The By-Pass Control (20 page)

“Description?”

Hardecker shrugged. “Female, early thirties, well built but on the plain side. Their relationship seemed friendly. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t sound like him.”

“Friend, if a man is a male, sooner or later he’s going to get that yen for a broad. In Agrounsky’s case it was on rare occasions, but enough to satisfy him even if it was only a matter of getting into a conversation.”

“How far did you go in checking her out?”

“She was registered at the Sinbad as Helen Lewis, giving an address in Sarasota. A call there verified it. The manager said she had lived in an apartment there the past two years.”

I held out my hand and he dropped the reports in it. I scanned them quickly, picked up the address and phone numbers listed there and handed them back. “Could be okay,” I said.

“We’re still asking questions. If there was anything irregular, we’ll dig it out.”

“Mind if I drop back?”

“With your connections I don’t mind at all.”

“They may go sour,” I told him.

“I run my own department,” Hardecker said.

 

I looked around for Dave and didn’t see him outside anywhere. The rain had put a glaze over the street lights and hammered at my face as I walked into it toward my car. When I reached it I pulled the door open and slid into the seat.

Behind me Dave said, “You’re getting careless, chum.”

I grinned at his reflection in the mirror. “Not really. You ought to try squatting in the middle. All your weight was on the one side.”

“Forget it.” He clambered over the seat and got beside me. “Anything new?”

“Nothing in your department.”

“Well, I have something. I had to use a little heat to get it and it cost Grady two grand, but a fairly big buy was made from a peddler in Savannah who palmed off a lot of low-grade stuff to a sucker for a bundle. The contact was a guy named Sonny Kipton who had a reputation for this sort of thing. The same sucker called back here to a friend to make the original connection for another contact and was steered to a man in Charleston.”

“We’re working our way north into the Myrtle Beach area.”

“Check, buddy. Remember me telling you about the guy Agrounsky took off the hook by selling him some of his supply?”

“Yeah.”

“So he talked some more. He used to be located up there and put Agrounsky on both of them.”

“He made his deal?”

“Yeah, and got the same old switcheroo. The guy’s contacts were lousy. The Kipton punk tried it a week later and got knocked off for his trouble by a hophead who’s being held for it. The other one can’t be located. They don’t stay put very long. Want me to scratch him up?”

“No. I want Fish.”

Dave shook his head. “Not a sign, and brother, I looked.”

“Keep looking,” I said. I reached in my pocket and brought out the photo of Henri Frank, stared at it a moment, and held it out for Dave to see. “Here’s another one we’re after. This one’s dead, but he ties in someplace.”

Dave took the picture from my hand, glanced at it, then frowned at me. “Hell, Tiger,” he said, “this is Fish. The description matches every damn detail.”

The street that ended at the beach was deserted, flanked by two empty summer cottages with shuttered windows that accentuated the eerie feeling of desertion. Wind had blown the sand up into a soft roll at the edge of the concrete, partially covering the walks on either side. I cut the engine and sat there staring out into the rain toward the blackness of the ocean, occasionally taking a drag on the cigarette.

Dave said, “Spell it out, Tiger.”

“They had this going a long time, buddy. It was no sudden thing. The Soviets keep their people around all our hot spots looking for a weak link and somebody spotted it in Agrounsky.”

“When he went back on the needle?”

I nodded. “They ran their own supplier in and got him hooked but good, then cut his source off to put the squeeze on him. When an addict is cooking he’ll talk, rationally or not, and someplace he let the cat out of the bag about the by-pass control. That put the finger on him. Once he was on H strong enough they could control his supply and make him come across. They just didn’t figure on him doing a disappearing act, that’s all. He was important enough to call in their best man to run him down, so Vito Salvi got the job.”

“Salvi was working in New York,” he reminded me.

“Hell, they knew where he was heading. They were lined up waiting for him. Agrounsky was out of cash and the biggest source of the stuff was the city. And don’t bet his moves weren’t prearranged. That little guy he did the favor for by sharing his junk was probably part of the setup. He put Agrounsky in touch with the other peddlers who slipped him out cut loads and reported back to Fish where Agrounsky was.”

“I can check it out fast enough.”

“Then do it.”

“Where did they slip up?”

“I’ll know for sure when I contact Ernie Bentley.” I turned the key in the lock and started the engine. Dave had left his car back in the middle of town and we drove over to it. When he got out I said, “Locate your contact and call me at the Sand Dunes.” I looked at my watch. “I should be back in an hour.”

“He may not be available that fast.”

“I’ll wait. If he’s in on it he might steer us to somebody else.”

“Okay, Tiger. See you later.”

 

Flight 804 was taxiing up to the ramp as I parked the car. Four men came down the anus-like stairs in the rear of the plane before I saw Camille Hunt. She had her suitcoat over her shoulders, leaning against the downpour with her head ducked into it. I ran over, took the briefcase from her hand and said, “Hi, spider.”

“You would drag me out into this.”

I grinned at her. “You don’t know how easy you have it. The car’s over here.”

She got in, shook the rain from her shoulders, and tossed the silly hat she had on in the back seat. “My goodness, Tiger, is this really necessary?”

“It was.”

She gave me an exasperated glance.
“Was?
You mean I made the trip for nothing?”

“I’m
here.”

“That’s a consolation.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Camille nudged me with an elbow, her face still shining wetly from the rain. “Seriously, what is this all about?”

As I threaded my way out to the road I said, “I wanted you to make an identification. It isn’t important any more. Henri Frank is dead.”

“Dead? But ... how?”

“He blew himself to bits trying to knock me off. It was a case of a guy who couldn’t understand his own failure and tried to check on it. I was there before him.”

“Tiger ... this whole thing ...”

I let it hang there. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you back to Belt-Aire in the morning.”

She gave me a long, steady stare. “You just haven’t read the weather reports. My flight was the last one in. They expect everything to be grounded tomorrow. If it weren’t for some slight mechanical trouble we would have gone on into Miami.”

“So you got an unexpected vacation.”

“My foot,” Camille exploded. “With all the work piling up I can’t afford it. Do you know orders came in from Martin Grady himself this morning to arrange for an expansion program? The Belt-Aire project has been approved and goes into full production at once. I shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well, I’ll try to make your stay enjoyable.”

“Swell,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Where will we go?”

“First, to a whorehouse.”

She turned her head to see if I were joking or not, then decided I was serious and frowned with annoyance. “I don’t understand you.”

“That’s good. We’ll never have any trouble then.”

Louis Agrounsky had frequented a place that had all the earmarks of respectability if you didn’t know what it was. The house was a two story affair barely different from its neighbors; better kept, if anything. The lawn and hedgerow were trimmed, the siding freshly painted, and the two cars in the double garage were both late model Fords inconspicuous anywhere.

The woman who answered the bell was the full-blown type, tall and pleasant, with a ready smile under vivacious blue eyes and a pert tilt to her pretty blonde head. She started to say something, then saw Camille and divided her glance between us, as though we had come to the wrong house.

“Yes?”

“Lisa McCall.”

Her eyebrows went up questioningly. “Yes, I’m Miss McCall.”

“I’d like to speak to you about a friend of mine. Can we come in?”

The blonde nodded and opened the door wider, the smile curious now. She could smell the trouble, but rather than be frightened she was curious because of it. When she shut the door behind us she walked ahead and ushered us into a well appointed living room dominated by a masculine bar that was out of place among the obviously feminine decorations.

Out of routine, she went behind the bar, waited until I said I’d have a rye and ginger with Camille nodding for the same, then mixed the drinks and placed them in front of us.

“I know you,” she said quietly.

“Do you?”

“La Plata Bar in Rio. Four years ago. There was an attempted revolution and you killed two men who tried to take the one you were with. He was a General named Ortega Diaz.”

“You get around, kid.” Beside me I could feel Camille tense suddenly, then relax. In the mirror behind the bar I could see her eyes watching me as if I were something in a zoo.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Tiger Mann.”

“Yes. I have heard it mentioned. There were a lot of stories about you in Rio.”

“They were troubled times. But I don’t remember you and I don’t like that. I don’t generally forget faces.”

The girl made a sad motion with her hands, but smiled and said, “I was younger then, and pretty. Time and this business does things to one. I was twenty pounds lighter and my hair was black. A nose job to correct what a drunken seaman did to me makes a big difference.” She stopped smiling then and looked at me seriously. “But you came to see about a friend.”

“Louis Agrounsky. Hardecker gave me the tip and told me about bugging the room for information. Now I want your version.”

Her expression was bland a moment, then a furrow appeared between her eyes. “But what is there to tell?”

“Your reaction. I’m more interested in your opinion of the association. You’ve been with enough men to read through them.”

Lisa McCall dropped her head a moment, then peered up at me. “It probably was as professional as it can get.” She looked over at Camille and the corner of her mouth twisted in a funny smile. “Am I embarrassing you?”

“No ... not at all.” I caught the implication in her tone of voice. Camille was quietly objective, observing every facet of a type she had never come into contact with before.

Lisa said, “There was little conversation. Mr. Agrounsky wasn’t given to talk and it was obvious that he was inexperienced with women. He called here and I immediately called Captain Hardecker who installed the tape recorder in the room. When he arrived he simply paid his ... fee, then we left for the bedroom. He demanded nothing out of the ordinary, was quite incompetent sexually from lack of experience, thanked me when it was over and seemed a little bit shaken for having resorted to such an extreme.”

“He was here on six different occasions.”

“That’s right,” Lisa agreed readily. “Twice when I wasn’t here Marge attended to him. Each time Captain Hardecker was notified. There never was any change in his routine. If anything, it was very formal. I know why Captain Hardecker was interested ... it wasn’t the first time this happened nor the last. Several times this ... establishment has been useful to him.”

“So I understand. I’m not complaining. But I still want your opinion.”

“Of ... the arrangement?” she asked me.

“No ... just Agrounsky.”

Lisa let her eyes wander to the wall, then came back to me with a knowing expression. “For what it’s worth, I’d say we were substitutes.”

“For what?”

“Your friend wasn’t a forward type at all. Under all that reserve he still had masculine drives but didn’t know how to compensate for them. My guess is that he visited here after he had had some previous contact with a woman. She probably aroused him somewhat, but he was unable to approach her and came here as a last resort for ... physical release.”

“Did he ever mention this?”

“No, but it was a very familiar attitude. It isn’t at all unusual.” She stopped a moment, touched her lips with her tongue and said, “I didn’t mention it to Captain Hardecker because it slipped my mind, but once after he left another ... client saw him go and made a remark about it when he was with me. Something about Mr. Agrounsky being so aloof at the project when all the time he had the hots over some young technician in his laboratory. He used to blush whenever he saw her legs but never bothered looking away, either. It was sort of a joke with the men, I think.”

“This client ...”

“No use, Mr. Mann. I told you what you asked me.”

“The girl?”

“Never mentioned her name. You can probably ask around.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks for your trouble.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Mann. I’ve been around enough to realize the possibilities in this sort of thing. I hope everything comes out all right.”

“So do I,” I told her. “If you think of anything else, I’m at the Sand Dunes Motel. Or you can call Hardecker.”

Lisa went ahead of us and opened the door, smiling politely at us both. As I went out she said, “Hurry back,” but before I could answer Camille gave me another short jab in the ribs and grimaced as the rain sliced into her face. She wanted to say something, but a sneeze stopped her short.

“Damn,” she told me as she climbed into the car, “if I get a cold out of this you’re a dead fly.”