Assignment — Angelina (12 page)

"Where?"

"In New Orleans. I asked about Fleming and Slago. I telephoned after you left me, after Moon's this afternoon. You know what this country is like, Sam. Wide open for all the rackets. Maybe you think now that we're all simple, unsophisticated people. But the rackets came down here, even into the swamps. Every slot machine in the bars, every gambling joint that hides behind a roadside cafe, every bottle of liquor run in from Cuba without a tax stamp, is worked out of New Orleans. I know some of those men pretty well. I've done favors for them, sometimes, when it paid me to do them favors. Does that surprise you?"

"No," he said. "I guess not."

Angelina said simply: "I'm pretty important around Peche Rouge. "I think I'm the richest woman around here, with Papa's store in my hands. I've made a lot of money and I ve got investments the sheriff might not like. Profitable investments, Sam. A lot of men owe me a lot, so when I called some names in the city, I got some answers. I know more about Fleming and Slago than you think. I know where to start looking for them, where they began and where they're likely to end. I'm going north, and I'll ask more questions there."

"I can't let you do that," Durell said.

"You can't stop me."

"You'll only interfere with my work."

"How? By asking my questions in the wrong places, perhaps, and warning them off? We can solve that, Sam. We can go together. If we do that, I promise I won't step out of line. I promise I'll do as you say and not spoil anything for you."

Durell lit a cigarette and looked at her. He knew her well enough to realize he couldn't change her mind. But for all her skill, Angelina would be lost, an easy victim to their violence.

Thunder crashed outside, and he heard the quick patter of rain on the deck overhead. The girl moved close to him.

"Are you angry with me, Sam?"

"No. Just a little surprised about your knife."

"I have more surprises for you," she said softly. "If you will only accept them."

There was something wrong with Slago, something crazy. Mark feared him because he could not understand it, although he kept a grip on himself and operated smoothly and efficiently. Getting them all out of Louisiana safely with the loot, slipping past the cops and heading north out of the area, was his business. He was in his element, and for the time being nobody questioned his command. Not even Slago. If Mark had had his way, he would have thrown Slago to the cops. Killed him and left him for the crumby sheriff to worry over. But Jessie said they still needed him. And he found it easy to listen to Jessie when she made suggestions.

They had split up in New Orleans. Corbin and Jessie had taken a plane north to Milwaukee. Slago and Mark took a bus to Mobile, and from there they drove north in a second-hand car Mark bought with some of the bank money. He sold the car in Louisville and they flew from Kentucky to rendezvous in New York with the Corbins at their old apartment. The escape took three days. Once out of Louisiana, the ripple of excitement caused by the bank operation had gradually died. They had had no trouble. It was easy to lose yourself in the country, if you knew where to go. For the most part, the cops were not alert enough to be even looking for them, and Fleming began to feel they didn't even have a decent description. The girl had kept her mouth shut, back in Peche Rouge, but he couldn't guess why. Slago was Mark's biggest worry.

He was alternately sullen, drinking silently and heavily; or he was loud and abusive. There was a queer glitter in his eyes that never quite went away, no matter what mood he was in.

Mark was cautious enough not to pin the whole blame on Slago for what had happened at the fishing camp. Slago was like an unexploded bomb, ready to go off if you touched the wrong piece of mechanism. So Mark left him strictly alone. He felt it was Slago's fault the girl had spotted them when they cracked the bank. And he knew that Slago was wrong in wanting to go on to another bank now. For a few hours, back there, everything seemed to have blown up.

It was Durell, Mark thought. They should have been on the watch for him, since Peche Rouge was his home town, too. He had rightfully belonged on the list from the start. Slago had remembered about him, as far back as Indiana, and had wanted to look into him. The Cajun had acted like a cop back there at Moon's, and Mark wished he knew more about Durell. He didn't like the way he had shown up like that, breaking up the operation. Since Durell had been with G-2 back in Germany, it made sense to suppose he had gone on being a cop of some kind. Maybe he was working locally out of the sheriff's office in the bayou parish. Maybe. Mark still felt uneasy about him, wondering how much Durell might piece together out of the past, remembering how close he had brought them to disaster back there at the fishing camp.

The meet in New York took place without trouble. Nobody was looking for them up North. Mark and Slago checked into a midtown hotel on Forty-seventh Street. It was a sleazy place, occupied by transients and unemployed actors, and the sort of permanent resident who finds a dark hole in the middle of the teeming city and hides in it for uncounted years, unnoticed and unmourned when they go. Mark and Slago checked it at four p.m. on Tuesday, and he started to call the Corbin apartment as soon as he dropped his bag and locked the door.

Slago went to the window and looked sullenly at the crowded street below. "This the best we can do, with all the dough?" He scowled at Mark, his head thrust forward on his thick shoulders. "I thought we were going to stay down South and knock off a whole row of hick banks."

"This is the best place for us now," Mark said. Thanks to that girl."

"So what do we do, settle for the dimes we took?"

Jessie will know what to do. Now shut up and let me her."

Slago's eyes glittered. "You still think I goofed, huh? You think I shoulda sliced the girl?"

"No. As far as we know, she hasn't described us to the cops, and nobody has an idea who we are. Forget it."

"And Durell?" Slago sneered. "You had a gun on him and he took it from you like you were a kid playing Hopalong."

"We both made mistakes," Mark said wearily. "Let's drop it."

"All right, call her. But I don't take orders from a dame."

Jessie answered the phone on the second ring. She sounded cool. "We've been here since morning," she told Mark. "But I don't think it will be wise for Erich and me to remain long. I have a feeling we might be tagged here."

"You could move in with us," Mark said. "Are you okay?"

"There was no trouble on the trip."

"I want to see you," Mark said. "Alone."

"Erich wants to discuss the next step."

"To hell with Erich. I want to see you. Just the two of us."

"Mark, don't be unreasonable. It's important that we all work together. We're not checked because of a little trouble. That's not vital. The main thing is that Erich was right, and everything worked fine."

"Except that the cops may be onto us now," he said bitterly.

"That won't matter. Well begin our next move tomorrow. We won't sit still and wait for them to pick us off. Be reasonable, darling. Don't make any trouble now."

"Alone," he said stubbornly. "Right away."

He heard her sigh on the telephone. All right, I'll send Erich out. Come over in twenty minutes."

Mark hung up. Slago was still at the window. "What's so important, you've got to get cozy with her?"

Mark didn't reply. He found it best to ignore Slago lately. The sound of Jessie's voice had stirred him, and all at once he felt confident and optimistic that things would work out. He looked at himself in the mirror and straightened his tie. He still looked sharp. A little tired, but good. Jessie knew what he wanted. He had asked, and she had agreed. The thought of seeing her alone... Then Slago suddenly put a brutal hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

"All right, Mark, spit it out. What's on buddy boy's sneaking mind? You cutting me out? You making a play for the girl to cut me out?"

"Don't be a fool."

"Then why alone?"

"You think I want to put on a peep show?" Mark smiled.

"Smart bastard. She isn't putting out for you."

"Well see," Mark said.

"You're fixing a deal with her, buddy boy, to cut me out."

"You're stupid," Mark said flatly. "We've only started. So the bank was for dimes. So maybe the other banks are going to smarten up. But she's got a deal. She's got a place in mind. Like Fort Knox, she said. Until we get Erich to make us a supply of the gas, we play cozy. I see her alone. I get to her once, Slago, and she's around my little finger."

"You think you've got that much," Slago said.

"I can teach her a thing or two. All I need is the first time, just once. Then you and I don't need the Corbins, once we learn the place where all the loot is, and a supply of Erich's gas."

Slago stepped back to the window. His big arms swung loosely at his sides, his head was thrust forward. He looked like a puzzled gorilla.

"I don't trust you, Mark. You cross me, and I kill you."

"Don't worry about a thing," Mark said.

Mark liked being back in New York. He liked the asphalt heat of the streets, the excitement in the air — the crowds, the taxis, the traffic. Some day he would own it all.

The apartment was on the second floor of a private brownstone in the East Seventies, with a black wrought-iron rail on the steps, a brass carriage lantern polished and gleaming against the bright red door, and antique number plates above. He rang the bell and waited and wondered what the apartment cost per month, and when the buzzer clicked he went on up quickly, two steps at a time until he was close to the top of the carpeted stairs, where he slowed to a deliberately casual walk.

Jessie wore a cool print frock of lime green. Her hair looked different. She had cut it, and it looked like one of those Italian deals, like a boy. It made her seem taller, and her whole look revived the quick excitement in him.

"Baby."

"Come in, Mark. Erich has gone, but we won't have much time. We have a lot to talk about. Let's get the business out of the way, shall we?"

"We can talk business later," Mark said. "Do you have any idea how it's been with me, since that last time?"

"Mark, I thought you were tough and intelligent. There will be time to play later, time enough for you and me, just the two of us. Right now we have work to do."

"You said Erich will be back soon."

"There will be a few minutes."

"Who likes to rush?" he said, grinning.

She laughed. "You're hopeless.

"I'm crazy about you."

"And you can have me," she said quietly. "I feel the same way, believe me. But not right now. Come here, Mark." She took his hand and led him through the octagonal foyer into the huge living room. It was quiet and hushed and rich and elegant, remote from the teeming city outdoors. He felt a moment's awe. "Sit down, Mark. You see, I've been working all the time. Look at these."

There was a library table against one wall, and it was covered with rolls or blueprints and tracing paper. He preferred to watch Jessie as she walked toward the couch and sat down with him.

"Give me a cigarette and tell me how you made out, first," she said. "You had no trouble with the police?"

"No trouble all the way."

"This Durell. Have you thought about him?"

"I think he's a local cop, or something, down there. I don't think we have to worry about him." Mark said.

"But I do worry. It's smart to worry."

"Yes," he said. "You're smart — beautiful and smart. That's what makes me do this," he said, and he touched her. She didn't move away. She leaned a little closer to him. "You understand?" he said. "I don't give a damn about anything except you, Jessie. You're like a fever in me."

"You've got to think straight. I'm counting on you, Mark."

"I can't, baby."

She sighed in exasperation. "Will you listen to me? Will you listen for just a few minutes, before Erich gets back? Our next step is all worked out. We need Erich and we need Slago, but in two days — maybe three — we won't need either of them again."

He listened now.

"Well have all the money well ever want, Mark. Well have it made. I've even bought our airline tickets to Buenos Aires. For just the two of us. Can't you wait that long, darling?"

"No," he said. "What do we do with Erich and Slago?"

She shrugged. "You'll have to get rid of them."

"For good?"

"Why not?"

Mark admired her. "I like that. And I want to know what the operation is about, all right. But you can tell me later."

"You'll do exactly as I say? Promise? Everything I tell you to do? You won't argue about it, or get stiff-necked or anything because I'll give the orders?"

"Not until it's all over."

"You promise, Mark?"

"Sure."

"Please," she said. "I can take it off myself."

She stood up and loosened a catch or two and her dress fell with soft rustlings to her feet. Her body gleamed in the dim, curtained room, her image reflected again and again in diminishing curves in the two huge mirrors that faced each other from opposite walls. Mark reached for her and she smiled. He thought her eyes looked odd as she looked down at him, but he dismissed the thought and the sliding uneasiness it brought him.

Somebody knocked impatiently on the door.

"Wait," she whispered. "It's Erich."

"That bastard will..."

"Stay right here. Please."

She walked through the foyer, as naked as the Greek statuette he could see on its black pedestal, and then she slid the bolt aside and opened the door slightly. Mark could see it was Erich in the hall, holding a paper bag of something that she must have told him to buy. Erich could see him, too. But the man's
eyes
were on his wife's body.