Donald Hamilton - The Betrayers

"Wouldn't I have been knocked out completely, if it were that serious?"

"Not necessarily."

"If it were yours, would you see a doctor about it?"

I said, "That's beside the point. Let's say that I know from experience that my skull is fairly durable."

She said, "Well, suppose I just take it easy for a day or so. Then if my eyes begin to cross or I have dizzy spells or start stuttering or something, we can consult the medical profession. In the meantime, why don't you bring in a wet washcloth and help me get rid of this gore? I washed off some of it, but I felt too awful, standing up, to get it all. And make me a drink. There's Scotch over there on the dresser."

"No drinks," I said. "Not with a possible concussion."

She looked up irritably. "Mr. Helm, if I'd wanted real medical advice, I'd have called a real doctor. Now make me a drink like a good boy, and if it scrambles my brains I'll remember that you advised against it. Is that satisfactory?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said humbly.

"And bring my sleeping pills here so I'll have them handy. They're in the medicine thing in the bathroom."

"Sure," I said. "Your life's your own, Mrs. McLain. If you insist on ending it tonight, who am I to stand in your way?"

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"People have died from mixing alcohol and barbiturates. Add to the mixture a nasty bump on the noggin, and the results should be very interesting. Where did you say you kept those pills?"

She sighed. "My God, you're just a little mine of information, aren't you? All right, I'll settle for the Scotch. No ice. A dash of water. Tell me, Mr. Helm, with that gun you must be one of three things: a criminal, a policeman, or a secret agent. Which is it?"

"Can't I be just a man with a gun?" I asked. "No? All right, then, I'm an agent."

"You said that a little too easily. An agent of what, or should I say, of whom?"

"Of the U. S. Government, naturally. Would I say Russia or China even if it were true?"

"If you're telling the truth-I don't say I believe you, but if you are-does that make those other men Russian or Chinese?"

"Those are certainly two possibilities," I said, and hesitated, but it didn't seem like the time or the place for long-winded explanations, true or false. I had a hunch she was a lady who'd be intrigued by mystification, so I took refuge in security. "I'm afraid that's as much as I can tell you, Mrs. McLain."

"I see." She shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Well, I must say you're damn slow with the drinks… Ah, thanks." She took the glass I offered her. By the time I returned with a wrung-out washcloth, it was half empty. I cleaned the blood off her fingers and got what she'd missed on her face and neck. She kept her eyes closed during most of this operation, but suddenly she opened them and looked up with a hint of malice. "How do you feel, Mr. Helm?"

I didn't pretend not to catch her meaning. "Frustrated," I said. "Being a gentleman, I obviously can't make a pass at a lady with concussion of the brain. But you could have picked a more discreet nightie, ma'am."

She laughed. "That was nicely said. I was feeling very unattractive, but you reassure me. Now try to tidy up the room a bit. You've been married, haven't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"It shows on a man. Well, then, you shouldn't have too much trouble putting my belongings back in some kind of order; you'll know how a woman likes her things. And tomorrow you'll take me to lunch and tell me all about yourself and your mysterious work. At the Royal Hawaiian, I think. Yes, the Royal Hawaiian, with all those bright, brittle people showing off for each other. I don't expect you to compromise your silly security, of course. All you have to do is answer my impertinent questions with amusing lies. And then we'll settle on a nice place to have dinner together… Yes, Mr. Helm?"

I said, "Skip it. You're old enough to know your own mind."

She smiled slowly. "You know, that's quite true if not very flattering. And I'm also old enough to understand that continuing to associate with you may involve me in more disagreeable situations like this one. That's what you were going to point out to me, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

She said, "Mr. Helm, I'm fully aware of it, and I think it's wonderful. I've been bored to tears ever since I came to Honolulu. If there's anything duller than a bunch of people cavorting about in skimpy bathing suits, it's a bunch of people cavorting about in silly native costumes. Most fashionable resorts display only one of these aberrations; here you get both. I tell you, I've been bored practically to suicide for the best part of a week, but it's a funny thing, Mr. Helm: tonight I have a splitting headache, my room looks like a junk yard, I've ruined a pair of perfectly good nylons and got blood all over an expensive dress-but I'm not bored any longer. So tomorrow I want you to take me to lunch, and I want you to be sure to bring your gun. I've never had lunch with a man wearing a gun. Now make me another drink, like a good boy, and clean up this rat's nest, and get out of here so I can go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

As I got to work, I was aware of her watching me in a speculative way, like a farmer who's bought a horse and wonders if he's made a good deal. Whatever she was, I decided, she was pretty good. If she was, as she'd intimated, just a hard-drinking society woman looking for screwball kicks, she at least had a certain amount of courage, to take the night's events in her stride and risk more of the same.

And if, as seemed quite possible, she was something else entirely, it was still a good act well performed. In either case, it looked as if I wasn't going to be suffering from loneliness if she had her way.

Well, I hadn't been feeling exactly neglected in Honolulu even before she came along.

IN THE MORNING I went swimming again, on the theory that it's not a bad idea, in critical times, to give the impression of being a creature of habit. It has been known to throw people off guard, even people who should know better. Besides, I was kind of curious to see if Jill would show up for our surfing date after what had happened between us last night. I wasn't laying any bets either way, since the decision wasn't hers, but the Monk's, and I couldn't predict how clever he'd try to be.

It was another clear tropical morning, with the sky brightening behind the rim of volcanic rock to the east of Waikiki, but today I didn't have the sunrise to myself. Down the beach a little way, a couple of pretty, sleepy-looking girls in bikinis were being entertained by a couple of husky, wide-awake young men wearing sawed-off khaki trunks and military dog tags. I assumed they were off the transport we'd seen heading into port the night before, and I admired the speed with which they had established diplomatic relations with the natives.

They barely noticed me as I braved the cool morning waves very briefly. Afterward, I took a long time drying myself and sat on the sea wall for a while just looking at the ocean. I was a little surprised, as I had been before, at the lack of traffic out there. It was my impression that in good weather just about anywhere along the edge of the American continent in summer you'd see multitudes of assorted vessels day and night. Here, off the largest harbor in the Islands, one distant freighter was the only ship in sight.

There were no pleasure craft visible at all, except for a couple of the twin-hulled, sloop-rigged catamarans used for taking tourists for nautical joy-rides. They were being made ready down the beach for the day's business. I wondered idly about the deserted ocean: maybe these waters were too dangerous for small boats, for reasons hidden from a landlubber like me.

"Oh, there you are!" said Jill's voice. "When I didn't see you, I thought… I was afraid you'd decided not to come."