The Day of the Guns (13 page)

“Not necessarily. There are other things ... stimulants, irritants ... that can incapacitate a man.”

“I think I know a way of finding out.”

Toomey glanced around him and said softly, “They fell for the gambit.”

“I wonder if it can happen again?” I speculated.

“They aren’t going to enjoy this development. Whoever steered them wrong is on the spot now.”

“Unless he comes up with the new answer.”

There was a half-smile on Toomey’s face. “If it’s worth mentioning, I caught a glimpse of Stovetsky’s face a few minutes ago. He saw you standing there and he tightened up like a wrung towel.”

“I saw him.”

“Before K gave him this post he was assistant head of their secret police.”

He wasn’t telling me anything new.

“Talbot was watching you pretty closely, too.”

“Good for him.”

“You’re playing this pretty close to your vest,” Toomey said.

“Am I? You read the report. I.A.T.S. wants me to be a target so I’m trying to accommodate them. You have to push these slobs. They think they have the whole world by the tail and it’ll yell when they give it a twist. It scares hell out of them to know we’re loose and whenever we dump one of them we get a bonus. They don’t like knowing there are people more ruthless than they are and like poverty protects Communism, money can protect capitalism. They push our bunch around knowing we go by the book because we like the public image of being good guys. Well damn it, the bad guys seem to have the edge these days and if you’re going to be a bad one, be good and bad. That’s the part they can’t understand ... people like us stepping out of character to enforce a principle and not a law. Believe me, buddy, when you play guns, nobody wants to be on the receiving end, no matter how bad or tough they are.”

“Nice speech.”

“Screw you, too.”

“I’m too old for that nonsense. What’s your next move?”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly five o’clock. “We split,” I told him. “Wait at the hotel until I call you.”

Toomey said “Roger,” and sauntered off, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

Downstairs there was a public phone and when the two girls waiting had made their calls I dialed Charlie Corbinet’s office and gave my name to his secretary.

The Colonel’s voice was tight and I knew he had something. He said, “I checked that grand note through you gave me.”

“Go on.”

“Somebody was in too much of a hurry. The mistake was made. It becomes evidence now.”

“Yeah?”

“That bill was part of a hundred thousand dollars given to the Russian delegates in exchange for rubles when they first came over for the present session.”

“The finger points,” I said.

“Definitely.”

“How will you use it?”

“As a lever, Tiger. It will get you a certain amount of latitude of action from our own agencies. Just don’t go too far and if there are positive developments be sure to let them handle the final phase.”

“Is this official?”

“Nothing is official because as far as anyone is concerned neither I.A.T.S. nor you nor Martin Grady even exist. I had to do a lot of talking to get this concession.”

“Thanks, Colonel. Let me know if you ever need a favor.”

“Keep me informed,” he said and hung up.

I stepped outside the booth, turning it over to an elderly guy in a bowler who thanked me politely. There was another behind him with his back half turned, apparently thumbing through an address book. I caught the slight motion of his finger and followed him when he gave a look of annoyance and went to the directory rack to look up a number.

Gregory Hofta.

I played the same game, making sure we were unobserved. I stayed behind him, waiting my turn and he spoke face down into the book while I put on the impatient, but casual act.

“There is trouble, my friend.”

“What’s the pitch?”

“There will be no moves until they have control again. They’re calling a special meeting of the deputies at their Embassy tonight.”

“You on this?” I asked him.

“By special instructions from Mr. Randolph.”

“Target?”

“Edith Caine. I don’t enjoy the assignment at all.” He paused and thumbed through a few pages, found a number and began to write it down. “She was with Selwick before the session. He picked her up and they arrived together.”

“Then you’re thinking the same thing ... Selwick’s attack on the floor could have been arranged?”

“Let’s say we are overlooking no possibilities. His previous attacks have been real enough.”

“Where’s Edith now?”

“Still upstairs with Selwick and the others. They’ll be taking him out shortly. What happened isn’t serious, but it will incapacitate him long enough to slow down proceedings.”

“Why this contact?”

“One of the Hungarian nationals recognized an embassy clerk who works for Stovetsky. He was one of his chief agents and assassins when Stovetsky headed the secret-police section. His name is Alexis Minner and he was behind the scenes when the Russians tracked down the Freedom Fighters in Hungary. It was mentioned to Stephen Midros and I was told to pass it on to you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Hofta closed the book, passed by me to go to the phone booth and I completed the act, giving him time to get clear. When I was sure I had it made I went back upstairs and over to the door where John Talbot still talked to a lone reporter.

When he was finished I walked over and said, “Tiger Mann, Mr. Talbot.”

There was an amused glint in his eyes. “Yes, I know you, sir. Can I ... help you with something?”

“I’d like to see Edith Caine.”

“At the moment she’s occupied.”

“It might benefit us both if you broke her loose a second. Just tell her I’m here.”

“I’m afraid ...”

“We missed each other on the ASO fiasco. I got Connors and White out. The chase was labeled ROCKPILE. Do I spell it out further for you?”

The amusement in his eyes disappeared and there was a hardness there and recognition, his mind going through the mechanics of whether or not to play it out. Then he made his decision. “I’ll see her. Wait here a moment.”

“Sure,” I said.

Edith Caine came out alone, her face drawn. The fingers of both hands fidgeted nervously and she had chewed away most of her lipstick. But she was still lovely, still desirable. Only now she was scared.

I said, “Hi, doll.”

Her nostrils made a tiny, flaring movement and when she saw my smile her eyes half shut. Was
she tired ...
or was her age showing now?

“Mr. Talbot said you wanted to see me.” Her head moved and she seemed satisfied that there were others passing by and she was safe for the moment.

“I just wanted to compliment you, Rondine. It came off pretty well. Good timing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s not kid each other.” I let my grin go bigger. “Tonight I’ll get a line on your boys.”

“Boys?”

“Come off it, doll. You’ve had it. If it’s worth anything to you I have a suggestion to make.”

She said nothing, just waited.

“Make sure nothing happens to Burton Selwick. If it has to be, a simple rub-out can solve a lot of things. I don’t have to go through the slow torture of making you sweat it out, kid. Either way will please me, but either way, your death will solve a lot of things. Clear?”

Before she could answer, the door behind her opened and Gretchen Lark stood there. “Oh ... oh, hello ... Mr. Mann.”

“Hello,” I said.

She looked at Edith and told her, “Mr. Selwick wants you a moment, Edith. Do you mind?”

Without a word she passed Gretchen and went through the door. I said, “How is he?”

Gretchen gave a sigh of relief. “Fine enough to throw dictation around. It was an ulcer attack, that’s all. The doctor’s orders were explicit, he was to stay in bed, but try to get him to do it. Right now he’s back on his feet, but they’ll try to keep him quiet if it’s at all possible. It won’t be easy.”

“That’s good.”

She looked at me quizzically, her eyebrows going up. “What are you doing here?”

“Interested spectator. Quite a show.”

“You must have some pull to make the audience.”

“I’m getting favors returned. Look ... they have a doctor with Selwick?”

“There’s one there now.”

“Then I guess everything’s under control.” I paused, grinned at her meaningfully and said, “When do I see you again?”

“You mean ... that’s why you’re
really
here?”

“A guy has to try anything.”

She let out a tinkly laugh. “Call me when I get squared away. I think it can be arranged.”

I winked at her and she went back inside. The door closed and locked with a soft click and I walked away. So I’d see her again, all right, but not just for a bed routine. I wanted to know what the doctor’s verdict really was and since Gretchen Lark had been a nurse, she ought to know.

The evening had come early to the city. It had clouded over again and the rain smell was back. The air felt sticky and in the east a sudden yellow glow of heat lightning brightened the sky momentarily and there was the distant rumble of thunder.

I caught a cab in the middle of the street and had him take me across town to the Eighth Avenue station, got there five minutes before six and held down the booth faking a call. Just before the hour I elbowed the receiver down until the phone rang then let it up.

The deep bass on the other end of the line belonged to Evans of the Newark control and when I identified he said, “There was a single lead through the ticket seller of a movie house that puts on foreign films.”

“How was it established?”

“She remembered the right hand with the straight forefinger when he laid down his money. There was a purple scar on the palm and the back of the hand. At first she thought he was pointing at her. The second time she saw him she realized that it was a deformity.”

“Any description?”

“Only the hand. That’s all she remembered, the money, the ticket, the hand. She doesn’t look at faces.”

“It’s a starter.”

“They start a three-day run of a new Russian film tonight. There won’t be another for two and a half weeks since they intersperse their program with Polish, Greek and Hungarian pictures.”

“Right,” I said, “I’ll cover it.”

“One other thing.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Peter Johnson called from London this afternoon. They completed the check on the Caine family and they’re clean. Getting a past on the deceased members wasn’t easy ... there’s a natural reluctance to talk about the dead, but he found squadron mates of Vernon who were there when he was killed. Vernon Caine had nine victories flying Spitfires, was a squadron leader in his outfit, had several decorations and went in near Dover. He was positively identified and buried in the family plot near the town where he was born.

“There wasn’t too much on Diana Caine. She had the usual schooling, all in England and was something of a wild one when she was young, which fact nobody seemed eager to discuss, but understandable. At the beginning of the war she joined a volunteer group in London. According to a former friend of hers it was to be where the excitement was and escape the pomp and protocol that was so much a part of her family. She was killed along with about seventy others during a raid on the docks.”

“He find out what volunteer group it was?”

“No. It was before the call went out for women in the services or the outfits really got organized. Her bunch were collecting money and using it to establish mobile canteens for the defense workers on the docks. Johnson managed to locate some of the men who were employed there at the time and he got one piece of news that sounds interesting. Those girls gave more than their time. Their patriotism extended to the bedroom and they had a reputation for being willing to go to any extent to keep the boys happy. Think it means anything?”

“Maybe not to us,” I said, “but to a family that puts virginity on a par with sainthood it might mean a lot. At least enough to be glad she’s dead and not part of their immediate history. Get a report into Central right away, will you?”

“Already done. Is there anything you need?”

“Not yet.”

“Very well. There’s been one alteration made yesterday. Ernie Bentley has moved into the loft where Caldwell’s was. You know the place?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve consolidated and all armament and analysis will be worked through him now. He’ll handle special equipment there too. His phone number remains the same.”

“Okay and thanks.” I hung up.

One lead now. The power of money had bought something, a natural. A man away from home who retained the tie by going to native-tongue movies. He was violating every rule in the book, but nostalgia had gotten the better of him.

Dillinger had made the same mistake and died because of it.

I called Toomey at the Chester and told him I was going on a stake-out at the theater and to wait there until I needed him. He didn’t like the idea of me playing it alone but that was the way I wanted it and it was my chase and I was calling the shots. I told him to stay in my room in case Watford or Randolph called and that I would check in at intervals until something broke.

The feature at the
Grenoble
Theater didn’t start until seven-thirty and the ticket window didn’t open until seven, so I had a forty-five-minute wait. I wasn’t going to stake out on the sidewalk where I could be spotted, but through the doors I could see the benches in the lobby and figured it would be better to pay my way in and wait. If necessary I could take a seat in the last row, let my eyes get accustomed to the dark and sit it out. If Churis showed he certainly wouldn’t take a chance of walking down the aisle but would do pretty much the same thing I did. It just depended on who saw whom first.