Delta Factor, The (15 page)

“In a few minutes,” she said. “It was difficult, but he will be here.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. He smells money.”

“What did you tell him?”

Rosa looked at me with a knowing little smile and said, “Money, of course. The love of which is the root of all evil.”

“Who am I supposed to be?”

“One of the many persons interested in supplying forbidden items to the inmates of the Rose Castle. It is a flourishing business here, señor.”

“Anything specific?”

“The usuaL Tobacco, alcohol, narcotics. The smuggling of messages. It is a, profitable arrangement for the guards.”

“If they're caught?”

“Nobody bothers to investigate. It is the accepted way of things. Corruption breeds corruption. Since everyone is involved it is unlikely that they are interested in upsetting the system.” She glanced impatiently at her watch again. “He is due here momentarily.”

As if on cue, a heavy hand banged on the door. Once again, Rosa doused the lights, admitted her visitor and turned the lights back on again.

 

Juan Fucilla was a short, swarthy man in his late forties, with a shifty, predatory expression creased into the folds of flesh around his eyes. There was a touch of official impertinence in the way he acknowledged the introduction and slid into a chair. He pulled a silver case from his pocket, studiously ignored me and poked a vicious-looking black cigar between his thin lips and lit the end of it.

“Now, señor,” he said, “Rosa tells me you have business to discuss.”

I let a good ten seconds pass before I answered him so he'd get the message. At the end of it he licked his lips nervously and fidgeted with the cigar. I said, “If I have to go over your head, forget it.”

His smile of assurance was as quick as it was phony. “You have to look no further, senor. I can make all arrangements....”

“What's the bite?”

He started an eloquent shrug but I cut him off. “Don't give me any crap, buddy. I'm not here to dicker. Just lay it on the line. If I like it, maybe I'll go for it. If not ... there are other ways.”

My tone wiped the indignation out of his voice. He shrugged again, this time with resignation. “Usually it is fifty-fifty, señor. . . .”

“But this time it will be sixty-forty with me on the big end.”

“But señor . . .”

“When I take the risks I get the big chunk. Once the deal is made and anybody tries to pat me down I guarantee they get hurt. This isn't amateur night. Now, do we take it from there?”

Fucilla grunted through his cigar smoke and nodded. “You drive a hard bargain, but perhaps it can be a profitable one after all.” He looked at me through narrow eyes. “You can supply what is necessary?”

“Anything,” I told him. “What's in demand?”

“At the moment there is a shortage in certain ... narcotics. Other markets bring higher prices, so naturally there is a shortage here. If you can arrange ...”

“Where does the money come from?”

His fake smile held a lot of meaning. “Most of those in the Rose Castle are political prisoners, señor. Naturally, they come from families of wealth who have since left for other areas. However, they do pay for ... shall we say, requirements of those who were left behind?”

“The picture's clear. One more thing. How were they addicted?”

He didn't try to shake it off. He gave another of those shrugs and said, “As usual. They believed medicine was being administered. It is necessary to keep them so from becoming politically active again.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now give me a rundown on the clientele and the distribution.”

He didn't bother to analyze my question. Instead, he simply rattled off names that didn't mean anything to me until he included Victor Sable, told me that distribution was taken care of by the guards, the payoff going to the ranking officers, with the biggest cut reserved for Russo Sabin. Payment would be made on delivery of the shipment, with collections going through Russo's office well screened by a lot of paperwork. No questions would be asked and for agenting the deal Fucilla got 5 percent of my end.

I took my time before I said, “The cut's steep enough. It's easy to see why you have a shortage of the stuff here. Not many other guys would want to buy in on the deal.”

His little eyes glinted at me. “Not unless they have a rather unusual source of supply.” His fingers stroked the cigar and spun it around between his lips again. “Perhaps you do.”

“I wouldn't be a bit surprised.”

“Ah, then we can do business,” he said pleasantly.

“Maybe.”

“There is something else?”

I nodded. “I don't like setting myself up for a target. If there's money behind those guys in the Castle and one. of them kicks off, there's enough money to buy me a casket. Hot-tempered Latin types with close family ties hold a grudge a long time. They could buy my name and get me picked off and that I don't like.”

Fucilla frowned, watching me closely. “So?”

“So I want to see those clients personally. Healthy addicts I can supply. If they're ready to kick off, forget it.”

“I can assure you ...” he bristled.

“Balls,” I said. “I see it for myself or it's no deal. I can make out someplace else. It happens that I'm here and I can clear a nice profit, but I want to live to spend it. Dodging some contract killer those families could hire isn't up my alley.”

Fucilla thought it over a moment, then bobbed his head. “In that case, we would demand assurances too.”

“Like what?”

“Your ability to deliver and the quality of your merchandise.”

“Fine,” I told him. “You'll get a sample to analyze with a full shipment available immediately after I see who's getting it.” I paused, then: “Now, do I import openly or use my own methods?”

His smile had a little humor in it. “I suggest, señor, that you adopt your own ways. Our present government must put on a front, so to speak; therefore they are against the traffic in narcotics and will not hesitate to confiscate what they find for the sake of publicity. However, I can mention that they are most lenient in their approach to prevention of such events.”

“I take my chances, is that it?”

His shrug was eloquent. “We all take our chances, señor.” Then he added brightly, “But we are all alive, no?”

“For now,” I said.

“Very well. When shall we ... how do you say it? Get together?”

“I'll need two days.”

“And the contact point?”

“The bar at the Regis Hotel.”

He nodded, then let his eyes drift toward Rosa Lee. “Promptly at six. I go on duty an hour later. And her?”

“I'll pay her a finder's fee myself. She's not on percentage. ”

“Ah, very good,” He got up, his official arrogance back once again, bowed curtly to Rosa and shook my hand with a quick limp motion. “It has been a pleasure, señor.”

Rosa darkened the house again, let Fucilla out and stood at the window watching him disappear into the night. Without turning around she said, “You are doing a dangerous thing, Señor Morgan. They will be expecting a delivery.”

“They'll get it.”

She turned slowly and her face was a pale oval in the gloom. “Morgan . . .” This time her tone had changed and I knew why.

I said, “Only the sample, Rosa. It's my way into the Castle. Like you said ... the smell of money. They'll do anything for it.”

“And by this means, you will be able to extricate Victor Sable from the prison?”

“I hope so.”

“Can I be of further help?”

“Yes. Contact Art Keefer and tell him his friend needs a pat on the back.”

“But . . .”

“He'll understand. It means two ounces of pure heroin. We called it that when we used it for currency in some strange places in the old days.”

I saw the outline of her smile. “You are a very odd person, Senor Morgan.” She walked up to me and I could smell the wild, flowery perfume that was like a part of her. Very gently she placed both hands on my chest. “Someday I would like to know you much better.”

“Maybe ...” Then I stopped because her hands moved quickly and did something so unexpected it stopped the words in my throat. Her face blurred as it tilted up to me, the gentle movement of her fingers a jarring sensation. It wasn't a kiss, just a momentary dart of her tongue before I could move, then she stepped back.

“Yes, we Latin types are very hot-blooded and it has been much too long for me. Much too long.” She held out her hand and I took it without realizing it. “Another time, Morgan. Now you must leave. There is much to be done.”

THE NIGHT HAD a funny feeling to it. Maybe it was the hurricane that was being birthed somewhere in the moist air of the Caribbean, but the oppressive finger of danger was still there, reaching out to touch something. Trees that were normally still cast shadows against the greater darkness, their movements suggestive and capable of concealing any other slight motions.

I picked my way and time as carefully as I could, skirting lights and other people until I had covered a mile, picked up a cab that took me within a few blocks of the hotel, then retraced my course into the hotel.

Kim answered my knock and I stepped inside, expecting those big dark eyes to wipe me out with one suspicious glance. But they didn't. They had a funny, twinkly look of don't-give-a-damn resignation, and when I saw the empty magnum of champagne I knew why.

“Have a happy night?” I grinned.

She took a deep breath and almost burst through the lapels of the royal-blue housecoat that made an hourglass of her magnificent figure. “I have been simply drowning the speculative thoughts of what I would say if you had showed up dead or not at all.”

“You have a receipt for my body,” I laughed at her.

“A live body,” she reminded me. “Besides, the department takes a dim view of an uncompleted mission.”

“And I'm not to be trusted,” I said.

“Naturally. Why should you? That's why I have the dubious pleasure of this assignment.”

“So give up on me.”

“I can't. You're the X factor. The unknown quantity. I can't stand to see a problem unsolved.” She picked up a half-full glass and wrinkled her nose at the little bubbles that atomized at the surface of its pale contents. “Possibly because I was a psychology major at the university.”

I brushed past her and uncorked the other bottle, filled a glass and downed the wine.

Kim said softly, “You smell funny.”

“What?”

“You were with a girl.”

“Knock it off.” I filled the glass again and turned around. Her eyes weren't twinkling anymore. The cold was back and something more.

“I made a mistake. It isn't the X factor at all.”

“Oh?”

“The delta factor,” she said.

“It's all Greek to me,” I told her.

There was something in her expression I couldn't quite read. “Delta,” she repeated, “the phallic symbol for a woman. The triangle. The personal little geometric design that identifies the female from the male. The eternal triangle.” She looked at me long and hard. “You and your damn broads.”

Slowly, the implication came to me. “Quit blowing smoke,” I said. “It's all part of the job. Besides, what the hell do you care?”

The eyes changed, but again, I couldn't read their meaning. “I don't, really,” Kim said. She sipped at her glass, watching me over its rim. “I'd like a report.”

So I gave it to her. She listened, committing it to memory, then said, “That's all?”

I had to grin again. “That's all I'm going to tell you. The delta factor is my own business.”

“Not if it interferes with the project.”

“Then maybe marriage should have its own responsibilities.”

Her eyes glared at me this time. “Go screw yourself, Morgan.”

“It isn't physically possible,” I said and finished the champagne. “Anything new around here?”

Those eyes ran up and down me before they cooled off, then she set the glass down and curled herself into a chair, folding the housecoat over her legs with an unconscious gesture. “I had an agency contact.”

I felt myself stiffen. “You nuts? We're supposed to be olo. . . .”

“Don't be so naïve, Morgan. It was prearranged in case of an emergency with a selected code so the conversation couldn't be understood.”

“There wasn't any emergency,” I said. I felt like belting her right in the mouth.

“There was an exigency, then.”

I waited.

“The exploits of you and your wartime associates set a pattern for that forty-million-dollar robbery. I wanted a check on the one you called Sal Dekker.”

“So you're back to that again. Did you get it?”

“With no trouble. Your old buddy is dead. He was killed in an automobile accident in Sydney, Australia, over a year ago and his body shipped back to his parents, who had it buried in their family plot with military honors.”

“And what's all that supposed to indicate?”

“It throws the whole affair right back in your lap, doesn't it, Morgan?”

“Go screw yourself,” I said.

“It isn't physically possible,” she told me flatly.

My tone was just as flat. “Too bad,” I said. “Why the sudden renewed interest? I was tried and sentenced. They can't add to it.”