a little short of gazelles over here. It's what he was born for, if he was born for anything. You can't.

you can't not let him do it, can you? I mean, it's the only thing he's really good at." She put her shoes back on and reached up to be helped to her feet. "Let's go back to the truck. He'll be out there a while, now. You can make the coffee while we wait."

She didn't want anything to eat. I hauled the mattress out of the truck bed for her to sit on comfortably while I worked with the Coleman stove on the tailgate. We had our coffee and watched the sun rise over the desert.

Moira said suddenly, "You're still in love with her, aren't you?" I looked at her quickly. She said, "Don't give me that stupid look, baby. You know what I'm talking about. I saw you out there at the ranch, the way you looked at her. That cold ice princess."

"She's not-" I checked myself.

"Not cold?" Moira laughed shortly. "Don't kid me, baby. I know these lovely, gracious ladies who hoard it like gold and restrict it like a private beach."

I wasn't going to discuss Beth's sexual attitudes with her. I said, "She's really a pretty fine person, Moira."

"Sure," Moira said. "The only trouble is, I loathe fine people."

"Particularly after they've kicked you out on your ear," I said maliciously.

She started to speak angrily; then she grinned. "Okay, maybe I am a little prejudiced." She sighed, leaning against me comfortably. "It's nice out here. I wish we didn't have to go back, ever. I wonder how many women have said that to how many men." After. a while, she said, "You don't have to say you love me. I just want to know… you're going to be nice to me, aren't you? As nice as… as circumstances permit?"

It was something else I didn't particularly care to discuss. I said crudely, "You mean, right now?"

She glanced at me, startled. She even flushed a little. Then she laughed. "Well, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, baby, but if you want..

The dog stayed out just long enough, and then, while we were making ourselves more or less fit for civilization again, he came trotting in, grinning from ear to ear, and sat down to have the leash put on him. Moira got a wet rag and washed him off a bit-there was some gore that might have shocked her sensitive city neighbors- and we drove back to Reno.

I took her to the motel so she could pick up the Mercedes. I escorted her across the parking area, with the Afghan trotting alongside. That dog was hell on rabbits, but apparently he had no interest in humans. He didn't give the slightest warning. As a watchdog, he was a washout. I don't think he even knew they were around, until they jumped me from the bushes, and even then he seemed to figure it wasn't any of his damn business. Well, maybe he was right.