The Shadowers

XVI

THE FLAMINGO LOUNGE was located in the base of a tall new building on a wide boulevard with palms down the middle. Even after all the times I've been in California and Florida, not to mention the great Southwest, I can never quite get used to the idea of palm trees growing in the United States of America. They still look exotic and foreign to me, and I expect to hear natives beating on drums at night and lions growling in the bush. There was a parking lot across the street. I put the Renault into a vacant slot and went around to help my bride out.

There was some constraint between us. This business was no longer all play-acting, but neither was it all for real. It was an uneasy, artificial relationship and I guess we were both aware that there would be a good deal to straighten out once the job was over, assuming we were both around to straighten it out afterward, and that it could be straightened.

She was wearing another good, smart, reasonably expensive dress that might have upped the circulation of Vogue slightly but did nothing much for her. It was dark brown wool, a tunic job. I looked her over for bulges and spotted none that weren't natural.

"Where is it?" I asked.

She laughed and touched her side where the tunic was loose. "It's tucked into the top of my skirt," she said. "I'm praying it doesn't fall through and go clattering on the floor at an inopportune moment." She made a face. "You can tell your information that the brassiere is a highly overrated place of concealment for anybody who isn't built like a Jersey cow; and I ruined a perfectly good stocking trying to hide it down there."

I said, "Sure. Well, we're in good time, but we might as well go over… Damn!"

"What's the matter?"

We were walking out of the lot. I'd been checking the parked cars routinely. Now I stopped, looking down at a low, racy, red topless job with big wire wheels. I knew it, of course. I'd ridden in it to New Orleans and back. You'll know him when you see him, the man on the phone had told me cryptically.

"What is it, Paul?" Olivia asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Nothing, but I wish they'd just let the kids play with their damn marbles and leave the dirty work to us grownups. Come on."

At five-twenty, it was still daylight outside, but in the Flamingo it was a cloudy and moonless midnight. We had to pause for a moment to let our eyes get used to the blackness.

"No," Olivia said suddenly. Her fingers tightened on my arm.

"What's your problem?" I asked.

"That blonde. At the bar."

I didn't rubberneck. "So there's a blonde at the bar. Think I'm going to start chasing her?"

"She's Harold's nurse. Receptionist. You know the one. I told you. The one who laughed."

"Well, you said it was right around the corner from the office. Maybe she's stopping for a quick one on her way home. Maybe she needs it after answering the phone all day and telling the yearning ladies Dr. Kildare's out of town."

Olivia was gripping my arm hard. "I don't think I can stay in the same room with her, Paul. I'll either get deathly sick or attack her."

"Only men attack women," I said. "In one sense of the word, at least. And you're faking, Doc. Nobody hates nobody so much they can't keep their lunch down."

After a moment, she laughed. "Oh, dear. Can't I even exaggerate a little?"

"Not on duty," I said. "Tell me more."

"She must have stopped on her way home, as you say. She's still in her uniform."

"The transparent white nylon one?"

"With the pink undies showing through. Not to mention where the undies aren't. She's got a good-looking boy with her, standard TV model, nicely tanned, with wavy brown hair and flashing white teeth. He's in civilian clothes, sport coat and slacks, but he wears them like a uniform: I think he's Navy, from the base, off duty, probably an aviator. The airplane sailors have a slightly different look from the ship sailors. After a while at Pensacola you can distinguish them pretty well. Harold would be green with jealousy if he knew his little office queen was stepping out with a younger man."

I turned my head casually. It was Braithwaite, of course. It figured. After all, I had requested further information on Mooney. Put somebody to really digging for dirt, I'd said. Cover his background, his home, his office… How the Navy boy had got the job of approaching Mooney's nurse wasn't immediately clear, but it wasn't likely they'd met by accident.

She was young and quite pretty, I saw. Well, she would be. With Mooney's record for philandering, he'd hardly pick a hag to share his office hours. I remembered being told the turnover was considerable.

The current incumbent had her nurse's cap perched on a piled-up mass of pale hair that made her look a little top-heavy. It seemed like a lot of hairdo to take to work every day. She was slightly plump for my taste, sticking out rather obviously and spectacularly in front, but the waist was small and the arms seemed to be nicely proportioned inside the semitransparent sleeves of her uniform. The white stockings and sturdy, low-heeled, white shoes couldn't hide the fact that the round calves and trim ankles would pass inspection anywhere.

"You've got a good eye, Doc," I said. "He is Navy and he is a fly-boy."

"That's not where you're looking," Olivia said dryly. "But since you know him, I suppose he's the one you came here to meet."

"Maybe. He's obviously got one job already. We'll see if he has two." I glanced surreptitiously at my watch. "Let's grab a booth. You don't want to be left standing when nature calls me, a hundred and forty-three seconds from now."

I seated her at the side of the room. She started pulling off her gloves, glancing toward the young couple at the bar.

"I don't understand… Oh. He's trying to get her to tell him things about Harold for you, I suppose. Well, he's come to the right person. She should have a lot of fascinating information on the subject."

"Let's hope she does," I said, and then it was time to go. I rose and said in clear, husbandly tones: "Order me a bourbon and water, dear, if you can catch a waiter. I'll be right back."

I didn't look toward the bar as I went off, but I was aware that Braithwaite was still engrossed in his conversation with the blonde girl in medical white. Either he'd forgotten, or he wasn't my man after all, or our watches were out of sync, or his time had been set a minute or two later than mine. I entered the tiled precincts and stalled a little in the obvious way. When I turned to wash my hands, he was there, washing his hands. We were alone in the place.

I said, "Go ahead."

"The interrogation team is in town. I have the address and telephone number written down-"

"Never write anything down. Give it here."

He tore a leaf from a small notebook and passed it over. I memorized the information and flushed the paper down the nearest john.

"How much do you know?" I asked the boy.

"Enough, I think, sir. Have you spotted your man yet?"

"I have a man spotted. Orders are to take him. Never mind that. You saw the lady with me? Well, you probably recognized her from the ship. Dr. Mariassy."

"Yes, sir."

"If I get busy and things look rough, I may have to unload her on you. As far as you're concerned, she is not expendable. You will keep her alive and unhurt if you have to stop the bullets and knives with your own head or heart, whichever you consider more impenetrable. Communication understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you armed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you shoot?"

"Yes, sir."

That probably meant he wasn't very good, I reflected, looking at him sourly; and if he was good at all it was probably only on paper targets. The Navy doesn't go in for small arms much-they figure on the Marines doing the shooting-and there are all degrees and kinds of marksmanship. No man who really knows how to shoot is going to answer that question without qualification. Well, it was the best arrangement I could make at the moment.

"Where can I reach you if I need you tonight?" I asked. "You're not still living aboard the training carrier, I hope."

"No, sir. I'm staying temporarily at the BOO on the base."

"Phone?"

"Well, there's no room phone, but if you call the building-"

"Hell, I can't go through all that," I said impatiently. "And I can't send a lady to visit you in the Bachelor Officers' Quarters, either." I frowned. "What about this nurse? Does she live alone?"

"I believe so, sir."

"How far have you got with her? Do you think she may ask you to her place if you play it right? Since you obviously can't ask her to yours?"

He flushed slightly. "Well, sir, I… I think so. She's very friendly. I was going to ask you. I mean, I'm not a kid or anything, but I didn't know how far… I mean, they didn't tell me if I was really supposed to…"

I said, "I want you to spend the night with her, so I know where I have you if I need you. That will also give you an opportunity to carry out your primary mission, which I presume is gathering information about her employer. Whatever else you do or don't do is up to you, as long as you keep her friendly and unsuspicious."

He hesitated. "Yes, sir," he said reluctantly.

"Objection?"

"There's hardly any alternative, is there, sir? And, well, it just seems a little cold-blooded."

I was reminded of Olivia's attitude of a couple of hours ago. I suppose it should have given me a warm and sentimental feeling to know there were still people around for whom sex had a symbolic significance, but I'll have to admit that it merely made me impatient.

"Jesus," I said, "a Navy man with a conscience about dames? I thought you fellows had girls in every port."

He drew himself up. "I've had plenty of girls, sir! It's not that. Only, well, she seems like a nice kid-"

The damn case seemed to be crawling with nice kids. "You think she's a nice kid but you think she'll go to bed with you," I said. "Well, I'll give you a hint. If you simply can't bear to lay the young lady under false pretenses, just make like you're drunk and pass out on the floor. If she's really a nice kid, and even if she isn't, she'll probably just drag you to the couch and leave you to sleep it off. She may even make coffee for you in the morning. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Has she come out with any information of interest about Dr. Mooney?"

"Not much. I haven't really dared try to pump her yet. After all, I only picked her up… made contact with her at lunch. From what she says, the doctor is kind of an amorous slob and keeps her dodging. The previous girl quit, Dottie says, because she'd worn out her track shoes; that kind of stuff. Mooney tells Dottie about his affairs with other women and hints that she could share the bliss if she wanted. So far, she says, she hasn't wanted, but it's hard work. She's considering getting another job, but he pays well."

I said, "That corresponds with information received, up to a point. My dope is that she isn't quite as innocent, Mooney-wise, as you make her sound. But my informant was prejudiced."

Braithwaite shook his head quickly. "I think Dottie's telling the truth. She's… well, she really seems like a swell kid, sir. I'd hate to think I was dragging her into anything…" He stopped.

I looked at him, and thought for some reason of a swell kid I'd dragged into the case, sobbing into a damp pillow. I asked, "What's your first name, Mr. Braithwaite?"

"Why… why, it's Jack, sir."

"Well, Jack," I said, "some day you may have to fire off those big Navy guns of yours, or drop those big bombs, and some people are going to get hurt who maybe aren't as guilty as some other people. Maybe there'll be some who aren't guilty at all. And do you know, it'll be just too damn bad, Jack."

He said stiffly, "Yes, sir."

"How'd you get roped into this?" I asked.

"I wasn't roped in," he protested. "I volunteered, sir, as you told me I could. I called the number you gave me in Washington. They called me back almost immediately. They're going to put me through some special training- you know more about that than I do, sir-but this thing was breaking fast and they had nobody else available locally. Besides, I'd already been in on it, a little. I knew you by sight."

"Sure," I said. "In the Army we used to distinguish between three classes of fools: the plain fools, the damn fools, and the volunteers." Staring at him coldly, I saw his jaw muscles work a little, but he'd been hazed before. He had discipline. He didn't talk back. He was a pretty good boy, but I wasn't about to let him know I thought so. He'd work better under strain. I went on, "The nurse's name is Darden, isn't it? Where does she live?"

He brought out the notebook again. I ripped the page out and disposed of it as before, after memorizing the data written on it.

"If she'd seen that," I said, "she'd have thought it was mighty damn funny your having it written down before she'd ever told you."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't really mean to give you a hard time, Jack."

"No, sir."

"I wouldn't expect to fly an airplane without plenty of training, but that's just about what you're going to have to do here. And a mistake in this business can be just as -fatal to just as many people, or more."

"Yes, sir."

"All right," I said. "Give me a minute before you come out."

I straightened my tie at the mirror and went out, leaving him there. As I emerged from the corner devoted to the rest rooms I saw Dottie Darden standing at the booth talking earnestly to Olivia, whose face looked pale and hostile. The kid was obviously trying to sell her something and she just as obviously wasn't buying.

"Please," Dottie was saying as I came up. "I'd like you to understand, Dr. Mariassy. I know you think I'm terrible and I don't blame you, but after all, he is my employer. I have to listen to his stories and pretend to laugh. I have to keep him happy."

"yes, I'm sure you're very good at that," Olivia said. "I'm sure you keep him very happy."

The nurse winced. "If it makes you feel better to be jealous of me, go right ahead," she said. "You've got lots of company. Half the women in town would like to scratch my eyes out; and the funny thing is, I wouldn't touch that creep with rubber gloves on. Honest." She drew a sharp breath. "But you won't believe that. Nobody'll believe that. I'm sorry. I just wanted to apologize."

She turned quickly and almost ran me down. I had to catch her to keep her from falling. She looked up at me, startled, looking very soft and young in the dimly lighted lounge, with her ridiculously formal coiffure contrasting oddly with her plain white uniform.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she gasped, freeing herself.

Braithwaite was returning. She went to him quickly, pulled herself together, and answered his puzzled question with a laugh and a shake of the head. I sat down. Olivia was staring grimly at her glass.

I took a drink from mine, standing there untouched, and said, "You were a little tough on the kid, weren't you?"

"Kid?" she snapped. "They're all kids to you, aren't they, Paul? But if she's really the innocent child she pretends, would she flaunt her pectoral development like that? If it's really hers, and particularly if it isn't."

"Pectoral," I said. "I'll have to remember that. When I was a boy, we simply called them boobs. Pectoral development sounds much more refined."

Olivia looked up. After a moment she laughed. Braithwaite was leaving, taking with him the nurse and his tender conscience. I'd had one once, I remembered-a conscience, I mean-but I'd managed to lose it somewhere. At least I'd done my best to. In this business a conscience buys you nothing but trouble.