Donald Hamilton - The Menacers

The late afternoon sunshine struck me as I stepped outside, but so did the wind, making me wish I'd taken time to grab a sweater or jacket. I walked along the low wall separating the motel compound from the beach. Down at the shore, some kids were playing in the breaking waves. I noticed that several of them were wearing those black-rubber wetsuits for warmth. I didn't blame them. It wasn't exactly what I called ideal swimming weather. Other kids were setting off the usual Mexican firecrackers. A couple of beach buggies were racing around on the sand: stripped-down Volkswagens, by the look of them, with little open bodies and big tires.

I turned into the bar, which wasn't crowded, and found myself a stool without really looking around.

"Una cerveza, POT favor," I said in my best Spanish, which isn't very good. I was aware that somebody was taking the seat to my left, and I caught a whiff of cheap, strong perfume. "Make that dos cervezas," I said.

"How do you know I want beer?" Priscilla Decker asked.

"If you don't want it, I'll drink both of them, and you can buy your own damn booze," 1 said. "God, you stink! What is that stuff you've got on, insect repellent or varnish remover? And just what the hell are you and that smoothie boss of yours trying to pull now?"

"What do you mean?"

I put some American money on the bar, and tasted my beer judiciously. After the long, dry drive it tasted very good, but then, beer is something they always do very well down here.

"You know what I mean, sweetheart," I said. "Blowing my cover, such as it was, by greeting me like a long-lost friend!" She started to speak, but I went on: "Okay. If that's the way you want to play, that's the way we'll play it. But let me just remind you of the last time you and your clever chief and your smart colleagues tried to get tricky with me. Think hard, doll, and maybe you'll recall a hotel room not so far from here, and a short-haired lady whose costume consisted mainly of a mannish pantsuit and three bullets in the chest. Concentrate, Decker. I'm sure it will all come back to you if you concentrate."

Priscilla's eyes were narrow. "Are you threatening me?"

I grinned without humor. "You're goddamn right I'm threatening you! Just take your choice. Either we're working on this job together, or I'm working on it alone and you're working against me. Just so I know. There isn't really room for any stupid interdepartmental feuds, but if you want one, I'll give it to you in spades. If so, just tell me: would you rather have the remains shipped to Leonard in Washington, or is the local cemetery satisfactory?"

She looked at me hard for a moment, with anger burning brightly in her eyes. Then she picked up her glass and drank. When she looked at me again, the anger was gone-well, gone or skillfully concealed.

"Okay, Matt," she said quietly. "Okay, you've made your point. And of course you're right. We've been instructed not to like you, and to conduct ourselves accordingly."

I said, "Jesus Christ, are you working for your country or just helping some jerk in Washington play musical chairs?"

"I know," she said. "I know how you feel, and I feel the same way. But after all, he is my boss." She shrugged and held out her hand. "But let's call it a truce, just between you and me, Matt."

"Sure."

I took her hand, which was small and firm, and looked into her eyes which were warm and friendly now. They almost made me ashamed of my boorish outburst-which was, of course, exactly what they were supposed to do.

I grinned, and flipped my fingertips lightly across the front of her skimpy jersey. "You can help me decide a bet with myself," I said. "Is it Kleenex or compressed air?"

She laughed. "What makes you think they aren't genuine, sir? Oh, of course, you saw me without them, didn't you? I was really a rather naпve and underdeveloped little girl in Mazatlбn, wasn't I?"

"What's the theory behind this getup?"

"Don't be obtuse. We'd like the inside track with Seсor Solana, naturally. And Mexican gentlemen, even very respectable Mexican gentlemen, make a kind of cult of virility, and seldom turn down an obvious challenge."

I grinned. "Well, you're obvious enough. Is it working?"

"Don't rush me. After all, I just got out of jail, changed my clothes and hairdo, and came racing up to the border to meet Solana and thank him for interceding in my behalf. That was when the news of the latest incident came through. He wasn't really planning to bring along a U.S. observer on this trip, but he did. So I guess you can say it's working pretty well, even though I haven't had time to get myself seduced yet."

"Have you been out to the scene of the interplanetary crime?"

"Of course not. We just drove in a few minutes ahead of you, remember? But Solana's promised to take me as soon as he's gone through some formalities with the local authorities."

I said, "It would be nice if you got me and my camera girl included in the invitation."

"Is that what she is?" Priscilla made a face. "Well, I don't know why I should do your snooty blonde any favors. And I'm not nice, particularly not to large bullying gents who threaten to kill me." She laughed at my expression. "Au right, Matt. I'll see what I can do." She hesitated, and went on: "Don't tell Mr. Leonard, but I'm really kind of glad you're here. This job could get too big for one girl to handle alone. Solana seems to think things are coming to a head fast. Whatever we do, it had better get done in the next day or two."

"Sure," I said. "Well, I'm probably supposed to try to beat you to whatever it is and grab all the credit for my team, but under the circumstances I think we can work out a compromise if you're willing. Let's first take care of the heavies from heaven, and worry about the characters in Washington later."

"It's a deal," she said. "And I will talk to Solana, I promise."

SHE WAS AS good as her word. I'd barely had time to get back to the room and wash my face and dig a windbreaker out of my suitcase and tell Carol as much as was good for her to know when there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and there was Seсor Ramуn Solana-Ruiz, dressed pretty much as I'd first seen him, in his business suit, white shirt, and tie.

His shoes were polished to a luster that was quite commendable, considering the dusty surroundings. As a concession to the desert, however, he'd added a pair of sunglasses to his outfit-or perhaps he just liked the slightly sinister look the big, dark, curving lenses gave to his handsome Latin face. He bowed ceremoniously when I introduced him to Carol.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Lujan."

"You're very kind to let us come along," Carol said. "Will I be allowed to take some pictures, Mr. Solana?"

"By all means. Do you have much equipment? Perhaps you would prefer to follow in your car so you will be less crowded. We will go first to the hotel in town, if you do not mind. I want to question the surviving victim, a Mr. Gregory Henderson, from Los Angeles, California. He came down here to fish over the weekend, I understand."

"Was he badly hurt?"

"No, apparently he just received some minor burns when he tried to rescue his wife, who died in the fire, but of course the experience was a great shock to him. We will talk with him first, and then we will drive out to examine what is left of his vehicle and camper-that is the name given to those housekeeping units designed for mounting on trucks, is it not? Then, if you wish, you may accompany us to view the body, although I am told it is not a pleasant sight."

Carol winced, but said bravely, "I'd better cover everything while I have the chance. You never know what shots those crazy people in New York are going to want. Let me get some things together. I won't be a moment."