Stiletto (21 page)

And Ileana would be back by then. He thought of her with a smile. Maybe they would marry. It was time to think of carrying on the name. The blood lines would be good together and Ileana was European.

Europeans were much more honest than Americans, much more realistic. Compared with the complexities of Luke, Ileana seemed as simple and as direct as a schoolgirl.

“Well, it’s been two days,” Strang said. “How do you think we’re doin’?”

Baker shrugged his shoulders. “It’s anybody’s guess. He picks up the phone now and disconnects before we get halfway through.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “What do your men in the field have to say?”

“I’ve switched them about six times already,” Strang answered. “They say he’s beginning to get jumpy. The usual things. Looking back over his shoulder, checking doorways before he goes in and out of them.”

“And the girl?” Baker asked. “What about her?”

“She seems in better shape than he is,” Strang said. “She’s always with him but maybe she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“I’ve got the report on her,” Baker said. “She seems pretty straight. She is a racing-car driver. Pretty good too, from what we can tell. Had some hard luck and lost her own car last year and she’s saving up to get another one now.”

“That isn’t much help,” Strang said. “It doesn’t explain her willingness to alibi him for what happened out in the Mexican desert.”

“She seems to want a car pretty bad,” Baker said. “He’s the boy who can give her one.”

“Not just now, he isn’t,” Strang said. “We just found out that his car franchises were canceled.”

“All of them?” Baker asked.

Strang nodded. “All of them. I wonder if that means anything.”

“It might,” Baker answered. “I’ll have it checked out.” The telephone rang. He picked it up. “It’s for you,” he said, giving the telephone to Strang.

Strang took it and listened for a moment, then put down the phone. “That was one of my men. Cardinali and the girl just went into the Pavillon on 57th Street for lunch.”

Baker smiled and picked up the telephone. “It’s about time for another call,” he said to Strang. “Call Mr. Cardinali at the Pavillon restaurant and play the recording for him again,” he said into it.

***

“I tell you I saw that man following us,” Cesare insisted. “I recognized him. I saw him before.”

Luke looked at him. “Are you sure, Cesare? I didn’t see anyone.”

“He was around the corner on Park Avenue by that time. I am sure.” Cesare fell quiet as the waiter brought their drinks.

They sipped at their cocktails silently until the waiter left. Luke put her hand on his arm. “What you need is some rest,” she said softly. “You didn’t get any sleep at all last night.”

“Who can sleep with that telephone ringing?” Cesare said irritably. “There were four calls before we finally left the receiver off the hook.”

“I’d have the phone shut off,” Luke said.

“And admit to them that they have upset me?” Cesare said. “That is what they would like.”

The waiter came back to the table. He was carrying a telephone with him. “There is a call for Count Cardinali.” He bowed.

Cesare looked at Luke. “All right, I’ll take it,” he said to the waiter.

The waiter bowed again and plugged it into a jack behind them on the banquette. Cesare took the phone from him. “Cardinali speaking,” he said into it.

Luke could see his face harden as he listened. He put down the telephone silently. He nodded in answer to the question on her face.

“Again,” he said heavily, picking up his drink. “You see, we were being followed. They knew just where to call me.”

***

The telephone began to ring just as they entered the apartment. Tonio hurried by them to pick it up. “Count Cardinali’s residence,” he said into it. He looked up at them. “Just a moment. I will see if he’s in.”

He put down the telephone and came over to them. “There is a call for you, Excellency, but the signor will not give his name. He says only that he has an important message for you.”

“I’ll take it,” Cesare said, crossing to the phone. He listened silently as Tonio hurried from the room. Suddenly his face contorted with anger and he ripped the telephone from its socket and flung it across the room.

“Damned instrument of torture!” he snapped as it crashed into a vase. He flung himself down on the couch as Tonio came hurrying into the room, a look of fright on his round little face.

“Clean up that mess!” Cesare snapped at him.

“Yes, Excellency! Immediately, Excellency!” the little man answered and hurried from the room.

Cesare leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. Luke went around behind him and massaged the back of his neck sympathetically.

“Take it easy,” she said. “That won’t do any good. I’ll fix you a drink.”

She walked over to the liquor cabinet and took down the gin and vermouth. Quickly she stirred a martini and poured it. She looked around for the bitters. Europeans liked a dash of bitters in their martinis.

It wasn’t on any of the open shelves. She turned the key on the small door at the rear of the cabinet. A lone small dark bottle stood there. She took it out and turned toward him. “A dash of bitters?” she asked.

He was staring at her hand. “Where did you get that?” he snapped.

She gestured with her hand. “From here. I know you like…”

“Put it back,” he said sharply. “And stay out of locked doors.”

“You don’t have to take my head off,” she retorted angrily, putting the bottle back and closing the door.

He relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry, darling,” he apologized. “The bitters are on the shelf below the bar.”

“What’s in that bottle anyway?” she asked, handing him the drink.

He sipped the drink and looked up at her. “Poison. Unfortunately I can’t hang it on the wall like the other weapons,” he said. “I got it from a chemist in Florence who was doing research on the poisons Lucrezia Borgia used. A few drops and there’s no antidote. He said their knowledge of chemistry was fantastic for their times.”

She looked over at the cabinet curiously. “I wouldn’t feel safe having it around.”

He finished the drink. “It’s safe enough there. Nobody ever opens that door, even to clean it.” He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. “I’m so tired,” he said.

She stroked his forehead. “I know, lover,” she said gently. “If there were only someplace we could go, someplace where nobody could find us until Ileana got back.”

He turned around suddenly and looked up at her. The tension was disappearing from his face and he began to smile. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it? I know just the place. They will never think of looking for us there!”

She smiled down at him. A warmth began to spread inside her. The time was only beginning, she thought proudly, when he would learn how necessary she was to him.

***

Detective Sergeant McGowan looked at his watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. One more hour until his relief would show up. He stamped his feet in the cold night air. That was the only lousy thing about this job. He had been waiting outside the hotel since four this afternoon.

Still it wasn’t too bad. At least they didn’t have to try to remain invisible like they did on some jobs. That was one of the big jokes in the trade. On television one lone private eye shadowed a suspect right into his bedroom and was never spotted. In real life it was a little different. The captain had six men on this job. There was one man at every entrance to the big hotel and two men constantly circling the block in a car to maintain contact and lend a hand if they were needed.

The car had just turned the corner at Lexington away from him when he glanced back at the hotel entrance and they came out.

The girl was carrying a small valise, the man looked up and down the street quickly and, waving away a taxi, took her arm. They started walking rapidly toward Lexington.

McGowan started after them. Just his luck they would pick this time to make a break. Now he wouldn’t get home before six in the morning.

They cut across the street at the corner and headed up toward 51st Street. He cut in behind them and saw the man look back. He didn’t try to hide himself. He didn’t have to on this job. They turned the corner and went down into the subway entrance.

He broke into a run now and reached the top of the subway steps just as the roar of an entering train came to him. He took the steps down two at a time. The captain wouldn’t like it if he were to lose them.

He caught a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye as he darted around the corner at the bottom of the stairway. He half turned to see the flat upraised hand of the man coming down on him in a vicious judo chop. He tried to roll away from it when the pain exploded in his shoulder and he sank to his knees.

He wasn’t all the way out but there were lights flashing in his eyes and ringing sounds in his brain. That was like it was on TV, he remembered thinking vaguely. He shook his head. His vision began to clear.

He put his hand against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. He stood there dizzily for a moment, his eyes peering down to the platform.

He saw them getting on the train and started toward the platform after them. Before he reached the turnstiles, the doors had closed and the train began to pull out. He saw the man’s face through the window, looking back at him. He was smiling.

Wearily he turned and headed for the telephone booth. He sank into it and heard the dime go tinkling down the box. The captain wouldn’t like to hear they had gotten away but the captain should have told him the guy could hit like that. He began to dial the number.

***

Strang put down the telephone. He stared at Baker. “The plan worked all right,” he said grimly. “But it worked too good. He cold-cocked McGowan on a subway platform and got away from him.”

“The girl too?” Baker asked.

Strang nodded. “Yes.”

Baker reached for a cigarette. His fingers were trembling. “Heaven help them if the mob finds them before we do,” he said.

“If they do, better have your resignation typed,” Strang said heavily. “Mine’s already in my top desk drawer!”

There are few places in New York that are resisting the advance of modern low-cost housing aid as successfully as upper Park Avenue. One of the reasons is that this is the shopping mecca of Spanish Harlem. Here below the tracks of the New York Central that speeds the commuter safely to his tiny suburban comfort is one of the last open markets of the city.

The people who shop here are mostly of Puerto Rican descent and they thread their way in their gaily-colored clothing among the pushcarts and sidewalk display, chattering as lightly and as happily, despite their poverty, as they did at home in their tropical island. There are hotels in this section of Park Avenue also. They do not much resemble the hotels farther downtown on the same avenue but they accomplish the same purpose. They are a place to sleep and eat and offer solace to a weary traveler. The main difference between the hotels in addition to the furnishings is the credit card. In Spanish Harlem the hotels are only interested in cash.

Cesare turned back from the window of the Del Rio Hotel as a train shot past them on the tracks outside. He looked at Luke who was seated in a chair, the morning newspapers in front of her. He lit a cigarette. “Isn’t there something else you can do besides read the damn newspapers all day?”

Luke looked up at him. The whole of the last week he had been on edge. Nervous and irritable. It had been more than two weeks since Ileana had left and they had remained cooped up in this room most of that time.

At first it had been fun. They had laughed at all the little inconveniences: the dripping faucet, the squeaking bed, the sagging chairs. Then bit by bit the tawdry room seemed to creep into them until one morning it was no longer fun.

She was aware of what was coming but he had not been. Women were much more adaptable than men. They had a great deal more patience. They were better equipped for waiting. All the way around, mentally as well as physically. She remembered that she had felt a twinge of pain that usually accompanied the onslaught of her period. But nothing had happened. Idly she wondered if she were pregnant. It was more than a week now and she was rarely that late.

“Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?” she suggested patiently.

He turned on her savagely. “Rest? That’s all I’ve been getting in this stinking hole! Eating greasy food and sleeping in that dirty bed! I’m sick of it!”

“It’s better than being dead,” she said.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he snapped, walking back to the window and looking down at the street.

She turned back to the newspaper but his voice came to her from the window and she looked up at him. He was still looking out.

“I used to see people like those down there in the village in Italy when I was a little boy. Look at them. Smiling, shouting as they scratch around in the rubble for something to eat.”

She got out of her chair and joined him at the window. “They seem perfectly happy to me,” she said, looking down.

Cesare’s voice was wondering. “That is what I never could understand. What makes them so happy all the time? What have they got that we have not? Don’t they know this world is for the few who take? They must know this. And still they are content to smile and laugh and make babies. What is it they have, that we have not?”

She looked up at him. She remembered when she had been a little girl. The excitement of going into town on shopping days. Poor Cesare, there were so many things he had never had. “Maybe they have hope,” she said.

He looked down at her. “Hope?” He laughed. “That is a word invented by dreamers.”

She wanted him to understand. “Maybe they have faith.”

He laughed again. “That is a word invented by priests.”

She couldn’t keep her hand from his bare arm. Maybe the knowledge would flow from her touch into him. The way she felt. “Maybe they have love,” she said softly.

He stared down at her, then turned, pulling his arm from her touch. “That word is the biggest fraud of them all. It is a word invented by women to mask their biological needs and duties. Love, hah!”