Эд Макбейн - Learning to Kill - Stories

“How many in the party?” David asked again.

“Two,” Grew answered.

“How long do you expect to be out?”

“That depends. I’d say a week or so.”

“You and your friend must be hardy fellows,” David said.

“My friend is a woman,” Grew answered. “My secretary.”

“This is a fishing boat. Does your secretary fish?”

“Is the boat for hire or isn’t it?” Grew asked impatiently. “I haven’t the time to argue.”

“I didn’t say I was renting.”

“I’m a friend of Sam Friedman,” Grew said.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. He suggested I try you. He said you would rent us the boat for a week or so. It’s really quite urgent.”

“How well do you know Sam?”

“Not too well,” Grew admitted. “He told me you were in the Army together. He said you were a man to be trusted. Are you?”

“It depends on what I’m entrusted with.” David looked at his watch. “Come back at noon. I want to call Sam first.”

“Certainly,” Grew said. He paused and then added, “We’d like to get under way as soon as possible. We’ll bring our stuff with us when we come.”

“I’m not sure you’re going yet,” David said.

Grew allowed a tiny smile to briefly appear on his face. “I’m willing to gamble, Mr. Coe,” he said.

David walked over to the diner and crowded himself into a phone booth. Sam Friedman worked on the Sun City afternoon daily, and David had known him for a long time. Sam knew the way David felt about things in general, and it sounded strange that he’d recommend Grew and his “secretary.”

When Sam came on, David said, “Hi. David Coe. Sam, who’s Leslie Grew? He wants to rent a boat. He’s also got a girl with him. Why’d you send him to me?”

“I’d like you to take him aboard. I’d appreciate it a lot. It’ll just be for a week or so. The secretary — it’s not what you think it is.”

“Is he in trouble with the law?”

“No.”

“What then? Look, Sam, give it to me. All of it.”

There was a long silence on the line. Sam sighed then and said, “I can’t, David. Not even a part of it. If you take them aboard, you’ll be doing a lot of people a favor. But I won’t try to influence you. I don’t want to be responsible for getting you involved.”

“What’s there to get involved in?”

“I can’t say another word, David.”

“I just wasted a dime,” David said. He paused, sighing. “I’ll think it over. In the meantime, have you got any other interesting business for me? Like smuggling in some Cubans, or heroin?”

“Go to hell,” Sam said, a smile in his voice.

David hung up and went out of the booth and over to the counter. He ordered a cup of hot coffee, and Charlie went over to draw it while David mulled over Leslie Grew and Company. He was still mulling when the coffee came. The diner was empty except for him and Charlie. When the door opened, David didn’t look around.

The fellow who sat down at the end of the counter didn’t leave room for much else. He was at least six-two in his bare soles, and he probably tipped the scales at two-twenty, bone-dry. He was wearing a camel’s hair polo coat and a brown porkpie hat. He had a thick, beefy-looking face with a lot of meat between the ears, and a nose that looked like a segment of corrugated tin roof. His eyes were almost black, set deep into his head. He sat down, and the stool creaked under his weight. He picked up the menu with a hair-shrouded hand.

Charlie ambled over and said, “Morning, sir. See anything you like?”

The man’s voice was like the sound of a hacksaw, high and rasping. “Cup of coffee and a French,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Charlie answered. “Some weather, huh?”

“Yeah,” the man said. When Charlie brought him his coffee and doughnut, he leaned closer to the counter and said, “My name’s Williston. Harry Williston.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Charlie said.

Williston nodded. “You know everybody in town?”

“Almost,” Charlie answered.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Williston said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t know where he’s staying, but I’d sure like to find him. Appreciate your help.”

“Happy to help, if I can,” Charlie said. “What’s his name?”

“He’s a tall guy,” Williston said. “Skinny. Brown hair. Wears gold-rimmed glasses.” Williston paused. “There’s a girl with him.”

David didn’t look up. He was raising the coffee cup, and he kept on raising it while he listened.

“What’s his name?” Charlie asked again.

“Put it this way,” Williston said. “He may be traveling incognito. I wouldn’t want to give him away. Have you seen him around?”

Charlie shrugged. “Don’t recall.”

“Put it this way,” Williston said. “It might be worth your while to recall.”

“What’s the girl look like?”

“Blonde, about five-four, good body, good legs.”

“Lots of girls like that in this town.”

“Yeah, but put it this way. They ain’t all with a skinny guy wearing gold-rimmed glasses.”

“Don’t recall seeing either of them,” Charlie said.

Williston turned on his stool. “How about you?” he asked.

David looked up. “How about me what?”

“You see the people I’m inquiring about?”

“I haven’t been listening to your inquiries,” David said. He turned on his stool, and he and Williston had a short staring contest, and then Williston’s stare turned slightly ugly and he said, “I thought everyone in small towns listened.”

“Not everyone,” David said, and he turned back to his coffee.

“You mind listening now?” Williston asked, an edge to his voice.

“What do you want?” David said.

“I’m looking for some friends of mine. A tall, skinny guy with glasses, and a blonde girl. You see them around?”

“No,” David said. “And I don’t intend to.”

“Put it this way,” Williston said. “You can get too bright for your own good.”

“Don’t bother me,” David said. “I came in here for coffee.”

Charlie looked as if he were expecting trouble, and to tell the truth, David was expecting it, too. But people who barged in and started shoving their weight around had always annoyed him. Williston got off his stool and walked over to where David was drinking his coffee. He stood there with his hands on his hips, looking down at David as if he were a spider.

“I didn’t know I was bothering you,” Williston said.

“Put it this way,” David said. “You were, and you are. Go find your friends by yourself. I don’t know anything about them.”

“This is a real friendly town, ain’t it?” Williston said.

“As friendly as most.”

“If you’re an example of—”

David got off the stool and Williston stopped talking. David saw him clench his fists, so he guessed Williston expected him to take a swing. Instead, he reached into his pocket for some change to pay for the coffee. He saw Williston’s hand move unconsciously toward the opening of his coat and linger there until he realized David was only reaching for money. David put his change on the counter. He was heading for the door when Williston put his hand on his arm and turned him around.

“Where you going?” he asked, smiling pleasantly.

“Outside. Take your hand off my arm.”

“You’re the sensitive type, ain’t you?”

“Take your hand back while you’ve still got fingers, mister.”

“Tough, too,” Williston said mockingly, but he pulled back his hand.

David walked to the door and stepped outside.

Leslie Grew and the blonde were waiting on the dock, standing there with the rain coming down around them. The blonde was wearing a dark blue trench coat, the collar turned up against the wind. Her hair was in a long ponytail, and the wind whipped it over her shoulder and occasionally lashed it against her cheek. Her face was wet, a good face with strong cheekbones and a generous mouth. She was wearing black-rimmed eyeglasses.