Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

“Deal? Of course, anything you wish. Mickey, I would no more hurt you than I would expect you to harm me or my children. I...”

“But you can be hurting the hell out of me without knowing it! Like now, asking this Jock in without first even asking me.”

She looked away for a moment. “I simply refuse to believe you are on the other side.”

“The other side of what?”

“Of humanity and everything that makes life worth living.”

I never was good at riddles. “I don't know about sides, but let's settle two things: no mention of my real name, and I'll wait ten minutes for this...”

There was a knock on the downstairs door. Colette actually raced down the stairs and returned with a compactly built guy dressed like a conservative fashion-plate. His face was vaguely familiar as he took off his homburg and black overcoat with the velvet collar. He stared at me, blowing on his finger tips, as Colette talked to him in runaway French. His hair was completely white and the tired eyes had tiny wrinkles around them, yet I had an idea he wasn't much older than me, maybe younger. He nodded as Colette talked, now rubbing his thin hands together slowly. I once knew a knife thrower who had hands like that; sort of delicate but strong, like thin steel wire. Sitting on the couch, he pointed toward a chair and said, with a kind of clipped, and perhaps phony, British accent, “Now let us talk, Monsieur Mickey.”

As I put it down, the accent reminded me of the old man in the turtleneck. This Jock was staring at me and I looked him smack back in his eyes. And knew where I'd seen the face before: he was one of the Maquis in the snap on the bedroom wall, although his hair hadn't been white then. And from the way he'd been standing in the picture, he'd been their officer. I said, “Okay. You do the talking.”

He gave me a weary smile. “As you wish, Monsieur Mickey...?”

“Mouse,” I added, brightly.

“Ah, yes, Monsieur Mouse,” he said without a smile. “Very good. He is a jovial chap who tries to make the world laugh. But enough of small talk. It will save us both time, and I understand you are in a hurry, if you will kindly tell me why you were trying to contact the late Monsieur Sowor?”

“Nothing to it: I was looking for a gal I once knew. She'd mentioned Sowor. As I told Colette, it was an easy name to remember, being she said the guy was a German... Sauerkraut. Of course I thought it was spelt s-o-u-r, but took a chance this Willy Sowor might be the same guy, might know where this gal is now. Or where Me-Lucy-ah is and she might know. I thought she was an Oriental gal. Colette says she's—it's—a town. Very confusing.”

“Indeed. It is hard to believe anybody could be that naive in these times. But the woman you look for, why do you want to see her?”

“Talking about being naive—what does a fellow generally want to see a babe for? We spent a hot week together in Canada last year. I'm all for an encore, if I can find her.”

“Is her name Rose and was her husband Josef Fedor?”

“Her name is Mary and we didn't talk about a husband.”

He waved his manicured hands as if clearing the air, and I thought I saw the outline of a shoulder holster. “Was she a tall, statuesque woman? Beautiful? An actress?”

“She was a big blonde and very pretty. Come to the point. What's this all about?”

“Basically it is about good and evil, right and wrong, Monsieur Mouse. In the early summer of 1957 while civil war was being waged in Algeria between the French army, the colons, and the Algerian 'rebels,' the world was shocked to learn the entire population of an obscure village of mechtas —the mud huts found in the Algerian mountains—had been ruthlessly slaughtered. It was the village of Melouza. Over three hundred people, including children, had been literally butchered: throats slashed, bodies hacked. Paris claimed the 'rebels,' or the FLN as they are known, were responsible for this madness because the people of Melouza were said to lean more toward the Algerian National Movement, a group far less nationalistic than the FLN. Understand, I merely state what was charged, not what happened.”

“Sure,” I said, wondering how this could possibly have any tie-up with Rose. She was neither French nor Arab. If she'd ever been in Africa, even with a USO show, she would have told me.

“The FLN charged Melouza was a village of no known political sympathy or importance. They claim French soldiers in the uniform of the FLN were the mass killers, that it was done to terrorize other Algerian villages from aiding the FLN. They said that in a raid on an Oran cattle fair the year before, French soldiers were alleged to have been captured disguised as FLN guerrillas. These are all mere charges. To this day the truth is unknown.”

“But what's all this to do with me, or the gal I knew?”

Jock held up a thin finger. “Monsieur, let me first fill you in on the European scene before 1957. There were many stateless men roaming about. Ex-Nazi soldiers and the victims of the Nazis still snarled in the red tape of rehabilitation camps. There were exiles from various countries. There were many decent men, along with out-and-out adventurers, and scum. All had one thing in common: they were desperate and hungry. Many such men enlisted in the French Foreign Legion and fought in Indochina, in Algiers, wherever they were sent. Being desperate they fought bravely, ruthlessly, and many of them died. Now it is known that a unit of chasseurs, about a dozen Legionnaires, were in the area of Melouza, which proves nothing, you understand, and is merely a fact. Among these Legionnaires were Willy Sowor, a former tank driver in Rommel's Afrika Korps; Josef Fedor, who had been an officer in the Hungarian army; a Dutch thief named Gootsraat; a Turkish carpenter known as Subec; an Italian called Massina, born in Libya; and an Egyptian thug known as Lister. There were others, but these names we know. The Algerians accused this squad of the Melouza massacre. This has never been proved. It has also been established that several detachments of FLN were in the area at the time of the killings, too.

“In giving you a detailed picture, I am trying to stick to as many facts as we know. The duty tours of the men mentioned expired shortly after the Melouza incident and they were discharged from the Legion. They were said to be well fixed. However, it is possible they had found jewels or money—a great deal of looting goes on in these 'small wars.' The men quickly scattered over the Middle East, Europe, and America. And within two years they had all been killed. Perhaps more than a coincidence.”

“Killed or murdered?” I asked.

Jock gave me a thin-lipped tight smile. “Two were actually killed in bar brawls. Fedor was openly murdered. Sowor was killed by a car, perhaps an accident. The Turk is said to have drunk poison by mistake in Athens, and Subec was knifed by a brothel keeper in London. However it should be obvious all these men were on the run. They were constantly on the move and...”

“On the run from whom?” I cut in.

“Again, I have no proof. Certainly the agents of the FLN wanted to put their hands on them, perhaps other Arab groups. It might also be certain French officials didn't want these men to talk. Mind you, Monsieur Mouse, this is speculation on my part. That is the picture, a horrible crime and the six suspected men on the run— and dead. Some time ago it was rumored Fedor had written a book, an expanded diary. We know now it was a fact and not a rumor. This diary has never been found. The truth about Melouza may very well be in its pages, then again, it can also be pure fiction, or a pack of lies. Or it may have nothing to do with Algeria. It is said Sowor arranged to purchase this diary for $50,000. I have no proof of where or how he was able to raise this sum of money, or what parties he was acting for. The fact is, all this could have been blackmail on the part of Fedor. We are certain Sowor gave Fedor the money and then Fedor somehow doublecrossed him and never handed over the diary. It is assumed this was the reason Fedor was stabbed to death. Now we also know Fedor married a minor American actress. As the situation stands, his wife, the diary, and the money have vanished. For a time we thought she and the diary had vanished into the sea last year, and the search for the diary was given up— only to be revived today.”