Ник Картер - The Code

“Yes,” I said. “Pretty racy stuff.”

“He describes what each of them does best in the sexual line. Trudy in Los Angeles sounds sensational.”

“Personally, I liked the references he gave Cora in Vegas. Tell you what, I’ll let you know how accurate Moose’s notes are.”

“You’re a strapping physical specimen, my boy, but I don’t see how you could personally explore the subject in depth without wearing yourself down to skin and bones,” Hawk said in an amused voice. “The delights of Barbara, for example, are such that even Moose couldn’t describe them. He simply underlined her name and put exclamation points behind it.”

“Maybe he did that because she’s the only virgin in the bunch.”

“I rather doubt that Moose knows any virgins,” Hawk said. “I suppose it isn’t necessary for me to point out that all of these girls are probably involved in underworld activity and will most likely be involved with hoods who won’t hesitate to kill you if they get suspicious?”

“It’ll be a fun trip, all right.”

Hawk closed the book and passed it to me. “What else, Nick? Are you holding back anything?”

“No,” I lied. “That’s it. I’ll be in touch.”

He spoke my name again as I was getting out of the car. “Sheila made quite an impact on you, didn’t she? What was she like?”

“I couldn’t say. I didn’t get to know her that well.”

What I hadn’t mentioned was that one of the names in Moose’s book could belong to the girl we’d known as Sheila Brant. AXE had been unable to pin a past on her, but she must have had one before she met Frank Abruze.

I was pursuing Sheila’s ghost as well as her killers.

If there was one big drawback to my job, other than the hours and the high mortality rate, it was that I was required to spend more time in other people’s countries than I spent in my own.

I had not seen El Pueblo Nuestra Senora la Reinda de Los Angeles de Porciuncula, known to most of us as just plain L.A., in two years. The city had changed, not entirely for the better. The climate, so like that of the Mediterranean countries, was still beautiful and so were the girls. But the traffic and the smog had grown thicker.

As I worked my way into a drugstore telephone booth, I was wondering how Trudy, who had rated the first page in Moose’s sexual Who’s Who, would compare to some of the knockouts sitting at the soda fountain waiting to be discovered. The great American dream of stardom never dies.

A female voice answered the telephone and sounded disappointed when I asked for Trudy. “I’ll call her.” While I waited, I looked at the legs of the girls at the soda fountain and kicked open the door of the booth so I could share the air conditioning. The days were getting hotter and I was wearing a lot of bandage about my chest.

Trudy’s voice sounded sultry, but maybe my judgment was influenced by Moose’s capsule description of her talents in the bedroom. When I told her a friend had suggested I get in touch with her, she invited me to come around. It was as easy as falling off a bar stool. “I’m crazy about meeting new people,” she said.

I soon discovered the reason. Meeting new people was Trudy’s business. She worked in a bordello. She led me up a flight of stairs, clinging to my hand and talking a blue streak.

“You come highly recommended. I got your number from Moose,” I said.

“Moose? Oh, sure.” She tugged me into a room and slid down the zipper of my trousers while I was still looking around. “I have to check you over, honey, and give you a nice bath. The lady I work for says cleanliness is next to prosperity.”

I evaded her deft grasp. “She must be quite a philosopher. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

“No, you wouldn’t. She’s as cold as a loanshark’s heart. Most madams are. Those movies where they have hearts of gold, that’s a lot of Hollywood nonsense. What’s the matter with you, honey? You got a thing about being touched?”

At least I’d found a talker, I thought. If I asked her for directions to the stadium, she’d probably throw in the baseball club’s lineup and last season’s record.

Trudy plastered herself against me. She was a big girl, a beauty parlor blonde, and there was a lot of her to plaster. Her nipples prodded my chest like bullets.

“What happened to your face, honey?” She touched the cut at the edge of my lip, the stitches the doctor had put in the side of my head. “You look as if you fell into cement mixer.”

“I had an accident.”

“I’m sorry.” Her hand seized hold of me again. “My, you’re a real man, aren’t you?”

She probably told that to all her customers, but she sounded as if she meant it. I backpedaled hastily and worked at my zipper, knowing that if Hawk could see me now, he’d burst out laughing.

“I want to ask you about Moose. When did you see him last?”

“I really don’t remember. Is that what you came here for, to find out where Moose is?”

“You’re a smart girl. You saw through me right away, didn’t you?” I laid the flattery on as thick as I could. “I am looking for the big clown. We kind of lost touch, you know what I mean?”

She edged closer to me and slid her left arm around my waist. Her right hand found my zipper again. She was faster than a pickpocket. “Since you’re here, you might as well enjoy the visit. What turns you on?”

I caught hold of her groping hand and turned it palm up. I pressed three twenties into her curled fingers. “Tell me about Moose.”

Her friendliness tapered off sharply. She folded the bills neatly and stuffed them into my belt “I sell sex, not information.”

“Moose and I are old friends. But we lost touch, like I said. Look, he gave me your number, didn’t he?”

“You could be lying about that. Anyway, I don’t remember when I saw Moose last and I don’t know where he is. Even if he’s your long-lost brother, I don’t want to talk about him.”

I took out two more twenties, folded all five together and stuck them into her low-cut blouse. “Are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure. Moose likes to knock people around, and he does a good job of it. Nobody talks about him to strangers.”

“Give me an old address, a telephone number even. I won’t tell where I got it.”

Trudy fished between her large breasts and pulled the bills out. She stroked the wrinkles out of them. “I haven’t seen him in several months, maybe even a year. Honest. And I never knew any address. He came around here from time to time, that’s all.”

“He had a name, didn’t he?”

“I thought you were a pal of his. Pals know each others names.” She threw the bills at me and they fluttered to the floor. “You don’t even look like a friend of his. You look too honest. Pick up your bribe and beat it.”

Negotiation having failed, I tried a more direct approach. I pushed back my coat so that she could see the Luger nestled in its leather sheath. “I want a name, Trudy.”

She licked her lower lip. “You a cop?”

“No, just a man looking for Moose.”

“Jones is his name.” She laughed nervously. “You probably don’t believe me, but it’s the honest-to-God truth. His name is Edward Jones. And that’s all I can tell you.”

“Thanks,” I said as I walked to the door. “You can keep the bribe.”

I waited outside the house for three hours, slumped down in the car seat and trying to look inconspicuous. I was about ready to flunk myself on character analysis when Trudy finally appeared and flagged a taxi.

Carter, I thought, it’s a good thing you aren’t a trusting soul.

I took off behind the cab, which led me across town to a cheap apartment house. I followed Trudy inside in time to spot her darting up a flight of stairs. At the end of a long hallway, the busty blonde knocked on a door. When she got no reply, she knocked harder. Then she turned and saw me and her eyes widened in astonishment.