Delta Factor, The (11 page)

“Perhaps you would be happier if you stayed. Your, er ... wife would enjoy her honeymoon here.”

My grin spread clear across my face and there wasn't any humor in it at all. The major's hand went to the gun at his belt and his fingers fumbled for the leather catch. One day all that rigging was going to get him killed. I said, “Ease off, you. You're looking at my
wife,
understand. We're legally married and anybody ...”

And this time Carlos Ortega managed an expression. An apologetic one. “Please, Mr. Morgan. I know this, I know this. Georgia, it was, duly registered. I'm surprised you even took the chance, but legality I approve of. I am sorry if I offended, but in the nature of my work—”

I cut him short. “Okay, forget it.”

“Certainly. Now that we've had our understanding, I may add that there are certain services this country might be able to offer you ...”

“Like converting hot money into clean stuff at a discount?” I put in.

His nod was a generous one. “To be frank, it can be arranged,” he said.

“I'll think about it.”

Carlos Ortega stood up and I got a good look at him. In the chair his size had been deceptive; now I saw the brutal strength in him and knew the way he had forced himself into power. He wasn't the type many men could come against and live. He was all raw power with no concern for personal safety, giving himself over to some wild driving force inside himself that even he couldn't understand.

“Incidentally, Mr. Morgan, my associate, Senor Sabin, informed me you suffered an altercation of sorts recently.”

“Somebody tried to kill me.”

“Regrettable. I have given instructions personally to investigate fully. Would you have any idea who it could have been?”

“Your associate suspected a robbery attempt,” I said.

Something changed in Ortega's face. “Not from across the street,” he told me.

“That's what I figured.”

He gave me an odd stare, then turned to the major and motioned for him to leave, then followed him past us with a stiff little bow to Kim. I opened the door, watched them step into the corridor, then turned on my nasty charm and said, “By the way, Mr. Ortega, would it inconvenience your people if I yanked the bugs out of the room? After all, it is our honeymoon.”

It never fazed him at all. It was almost as if he had expected it. “Certainly, Mr. Morgan. I apologize for the clumsy installation.”

So I laid it on a little thicker. “And I'd reprimand whoever shook the room down. They weren't very good ei-. ther.”

The major's face darkened with suppressed fury, but Ortega seemed to enjoy his discomfort. “It is very difficult when you deal with professionals, Mr. Morgan. Good night, sir, and congratulations to the señora.”

I closed the door and looked at Kim. “That was quick.” She watched me carefully, curiosity in her face. “You pushed too hard, Morgan.”

“I don't like reflections on my marital status, baby ... such as it is.”

She had the decency to blush, but her face didn't change any. “I didn't mean that. I was referring to the hidden microphones.”

I grunted and went over to the sideboard and poured out a cold beer. “He didn't mind, kid. He would have thought me pretty stupid if I didn't spot them. Besides, something has him worried.”

“Oh?”

“That shooting,” I said. “He spotted the catch in it right away. He didn't kid about it. He wants me alive if he expects to nick my bundle. We got more here to worry about than the Ortega regime.”

Kim took the glass I held out. “But ... who else ...”

“That's what I'm going to find out. So far I've only been pitched to once.”

She didn't get the drift of my meaning so I finished my beer, put the glass down and told her I'd be back later.

Like LAS VEGAS, there was no night in Nuevo Cádiz. There was a brightly illuminated darkness, but not night. The carnival atmosphere grew more frantic, the crowd thicker, the noises louder as the hours passed. The play at the casinos was heavy and the ballrooms were crowded with couples and groups taking a break, but there was one thing that never changed, the harried bartenders sweating out their shift before their relief came on and they could go home.

At the Delmonico I slid on a stool, ordered Fleisch-mann's Preferred and ginger ale, passed a five-spot across the bar and told the guy to keep the change. He gave me a grateful nod and made my drink a double, then looked at my face again. “You been in before?”

“Just got here.”

“States?”

I nodded.

“What's the news from home?” he asked me.

“How long you been away?”

“Too long.”

“Then you haven't missed anything,” I told him. “Nothing's changed. A few more buildings in Manhattan, a big LSD kick on and the same scramble for the buck.”

“Better'n here, though.”

“So go back.”

He shook his head. “Can't. I jumped bail on an assault rap and they'd pick me up.”

“Guilty?”

“Hell, yes. Why you think I skipped out? I put enough time behind the wall the first stretch.” I got that funny look again. “Don't I know you?”

“I get around.”

He grinned and mopped the bar down in front of me. “Yeah. Plenty of us here. Maybe it'd do better to serve time. When they got you on the hook here they tap you for everything they can. You clean?”

“Enough.”

“Then stay that way. You don't know how rough it can get These monkeys can look like jokers, but they got something rolling for them here and play it all the way. Get in on the action yet?”

“Picked up a few bucks shooting crap,” I said. “Met some broad who liked my style. Called herself Lisa Gordot.”

The bartender's head came up and his eyes had a sudden interested look. “You picked up more than a few bucks, then. That doll only goes after the long green.”

“That's what I figured. I quit when I was ahead and she wanted me to play out the streak. What's with her?”

He refilled my glass and took the other five I handed him. I knew he was debating how far he could go with me, then he shrugged and said, “Just an idea I got, but some of the others seem to think the same thing. She's stranded here. Right now she's after running money.” He made a funny expression with his mouth, then leaned on the bar close to me. “Stay away from that chick. She's trouble right down the line. She had a couple of chances to cut out, but our local Director of Police has tagged her for his personal property and is making sure she's gonna stick around.”

“Russo Sabin?”

“For a guy what just got here you seem to catch on quick.”

“I got to, pal.”

“Then keep it in mind. That fat snake can get you killed as quick as look at you. Him and his crew don't take no interference with their pleasures. If you got a record back home, chances are he has a file on you in his office right now. Matter of fact, we're being watched right now, so if anybody asks you about our little conversation, tell 'em it was baseball. I'm a nut on the game, so play along. I like my job. It's better'n making license plates in a prison shop.”

“Can do,” I said. “But I'm still curious about the Gordot dame.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Regis.”

“Check her out with Angelo, the bell captain.” He squinted at me again, puzzled. “Damn, I know you, buddy. Got a name?”

“Down here it's M. A. Winters.”

“What's it back home?”

I grinned at him. “Morgan the Raider.”

“Damn,” he said. “I'm talking to big time.”

“Forget it,” I said.

He laughed and filled my glass again. “Already did. Have one for the road.”

 

The picture was taking on some queer little highlights. It could be that they were trying to box me in, but the reason wasn't clear yet. Lisa Gordot led to Russo Sabin; he led to Carlos Ortega and where they were leading to could be the forty million I supposedly had. The only hitch was the murder attempt. They'd know damn well I wouldn't keep that kind of cash where it could be grabbed very easily and I was smart enough to make it tough for them to find it if they went after it on their own. Then there was Ortega's attitude. He didn't like someone trying to knock me off either.

On the other side, there was still Victor Sable to consider. If, as the Washington boys suspected, he was playing footsies with the Reds, they would be in the picture too. Their own espionage network was big enough to suppose they could possibly have a dossier on Kim and if they played the obscure angles, might figure she was using me as a cover to get here with the hope of springing Sable somehow ... or of knocking him off so they couldn't get their hands on him. The assassination try could have been for her.

It all sounded smooth enough until the other factor came in. Bernice Case was in the morgue and that was because I had started my own probe to run down that fat bundle of government money.

But there was something I could find out for myself if my lucky streak hadn't run out.

 

Lisa Gordot pinched a small stack of chips between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes watching the cubes flash across the dark green felt of the crap table. Twice she played the pass line, lost, then came back even when she dropped a couple on a field number. She had changed into a black sheath and had done something different to her hair, but this time there was no gaiety in her eyes and little worried lines touched her forehead as she scanned the table and the players.

I moved in next to her and without looking, said, “Still think I'm lucky?”

First, only her eyes moved, ready to cut me off, then she recognized me and a smile brightened her face. It was the look of relief a drowning person has when he grabs a floating plank. It was there for only a second before she disguised it and it was something she never knew I read and understood, but it was my jungle too and I had been up too many trails and could spot all the signs.

“Well,” she said blithely, “my benefactor has returned to the wars. I was beginning to think the laws of chance and not of fortune regulated this fascinating sport.”

“It does,” I told her.

She showed me her chips. “This says not.”

“Want a system?”

“I thought you were brilliant enough to stay with your luck.”

“Let's try the laws of chance first. I'll show you something.”

“I'm willing to learn.” She slid her hand through my arm and gave me an impish grin. “I'll try anything once.”

“Like what?”

“What would you like?” The grin was still there.

“Let's stay with the dice first,” I said. “How many times do the field numbers hit?”

Her eyebrows raised in thought a moment. “Not too often.”

“Because the wipe-out numbers come more often. Now, wait until the shooter misses four field numbers in a row. From that time on the law of averages says the field will show. It may take a while, but give it a try.”

“Play with me?”

“Why not?”

So we held our places and watched the game. It took thirty-five minutes, but the combination came up three times. The guy rolling the dice was fast enough to show the pattern and after four misses at the field we scored. Once we had to double to recover, but it came up good. I sweated out six passes to stretch it, laid six big chips on the longest odds on the table, laughed when it went into the pocket and laughed again when Lisa picked up the stack that was shoved her way.

“You're right, my wild friend. It's a winning way, but it can take a long, long time and they have limits here.”

“Okay, so I'll take the dice.”

Her hand squeezed my arm. “How did I ever find you?”

“Luck,” I said. “Not law of averages.”

A couple at the table remembered me from the last hot streak and it didn't take long for word to get around. I threw two sevens and the big money came out with a babble of happy voices, everybody shoving to get their chips on the table. Lisa let out a bright squeal of pleasure, let everything ride behind me, chewed her lip when I was making my points and was quivering with excitement by the time I was on my fourteenth lucky roll.

But there was no fifteenth roll. The short, stocky manager was there beside me smiling a sick, oily smile and waved his hands out to the stickman and said, “I am sorry, sir, this table is now closed.”

The anguished moans and indignant voices all started in at once, but he was adamant behind his smile and the protests went right past him. He gave me a short bow, still smiling, and said, “Simply a house policy, sir. You may resume play at another table. Unfortunately, you have broken the bank at this one.”

“Sort of blows my streak though, doesn't it?” I laughed and threw the cubes back on the table. “Forget it. I got enough for this time around. How about you, Lisa?”

She finished stuffing the chips into her handbag, picked up two more handfuls, clutching them to her breasts, the excitement like a fine sheen of sweat on her lovely face. “Whatever you want, big man. Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

I laughed again and reached for my chips. “Then let's cash in and see how far ‘anything' goes.”

Lisa's totally uninhibited play had gotten her a little over twelve thousand dollars. I had stayed on the conservative side and cleared three, but some of the others had gone overboard too and cleaned up the bank at the table. I stuck my cash in my pocket, but Lisa didn't want to carry hers or leave it in her room, so she excused herself, went to the desk and after a lengthy conversation with the clerk, passed him several bills and put the rest in an envelope for deposit in the safe.