Helm - The Menacers Part 9

I grinned at her. "What a way to talk about your employer!"

"Am I supposed to love him just because I work for him? Do you love the man you work for?"

I said, "Not exactly, but he's not a pipsqueak."

"So I hear. Incidentally, I don't quite get your strategy, partner. Me you really throwing the Lujan to the Solana, or are you by any chance throwing the Solana to the Lujan? Personally I never trust those healthy-looking, clean-looking, pure-looking blondes. Is she really a professional photographer? She looks-and acts-like a movie star just playing the part."

I said, carefully, "She's sold a few pictures over the years. Quite a few."

"But maybe that's not all she's sold, you mean?" I laughed. "Don't put words in my mouth. Frankly, I'm betting Solana's the one to watch, but I wouldn't make the bet very big. We'll just have to let them sort it out between them and see what happens."

"Well, we don't have to do it here," Priscilla said, rising. "I've got some mescal in my room. That's the bottle with the pickled bug in it-the maguey worm, to show the stuff is made from the genuine maguey plant, whatever that may be. I haven't been brave enough to sample it yet, but with a little moral support from you-" She paused as I helped her on with her ski jacket, and glanced up at me over her shoulder. "Or even a little immoral support," she murmured.

I laughed, holding her lightly. "What do you think I am, Decker, just a b.u.t.terfly flitting from flower to flower, from blonde to brunette? h.e.l.l, the love of my life has just stalked out that door, presumably forever. Give a man time to catch his breath."

She smiled. "You don't need much time. A few days ago the love of your life was lying dead on a hotel room floor, but you seem to have made a pretty good recovery from that pa.s.sion. If we walk real slow, maybe you'll have caught your breath from this one by the time we reach my room. It's way up near the end of the compound."

I said, "You're a callous, disrespectful b.i.t.c.h. Just give me a minute to pay the bill...

I left a generous tip for the little Mexican girl with the ready song. Outside, the wind still blew cold and sharp off the Sea of Cortez, carrying fine grains of beach sand with it. The leaves of the scattered palm trees in the parking lot rattled and clashed over our heads as we made our way towards the waterfront units in the dark, avoiding the black shapes of occasional parked cars.

Priscilla slipped a hand under my arm for support, as we fought our way along the buildings, buffeted by the wind. The other hand was trying to preserve her elaborate hairdo from total destruction. She stopped at a door and fumbled in her jacket pocket for a key, checked herself, and laughed.

"That's right, the lock doesn't work, like most things around here. Just open it, Matt."

As I opened the door, I had the sudden feeling I'd seen this show before. There had been rain in that other scene and not so much wind, but this wasn't the first time recently I'd come to a woman's door by invitation on a stormy night.

"Just a minute. I'll get the light," Priscilla said, stepping past me to find the switch. I saw her recoil abruptly as the light came on to show the interior of the shabby room; then she'd thrown herself aside and down, shouting: "Matt, look out, he's got a gun!"

It was Henderson, in badly fitting work s.h.i.+rt and pants he must have stolen somewhere; and he had a gun all right, one of those tiny derringers that are just about as low as you can get on the firearms ladder. Still, they are compact, and as one U.S. president found out the hard way, they will kill. The one Lincoln met was, as I recall, a single-shot job; this one had two stubby barrels, one above the other. That was about all that could be seen of it. The rest was pretty well covered by Gregory Henderson's bandaged hand.

Well, I had a gun, too. After years of this work, you learn it's bad business to ignore your hunches. I'd been slow in Mazatlan under similar circ.u.mstances, but I wasn't making the same mistake here. I'd had the weapon drawn before Priscilla switched on the light-but another thing you get from experience is a 'feeling for when a man is going to shoot and when he isn't.

Henderson didn't have that c.o.c.ked-and-ready, here-goes-everything aura. It was a dangerous gamble -my instincts aren't infallible-but we wanted the man alive and talking, so I held my fire, and he didn't shoot. We faced each other like that, at point-blank range, for a second that seemed much longer; then a gun crashed to my left and Henderson's knees buckled and he fell.

I looked at Priscilla, crouching in the corner, holding a short-barrele4 .38 revolver from which trickled a wisp of white smoke. Her face was white, too.

"Were you paralyzed or something?" she snapped. "He was going to shoot, couldn't you see it? Another second and you'd have been dead!"

I said grimly, "Considering the way your boss feels about me, I think it's wonderful the way you people keep saving my life."

"Well, that's a fine way to talk after-"

"That will do!" It was Solana's voice, behind me. "You will please throw your guns on the bed, both of you, and raise your hands!"

17.

His voice said he had a gun, too. Everybody had guns in Puerto Peflasco tonight. I tossed mine on the faded coverlet-well, Vadya's: the little 9mm Browning I was still carrying. After a brief pause, it was joined there by Priscilla's .38 Colt.

Priscilla scrambled to her feet, and I moved over to join her, since it makes a man nervous to try to cover two people standing apart, and I had no designs on Solana's nerves at the moment. Later, . a little psychological warfare might be indicated, but right now it was more important to learn what the man knew, and what he was planning to do about what he knew. It looked to me as if he had just made a great big mistake, moving in too soon when there was no reason for haste, but perhaps I was doing him an injustice.

He entered the room cautiously, holding a pocket automatic very much like my Browning, except that the workmans.h.i.+p looked Spanish or Italian rather than Belgian. It's hard to say what makes the difference, but it's there. Behind Solana was Carol, her blue eyes wide at the sight of death-her second such view that day.

Solana gestured us aside, and came forward to take the guns from the bed. Pocketing them, he stepped, back again, and spoke to Carol without looking around.

"Come in and close the door, Mrs. Lujan. Wait over in that corner, please. If anything should happen, lie down on the floor; you will be safer there." His dark eyes seemed to be focused on a point halfway between Priscilla and me. "I sincerely hope that nothing will happen. There has been enough violence in this room tonight, don't you think?" His glance touched the dead man on the floor for an instant, and swung back to us.

Priscilla said quickly, "He was lying in wait for us, Ramon. He was going to shoot. We had no choice!"

"We, Miss Decker? I heard only one shot. Did you fire, Mr. Helm?"

"No, but-"

"Why not?"

I said, carefully, "Maybe I've had a little more experience along these lines than Miss Decker. I had a hunch he wasn't quite ready to throw the big, black dice. Besides, with that derringer, there was a good chance he'd miss if he did shoot. Those little things won't hit a manhole cover at ten feet unless the shooter's had lots of practice. I didn't think Henderson had."

That was a mistake. It's always a mistake to show any intelligence in a situation like that; it's much safer to act totally dumb.

Solana pounced: "What made you think so? I thought you did not know the man, except for your brief encounter with him at the hotel. How could you know anything about his marksmans.h.i.+p? After all, he did manage to kill a policeman 'with one shot."

"It must have been a lucky shot," I said. I indicated the derringer on the floor. "If he'd known anything about guns, to amount to anything, would he have come here with that?"

Solana frowned. "I do not understand. If that was the weapon that was smuggled to him-"

I said irritably, "h.e.l.l, amigo, use your brains. Your man, the one who got himself killed, had a great big .45 auto on his' hip, didn't he? It was probably loaded with eight 230-grain slugs, seal firepower. So why was this character running around with a lousy little .22 derringer holding two lousy little 40-grain loads, one of which he'd already fired? Why didn't he throw the toy away and grab a real weapon from the dead man's holster?"

Solana said, "I see your point, but-"

I went on without letting him finish: "It's only movie and TV actors who run off leaving effective firearms behind so they can have their rousing fistfights without being hampered by a lot of embarra.s.sing hardware-actors with bad scripts, and people with very little experience, who don't think in terms of guns at all. When I saw that derringer, I knew that, murderer or no, he was just a scared duffer who didn't really want to shoot anybody else. If he'd had more killing in mind, he'd never have pa.s.sed up the .45."

"I see your point, my gringo friend," said Solana. "But am I to believe that you reasoned all this out the instant you found yourself facing an armed murderer? That is very quick thinking indeed, Seor."

I shrugged modestly. "And is it a crime to think fast in Mexico, Mr. Solana?"

He smiled thinly and didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "Very well. To sum up: you thought Henderson wouldn't shoot; Miss Decker thought he would. If he did shoot, you thought he'd miss; Miss Decker thought he'd Mt."

I grinned. "Or you could say that I was willing to gamble a bit with my life and Miss Decker wasn't."

"Very humanitarian of Miss Decker," said Solana dryly. "If true. However, there is still another explanation for this difference in behavior. There is the possibility that you, Mr. Helm, were simply anxious to keep Henderson alive so he could talk; and Miss Decker was anxious to have him dead so he couldn't. The question then becomes: why should two U.S. agents have such different att.i.tudes towards the same situation?"

I didn't glance at the girl beside me, who hadn't moved or spoken. Behind Solana, in the corner, Carol looked pale and scared. The door and windows rattled under the impact of the wind, but there was no other sound for a second or two.

Then Solana went on deliberately: "I must confess that I was not quite honest, back there in the restaurant. I did not spend the past hours investigating suspects. That is routine police work, and I am certain it is being handled quite competently by the proper authorities, who are also, I am sure, conducting the search for Mr. Henderson with great efficiency. Unfortunately, they do not have quite as much information as I have. They think they are dealing with an ordinary murderer. They do not realize that they are dealing with a man being used as a p.a.w.n in a game of international intrigue-a p.a.w.n that has just been sacrificed to protect a more valuable piece on the board. A queen, perhaps?"

Priscilla stirred at last. "I don't know what you're driving at-"

Solana ignored her. "Instead of a.s.sisting the police investigation, I have spent the past hours out in the dunes with a pair of night gla.s.ses, watching this room, a.s.signed to Miss Decker, and the one in the next building a.s.signed to you, Mr. Helm, and Mrs. Lujan. I wanted to learn to which one of you Henderson would come for help, when it became dark enough that he thought he could not be seen. He came here."

Priscilla said sharply: "That doesn't prove-"

Solana recognized her existence at last, looking straight at her. "No, Miss Decker, it does not prove that you were the one who gave him the gun, and presumably at the same time instructed him, by voice or written message, to make his escape and meet you here after dark. At least it does not prove that you were acting alone. Two United States agents in the same small Mexican town might well be working together, might they not. As a matter of fact I had reason to believe you were; I attended a conference at which both your superiors were present. However, I always like to confirm my suspicions before taking action."

He glanced at me, as if expecting me to comment; when I did not, he shrugged and went on: "If Mr. Helm were involved, he would not have wanted the murderer to appear at the room he shared with Mrs. Lujan, who apparently does not also share his secrets. He would undoubtedly have used this one for the rendezvous-Mr. Henderson's rendezvous with death."

Priscilla licked her lips. "But-" "But if Mr. Helm had wanted Henderson dead," Solana went on remorselessly, "he would have fired the instant he was certain of his target. Instead, he refrained from shooting at some risk to himself. You are the one who fired, Miss Decker, to silence the man who could have betrayed you. I believe you invited Mr. Helm to your room just now, on one pretext or another-I won't ask what it was-hoping you could maneuver him into doing your grim work for you. When he balked, you did it yourself."

I glanced at Priscilla and she looked away. It occurred to me that I was getting a little tired of the legend of Triggerhappy Helm. So maybe I'd shot a little too soon once, in Mazatlan, did that mean I was going to commit everybody's homicides for them? First Ha.r.s.ek had tried to cash in on my hasty reputation, and now this kid had come up with the same tired idea....

Solana was looking at me again. He said, "I have already apologized to Mrs. Lujan for accusing her and pretending to arrest her. It was a necessary subterfuge to get her away from you and Miss Decker. I now apologize to you for my suspicions. I am satisfied that you are not involved in this scheme, although your country obviously is. I hope, since your superiors have seen fit not to give you a part in it, you will abide by their judgment and not interfere ... Yes, Miss Decker?"

Priscilla had looked up. "How could I have smuggled a gun to Henderson?" she demanded. "I didn't have any camera cases _"

Solana's laughter cut her short. "My dear, it would be unchivalrous of me to suggest that your visible attributes are not entirely your own. However-" His glance touched the front of her lavender ski jacket. "However when we get a matron to search you, I think we will find that certain improvements on nature were designed to serve a practical as well as an aesthetic function. It was a very small gun."

Priscilla flushed. She turned to me. "Matt, are you going to let this supercilious b.a.s.t.a.r.d-"

Solana said sharply, "Miss Decker, there is absolutely no point in your trying to draw Mr. Helm into your troubles. You are obviously a U.S. agent on a mission so secret that even your colleagues in other agencies have not been informed. Having met your chief, I can understand: he is a man who would want to keep the credit for his own organization. Well, let him keep the blame, too." He cleared his throat. "I admit I do not wholly understand the clandestine operation in which you are involved, seorita. I was deceived; I thought these flying objects were genuine, at least to the extent that they did exist and fly. Now it appears that some of them-perhaps all of them-existed only in the imaginations of the observers, and of Mr. Leonard's agents who hired or persuaded the observers to make their false reports. As the late Mr. Henderson was persuaded."

I said, "Look, you're jumping to conclusions, Solana. A lot of those reports mentioned U.S. insignia and uniforms, didn't they?"

"That was clever," Solana said coldly. "That seemed to indicate that the United States was being victimized -framed, I believe is the word. But now that I learn who is behind the plot, I wonder if these identifications were not part of a deliberate plan to create an atmosphere of menace throughout the northern part of my country, in preparation for a political or military move on the part of our great neighbor to the north."

I said, "h.e.l.l, man, you can't think we're going to invade you!"

Solana shrugged gracefully. "American troops have invaded Mexico before, Seor. Exactly what demands will be made, I cannot guess, but it would be a cheap victory, would it not, if my government were to yield to the threat of a new U.S. weapon that did not actually exist?" He shrugged again. "In any case, the trial will bring out the details, I am sure. The fact is that a U.S. agent has been captured in the act of conspiring against a friendly neighboring government. Please observe, Mr. Helm, that I am being scrupulously fair.

"I could arrest you as well, and make my case stronger by presenting two American conspirators-"

Carol moved. It was totally unexpected, at least by me, but obviously I'd underestimated her. She gave no warning, she made no speeches, she committed none of the usual beginner's errors; she simply stepped out of her corner and threw her arms around Solana from behind.

"Get his gun!" she gasped. "Oh, please, Matt, get his gun, quickly!"

18.

A MOMENT LATER I had Solana's automatic from his hand and the two guns from his pockets: mine and Priscilla's. I rearranged the a.r.s.enal so I could cover him with the weapon with which I was most familiar -the 9mm Browning-and nodded to Carol, who let go of him. and stepped away, patting into place a lock of hair disarranged by the struggle.

"Sorry, amigo," I said to Solana. "Just one request. Please don't tell me I can't get away with it."

He made a little gesture with his raised hands, disclaiming responsibility. "It is your choice, Seor Helm. I gave you an out, as you Yankees would say, because I believe that in your way you are a sincere and honest man. But if you wish deliberately to involve yourself in someone else's crime-international crime-you will have to take the consequences. As will Mrs. Lujan."

"Sure." I looked at Carol "You heard the man. You just stuck your neck way out. Why?"

Carol licked her lips. "I.. - am an American citizen, aren't I? And while I think what that woman is doing here is incredible and perfectly horrible-what I understand of it-she is an American agent, isn't she? And I couldn't very well let Mr. Solana put her on display in a Mexican courtroom as proof of some sneaky kind of U.S. aggression, could I? I mean, we don't have to wash our dirty linen in public." She glared at Priscilla. "Not that it doesn't need was.h.i.+ng badly!"

"I see," I said. "And as a patriotic American citizen, just what do you recommend as the next step."

"Why, get her back across the border fast!" Carol snapped. "Isn't it obvious, darling? Get her out of Mexico before there's a lot of dreadful and perfectly justified anti-American publicity. Without her, it's just Mr. Solana's word for what she was doing, and who's going to listen to a crazy story by one Mexican official who maybe hates the United States?" She glanced at Solana.

"I'm sorry, Ramon, but I just had to do it!"

He smiled gently. "I see that now, seora. I should have antic.i.p.ated it."

There was something just a little phony about the exchange. When you came right down to it, there was something phony about the whole performance, but this was not the time to determine who was being clever about what. Carol may have sensed the false note, because she went on quickly: "When we get home, I'm going to find out just exactly what this is all about, and if it's really authorized by responsible people in Was.h.i.+ngton! I know some men who can find out for me, reporters. It looks like another one of those schemes the CIA is-always being accused of, that I never really believed in before: intriguing and interfering in countries where we've got no business...

I said, "Take it easy, doll. Save the political harangues. Right now we'd better get the h.e.l.l out of here as you suggest... . What do you want?"

Priscilla had moved up beside me. She was looking at me in a kind of expectant way. She held out her -hand. "Why, I'd like my gun back, Matt."

I laughed at her. "You get back over there and keep your nose clean and your hands in plain sight. I don't like to be played for a patsy, Decker. Here or in Mazatlan or anywhere." I weighed the two extra weapons in my hand, slipped Solana's under my belt, and regarded hers with a frown before stowing it away. It was a reasonably portable firearm, as revolvers go, but you could hardly call it tiny. "You didn't have this stashed away in your falsies," I said. "Where did it come from?"

"I had it hidden under my pillow. Matt-"

"And just why do you need a gun right now?" She shrugged. "Well, if you want to do it-" "Do what?"

She glanced towards Solana. "Don't be silly," she said calmly. "Somebody's got to shoot him, don't they? Unless you know a better way of doing the job."

I heard a gasp from Carol. She started to speak, but I beat her to it. "There's going to be no more shooting here tonight," I said to Priscilla. "I'm getting awfully G.o.dd.a.m.ned tired of you and your white-haired smoothie of a boss and your complicated intrigues. You're going back to the States and we're going to find out exactly what's what and who's who and we're going to do it without murdering a single additional Mexican citizen, male or female, official or unofficial."

Priscilla said coldly, "Since you put it so personally, Matt, I am getting very tired of you, too-of you, and your sanctimonious ways, and your fantastic habit of wrecking carefully laid plans that are none of your d.a.m.n business. And I warn you, if you don't do exactly as you're told, your hide will be drying on a Was.h.i.+ngton fence just as soon as my white-haired smoothie of a boss can drop a word in the right ear." She jerked her head in Solana's direction. 'That man must be silenced. He must not be allowed to report what he's learned here. Either you do the job or let me do it, but it's got to be done!"

I said, "Now that you've got all that off your chest, go over to that chair and sit down. And stay sat."

"Matt, I promise you, if you spoil this operation for us "Yeah, I know. And I'll worry about my hide, later. Sit down!" I waited until she obeyed. "Carol."

"Yes. Matt, you're not going to listen to her-"

"Carol," I said without looking around, "please go to our room, get out my suitcase, and open it. There's a trick compartment . .

I told her how to get into the compartment, and what to get out of it. She left, admitting a brief blast of wind and sand. Priscilla was sitting on her a.s.signed chair, glaring at me, looking cheap and sullen and disheveled with her gale-damaged hairdo hanging over her ears in loops and wisps. I remembered the slim, pretty, virginal kid who'd met me at the airport in Mazatlan, and I couldn't help being reminded, a little, of Vadya, who'd had the same knack of tailoring, not only her costume and makeup, but her whole personality, to the character she was playing.

Well, it was a useful knack for anyone in our line of work, but I'd obviously underestimated Miss Priss from the start. I hadn't thought she was old enough, or experienced enough, to put on so good an act-whichever Priscilla was the act. Perhaps this tough, tarty girl was the real Priscilla, and the big-eyed innocent in Mazatlan had been the fake. .