Росс Томас - Cast a Yellow Shadow

“They picked me up at the hotel when I left.”

“Who are they?” Sylvia asked.

“They’re from the FBI.”

“They followed you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they think I’m in danger.”

“What happened when you got to the hotel?” I said.

“You think we could get a drink?” Padillo asked.

I held up a hand and waved it slightly. A waiter materialized. We ordered three vodka martinis.

“You recall that circular seat that the hotel has around the fountain in the middle of the lobby?” Padillo said.

“Yes.”

“When I arrived at six, Iker and Weinriter were sitting on it, waiting for me. They didn’t make it too obvious, but it was obvious enough. Darragh was sitting on the other side of the thing. He followed us to the elevator.”

“You should have invited him up.”

“He still looked unhappy.”

“Are you speaking of Lewis Darragh?” Sylvia said.

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“You tell her,” I said. “I’ve been talking all evening about how clever you are.”

Padillo sketched it quickly — how we needed the FBI surveillance to convince Van Zandt that Dymec should be brought in as the substitute assassin.

“You told Weinriter and Iker about Angola?” I asked.

“I even drew them a map, an accurate one.”

“They look at your side?”

“Iker wanted to. He also wanted to know who the doctor was.”

“And they bought the whole thing?”

“Reluctantly. They still want to hear about the arms deals that did take place.”

“That’s next week, I take it.”

“Possibly the week after.”

The waiter brought the martinis. I told him we would order in ten minutes.

“Now that you have your Federal guardians, what do you plan to do with them?”

“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a twenty-four hour surveillance.”

“They can’t keep that up forever.”

“I probably told the story too well. I’ll try to think up another one that will get them to fade out tomorrow.”

Herr Horst came over and Padillo introduced him to Sylvia Underhill. He recommended the tournedos and a wine from the Ahr and we agreed to try them after another martini. A waiter brought a telephone over and plugged it into the jack. “It’s for you, Mr. McCorkle,” he said.

I picked it up and said yes.

“We’ll accept the substitute, McCorkle.” It was Boggs’s voice. “But we want to talk to him.”

“When?”

“Tonight?”

“I’m not sure we can reach him tonight. I want to talk to my wife.”

“In a moment. It has to be tonight, is that clear?”

“Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “It’s Boggs,” I told Padillo. “They’ll go along with Dymec, but they want to see him tonight. It’s tonight or never, according to him.”

“Set it up for Seventh Street at midnight. I can get Dymec.”

“It can be arranged for midnight,” I said into the phone. I gave him the Seventh Street address.

“Tell him he’d better start getting the money together,” Padillo said.

“Don’t forget the money,” I said. “If he’s not sure of the money, he’ll walk out.”

“That’s being taken care of,” Boggs said. “But the money’s to go to Padillo, right?”

“Right.”

“He’ll have it tomorrow.”

“Put my wife on.”

“I’ll see you at midnight, McCorkle. Here’s your wife.”

“Fredl?”

“I’m on, darling. I’m doing fine; it’s just a little tiring and I miss you so much.”

“It’ll be over soon; it’s near the end now.”

“It seems so long. It seems longer than forever. I hope—”

The telephone went dead and I placed it in its cradle and signaled a waiter to take it away, but Padillo told him to leave it for a moment.

“She all right?” Padillo asked.

“I guess so; I couldn’t tell. She didn’t scream anyway.”

“Has she screamed before?” Sylvia asked.

“Once. They made her scream to impress me. They succeeded.”

“They’re rotten!” she said and I was surprised by the intensity in her voice. “They kill and they hurt and they don’t leave you anything. Then they laugh about it. I’ve heard them laugh when someone was hurt. Their big, loud laughs.”

“Maybe they laugh because they’re afraid,” Padillo said quietly. “I’ve seen frightened people laugh.”

“Are you apologizing for them?” she demanded.

“I don’t apologize for anyone,” he said. “I have trouble enough finding excuses for myself.”

He picked up the phone and dialed a number. It seemed to take a long time for it to answer. “This is Padillo. You have an appointment at midnight on Seventh Street with your future employers. McCorkle will be there. I can’t make it.” He listened for a while. “Just you and McCorkle. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He replaced the phone and the waiter took it away and plugged it in at another table where some customer probably wanted to call Honolulu. If he did, we added twenty per cent. The food came and it looked good, but I wasn’t hungry. Herr Horst went by and stopped to find out whether something was wrong and I assured him that it wasn’t.

“You can miss a meal,” Padillo said. “In fact, you could miss two or three.”

“You think I’ve filled out a bit?”

“It gives you dignity. You’re losing that lean, raffish look.”

“Care for some coffee?” I asked Sylvia.

“Please.”

“You try,” I told Padillo. “I want to see how well Horst has passed the word to the staff.”

Padillo looked up, nodded his head slightly, and a waiter was hovering at his elbow. It could have been Herr Horst’s instructions about the new active partner, or it could have been Padillo. I had seen him command attention like that in restaurants where he dined for the first time. If it were a trick, it was one I wanted to learn.

He ordered the coffee and none of us wanted dessert.

“When your meeting with Boggs and Dymec is over,” Padillo said, “it might be a good idea to let Boggs leave first. Then stall Dymec for ten minutes or so. I don’t want them to have the chance to do any negotiating on the side.”

“Don’t you trust anyone?” Sylvia asked.

“I’m careful.”

“It must get lonely.”

“There’s usually someone around with big cinnamon eyes who seems to think so — and wants to do something about it.”

“It could be a challenge, but one I could easily resist,” she said.

“Then I’ll keep on being lonely for a while.”

Sylvia turned to me. “Your business associate doesn’t go out of his way to be friendly, does he?”

“I’m surprised,” I said. “I’ve never seen that line fail before. It’s been used often enough.”

“I’m out of practice,” Padillo said. He looked at his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock Saturday night and I understand the town has an hour to go before the curfew of the Sabbath. How would you like to go pub-crawling?”

“With you?” she said.

“I’m as harmless as McCorkle.”

“I’m not dead, just married,” I reminded him.

“I think you’re fine,” she said.

“We’ll call it a comparison shopping tour to see if anyone has better grafitti than ours.” This time he smiled.

Sylvia turned to me. “Is it all right?”

“If he gets his glass of warm milk at one, he’ll be fine,” I said.

Padillo rose and helped the girl with her chair. I took a key off my ring and handed it to her. “This is a spare to my apartment.”

“Call me when you get back,” Padillo said.

“I will.”

“Where should we go?” Padillo asked.