The Day of the Guns (20 page)

“Nude?” I laughed.

“Naturally.”

“That’ll be the day,” I said.

From the orchestra came a weird chord of sound. The lights dimmed around the room and a tinted spot hit the floor. The dancers moved into it slowly, suggestively, preparing the audience for what was to come.

A Japanese team joined them, were followed by four Hawaiians who put more vibrancy in the hula than I had ever seen before. Then Dell’s big act came in with a muted roll of drums.

There was no music, just the steady tempo of the drums. The pair that strutted in dressed in the ordinary stage attire of the Parisian
apache
dancers, peak cap, rough jacket and red pants on one, a black slitted satin skirt and loose scarlet blouse on the other, was the tallest couple I had ever seen. Both were well over six feet four, both wearing smiles of the oddest nature I had ever seen.

The beginning of the act was almost commonplace and Gretchen said, “I thought this was supposed to be something special.”

“I don’t know the gimmick,” I told her, “but it will be. Watch.”

Bit by bit the tempo increased and the pair went through the classical motions of the act. Then they began to improvise. As the woman struggled with the man in the mock dance-fight, things began happening to their clothes. It almost began to look as if it were real and had they not kept such close rapport with the music it would have been believable.

Again, it was those at the tables below who attested to what the act was designed for. I could see them, tense and drawn, unable to look away even to touch their drinks.

The two dancers came at each other, hands grabbing and clawing. The girl was nearly naked, fighting her partner off, and as he stripped away the last shred of cloth from her body she grabbed his shirt, tore it, took him to the floor and in the melee of the struggle, to the rising sound of the drums, he lost everything he had on.

And then the specialty of the act was plain for all to see.

They were both women.

They were both contortionists.

I picked up my drink and watched Gretchen. Her face was livid and a small pulse beat showed near her temple. When Dell came through the curtain, motioned to me with his finger to follow, she hardly noticed him.

At the corner of the balcony out of sight from any of the others he leaned toward my ear and said, “One of my people has seen your man.”

“Which one?”

He held out a rigid forefinger. “He was first seen in a delicatessen store, then followed to a theater.”

“The
Grenoble?”

Dell nodded soberly. “You have a good system of your own too, no?”

“Everything helps.”

“Indeed. He inquired of the attendant who was closing the theater if the picture would play tomorrow.”

“He get an address?”

“Unfortunately, no. My ... man... has a slight allergy for police and there was one standing on the corner. You see... he is wanted for something or other. He was forced to give up tailing him.”

“That places him in two general areas, but both close enough to be related. He’s not shopping in any one store apparently.”

“It’s still in the Village?”

“Looks that way.”

“Tomorrow is your day, Tiger?”

“All the way.”

I thanked him and went back to the booth. On the floor the dance had come to a torrid end that was unbelievable and the audience was sitting in shocked silence, but making no move to avoid the scene. They were enjoying every lascivious moment of it and when the lights darkened momentarily, to light up again and show the floor empty, you could hear the slow letting out of breaths long held in.

Gretchen had a look of guilt not quite concealed by the nervous smile she gave me. “That was terrible!” she said.

“I told you it would be rough.”

“But did you see them?” She pointed to the tables on the floor. “The faces on those women...”

“You should have looked in the mirror yourself.” I grinned.

“But ... but they knew what to expect.”

“It takes all kinds to make a world, kid. I’ve seen far worse in the capitals of some of the most cultured countries in Europe.”

“And you get up and walk away from it!” She laughed behind her hand and said, “Did your friend offer us a room again?”

“It was better than that.” Before I had to lie to her I said, “Ready to go?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Let’s go then. I’ll drive you home.”

“For a nightcap?”

“It’s polite to wait till you’re asked. No, no nightcap. Tonight I want sack time and a chance to think.”

We told Dell good night and he called a cab for us. I gave Gretchen’s address, flicked a match for her cigarette and watched how her mouth formed around the tube, tinting it with her lipstick.

“Pretty,” I told her.

“Prettier than Edith Caine?” she teased.

“Different type.”

“She’s the jealous type. She doesn’t like to show it, but women can tell.”

“You mention I saw you?”

“Uh-huh. I call her every day anyway. I don’t think she was pleased at all when I told her.” She let out that silly laugh again. “Frankly, Tiger, I don’t care. Do you mind?”

“I’m here, sugar.”

She glanced at me sidewise. “Something always happens to your face when you speak about her.”

“Does it?”

“Were you... ever in love with her?”

I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling. “A long time ago. Twenty years.”

“But .. I could feel the puzzled frown on her face and it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.”

The cab pulled to the curb and I told him to wait. I got out, helped Gretchen out and walked to the building with her. She turned, her lips moist and her eyes soft. “Thanks for the date, Tiger.”

I kissed her easily, feeling her mouth tremble beneath mine, the restraint inside her. “I’ll call you earlier the next time,” I said.

She winked and went up the steps. When the inside door closed I started back to the cab and had one second to spot the car coming down the street. It was like a whistle going off in my head, a sudden premonition of what was going to happen and I threw myself to the side and hit the pavement behind a pair of ash cans as the first stacatto thunder from a tommy gun rolled out of the window.

The slugs tore into metal, spraying a cloud of dust in the air, ricocheting off the walls of the building behind me. One tugged at my coat and another careened off the sidewalk sending a shower of stone into my face. I couldn’t move, couldn’t go for my gun without losing the protection of the cans. The cabbie didn’t wait for anything more. He jammed the cab in gear, pulled away from the curb with rubber burning behind him, slipped around the black sedan and raced for the intersection.

This time they wanted to make sure. The car screeched to a stop, the door opened and a guy cradling the tommy under his arm ran to where I was. He had his back to the others when I went for the .45, shielding me from anything they could throw. He didn’t think I could have been alive and didn’t have the gun up. My first shot hit the butt of the gun, slammed him halfway around with a hoarse yell of terror, the tommy sailing out of his hands.

I didn’t have to hit him again. The others did it for me. I dropped behind the cans when they started pumping shots at me and some of them caught the guy in the back and pitched him head first against the curb with a sickening thud. Somebody yelled in the car, the door slammed shut and it took off down the street with a foot jammed hard on the accelerator. The police car that suddenly nosed around the comer to block off the exit almost caught it. The driver wrenched on the wheel to get around him and couldn’t hold it. There was one awful moment when the sedan was on its two right wheels, then it went rolling across the intersection with glass and metal fragments spewing from the body and, with a ghastly explosion, burst into a billowing sheet of bright yellow flame that turned the night into day.

Both cops were at the pyre and the people pouring out of the buildings in odd pieces of clothing hurriedly thrown on were hurrying toward the wreck with morbid curiosity. Nobody paid any attention to me at all. Later the cabbie would make a report, but at least I had time to get out of there.

Thanks again, Rondine. You talk to Gretchen and know I see her on occasion. You plant your men where you know you’ll have a definite contact sooner or later and wait it out. But you’ve slipped badly, baby. Time was when you’d do the job yourself. I sure must be a sword over your head. Each minute I’m getting closer
and
closer, and now you’re running with your tongue hanging out. How will you feel now, doll? What will happen to your guts when you get the word that they didn’t make the hit? What will be your next move?

Three blocks away, I flagged down a cab and went back to my hotel. I cleaned the .45, stowed it away, took a shower and laid down on the sack. Only then did I get a sudden, chilling thought. I had those damn pellets in my pockets all the time and in that fall I took behind the garbage cans I could have blown myself into little tiny pieces.

I picked up the phone, dialed Gretchen’s number and, before it finished ringing the first time, she answered, her voice taut with fear. “Me, baby,” I said.

“Oh, Tiger!” There was relief now and for a moment she couldn’t talk. Then: “Right after I left you... I had just started upstairs...”

“I know. I was there.”

“You... are all right, aren’t you?”

“No trouble.”

She seemed to be crying but not wanting me to know it. “They were after... you, weren’t they?”

“It looks that way. Part of the business.”

“Tiger ...”

“Come off it, girl ... it’s the way I am and the way I’m going to stay. Quit worrying about me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“So I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know. Now get some sleep.”

I cut the connection so I wouldn’t have to go into any explanations. The next number was Charlie Corbinet’s. He answered with a sleepy hello, but came to fast when he knew it was me.

“They made another try, Colonel. You’d better check it out.” I gave him the details and added, “My guess is they’re all dead, but if you get make on them they’ll be part of that contract bunch from Chicago. You’d better alert Randolph on this and have them keep it quiet. The usual story of a mob rub-out might do it. They killed one of their own men when he got in the line of fire so the slugs will match their guns.”

“I’m afraid it will be more than that, Tiger. Randolph won’t stand still for any more of this. He’ll want to see you personally.”

“Randolph can go jump, Charlie. He plays it my way. This thing is tied up with the international picture and if he doesn’t want to blow the whole deal he’ll go along. If you have to, go over his head. You’ll get cooperation there if you need it.”

“That’s just what I might have to do.”

“Good. Randolph swung a tail on Edith Caine. You hear anything about it yet?”

“Nothing there. She’s been very quiet. All other leads petered out.”

“When the stakes are high you have to play the cards close to your vest.”

“Tiger...”

“What?”

“Monday the new proposition comes up in the U.N. There’s no time left any more.”

“There’s enough,” I said and hung up. I lay back in bed, switched the light off and stared into the darkness.

All I could see was Rondine’s face.

And the rest of her.

We were back in the loft again and she was naked and beautiful and she loved me. I could feel the satin of her skin and the soft-hard curves of her body and smell the delicious warmth of her body and knew what the explosion of love was like.

Rain tapping the window woke me up at seven. Outside it was another soggy, dull day, but it was Sunday and the streets were practically empty. It was like being in a ball park after the game was over, nothing left but the debris of cigarette and candy wrappers and a handful of lackadaisical keepers trying to clean up.

I shaved, went downstairs for breakfast, had the desk send up a typewriter then wrote out a report in triplicate, sealed it in an envelope and dropped it down the chute by the elevator. Martin Grady was going to have a lot of interesting reading. So was Wally Gibbons. So would the public. It was about time.

At noon I went down to the street to a pay phone and put in a call to Thomas Watford. There was a touch of anger in his voice and he told me that unless I turned myself into the office there would be trouble. Since the Minner affair they wanted me out of the way before there were any more complications.

I said, “How did the Soviets react?”

“It was they who hushed it up,” he said laconically. “They chose to announce that it was a personal disagreement between three former friends that led to the killing.”

“And the city police?”

“They accepted it, of course, under our instructions. However, with the bullets from the gun and the money they found certain facts are evident and will be useful, but we are not going to allow anyone else to pursue this case.”

“Meaning me?”

“Meaning you, Mr. Mann. I think it will be better if you are placed in custody in view of the situation last night. There is no need for unnecessary deaths.”

“You wanted a target, buddy.”

“Not any longer.”

“Tough.”

He waited a few seconds then said, “It might be well if I gave you a certain piece of information. Friday afternoon a congressional committee started proceedings against Martin Grady and those in his employ. He will be subpoenaed this week and his entire organization investigated.”

I laughed at him. “They’ll get their fingers burned, Watford. Martin Grady reaches into pretty high places. Sometimes he does it with money, other times with means that are slightly immoral but very necessary to get the edge he needs. Some of those congressmen can be leaving themselves wide open. I hope they have a private practice to retire to.”