Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

“Why?”

“From several indirect sources we have learned various groups have a sudden, renewed interest in the diary. It is rumored Rose Fedor was seen last night, with a beefy man. You could be easily called beefy, Monsieur Mouse.”

“I guess so. And so could about twenty thousand other guys within shouting distance,” I said. “I don't get this bit about the various groups. Why should so many people want this diary?”

“I told you, the diary can prove a bombshell—or a dud. A great many people are interested in finding Rose Fedor—with the hope she will lead them to the diary.”

“Of course I still don't know what this is all about, but—are you one of the people looking for this—! what's her name—Rose?”

“I am.”

“Do you, or they, think she killed her husband?”

“Oh, no. Fedor's death is of no consequence, it is the diary we all seek. Of course, we are not positive she has it, but she must know more about it than anyone else. To get on, Monsieur Mouse, I am certain that this Mary you met was Fedor's wife, Rose. No one else would know about Sowor and Melouza.”

“From what you've said, gangs of people know about them.”

Jock gave me a patient tiny smile. “Perhaps. Let me put it this way: no other American woman would know. Sound better?”

“Maybe,” I said cautiously. Having gone this far I wanted to pump him for all the info I could get. “We were only together for a week and crocked most of the time. But I did have an idea she was jumpy.”

“Did she have money?”

“Hard to say. We didn't live big and I paid the tabs.”

“Did she ever mention what she was 'jumpy' about?”

“She gave me a cock and bull story about the rough time the police and some private dicks were giving her. I didn't pay much attention, figured it was drunken chatter. I mean, the police don't chase you if you haven't broken the law and Mary didn't act like a crook.”

He offered a pack of cigarettes around, then lit one himself, as he said, “I imagine she has been having a rough time of it at the hands of various law agencies.”

“But you just said they don't want her for her husband's murder? This stuff about cops chasing you for the hell of it... well, you know, that really doesn't happen outside a bad movie,” I said, knowing I was doing a good job of playing the jerk.

Jock laughed politely. “Monsieur Mouse, you have the layman's faith and naivete concerning the 'law.' There is such a thing as the unofficial law. A crude example; there isn't any actual law stating a rich man's house shall receive more police protection than a poor man's shack. Yet we all know that without being ordered to, the police will keep an eye on the rich house, perhaps even look in on it several times a day. Another raw example: a policeman would hardly give a traffic ticket to a known politician. Yet I am certain there is actually nothing in any police manual the world over ordering this. Nor would the politician even have to suggest any possible consequences to the police officer. In brief, that is the unofficial law, and in various forms you will find this in all law agencies, no matter at what level. There are unofficial government... eh... moves, which would account for the 'law' harassing Fedor's wife if...”

“Say, while I don't know if Mary is the babe you're talking about, I do recall that when she was gassing about being pushed around, she mentioned a Federal man pulling a gun on her. Of course, that's so much hot air, but—well, it's odd she mentioned it.”

“My dear chap, that may not be hot air—as you quaintly call it—at all, but the unofficial government I am attempting to explain. It works the same way in all countries. I believe Colette has told you I am in the French government, yet at this very second I am acting in a completely unofficial capacity.”

“But a Federal dick?”

Jock held up a hand. “Another simple example: you are a Federal agent and let us assume I am a high official in a friendly foreign embassy. We meet at a cocktail party. In the course of conversation I say my government is much interested in having a talk with a Rose Fedor. That is all. A harmless request. Oh, I might even butter up the request by saying it concerns an internal problem in my country. But you see, no official orders or requests are made, nothing on paper. If you are such a high law or police official, you will pass the word along, pick up Rose Fedor, and your men will do so without having the slightest idea of what it's all about.”

“Look, Mr. Jock, take it easy. Sure, I can see you— or anybody else—buying off some local cop to do a favor. But isn't it a little far-fetched to think of a big Washington official starting a manhunt merely because of some bar conversation?”

“On the contrary, only a national figure could do it, or would be in a position to meet a high foreign official! Nor did I say a manhunt was started. They would merely send out a routine check for the whereabouts of Rose Fedor.”

“Routine? With a gun?”

“I don't believe the gun part,” Jock said, “Unless it would be used to frighten her. Remember, our high embassy man might have become friendly with an ordinary government law agent. He might even tell this policeman there's an under-the-table reward of a few thousand dollars for finding Rose Fedor. Or the law agent will try very hard to find her—on his own time—because he feels a word from an embassy will help his promotion. I assure you the same thing would happen in my country if an American official talked to a French police officer. What you must understand is that the police officer is not necessarily delinquent in his duty. On the contrary, he may feel he is doing the 'right thing.'”

I shook my head, said innocently, “That's hard to swallow.”

“For you, yes. In fact you may be sure the imaginary police official we talk about will feel the same way. Being a layman he—and you—will never question why Rose Fedor is wanted, because in his own mind he can not conceive of a government doing anything 'wrong.' Unfortunately, 'good' or 'bad,' 'right' or 'wrong,' are by themselves actually meaningless words. But I am wandering from the subject. Yes, I am looking for Mrs. Fedor, although not with a gun. But certainly in addition to possible law agencies hunting for her, there are also the FLN and other Arab parties, and there probably are fanatics in most of the groups involved. Neither last nor least are the hired hunters, or investigators, the private police, in the pay of some oil companies.”

I was impressed: Jock knew his stuff, was giving me a rundown of what I'd been through. I said, “Geez, this is getting involved. What's an oil company have to do with all this?”

Colette threw back her head and said something in French that could have been a couple of cuss words. Jock motioned for her to be still. “My dear Monsieur Mouse, you do seem to have been living in a hole. Do you never read the papers? In the Sahara desert, oil deposits have been found which may well surpass anything in the Middle East, by-pass Suez. And it fits. Again, let us suppose such a private detective informs the police he is working for one of the large oil companies, do you doubt the local police—without receiving any instructions or orders to do so—will heartily cooperate with the private investigator?”

“Could be,” I said, wanting to shout he was darn well right. “But, somehow, after all this time, Mrs. Fedor and the diary... I mean, why are they still important?”

Jock gave me that slightly annoying laugh of his. “The search for Rose Fedor has become an international, if unofficial, cause celibre. The diary will be of prime importance as long as Algeria remains unsettled, and that can be a matter of years. As I told you, the search had practically died down, until yesterday.”