The Threateners (7 page)

The newcomer looked that way and back to me with suspicion in his baby-blue eyes. He was quite a handsome fellow; the clean-cut, freckled, all-American-college-boy type that some government departments seem to cherish. Somehow, I’d been quite sure from the instant I first sighted him that like me, he got his orders from Washington. As they say, it takes one to know one.

^"
Steiner says your name is Helm?" He made it a question.

“That’s right. Who are you?”

He flipped a fancy ID folder at me, too fast for me to read what was engraved on the gold shield inside.

“U.S. government,” he said. “We were informed that it was an emergency; that the woman was badly hurt, unconscious, an ambulance case. She doesn’t look like an emergency to me. If this is some kind of a trick . . . Check her out, Mike.”

The second man in was shorter and darker than the first, and his black hair was somewhat longer. He wore a light sport coat instead of a windbreaker, but a slight hip bulge indicated that the gun was in the same place and probably of the same configuration and caliber. They do like to standardize. He walked over and squatted on his heels beside Steiner’s wife. It’s a position that doesn’t come naturally to many Anglos, although I’ve known some cowboys who could make it look comfortable—when I try it, I don’t last very long—but people of Spanish descent seem to be able to sit that way by the hour. He examined her bruised head gently.

His partner spoke to me: “I’ll take the gun.”

I looked at the well-manicured hand he held out for it. There was really no reason why I shouldn’t give him Ruth Steiner’s gun. But then again, there was really no good reason why I should. I get very tired of these officious jerks with badges who march onto the premises and lay claim to every firearm in sight. The weapon goes for around three hundred bucks, retail. He was probably under the mistaken impression that it was my property; but in any case he knew damned well it wasn’t his. I should make him, or the U.S. government, three hundred bucks richer without even a please?

I said, “That’s a pretty reckless statement, isn’t it? The piece is in my hand and yours is in your holster. How are you planning to work this confiscation?” He stared at me, shocked. Representing the U.S. government as he did, he hadn’t expected a refusal. I went on: “You came for a dame, mister; just take her and blow.”

^"
Listen, you . . . !” Then he stopped, looking past me.

Madeleine’s voice spoke behind me: “Visitors, Matt?”

I answered without turning my head: “The
federales
, ma’am. They’ve supposedly come for Mrs. Steiner, but this one seems eager to cart away everything that isn’t tied down. He’s starting with the firearms, but he’ll undoubtedly go for the patio furniture next, after which it’s good-bye to the stove, sink, refrigerator, and TV. We call him
El Hombre sin Nombre
, since he’s very shy about revealing his name, assuming that he has one. That one over there is less anonymous; he’s called Mike. See if he needs help with Mrs. Steiner, will you, please?”

The man in front of me didn’t like it. In feet he was pale enough with anger that the boyish freckles stood out very clearly. However, he couldn’t think of a move to make that might not earn him a bullet. He tried to convince himself that I couldn’t possibly shoot a fine government employee like him, and failed.

Madeleine came into my field of vision, dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt, white, with the tails hanging out. I won’t say she looked as good in those sloppy garments as she had in her smart legal costume—I like dressed-up ladies—but for a denim girl she didn’t do at all badly. On her feet, Reeboks or Adidas or whatever; I can’t keep track of them all. Life was simpler back in the Keds era. She was carrying, incongruously, the smart black purse that went with her business clothes. As I say, dressed up or dressed down, she was still very pleasant to look at. The man called Mike regarded her with frank Latin admiration.

After a moment he cleared his throat and said, “If you can give me a hand, we’ll get her to the car, Miss. . . .” Madeleine took her hand out of her purse, which didn’t leave the purse empty. What had started as a peaceful Sunday, with just a few target .22s popping for fan, seemed to be getting pretty heavy with serious firearms.

“Rustin,” Madeleine said. “Madeleine Rustin. Are you a doctor?”

“Miguel Ortiz at your service, Miss Rustin. No, I’m not a doctor; but they’ve got me kind of specializing in making temporary repairs until the real doctors can take over.”

“How is she?”

“It looks messy, but there’s not enough external bleeding to worry about; they can patch up that ear later. I’d say what she needs is a bed, some X rays to determine if there’s a skull fracture, and in any case plenty of rest until it’s certain there’s no serious concussion or internal seepage. Let’s get her on her feet. . . ."

As the three of them moved awkwardly toward the gate I said to the man before me: “Well, what’s it to be, Mr. Government Man?”

His glance wavered briefly; he steadied it and said contemptuously, “You’re bluffing, Helm, but I haven’t got time to play macho games with you. You may keep your weapon if it means that much to you. ” He fixed me with a hard and intimidating stare that he’d undoubtedly practiced in the mirror. “But you will forget all this. You will also forget the code word we used, which should never have been given you. Is that understood?”

I regarded him for a moment. He was slightly incredible, but they all are. "It’s understood and rejected," I said. “Pull in your horns, buster. You come onto my property and announce that you’re going to take this and I’m going to forget that, just because you’re carrying an ID you won’t even give me a good look at, that you probably found in a box of cornflakes. Well, you’ll take nothing except what you came for and I’ll forget nothing except what it pleases me to forget. Goodbye now.”

He tried the stare again and, when I displayed no signs of terror, opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, turned on his heel, and marched out, making no apology for bumping against Madeleine as she returned from the street alone. She glanced after him, shrugged, and watched me roll the gate closed and snap the padlock.

“What was all that about?”

“All what?”

“You acted as if you wanted a gunfight or something.”

I grinned. “The man who takes care of the yard, Juan, says we should get some manure for the compost heap to make it work right with all the leaves he’s raking this fall; apparently there’s some kind of chemical reaction in there that requires excremental stimulation. It occurred to me that Mr. No Name would do fine, full of shit as he is. But I guess we’ll just have to buy it, although I’m always reluctant to pay good money for it when there’s so much of it around, and more generated every minute.” I realized that I was talking too much. I hadn’t really thought the guy would go for it, but it’s always a strain. I took Madeleine’s arm. “Come on, I promised to feed you. I’ll let you pick the can. I’ll open it and warm it. How’s that for a deal?”

She grimaced. “Damn, what happened to all the glamorous secret agents who dish up gourmet meals at the drop of a bullet-proof vest?”

“You came to the wrong place for glamour, babe; around here all you get is Dinty Moore’s beef stew.”

Actually, she settled for a plate of corned beef hash with a poached egg on top—Prairie Farms AA Extra Large, if it matters. Since they’re just about the only things I cook, aside from an occasional steak and a few potatoes, I’m particular about eggs. After cleaning up the kitchen, we took our coffee into the living room. Earlier, I’d touched a match to the firewood I keep laid and ready during the colder seasons of the year. Madeleine, in one of the massive wooden chairs before the flames, let her jean-clad legs sprawl apart in an unladylike manner.

“Just what were you trying to accomplish, Matt, being so tough with that government character?” she asked lazily at last. “Not that he didn’t ask for it, but you were really pushing.”

I shrugged. “I’m hoping his feelings are hurt enough that he’ll phone Big Papa in Washington to report that a nasty man was very rude to him.”

“If he does call Washington, what will that accomplish?"

"Then his chief will, we hope, check out a certain individual named Helm and, if he looks hard enough in the right places—it can be done, if you’re persistent and have good government connections—find out that I also work for the government. If the pushy character who just departed is professionally interested in the Steiners, he should have had me traced when I first got friendly with Mark last summer. Maybe that’s what made him so hostile; he realized that his sloppy operational habits were going to be exposed. Anyway, having identified me, his chief will lodge a protest with my chief in the name of interdepartmental cooperation. That way we’ll know what bureau or department we’ve come up against without going to the trouble of tracking down the only name we’ve got, Miguel Ortiz, which could be a lost cause. Hell, you’re a New Mexico girl, you know that in Spanishspeaking circles, there are almost as many Ortizes as there are Martinezes and Montoyas; and Miguel isn’t exactly uncommon, either. And neither name necessarily belongs to the man who was here.”

“Kind of like looking for a phony John Smith, you mean?” When I nodded, she said, “But even if you do find out who nice little Mike and his tall, obnoxious colleague are working for, that still won’t tell us about the others, the ones who have both of us under surveillance and apparently the Steiners as well—”

She was interrupted by a shrill, screeching sound; nobody will sell you an honest bell anymore. All they have to offer is these electronic screamers.

I said, “That should be Mark Steiner now. Maybe he knows something about the Spookies we don’t.”

The harsh screech that tells me somebody’s at the gate wanting in sounded again, impatiently. I tucked the little Spanish pistol into my waistband and went out there. It took me a moment to find the right key on the ring.

“Come on, let me in, Matt. If you want the password, it’s Lapis. I caught hell for using that!”

It was definitely Mark Steiner’s voice. I removed the padlock and stepped aside, letting him slide the gate back. He came inside and looked around for me, and smiled thinly when he saw me back against the fence with the little automatic ready in my hand. He was dressed as he had been at the rifle range, in well-worn khakis, and he had the same khaki cap, with a moderately long bill, on his head.

"I recognize the pistol," he said.

“I saved it for you,” I said. “One of those government freaks you sent wanted to liberate it. If I know my G-men, you’d never have seen it again. Here.”

He took it and checked the chamber and safety the way any knowledgeable person does when handed a firearm. He stood looking down at the gun for a moment.

“I always wondered why anybody would name a pistol after a South American beast of burden,” he said. “I didn’t know she’d taken it, but it’s the one she really learned to shoot with, after we’d done a little preliminary work with a twenty-two, so I guess she felt most comfortable with it.” He looked up sharply. “You haven’t asked how she is.”

I spoke deliberately: “The health of folks who barge onto the premises with loaded firearms and homicidal intentions concerns me very little.”

His lips tightened. “She was upset. She wasn’t . . . responsible.”

I didn’t have to listen to that crap. I said, “Neither, I’m told, was the gent who shot President Reagan. But I’ve never understood why being an irresponsible loony should give an individual free shooting privileges not accorded to responsible, sane folks.”

“Damn it, she’s not insane!”

“A gal who blows her stack and runs off to kill somebody without even making sure she’s got the right guy and then practically goes into convulsions when a friendly pup licks her face isn’t exactly a well-balanced personality in my book." I looked at him hard. "And I’m damn well not going to apologize for giving her the gun-butt treatment, which is what you’re plugging for, isn’t it? I almost lost my dog to your well-balanced wife, and there was even a moment when I thought I might lose me. And I haven’t heard any apologies from you for turning a crazy lady with a gun loose on me.”

“I didn’t—”

“The hell you didn’t. She didn’t cook up the notion that I was one of the people who were hassling you, maybe even the main man, all by herself. . . . Yes, she talked a little before your federal friends arrived. From what she said, I know you must have told her all about me: that overfriendly Helm character with the affectionate pup you kept bumping into just a little too often at the rifle range. Well, I’ve kind of wondered about you, too, for exactly the same reasons. I guess it doesn’t pay to be friendly these days. However, I didn’t share my suspicions with a gal I’d taught to shoot whom I knew to be slightly off her rocker, and I didn’t leave a loaded gun where she could get her hands on it. So let’s just call it even, apology-wise, shall we?”

We faced each other for a long moment; then he looked down at the pistol in his hand. He smiled thinly. “You’re a damn fool to talk to me like that after handing me a gun, Matt.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have talked to you like that if you hadn’t been holding a gun. You’d have slugged me. But we learn not to yield to our violent impulses when there are firearms involved, right?” I grinned. “And you’re covered from the comer of the house. . . . Miss Rustin, allow me to introduce Mr. Steiner, and vice versa.”

He glanced that way and laughed shortly as Madeleine stepped into sight, holding her small revolver. Steiner checked the Llama pistol once more, opened a couple of the lower buttons of his khaki shirt, slipped the gun inside, and buttoned himself up again, moving forward to make the lady’s acquaintance.

Madeleine offered her hand, frowning a bit as she looked at him. “It’s a dumb thing to say, but haven’t we met somewhere?”

Mark bowed over her hand. “If I wasn’t happily married, Miss Rustin, I would certainly invent a very fine previous acquaintance between us, but I am afraid it is not the case."