Cargo for the Styx (3 page)

“N
O GUN,” I SAID.

The smaller bulk coming through the galley had a voice, too. It said, “He can’t shoot both of us. Turn on the lights.” It was a voice without inflection, completely flat.

The lights came on. I looked aft. The big bulk became a big goon. My cabin had a clearance of six feet, six inches. This character had to bend to keep from scraping his head. He had a reddened face that looked as if it had faced a typhoon. The typhoon lost. He wore seaman’s clothing and a seaman’s rolled wool cap. Tufts of sun-streaked blond hair stuck out from under the cap. His hands were huge and rough, with the kind of roughness that comes from hauling nets out of a cold sea. The right hand held a gun.

I turned around hopefully. The smaller one had to be an improvement. He turned out to be medium height and slender. He held a gun, too.

He said with no more emotion than before, “What did Minos want here?”

“He came to renew an old friendship.”

Bigboy came up behind me. He lifted a foot and drove the sole against the back of my knees. I pitched forward. Flatvoice held out his hand, palm up. I ran into that palm. I felt my nose cartilege bend.

“What did Minos’ wife want at your office, Zane?”

I watched him tuck his gun away. He didn’t seem to think he would need it. I said, “I’m a gentleman. I won’t tell.”

“A card,” Bigboy said. “Ain’t he a real card.” He kicked at the back of my knees again.

I knew it was coming. I stepped sideways. I made a flying tackle. I put a hundred and ninety pounds behind the shoulder that caught him halfway up the thighs. He casually lifted one leg. I bounced off him and slid along the deck.

“Pick him up.”

Bigboy picked me up. For all he cared, I didn’t weigh a hundred and ninety. I was a feather pillow.

“I don’t want him marked up,” Flatvoice said.

“You hit him high and he don’t mark much.”

I said, “What’s the point of all this? What have you got when you get through?”

“Answers,” Flatvoice said.

“Answers about the
Temoc?
”

“What’s that?” But he said it too fast, and he let a hint of emotion slip into his voice.

I said, “It’s what I’m looking for answers about.”

Flatvoice said, “Maybe we don’t want you to look.” He was tired of talking. He got behind me and took my elbows. Bigboy stood in front of me.

He said, “This way.” He bounced his fist off my temple just above the right ear. I folded quietly down on the deck, pulling out of Flatvoice’s grip. I laid my head on the rug. I closed my eyes.

“Aw,” Bigboy complained. “Look at that.”

A toe probed my ribs. “Pour some water on him.”

I liked that deck. It was a good place for the nap I needed. But I got up. I don’t like to lie on a wet rug.

Flatvoice maneuvered behind me again. He put his hands on my elbows. “Tell us about Minos’ wife, Zane.”

I said, “She was born of parents in Nicodemus, Kansas. At the age of three she danced the can-can in the local church social.”

Bigboy wasn’t amused. He rapped me on the temple above my left ear. “Like that,” he said. “Just a tap.” He might as well have hit me with a swinging boom.

Flatvoice said, “You have to learn to control those taps. Next time pull a little.”

“Okay.”

Flatvoice sounded a little weary. “All right, let’s try it again.”

Bigboy picked me up. He gave me to Flatvoice to hold. Bigboy rapped me high on the forehead. My spine creaked a little, but that was all. It was a gentle tap.

“Better?”

“Better,” Flatvoice agreed.

I said, “I want a drink.”

Flatvoice said, “Let him have a drink.”

Bigboy held me by the collar in front of the bar. I got my hands on a bottle of bourbon. It took all my strength to loosen the cap. I rested and then put the bottle to my mouth. The gurgle of the whiskey made pleasant music. The warmth of it eased some of the ache from my muscles.

I said, “That’s, better.” I screwed the cap back on the bottle.

Bigboy let loose of my collar. I waited. I didn’t fall down. That was good. I wrapped my fingers around the neck of the bottle. I put my other hand on the edge of the bar. I swivelled on my toes. The bottle bounced off Bigboy’s skull, just above his ear.

He looked surprised. I swung again and connected with the same spot. He stumbled and lost his footing. Flatvoice was trying to get around him. Bigboy threw out an arm to keep his balance. Flatvoice took the back of Bigboy’s hand across his mouth.

It was a terrific act. Flatvoice slapped the deck with his fanny. Bigboy tripped over him and sat down. He said, “Jeez!”

Flatvoice yelled, “Get off my chest, you ape!”

I didn’t wait for the rest of the show. I headed for the wheelhouse.

Silver water rippled an invitation to me. I accepted the invitation.

I
COULD
hear them. I was under the dock. I had one hand on a rough piling, the other wrapped around the bourbon bottle. I unscrewed the cap of the bottle with my teeth. The gurgle of whiskey was lost in the slap of water against wood.

Heavy feet rattled planking over my head. “Maybe he drowned, Mr. Vann.”

Flatvoice said savagely, “Shut up! I told you not to use my name around here.”

He did have emotions. Right now he was irritated. I was pleased. He said, “Out there, see that? To your left, Otho.”

I almost laughed. He was worked up enough to forget his own advice. That pleased me. I like to know the names of people who work me over. Mr. Vann and Otho. I didn’t know a Mr. Vann. I didn’t know an Otho. I didn’t think I wanted to know them.

I took another drink. Above me, Otho said, “That ain’t him. It’s a log, Mr. Vann.” Mr. Vann grunted. I drank some more. The water was cold. I didn’t want to get a chill.

I decided that I wanted to know Vann and Otho better after all. I wanted to know them both real well.

More clumping above. More muttering. Then grunting. The beam of a flashlight made a white swath across the water. It probed in the damp darkness under the dock. I stayed where I was. I had the piling between myself and the flashlight. The light went away.

“He ain’t down there,” Otho grunted.

Silence. Vann was thinking. Then, “All right, Let’s go. But we can’t figure he drowned. We’ll play it like we planned before.”

More clumping. The sound faded. A car motor started up. Wheels moved over gravel. That faded too. I was left with only the slap of the water to listen to.

They were going to play it like they had planned. Yes, indeed. It was a great game. I wanted to play it some more too.

I started toward the end of the dock. An ancient ladder ran down the end and into the water. I climbed the ladder and walked along the dock. I boarded my boat.

I stumbled stepping into the cockpit. I stumbled going down into my lounge. It enfolded me with warmth and light.

I pulled the telephone down to me. I dialed my number. The answering voice said, “Hel-l-o-o.”

I said, “This is Zane again, Miss Wilson.”

“And still formidably business-like.”

I said, “Yes.”

She said, “It’s after twelve o’clock.” I said, “Yes,” again.

I could hear her voice come more sharply through the receiver. I couldn’t make out the words. I tried to tell her to move closer to her end of the phone. She ignored me.

I lay down on the deck. If she didn’t want to talk, then I wouldn’t either. I had better things to do. I could sleep.

“Mr. Zane, wake up!” The voice was crisp, efficient.

I woke up. Steam dampened my nose. The steam had a coffee smell. I made a motion with my hand. “Ggah.”

The coffee smell moved away. Irma Wilson came into focus. The severe hair style was looser. There was a seagreen jersey knit that clung. I hadn’t realized before how much there was for a dress like that to cling to.

She said, “Drink this coffee.”

“I like the moonlit garden voice better,” I said. I took the coffee. “I’m not drunk.”

“Let’s sit in a chair, shall we?”

We sat in a chair. We drank our coffee. We said, “I’m not drunk. I went for a swim. I’m tired.”

Fingers tipped with pink nails touched my head. “It was hard water,” she said. Her voice was losing its crispness. The moonlit garden was taking over. I could almost smell the honeysuckle.

She said, “Whatever happened?”

I noticed other things I hadn’t really seen before—how wide spaced the brown eyes were; how full the lower lip was; how soft the high cheekbones without the severe hairdo drawing at them.

I said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

She went away. She came back with more coffee for me, a cupful for herself. She curled her legs under her as she sat. She was on the deck, at my feet. I was sorry about the legs. I was going to miss seeing them.

“Try to make a little more sense,” she said.

“I’m perfectly sensible. Did anyone see you come here?”

“What difference does that make? We’re both over twenty-one.”

I said, “I had visitors tonight. They had questions. The questions led me right to the
Temoc
and trouble. If my visitors saw you come here, they might want to ask you questions too.”

Her lower lip was very full; her expression very soft. “You’re solicitous,” she said. “But you did call me. And you did pass out in the middle of the conversation. And I did get curious enough to come here to find out what was wrong.”

“So it’s my fault,” I said. “But I still don’t like it.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“Feel the lumps on my head again,” I said.

She felt. Her hands were gentle. I was sorry when she took them away. She said, “Tell me about these questions.”

I told her. I also told her about Aggie and Bonnie Minos. I told her about a couple of ideas I had and what Ted Winters had done to those ideas.

I said, “So all of a sudden the
Temoc
deal smells.”

She said, “Now your question asking me who could profit from the loss of my firm’s cargo makes more sense.”

She lit a cigarette and put it between my lips. She lit another and smoked it. She said, “But I still can’t see how anyone could defraud Marine Mutual, Mr. Zane. Only there
are
those two men …”

I said, “There are indeed.”

“Why didn’t you just tell them what they wanted to know? You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

I said, “I’m not sure just what they did want to know. Or why. It could be they didn’t want to know anything. It could be this was their way of telling me to lay off. If that’s the case, Aggie Minos sent them.”

“Isn’t that sort of threatening rather silly?”

I said, “It works with some people.”

She shifted her position. The warmth of a thigh pressed on my foot. She said, “I don’t think threats like that will work with you.”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

“I think you’re as dangerous as they are.”

I said, “Me, dangerous?” I tasted the word. “Dangerous—how?”

“I’ve been waiting a week to find an answer to that,” she said.

I was drowning in the smell of honeysuckle. I loved it.

She said, “Martin—can I call you Martin? If those men are so dangerous, do you think it’s safe for me to go home tonight?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “Do you have an extra bunk?”

I said, “No. I have a double bunk.”

She said, “Martin, you’re all bruised. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Not now,” I said. “Not any more.”

“Why didn’t you make a pass at that Mrs. Minos tonight? Didn’t you want to? Isn’t she pretty?”

I said, “Terrific. But with her I have a dead battery.”

“I thought for a while you didn’t have any battery at all.”

I said, “Between nine and five you stick to business, remember?”

She said, “There’s always the time between five and nine. I waited. And you called—on business.”

I said, “In LaPlaya life moves at a slow pace. Relaxed.”

“Martin, are you relaxed?”

“Right now, I’m not in LaPlaya. I’m in a moonlit garden, surrounded by honeysuckle.”

“What’s this garden and honeysuckle bit?”

I explained it to her. What with one thing and another, I didn’t finish the explanation until three o’clock.

A
BELL
jangled persistently. I ignored it. The bell climbed inside my ear and kicked my ear drum.

The bell kept working. I was sitting up. I opened my eyes and focused groggily on the alarm clock. It registered five-thirty.

Beside me someone stirred. I turned my head. I saw a sheen of black hair with a streak of silver white running through it I looked away, at the clock. I reached a hand back to the shelf behind my bulkhead and slapped at the clock. The ringing still nagged at me.

“It’s the damned telephone,” I said. I reached past the clock and lifted the phone off its cradle. I sank back.

I said, “Zane here.”

The voice that reached me was high and thin and disembodied. “Mr. Zane, this is Prebble off the
Temoc
. I got to see you.”

I began to come wide awake. “Now? Where are you?”

“Downtown, the all-night movie house.”

That was two blocks from my office, through the alley. I said, “What’s the trouble?”

“I got something to show you. Come quick.”

I said, “Can’t you tell me?”

“I ain’t got time. I’m in the lobby. I got to get out of here.”

I said, “My office is in the Corcoran Building. It’s on First Avenue, a block up from Harbor Way. You go out the Alley behind the movie house and follow it west. You get into the building through the service door. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take the elevator to the sixth floor. My office is at the northeast corner.”

“Yes, sir. Come quick, please.”

He hung up. He was frightened.

Next to me Irma’s leg and hip were warm. Outside those covers it was chilly. It could be very cold in my office. If Prebble was bait for a trap, it could be deathly cold there.

I left the warmth of Irma and dropped to the deck.

She said, “Oh. Good morning, Martin.” She smiled at me. She slid under the cover and went back to sleep.

I left quietly. It was bright, summer daylight.

The lobby coffee shop downstairs from my office was open for business. I stopped there to buy a half dozen doughnuts. I was surprised to see so many people alive before six o’clock. Most of them even looked relatively happy.

One didn’t. He came in and sat on a stool next to the cash register. I glanced at him. He glared at me. I glared back. I didn’t blame him for not looking happy. He had a face that was all big bugle of nose and no chin to balance it.

I paid for my doughnuts and trotted for the elevator. I got off on six and started down the dim hallway for my office. Sun splashed through the east windows at the end of the hall. It bounced blindingly off the frosted glass of my door.

I got out my key and squinted against the brightness to find the lock. I made a stab and missed. The key rammed against the brass doorknob. The door started to swing open. I gaped at it, my key in one hand, my doughnuts in the other.

I couldn’t remember whether I’d locked the door last night or not.

I reached for the doorknob. The door stood about halfway open. The doorknob moved away from me. Now the door was all the way open. It had been blocking out sunlight coming through my east windows. The door was no longer there, but the sunlight was. Right in my eyes.

An express train came right through the door. It didn’t even stop to signal. I was blind. I could see a blur and nothing else. The train hit me in the middle.

I yelled, “Ouch!” I sat down. The train stopped and sat down on top of me. It tried to get under way again. I grabbed and hung on. I caught it by the caboose.

“Easy there, buster. It’s too early in the morning.”

I rolled into the hall and put my back to the sunlight. Now I could see. I could see Bonnie Minos, Mrs. Aggie Minos, sitting on the floor.

I said, “Good morning.” She was wearing a white terrycloth beach robe. It was open. Under it she wore turquoise shorts and a matching halter. She needn’t have bothered. They didn’t cover anything.

I got to my feet. I picked her up. I picked up my doughnuts and keys. I said, “Let’s go back inside.”

She was suspiciously docile. We went back inside. I pulled the shades over the east windows. She had left her big white bag on my desk. I picked it up.

I opened the bag and put my hand inside. I came up with her thirty-eight. I shut the bag and put it back on the desk. I broke the gun and pulled its teeth. I laid gun and teeth on the desk.

Bonnie Minos stood just inside the door. She was rubbing her hip. She said, “You’ve got strong hands.”

I pointed to a door. “That’s the washroom. There’s a hot plate in there. On the hot plate is a teakettle. Put water in the kettle and —”

“I could do with a cup of coffee myself,” she said. She went into the washroom.

I walked to the north window and stuck my head out. I looked down on First Avenue. I was looking for a bright turquoise Ferrari. It wasn’t there. The only thing alive was a man standing at the curb. He looked up the street and then down toward Harbor Way. He turned and started toward the building. It was the character with the bugle for a nose. He disappeared.

I pulled my head back inside the office. I noticed that my desk wasn’t the way I’d left it. Two of the drawers were half out; the dictating machine had been moved.

I said, “Did you find anything in the desk?”

“I didn’t get a chance to look,” she called.

I went to the wareroom door. Bonnie had water heating on the hot plate. She also had powdered coffee spooned into two cups. I said, “How about the file cabinet?”

“What file cabinet?” She was looking in the mirror and pushing a fingertip at her left eyebrow.

“The one in the closet,” I said.

“Oh, that file cabinet.”

I gave up. I said “Make three cups of coffee. I’m expecting a visitor.”

She said, “If it’s Prebble you’re looking for, he’s already here.”

She turned away from the mirror. She said unhappily, “He’s waiting in the closet.”

The door to the closet was next to the washroom. I turned the knob. I pulled. The door came open. Prebble was there, all right.

He was on the floor. Prebble’s neck was broken.

I said to Bonnie Minos, “When did you get here?”

She sat across the desk from me. She held her cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. Prebble was behind the closet door. It was firmly closed.

She said, “About three minutes before you did.” Her eyes were more gray than blue this morning. “I found him that way.”

I said, “Did you expect to find me too?”

“No. I saw your car parked by your dock when I came down the hill this morning. I knew you were in bed. I thought you’d be there a while.”

“Prebble called me at five-thirty,” I said. “He wanted to see me, to show me something. He was scared. I told him to come here through the alley and wait for me.”

She picked up her bag and brought out a pack of cigarettes. She lit a cigarette and offered it to me. I shook my head. I was still eating doughnuts. I tried not to think of Prebble while I ate. But he kept intruding.

I said, “Where’s your car?”

“Home,” she said. “I brought Aggie’s Cadillac.”

“Because it’s less conspicuous?”

“And quieter,” she said.

“Does Aggie know you’ve gone?”

“No, that’s why I had to be quiet.”

I said, “Prebble was already here when you arrived?”

“I said he was. The door was unlocked, too. Don’t you ever lock it?”

“What is there for anyone to steal? So you looked in the file closet and found Prebble.”

“That’s right.”

“What did you expect to find?”

She shrugged. I said, “I could call the police.”

“And I’m big enough,” she said. “Are you trying to bluff me, Zane? Because if it isn’t a bluff, start reaching for the phone. If it is, stop wasting both our time.”

Big, beautiful, and quick. She smiled at me. I didn’t reach for the phone.

I said, “Sooner or later, the police are going to want an explanation.”

She said, “Why tell them? We can put Prebble someplace else and then they won’t bother us.”

I said, “Did Aggie teach you all the tricks or did you learn them before you married him?”

Her smile mocked me. She said. “I think Prebble was killed here, but that doesn’t mean we have to let everyone in on the secret. How do you think the murderer will feel if the little guy turns up someplace else?”

I said, “Turns up where?”

“Let me worry about that.”

I liked the idea. I said, “Wear that outfit and no jury would ever convict you, not even for being an accessory.”

“You’re sweet,” she said. “Now let’s get Prebble out of here.”

She was all woman. I could see that. And earlier my hands had proved it. But she was something else too. A machine. She helped me carry the little guy down to the elevator, on to the basement, and out to where she had Aggie’s car near the service door. If handling a corpse bothered her, I saw no sign of it.

It bothered me.

I put her behind the wheel of the car. I said, “I finally found out what these big trunks are good for.”

She didn’t smile. She sat and stared at me. Her eyes were neither blue nor gray now; they were just kind of muddy. I saw a thin line of sweat form on her upper lip. Her throat muscles quivered as she swallowed.

She started the motor. I said, “Where are you going?”

“Let me worry about that. See you around.”

I said, “Hey, we’ve got things to talk about.”

“Not at this hour of the morning we haven’t,” she said. “Meet me at Blimey’s Shack at ten o’clock. Do you know it?”

“I know it.”

She nodded and drove off.

I made myself some more coffee in my office. I drank two cups and ate the remaining doughnuts. I went carefully through my desk. Nothing appeared to be missing. I even checked the file in the closet. If anything had been taken, I couldn’t figure out what it might be.

By seven-thirty I had two solid facts in my possession. One, Bonnie Minos had been in my office this morning. Two, Prebble had been here too. Progress!