Copp In Deep, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) (12 page)

"Yes."

"How?"

"Uh . . ."

"Last chance to make me happy, Frankie."

"They have diplomatic privileges."

The woman surprised me at the doorway, hadn't heard her come up and apparently she had not been aware of my presence either until she was almost on top of us. She let out a gasp and a little squeal, and
Dostell
made an appealing gesture toward her, like trying to calm her. She was still naked but had added a few trinkets to emphasize the nudity.

I was about out of questions anyway.

I withdrew the revolver as I told him, "Congratulations, you passed this time."

Then I vaulted over the railing onto the sand below and got the hell away from there.

All in all, it had been a highly profitable night. Not

only did I have a possible KGB cokehead, maybe now I also had a KGB official trying to smuggle the junk into the very square Soviet Union via diplomatic pouches.

      
So now what the hell could I do with that?

Chapter Seventeen

Right away there
was a problem with
Gudgaloff
. Had to do with image and the way our perceptions of the world here in America are distorted by our entertainment media. James Bond is sophisticated and classy, see, a good-looking womanizer and hip man of the world. But he is one of ours and apparently this is the vision we enjoy for our heroes. It is a perception of glamour and excitement that must fit well into the American image.

But we don't often see the other side that way. Not the KGB, especially. They tend to have shaved heads and brutish features, and they are very dull boys—sexless, humorless—with absolute and total allegiance to Marxist-Leninist goals and ideals. And it's not just the KGB image, this is the way we tend to see all Russians, as peasants and laborers—a nation of working-class stiffs—toiling along with empty dreams and fruitless lives, unless they can make it in ballet or Olympic sports.

      
So that was the first problem with "Nicky"
Gudgal
- off. This guy was a true James Bond type working for the other side. He traveled around in a limousine, wore tuxedoes, mingled in high society and gained access to the in-crowds, consorted with business leaders and educators, spoke at trade conferences and farm granges, was becoming a familiar figure at every gala in town.

I had to believe that the guy had the full support of his government in all that. So was it glasnost, openness, and perestroika, capitalistic-style free enterprise, or was it merely a new approach to old goals for the Soviet Union? Hell, I did not know the answer to that and I could not afford to even wonder about it. Politics is not my game, especially not world politics.

But since my life was on the line here, I did have to consider and try to decipher the political implications if
Gudgaloff
had fallen prey to what older leaders in Moscow have termed "western decadence." I did not know, for example—is there a drug problem in Russia? Can the stuff be obtained as easily as here? If not, and if one of their officials comes over here and becomes a junkie—what happens when he returns home and his supply is cut off?

I remembered hearing something a few years earlier about an alcoholism problem in Russia—something, too, about a mental health problem centered on manic- depression and a high suicide rate. They'd also had their problems with black marketing and official corruption— inevitable, I guess, in a nation where the basic necessities are always in short supply.

      
I also remembered being surprised recently to learn that although Russia is a military superpower it is economically a third world nation, with per capita income about one-fifth of ours.

So what? So, okay, maybe "western decadence" is just a sour-grapes look at our culture from the other side, an officially "square" look that is trying to make the best of a bad situation at home—and maybe these guys feel like they've finally been let out of jail when they draw an assignment to these shores—and maybe some of them go a little crazy with it.

Maybe that explained our Nicky.

On the other hand, maybe not.

With my life maybe in the balance, I knew that I could not afford to guess wrong on this one.

went straight back to
Cherche's
. The night was nearly over, though, and the place was buttoned up, gate closed, electronic locks set. I had to call in on the intercom to get through the gate, and that required a couple of minutes to get cleared through.

Several expensive cars remained in the parking area. I left mine at the front door. A youngster in wait- 3r's attire let me in and led me back to the game room. 4e immediately went behind the bar and resumed a cleanup that apparently had been interrupted by my arrival.

Cherche
came in before I got sat down. She'd changed outfits while I was gone, now wore long pen-
iant
earrings of diamonds and rubies, looked like,

matching necklace with a pendant below the breasts, satiny spike-heeled evening slippers and a red see- through chemise or whatever, to about mid-thigh. That is absolutely all she was wearing, and it was immediately and entirely obvious that she wore nothing beneath that chemise.

She stretched up to clasp her hands behind my neck, and her first words were, "Why have we never made love, my darling?"

"One thing and another," I suggested, "probably got in the way."

"Ah, but there must be a deeper reason. Such a strong and virile man, my Joseph, yet so straight and unyielding in your judgments. I saw it when first we met, and I said to myself, 'Well, perhaps one day this one shall have wisdom and sensitivity to match his strength, then we shall see.' But then you went away, and I always wondered. Have you grown up, Joseph?"

"Probably not," I replied. "But you had it wrong then so you maybe have it wrong now. It's a matter
oi
priorities with me, not moral judgments and certainly not disinterest. A matter of moment, darling."

I guess she became aware of my physical response to her close presence because she rubbed against me ever so delicately as she said, "Well then perhaps the moment has found us at last. A few guests remain overnight but they are in proper care and pose no concern But you look so tired. Let me take you to my bedchamber and I will give you a nice massage, remove the frowns from your face. Then we shall explore our moment."

I am sure there was genuine regret in my voice as I responded to that offer. "What I need most right now,
Cherche
, is a moment of pure honesty and cold conversation. We all could be in very grave danger and there may not be a lot of time to prepare for it. Will you talk to me?"

She released me and stepped back, gave me a
pouty
little look, then turned to the bartender and quietly commanded, "Go home, Jimmy."

He needed to hear it only once, dropping a towel immediately and departing with a faint, "
G'night
."

I went behind the bar and poured several fingers of bourbon into a water glass, added ice, took it to a stool and perched there while
Cherche
watched in obvious agitation.

"Start at the start," I suggested bluntly, "but this time with total honesty. Tell me about Nicky. No—first, tell me about Angelique. Exactly who is she and how does she figure into your operation?"

"I have told you, Joseph, that she is the daughter of an old friend."

"That's what you told me, yeah. Try again."

She showed a quick smile and a sly look, came over and slid onto a stool beside me, kicked off a shoe and insinuated the bare foot onto my lap. "Always the policeman," she said playfully.

"Be glad of that," I recommended.

"Very well. You are right. I repeated a lie when I

told you that. I knew that she was an imposter. But I know why, I think, and so I . . ."

"Go on."

"Well ... the girl she claims—this girl died five years ago in Israel, the victim of a terrorist attack. This I know to be true. But . . ."

"But?"

"Joseph . . . would I disappoint you terribly if I tell you—you said that Nicky is KGB and I laughed when you told me that. Now perhaps you will laugh at me when I say that Angelique, I think, is CIA."

I didn't laugh, nor did I feel like laughing.

I said, "But you've known all along that Nicky is KGB."

"No. He came to me as a trade
attache
seeking important connections, and he presented himself as a distant cousin. I have verified it. He is the grandson of my great-uncle on my mother's side. I have seen nothing of KGB in Nicky. But then when Angelique came to me ... well, you see, it is a natural conclusion. And—this may disappoint you—I have had CIA contacts in the past. When you and I were friends in San Francisco, my darling, even then
Cherche
was a friend also to the CIA."

"You little devil," I said.

"Yes." She was enjoying it. "I took care of their fears and they took care of mine, you see."

"That explains your Bay Area clout."

"Yes, and the Southern California clout as well, at first. But that ended when the CIA became a national embarrassment, you see. There had been no contact for

some time when Angelique showed up at my doorstep with this obviously false story. So I took her in, thinking . . . well, that I would give her time to reveal herself. There was initially the tiny fear, of course, that she could be working undercover for the police but . . . well, let's just say that I have no reason to fear that kind of intrigue. I am well protected, Joseph. The police are not my enemies."

      
"Do you know her true name?"

"Had you ever heard of a man named George
Delancey
?"

      
Cherche's
face fell. "Yes."

      
"A client?"

      
"Yes."

      
"And Morris Putnam?" "Yes."

"They're the guys I was accused of killing, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"Did you ever have any reason to tie Angelique to either of those men?"

      
"Oh no. They were gone before she appeared."
   
"Gone?"

      
"We cancelled their membership." "We?"

      
"I and my board of directors." "It's that formal, eh?"
"Oh yes."

      
"Why did you cancel them?"

      
"They were found to be undesirable."

"In what way?"

"They were not nice to the employees."

"You can put it straighter than that."

"These men, Joseph, enjoyed inflicting pain. We can cater and we do cater to the sublimation of that desire through games of pretense, but these men were not long satisfied with that. They injured some of our girls. We kicked them out."

"When was this?"

"Perhaps six months ago. I could look it up if the exact time is important."

I waved it away. "Maybe later. Tell me about Tom Chase."

She delicately shrugged and poked at me with her foot. "Angelique brought him. So I did not even check him out. By this time I had asked her about the CIA. She had not denied it. So, when she brought Thomas ... and she hinted
Mossad
."

Well, that brought a sigh. The
Mossad
is the Israeli equivalent of the CIA and KGB. It was getting nutty as hell. Keystone Cops kind of nutty.

I said, "
Dammit
,
Cherche
."

She shrugged again and said, "So I began to wonder then if Nicky was in trouble at home, you see."

"Why would you wonder about that?"

"Well, he has been so nervous lately. And it had been very obvious to me that Angelique had set her cap for Nicky when first she came."

"When did you first meet Tom Chase?"

      
She screwed up her face to think about it, replied, "This was about two weeks ago."

"Tell me again that thing about Nicky. You thought he was in trouble because . . ."

"Well, yes, because you see he was also the center of attention for Thomas, and this made Nicky very nervous. He confided to me—Nicky, I mean—he told me that he may be returning to Moscow one day soon because of the bad company that was attaching to him."