The Menacers (7 page)

I took the essential documents, checked the purse for weapons and found none, and gave it to her. I watched her go to the dresser and do a little repair work in front of the mirror. Normally, I find that there’s something kind of sexy about a woman combing her hair, particularly long hair, but tonight I got no kick out of the performance. She was just a skinny kid fixing her hair and to hell with her.

“You’re really pretty incredible, dad,” she said without looking around. “So you’re going to shoot me just like that!” She closed her purse with a snap and brushed hairs off her shoulders. Then she pulled down her jersey and smoothed down her skirt and made a wry face. “God, I look like a tramp who’s been sleeping in the woodshed!”

The green jersey looked all right to me—you can’t do much to jersey—but now that she was standing up I could see that the brief white skirt was a little mussed and grubby. Well, it’s only in the movies that the heroine can endure days of cruel captivity without a few smudges and wrinkles to show for it.

I grinned. “What’s the matter, wouldn’t they let you change your clothes?”

“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t about to let them get my clothes off without a fight. They’d have left me sitting there in bra and panties, or nothing but a towel, just to make sure I wouldn’t try to escape. There’s nothing as helpless as a girl in her undies.” She gave me a sideways glance. “I mean, of course, as far as
escaping
is concerned.”

I grinned again. She was a pleasant change from Missy Prissy and her sanctimonious expression. “Speaking of helplessness,” I said, “why didn’t you try doing a little work on Tony while you had the chance? Or did you?”

“That creep? Ugh.” Her voice expressed total revulsion. “Besides, I’m not sure he really
likes
girls, if you know what I mean. Come to think of it, I’m not sure
she
really likes boys.”

The sharpness of her tone reminded me that she had good reasons for prejudice, not to say malice. Nevertheless, the possibility she suggested was one that had already occurred to me. After all, the fake lady gym teacher had been a fairly typical specimen. On the other hand, I reminded myself, we sometimes have to put on some fairly unsavory impersonations in the line of duty. Anyway, their sex life wasn’t my worry.

Annette O’Leary said, “You haven’t got a drink around here, have you, dad?”

“Sure. If you don’t mind bourbon.”

“It sounds but heavenly-divine. Just between you and me, I’m getting pretty damn tired of all the quaint local concoctions of rum and tequila. Have you tried a Coco Loco yet? They serve it in a coconut, using the milk for a mixer, for God’s sake… Thanks.”

I watched her gulp the drink I handed her, while I sipped at my own more cautiously. Presently she turned to look at me again with suspicion in her eyes.

“You’re a fast man with a glass, dad. And you don’t seem to be working very hard on your own. Could it be that you wouldn’t mind if I got just a wee bit drunk?”

I said, “Hell, you asked for it. If you don’t want it, flush it down the john.”

She was watching me closely. “If I did get just a wee bit drunk, what would you do? Would you take advantage of my inebriated condition, and if so, how? I mean, would you seduce me, or just ask me a lot of silly questions?”

I said, “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. O’Leary. At the moment you interest me, biologically, just about as much as that chair over there. For seduction, you’d better come back tomorrow or the next day.”

There was curiosity in her look now. “You mean… you mean killing somebody affects you like that? Oh, I heard Tony-boy talking on the phone about what a trigger-happy character you are. But I always thought a man wanted sex after blood, so to speak. Is it because you made a mistake, or because it was a woman you shot?”

I said, “O’Leary, you’re a ghoul.”

Her greenish eyes were watching me intently, back in the shadow of all that hair. “Oh, I see! It’s not
that
woman that bothers you, it’s the other one who got killed tonight. The one you went for in a big way, so they said. Mr. Helm, is this your quiet way of mourning the dead?”

I grinned. “You bitch,” I said. “You need another drink.”

When I came back with it, she was sitting on the end of one of the beds with her shoes off. “How long does the effect generally last, dad?” she asked, taking the glass. “I mean, do you lose your manhood with every dame who dies or goes off and leaves you, and if so, what brings it back and how much later?” She studied me in a speculative, malicious way. “I bet I could bring it back. Tonight. If I really wanted to. And I’ve never slept with a killer. It might be fun. Cool. At least you don’t spend half the day combing your peroxide locks, like the other one. God, I can’t stand a man who keeps fussing with his lousy hair.”

I laughed. “You know, I’m going to miss you if I have to shoot you. You’re quite a girl. Well, let’s hope nobody pushes me into a spot where I have to use the gun. Which reminds me—”

I sat down on the other bed and took out Vadya’s automatic and checked it over. I don’t ever really trust a weapon that’s been loaded by somebody else, even by a pro like Vadya. I heard the redhaired girl make a small sound, like a sigh. She finished off her drink abruptly.

“You win, dad,” she said softly. “I was trying to needle you, but you topped me. Put the damn thing away, please… Helm?”

“Yes?”

“I’m scared. Do you know that? I’m scared silly. What the hell have I got myself into, anyway? Please put it away.”

“Sure, Mrs. O’Leary.”

“Don’t keep calling me that. It makes me think of the lady whose cow burned up Chicago. Call me Netta, if you’ve got to call me something.”

“Sure, Netta. I’m Matt.”

“Hit me again, will you, Matt,” she said, holding out her empty glass. “I might as well be good and drunk as the way I am. And if you really have some questions you’d like answered, go ahead and ask.”

Bartending again, I said in what I hoped was a casual tone of voice, “Okay, if you insist. Just what the hell did you see out there on the water that’s so damned important?”

“Your prune-faced girlfriend has already taken that story down on tape. Why make me repeat myself?”

“Because some gents in Los Alamos have that tape by now, and I don’t really expect them to play it for me,” I said. “And I’m getting kind of curious about what kind of a yarn you spun for them. Try it on me.”

She looked up at me as I returned with her drink. “You don’t sound very much as if you were planning to believe me.”

Again, it seemed like a situation in which skepticism might be more productive than faith. I said, “Well, I’m not much for ghost stories. Or science fiction, either. But I’m willing to be convinced.”

Resentment showed in her small, freckled face. She said sharply, “Well, believe it or not, what I saw was a flying saucer after it had broken down and stopped flying. I saw it right up close, as close as anybody has.”

“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I’ve read plenty of reports of wild-eyed citizens who’ve claimed to have been taken right aboard the things. Did you go on board?”

“Well, no,” Netta admitted. “God, no! I just scrunched down in my life-jacket and tried to look like a piece of flotsam. Or jetsam. They weren’t exactly friendly and hospitable, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “What did they do to indicate their hostility?”

“They blasted the boat as they came over. Is that hostile enough for you? I’d gone out with Phil and another couple—”

“Phil?”

“A guy I’d met up north of here, in Guaymas. That’s where I stayed first in Mexico: The Posada San Carlos, in Guaymas. Nice place. He was there for the fishing, but it wasn’t much good, and he heard it was better down here in Mazatlán, so he decided to drive down. I rode with him. It’s a day’s drive. He was a pretty nice guy. I don’t dig fishing one little bit, but I don’t mind sitting in a boat, watching, as long as there’s a shady spot so I don’t sunburn too badly. He got another couple to share the expenses. I mean, the boat charter or rent or whatever you call it is pretty steep, something like forty dollars a day. I don’t remember their names and it doesn’t matter. They’re dead and so’s Phil. If the ray or whatever it was didn’t get them, they were killed when the boat blew up.”

“Ray?” I said, trying to convey a hint of a sneer. “You mean like in death ray?”

She shrugged. “Don’t ask me what it was. I guess maybe they wanted that piece of ocean all to themselves to land in. I was down in the cabin getting a beer; I didn’t know what the hell had happened. There wasn’t any noise; just a big shadow passing over the boat, and a sudden blast of heat, and flames everywhere. I tried to get back out to where the others were, but the whole cockpit or whatever you call it was on fire. I grabbed a life preserver and scrambled out an opening onto the forward deck. It was burning in spots, too; that’s how I hurt my arm. I guess it was the gas tanks that blew up, right after I jumped.” She grimaced. “Then there was just one O’Leary in the water, and some floating wreckage, and this damn
plativolo
, sinking.”

“
Plativolo
,” I said. “That’s a new name for it. New to me, anyway. You saw it sink?”

Netta nodded. “Well, I saw the end of it, let’s say. They were scrambling around trying to keep it afloat, but they weren’t having any luck. And then they blew up, too. Bang, just like that. A great big searing whoosh of flame, like the end of the world. Stuff raining down for minutes, it seemed like. Then I paddled around for a while all alone until somebody came out to investigate the fireworks and picked me up.” She shook her head ruefully. “I should have kept my trap shut about what I’d seen, I guess. I should have said the boat just caught fire and exploded. Just call me Public-spirited Patsy for short.”

“And that’s what all the excitement is about?” I said in a cynical voice. “Hell, I’ve read fancier Youfoe stories in the papers. Complete with little Martians in metallic play suits.” I kept my voice casual. “You haven’t said what
they
looked like.”

Netta laughed softly. “So I haven’t, dad. That’ll cost you another drink.”

“My God, the girl’s got a hollow leg.” I fixed her up again, and stood over her. “Okay, give.”

She drank from her glass, and looked up, shaking her head solemnly. “No, to hell with you. You’ve decided I’m just making it up as I go along. Haven’t you? Even if I said they were human, you wouldn’t believe me.”

I grinned at her mockingly. “But they weren’t human, were they, Carrots? It wouldn’t make as good a story if they were human. They were giant grasshoppers, or little bitty manikins with great big brainy heads and no hair. Come on, O’Leary. Let’s hear what you told the tape recorder. Let’s hear what that redheaded Irish imagination produced to impress the suckers. I bet it was as good as a TV show: the people from outer space are upon us; the conquest of Earth begins; E-day is here! Is that it?”

She didn’t answer at once. She was getting pretty tight; it showed in her careful movements and owl-solemn expression and unladylike, legs-apart posture, sitting there on the bed. When she spoke again, her voice was thick and the words were slurred.

“Damn you!” she blurted. “Damn you, you think you know everything, don’t you? Well, I don’t give a damn what you think! They
were
human, damn you. They were ordinary human men in ordinary human uniforms, how do you like that? Ordinary U.S. Air Force uniforms! And that overgrown dish they were flying had U.S.A.F. insignia on it. And how do you like
that
, Killer Helm…?”

In the morning, I got up stiffly from the chair in which I’d spent the night—what had been left of it after Netta had passed out on the bed. I went into the bathroom and shaved without closing the door.

I’ve heard of men who have great ideas while shaving, but it’s never happened to me, and it didn’t now. Even after a wakeful night to work on it, I couldn’t decide what to think about what the girl had told me. Of course, it did explain certain things, for instance why I’d been sent here to bring her back or shut her up permanently.

Obviously somebody in Washington, after hearing the taped interview, had panicked at the possibility that she might blab her story around. The idea that the U.S. was operating strange and dangerous flying machines over friendly foreign territory, and blasting friendly foreign boats and citizens with death rays in the interest of total secrecy, was one that the image-conscious gents in the nation’s capital would feel must be kept from spreading by any means, no matter how drastic. This could well apply whether the idea was true or false.

But the main questions remained unanswered: was the kid actually telling the truth, or what she thought was the truth, and if so, just what had she really seen?

On the one hand, I knew of no reason for her to lie—which didn’t mean that none existed. On the other hand, her story wasn’t very plausible, at least not to a patriotic American who loyally endorsed his Air Force’s scoffing attitude towards pies in the skies. To such a steadfast citizen, the thought that the U.S.A.F. might have had something up its sleeve all the time it was dismissing various odd celestial phenomena as marsh gas or the planet Venus, would of course be unthinkable.

Unfortunately, many people in the world had always been sadly skeptical about our flyboys’ pronouncements concerning UFOs. This included even Americans who, like me, had seen things in the heavens they couldn’t explain. And the disturbing fact was that the events the girl had described could easily have taken place pretty much the way she’d described them. You didn’t even have to subscribe to her “death ray” to believe the rest of the story.

Say that a secret, experimental U.S. aircraft, crippled and on fire, had descended into the sea, shedding some flaming debris that just happened to land on top of an innocent Mexican fishing vessel. To a girl in the water, dazed and scared, the half-submerged wreckage of the plane—whatever its original appearance—could easily have looked like one of the much-publicized saucers of which she’d doubtless seen photos and sketches galore…