The Death Dealers (8 page)

“A lot of guys fit into my suits, mister.”

“But there’s something that stinks. Of Teish’s countrymen, only nine are known to be in the States. They were all checked out and all were too far away to have been on the ship.”

“So?”

“That puts somebody else into the picture. We know about Tedesco being in Selachin and what happened there. You’re involved up to your ears so quit playing games.”

I stopped smiling at him and leaned forward in the chair. “Okay, Hal, then I’ll lay it on the line for you. Maybe you don’t like our operation and I don’t give a damn, but we’ve come up with the answers when you couldn’t. The last time out I let myself be a target at your suggestion and we all got what we went after. Maybe the routine wasn’t what you would have liked, but it worked. I’ll go along with any of you any time and have most of the time. Outside the country we’re all even, but here you have the edge and you throw the heat at me. Okay, you can make it rough, but I can make it easy.”

“Spell it out, Tiger.”

“Get me a clearance on that gun again.”

“It can’t be done.”

I leaned back in the chair again and sat there a few seconds. “No?”

One of the young guys said, “It can be worked through Army Intelligence.”

Hal glared at him, his teeth tight. Finally he walked to the phone, dialed a number, and spoke softly a few minutes before hanging up. “They want your old ASN, the serial numbers on the gun and your 201 file.”

“At Church Street?”

“Yes.”

“They’ll get it in the morning.” I got up and handed Hal Randolph a pen and sheet of paper. “Certify the deal in writing.”

“It won’t mean a thing.”

“Then don’t fight it. Just do it.”

He wrote a few paragraphs, signed it and handed it to me. I gave the pen and paper to each one in turn, had them witness it, took it back and folded it into my pocket. The last guy said pleasantly, “One thing, Mann ...”

“I know,” I cut in, “where’s the gun?”

“A matter of professional interest.”

I showed them and they stored the gimmick away in their minds before they left. At the door Hal said, “I’ll be in touch with you.”

“Do that,” I told him.

Then I made arrangements with Central to get my papers to Army Intelligence and went down and got my rod back. I felt better with it back at my waist again.

Rondine took her lunch break from one to two, so I gave her the extra hour so I’d catch her at the U.N. and got the call through at three sharp. I knew Lennie Byrnes would be monitoring her calls for her and he gave me the clear sign and put her on. So far neither of them had seen anyone out of the ordinary nor was any overt move made against them. Lennie was staying in tight, ready for any emergency, acting the role of a magazine writer doing a piece on U.N. translators. Everyone had been very cooperative.

I told them I’d pick them up outside the building at six and if I wasn’t there to get right back to the apartment and stay there. I hung up and was about to dial Charlie to tell him what went on with Hal Randolph when the phone went off.

I said, “Yes?”

“Virgil Adams, Tiger. Identify.”

Two words made the contact definite and he said, “Telephoto just arrived from Brazil. Your tip about the hospitals having photos paid off. We have a set of three, but two are of the wound, only one gives a good, clear close-up of his face. I’ll send it over by messenger right away.”

“Okay, but get it to Ernie Bentley. I’ll want some dupes and I don’t want anything put in my box downstairs.”

“Roger. Be about an hour.”

“How about the informants?”

“Nothing. We’ve covering the usual spots, but I don’t have any feeling that we’ll luck out there. Turos knows the ropes too well. If this is a solo operation on his part he won’t make any contacts at all.”

“He already made one,” I reminded him.

“That may be all you’ll need.”

“I hope not. Reach me through Ernie later if anything develops.”

“Roger.”

I hung up, tried Charlie Corbinet but got no answer. Now I had to start playing it right down the line again.

You take all your Federal agencies, your highly trained but obscure intelligence units, your college degrees and your high IQ, hand-selected personnel working under bureau orders, sure, you take them. When you want a job done, give me New York’s finest in or out of uniform. Give me the beat cop, the plainclothesmen, the dedicated people so imbued with the city and its environs that they can do a character study of anybody in a half second.

They came out of the womb of the city and although they’re tied to her apron strings by a paycheck, they’re the big independents who love her enough to keep her clean. They sweat in the sun at street crossings, they prowl the festered parts of her body because she nursed them in the beginning, they take the abuse of the other sons and never quit. Even when you find a bad one or one on the take, he’s still a guy ready to lay his life on the line if he has to and will go in a dark alley after a killer with no concern about his own safety. But most are the best. They have to be or they wouldn’t be there.

These are the ones who can analyze the population at a glance. They can spot a stranger, single out the wrong characters, sense the mood of the city and prepare in advance for what will happen. These are the crime surgeons, the crime deterrents, the ones who answer when you yell for a cop.

I called Dick Gallagher at his precinct number hoping to get a lead on the way the department was going to handle Teish El Abin’s visit to the city and for the first time I ran into luck. Over coffee at the hash house opposite the station Dick told me his vacation had just been stepped up a week and he was burning about it. He had to cancel his reservations at Atlantic City and nothing was vacant when he got his leave.

“Why?” I asked him.

“Visiting dignitaries. You read about our new friends from Selachin?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“So we’re covering His Highness. What with the World’s Fair, the race riots and the usual summer trouble we’re the only section they can draw from for special duty and I get tapped.”

“Maybe there’ll be some excitement.”

“How? By playing doorman at a reception?”

“Who are you alerted for?”

“The usual fanatics,” he shrugged. “These Middle East characters can raise some powerful hatreds. Look what happens with the S.A. bunch. Double it and you get this outfit. It’s like having Nasser around ... you never know what side is going to start shooting first and we’re always caught in the middle.”

“What is it, invitation only?”

“Damn right.”

“Sounds interesting. Maybe I can wangle a card?”

“Why?”

I grinned at him and finished my coffee. “I know a few editors who would print the story. I hear he’s got a nice chick with him.”

“Nice trouble. I haven’t seen one yet who couldn’t make it.

“How can I get in, Dick?”

“You can’t, old buddy. Every invitation is numbered and will be checked off against a master list.”

“Who holds that?”

“Now do you think the Washington boys would trust us with a thing like that? Hell, one of their men will handle it. Besides, where do you fit in? I didn’t think you went the social route.”

“Politics intrigue me,” I said.

“Yeah, sure. Me too. You go for cocktails, pink sandwiches, limp handshakes and double talk. Baloney. Besides, you know the big deal at the reception?”

I shook my head.

Dick said, “Teish El Abin gets to see himself on TV for the first time. They’re broadcasting his five-minute speech to the welcoming committee on the news program then slamming in a closed-circuit segment for twenty minutes covering his whole arrival. Nobody gets to see it but the bunch at the reception. A phoney deal, but it’s got him happy. The networks wouldn’t touch the idea so they’re doing it this way.”

“Fast thinking. Whose idea was it?”

“Sergeant Anderson’s, down at the 4th Precinct. You can’t imagine the State Department dreaming that one up, could you?”

“Their dreams aren’t so realistic. Look, I’m going to try to wangle an invitation.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

“I won’t,” I said. “By the way, you ever heard of Malcolm Turos?”

He gave me a funny little smile that could mean anything. Finally he said, “You’re not paying off to receive official information, are you?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I heard of him.”

“Just lately,” I grinned.

He didn’t have to be on guard with me and knew it. “Very lately. His description has been flashed to all departments.”

“It won’t fit any more,” I told him.

He waited for the rest, never losing his grin. “No?”

“Like a nice clear picture of the guy, a late photo you can use?”

“When?”

“Maybe I’ll deliver it tonight.”

“No games, Tiger,” he said.

“Authenticated. Positive description. If you like I can get you three witnesses to prove the point.”

Dick leaned forward staring at me, his face serious. “I’ll take that, Tiger buddy. I’ll assume you know the details of what you’re intimating so I won’t have to spell it out for you.”

“I do.”

“Okay, then we can get it circulated and throw out a net. This guy is top priority on the wanted sheet and if you come across with a bit like that maybe we can nail him. They suspect he’s in this area and are putting out directives on the hour. Washington’s got their best men in to work with us but we haven’t got a decent thing to go on.”

“You will have.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

We finished another coffee before we left and I let Dick drive me down a couple of blocks from Ernie Bentley’s place, then walked the rest of the way. Virgil Adams had delivered the photo of Turos from Brazil and Ernie had a dozen duplicates ready for me in a manila folder.

Fifteen minutes after I called him, little Harry was there getting a chemical treatment from Ernie that toned up his swarthy skin complexion, and in a dark suit, his hair reshaped and a thin mustache added, he was far from the turbaned and robed native that was on the
Queen
with me. Just to make sure he wouldn’t be tempted into exposing hidden animosities against a king who killed off some of his family, I patted him down, took a slim knife out of his sleeve and left it with Ernie. Harry grinned sheepishly, but said nothing, then went over with me to the hotel where I got dressed for the occasion.

The Stacy was one of the newer hotels, towering and massive, like a new tombstone in an old graveyard. It nestled in the center of Manhattan defiantly, a new big kid who pushed out the older residents and dared them to do anything about it. Limousines were nose to bumper in the no parking zones, all sporting DPL tags that meant diplomatic immunity to police citations and cabs were disgorging the pompous and the famous like sick cats. Each side of the street was lined with uniformed patrolmen and a dozen mounted sergeants walked their horses along the curb to keep things moving, with a few motorcycle cops standing by for anything that might develop. The gawking crowd attracted by the display was probably loaded with plainclothesmen, but I only spotted a couple I knew by sight.

Anybody entering the lobby was directed either to one side or another, those attending the reception to the left, the rest shunted the opposite way. A red velvet rope with matching carpet led the way to the first door where a pair of smiling young men in tuxedos inspected the invitations, tore a comer off the card to see if they were genuine, with a colored thin inner layer, then passed you inside to go through another screening.

Washington was playing this one close to their vests, not taking any chances at all. I didn’t bother with trying to force the issue. With Harry beside me I made the rounds of the lobby, found the pay phones, then went in and called the desk. The harried operator put me through to the clerk and when I asked to speak to the nearest uniformed patrolman he almost choked up. Through the glass door I could see him wave a cop over and put him on.

He said, “Patrolman Delaney speaking. Who is this?”

“My name is Mann. I have a package for Lieutenant Gallagher he’s expecting. How the hell can I get it to him?”

“He’s on duty right now and . ”

“I know he is, but he wants this. Can you get him out in the lobby long enough to pick it up? This is department business, not personal and he’d appreciate it. ”

That much decided him. He said he would give him the message and I told him I’d be at the desk in a few minutes. Instead of waiting, I hung up when the cop did, nodded for Harry to follow me, and trailed the policeman to the other side of the room and waited while he spoke to a plainclothes guard and disappeared in a room.

He didn’t take long. Dick was right behind him and when he saw me, waved for me to join him. The guard frowned, let us pass inside and I handed the folder over to Dick. “Here’s your boy Malcolm Turos.”

He pulled out the photos, scanned the information sheet Ernie had clipped to the top one, and grinned. “Let me get these over to the office. I’ll have one of my men rush it. Tell me something ... do the Feds have copies?”

“Not yet they don’t.”

“This ought to shake them a little bit.”

“Now a favor ...”

“Yeah, I know. You want to meet royalty. If you get the bum’s rush, think up a good lie. There’s a service entrance one reporter already crashed so you can keep me off the hook if you can make it stick. From now on I don’t even know you.” He looked at Harry a second and added, “Your friend okay?”

“He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

“Your funeral, Tiger.” We made a circuitous route around the main section, went in a side door, and there we were with the political wheels nice and painlessly. So far, at least.