The Detonators (11 page)

“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned.

She licked her lips. “I washed out your T-shirt,” she said. “I hung it in the bathroom to dry. Thanks for the loan.” She drew a long, shaky breath. “I can’t believe it was me!” she burst out with sudden desperation. “I’ve never done anything like that before, honest. I must have had… some kind of a breakdown or something, to deliberately go out and make such a dreadful little fool of myself. You must think I’m perfectly awful!”

Well, it was the logical next move. Having showed herself in a very bad light necessarily, to give her a convincing reason for calling on me for assistance, she now had to repair the damage and make me understand that she was really a very attractive person after all.

“Did you get anything to eat?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t face it yet. Besides, I didn’t want to call the desk until I’d checked with you.” A little color came into her face. “I mean, I didn’t know if I, well, was really supposed to be in this room with you, if you know what I mean.”

I grinned. “You’re perfectly legal, Miss Barnett, in an illicit sort of way. I changed the reservation to double occupancy this morning, with a significant wink. I hope you don’t mind being a fallen woman.”

But it was no joke to her. She said bitterly, “After the way I spent the last two days I don’t have very far to fall, do I? Mama, why is that nice-looking lady lying in the gutter in her nice clothes? Did… did I really beg you to, well, rape me? Did I really perform a drunken striptease for you and ask you to admire my nude body?”

I shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, Barnett. I’ve seen naked ladies before. In fact, I once even saw another girl who wasn’t quite sober.”

“Having to drag me out of that place looking like
that
, and carry me up here practically paralyzed, and undress me like a baby… How can you ever have any respect for me again?”

It was really getting pretty soap-operatic. I was a little disappointed in her. She’d done better last night with that cocky, gee-don’t-I-look-awful-ha-ha routine.

I said carefully, “Does it matter? Your suit’s back in reasonable shape, your blouse and slip are clean and dry, and you’ve got replacements right there for the tights that kind of fell by the wayside. I bought some black polish so we can make your shoes look more or less respectable, good enough to get you where you’re going, although I’m afraid they’ll never be quite the same again. There’s an afternoon flight to Cincinnati. Tonight you’ll be home. Incidentally, I checked and they’re holding your suitcase at the Cincinnati airport—it’s actually across the river in Covington, Kentucky, but you know that—and you can pick it up when you get there. A week from now you won’t even remember the Hummingbird Bar or the guy who spent an interesting evening buttoning and unbuttoning you. So what do you care about my respect?”

She licked her lips. “I see. You’re sending me away.”

I frowned in a surprised way. “Isn’t that what you want? Excuse me if I’ve made a mistake, but you were on your way three mornings ago, when you were sidetracked by a bottle. I figured that was where you still wanted to go and made the arrangements accordingly. The flight leaves at three-twenty. You should pick up your ticket at the Delta desk half an hour early. If you want somebody to hold your hand, I’ll run you out there; but you’re a big girl now and I think you’re capable of catching a plane all by yourself—now that you’ve got whatever it was out of your system, I hope. Oh, before I forget…” I took three bills out of my wallet and dropped them on top of the package in her lap. “Sixty bucks ought to do it. For taxis at both ends and maybe something to eat and drink along the way. If you don’t like taking cash money from strange men, you can send it back to me sometime. The rest is on the house and please don’t argue about it. I’m your surrogate daddy, remember? Okay?”

The big gray-blue eyes were watching me steadily out of the attractive face that showed few signs of recent dissipation.

“You’ll be happy to get rid of me, won’t you?”

I said, “Your pop asked me to look after you. I’m looking after you.”

“But you don’t really like me very much.”

I said irritably, “Like! Respect! You sound as if we were planning a long and intimate relationship. If you really want my opinion, I think you’re a nice but nutty kid who’d better see a shrink before she gets herself into more trouble than she can handle. Or than I can help her handle, although I’m perfectly willing to keep trying for the sake of a guy who once saved my life.” This was strictly speaking quite true, I certainly owed Doug Barnett an important debt, but I didn’t like the guilty way it made me feel, using the fact against his daughter under these circumstances. I went on quickly, “As I said before, call anytime. I probably won’t be here much longer, but you know the Washington number, and they’ll get word to… What’s the matter?”

“I completely forgot! There was a phone call for you, oh, an hour ago. That’s what woke me up. You were supposed to call Washington the minute you got back. I’m terribly sorry!”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. All they want is to tell me about a lousy assignment I don’t particularly want to hear about.” I sighed. “Oh, well, duty calls…”

Mac’s timing was good. I’d called from a pay phone while I was out, and we’d made the arrangements—Doug was out of this little charade, of course, because we couldn’t risk having the girl hear his voice. Now, even as I turned that way, the phone started ringing. I gave a rueful shrug for Amy’s benefit, walked over, and picked it up.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Yes, she told me, I was just about to call… What’s that? How did the fool woman manage that? Well, get me another dame who knows how to sail, for God’s sake. Or just some female who doesn’t get too seasick, who’ll make my cover look good and can help me pull the strings after I show her how… No, I won’t do it in a powerboat, dammit; I don’t care how many freebies the Coast Guard offers us. If the people we’re after are that nervous, they’ll blast any fast powerboat that comes snooping around, as they did just a few weeks back, if you’ll recall. The only way we’ve got a chance to survive, and locate the place the C.G. is after, is to look dumb and innocent, a nice stupid married couple in a slow, slow, sailboat dragging a big deep keel, obviously the last thing anybody’d use for spying in those shallow waters…”

I heard a rustle of movement and saw that Amy had walked over to seat herself on the side of her rumpled bed. She was starting to try on the pantyhose I’d bought her, a fairly interesting operation. I forced myself to concentrate on the telephone in my hand.

“Hasn’t the Coast Guard got a dame they can lend us?” I asked, and listened, and said, “Oh, Christ, bureaucratic morality, yet! Do they really think I’d ravish their tender lady seaman, seawoman, seaperson, or whatever the hell they call her? Well, haven’t we got some competent old bag hanging around? She doesn’t have to be young and beautiful. Christ, I’m not very young and beautiful myself; a stodgy middle-aged boating couple might be just the right cover… Yes, sir. I’ll await your call with eager anticipation, sir. No, sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, sir. Good-bye, sir.”

Well, it was a pretty obvious teaser, almost as obvious as the drunk-and-disorderly act Miss Amy Barnett had put on for me the night before. I sat for a moment after hanging up, staring grimly and picturesquely at the dead phone; then I shook my head as if to dismiss some unpleasant thoughts and looked across the room.

“Well, how did I do, nylon-wise?” I asked. I grinned as she pulled down her slip hastily. “They seem to fit all right. How about the color?”

“It’s fine. A little on the light side, but… No, they’re fine.” She gave me an odd, shy glance. “It’s the first time I ever let a man buy stockings for me, Mr. Helm.”

I said, “I once visited Sweden, where my folks came from. They’re pretty formal over there, or were back when I was there, and they had a little ceremony when two people got to know each other pretty well. In the case of two men, the senior took the initiative. In the case of a man and a woman, it was the lady’s prerogative to suggest that it was perhaps not necessary for the gentleman to call her
Fru
or
Froken
—Missus or Miss—any longer; first names had become acceptable. We’ve been kind of stuffy for various reasons, Miss Barnett. Would you care to make a move toward informality before we part company?”

After a moment, she laughed softly. It was, I realized, the laugh I’d been waiting for, the warm and pleasant laugh her mouth was made for.

“We
have
been kind of stiff and silly, haven’t ,we, Matt? Yes, you have my permission to call me Amy.”

“Well, Amy, you shouldn’t make that flight on a totally empty stomach. If you’ll get dressed, I’ll feed you lunch in the restaurant downstairs. If you feel you’re up to taking a little nourishment.”

She nodded. “I think so. But Matt…”

“Yes, Amy.”

“Can you use a child bride?”

There was a lengthy silence. After staring at her hard, I turned away and walked to the window, which looked out over a big street and a sunny park. Beyond that, I knew, was the city marina, called Miamarina, and I thought I could make out a mast or two, but the trees made it hard to tell. I heard again Doug Barnett’s voice saying:
Now that I’m dead, it’s fairly certain that she’ll try to attach herself to you.
I found myself wishing he hadn’t been quite so right about the daughter he hardly knew.

Her voice spoke behind me: “I couldn’t help overhearing. You need somebody to play a female part on a boat, and she doesn’t really have to be a very good sailor, isn’t that right?”

I said without looking around, “The dumb nautical broad who was scheduled to go with me had to play rescuing angel when somebody’s brat fell overboard instead of just letting the little monster drown. She saved the kid all right but got an ankle smashed between the boat and the dock. The mission is not one that can be accomplished by a dame in a cast.” After a moment, I went on, “Or by a nonviolent wench who thinks some weapons are worse than others, but all are pretty horrible.” I turned quickly. “Here! Catch!”

Instinctively, she caught the gleaming object I tossed at her. Then, realizing what she was holding, she gave a little squeal of fright and dropped it on the hotel carpet and backed away from it as if it had been a live and rattling diamondback. I laughed shortly, walked over and scooped up the fallen revolver, swung out the cylinder, and reloaded with the cartridges I’d palmed while my back was to her.

I said, “Go home to Cincinnati, little girl; I appreciate the generous spirit behind the offer, but you really shouldn’t try to play ball in the same league with us grown-ups.”

“That wasn’t fair,” she said softly.

“A lousy little unloaded thirty-eight,” I said scornfully, “and you panicked as if somebody’d tossed you a grenade with the pin out! Go back to your pacifist friends, Amy Barnett. What I need is a tough, trained, ruthless broad who can save me from a knife or bullet, not a dainty lady protest marcher who’s going to save me from The Bomb.”

“I can’t go back,” she said.

“What?”

“I’m afraid to go back,” she said. “That’s the other reason I ran away from the airport and got so drunk. I’m terrified of going back to… to him!” She touched a whip-marked shoulder. “The man who did this to me! I couldn’t bear to go back to
that
again!”

The hotel dining room was one of the elaborate, dark, plushy ones—no cafés, cafeterias, or tea shoppes need apply. It wasn’t doing much lunch business yet, and we were led directly to a table for two against the far wall. Amy walked ahead of me, following the head waiter. Her suit had cleaned up surprisingly well, considering the indignities to which it had been subjected. She looked trim and businesslike once more; apparently the same neatly dressed and very serious young lady who’d come to this hotel to see me a few days back. But I remembered that I had then taken her, along with some other people and situations, at face value, gullible me.

From my viewpoint behind her, the neck exposed by the smoothly pinned-up hair looked particularly slender and graceful. I wished I wouldn’t keep finding, or refinding, nice things to like about this girl. Seated, I ordered a drink for myself—vodka martini, if you must know—after Amy had shuddered at the question and shaken her head emphatically.

“Okay, now let’s hear about this terrible Cincinnati boogeyman,” I said when we were alone.

“No, ladies first,” she said. “Just how do you happen to know so much about my gaudy past, Mr. Helm? I never told you anything about my political activities that I can remember.”

I said, “I told you once, you’re one of the family; you’re Doug Barnett’s kid. And after offering so nobly to come to your rescue if you should ever need it, I thought it advisable to get a little background information on you.” Well, that wasn’t too far from the truth, although Doug had briefed me on his offspring’s history without being asked. I went on: “I wanted to see just what I might be letting myself in for. It was quite a surprise. You don’t look like a wild-eyed activist.”

“Amy the Mouse,” she said dryly. “I do keep trying very hard to be a proper little lady, but it keeps getting away from me. I keep getting away from me. In not very pleasant directions. Didn’t you ever find yourself compelled to do things you didn’t really approve of, even repulsive and shameful things? Not that I’m ashamed of fighting for peace; but things like drinking myself silly and…” She ran her hand over her shoulder as if feeling for the fading scars under her tailored jacket. Then she said stiffly, “So in addition to being featured in a number of police records, I’m also in the files of your agency?”

“Of course,” I said. “So are my kids, if that makes you feel any better. Now, what about the villain with the whip?”

I’d been startled at having her throw the man we wanted right at my head, so to speak; I’d expected that she’d have been instructed to keep the association a secret. Yet perhaps this was the smart way of doing it. Maybe she’d even been given the cruel marks on her back deliberately, to let her use this approach when I saw them and, shocked, asked about them. The best cover is always the one that makes most use of the truth. This way, no matter how much we checked up on her, we couldn’t accuse her of hiding anything. Hell, we might even request her assistance in apprehending the wicked pervert who’d hurt her. And of course she’d cooperate willingly, saying that she’d known he was a creep, look what he’d done to her; but she’d never dreamed he was a dangerous criminal, and if there was any way she could help us bring him to justice…