forefinger on the trigger. My slug had knocked the rod out of his hands before the warehouse explosion had blown us right through the walls of the place and ruining that deal on him had set him so far down, in the party sights he had to accept piss-ant jobs in Chile doing leg work before they’d trust him with another big one. No wonder Churis was so anxious for a kill now.
“Have you anything to offer?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Or is it that you won’t?”
“I haven’t. If I had I wouldn’t.”
For a second it looked like he would pop. Then he said, “Will you?”
“When the right time comes, yes.” I tilted back in the chair. “It seems funny that you should be coming to me. Cooperation of this sort isn’t usual.”
Thomas Watford dragged in a hissing breath. “In our society and system of government people like Martin Grady can wield a sizable amount of influence.”
“No doubt.”
“Charles Corbinet’s voice is listened to carefully.”
“Good old Charlie,” I said.
“In the latter case he’s in a position of official authority, carefully covered, which you seem to know. I still can’t understand why he prefers to trust you ... or others in authority who seem to be swayed by Martin Grady.”
“Simple bribery,” I said.
One of the guys at the table said, “You bastard.”
I grinned at him and set the chair back right. “The Commies used the bribery of exposure as queers on certain ones in high places to extract what they wanted. Sometimes there’s good bribery, like the promise of results that can be gotten no other way. Keep it in mind. Now, is that all?”
“That’s all for now,” Watford said.
I looked down the table, fastening all the faces in my mind. They sat there hating the orders they had but not being able to do anything about it. I got up, poured a drink of water for myself, waved and left.
Chapter 8
It was Friday. The rain had stopped at last and the low scud hid the tops of the buildings above the twentieth floors. On the street people still carried their umbrellas and raincoats, not wanting to take a chance on the weather.
Outside the U.N. buildings the black limousines were pulling away from the curbs with taxis filling in the places they left. I waited ten minutes before Rondine came out, watched while she paused in the doorway until a tall brunette in a tan suede coat came out and they walked toward me together.
The brunette I had seen before. She was the one Burton Selwick had visited down in the Village and taken out to supper. When they reached the street I walked up and said, “Hello, Rondine.”
It should have startled her, but didn’t, that’s how good she was. She turned her head almost casually, but her smile was a shade too tight to be real.
“Oh ... Tiger,” she said.
“Like a bad penny.” I looked at the brunette.
“Gretchen Lark ... Tiger Mann.”
The brunette said, “How do you do, Mr. Mann. Or is Tiger a pet name?”
“My real one.”
“Very picturesque. It has certain connotations,” she smiled. Gretchen gave Edith a small puzzled glance then. “Rondine?”
“Now that’s a pet name,” I exclaimed. “We’re real old friends.”
Her eyebrows went up and her mouth pursed with a humorous, pseudo-knowing look and she laughed, “Well, then, I’ll just say so long and leave you two old friends alone.”
Edith said, “Oh, but ...”
I just winked and grinned at her as if she had said the right thing and took Edith’s arm. I thought for a moment she’d pull away when I felt the muscles harden under my fingers, but when I squeezed just a little bit she shrugged resignedly and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, Gretch.”
“Do that. Good-bye, Tiger.”
“See you,” I said.
Most of the crowd had found taxis by then and we didn’t have to wait. I flagged down a cruiser, eased Edith in, told the driver to take us to the Blue Ribbon on Forty-fourth and leaned back into the cushions with my beautiful killer beside me.
It was
“Have you anything to offer?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Or is it that you won’t?”
“I haven’t. If I had I wouldn’t.”
For a second it looked like he would pop. Then he said, “Will you?”
“When the right time comes, yes.” I tilted back in the chair. “It seems funny that you should be coming to me. Cooperation of this sort isn’t usual.”
Thomas Watford dragged in a hissing breath. “In our society and system of government people like Martin Grady can wield a sizable amount of influence.”
“No doubt.”
“Charles Corbinet’s voice is listened to carefully.”
“Good old Charlie,” I said.
“In the latter case he’s in a position of official authority, carefully covered, which you seem to know. I still can’t understand why he prefers to trust you ... or others in authority who seem to be swayed by Martin Grady.”
“Simple bribery,” I said.
One of the guys at the table said, “You bastard.”
I grinned at him and set the chair back right. “The Commies used the bribery of exposure as queers on certain ones in high places to extract what they wanted. Sometimes there’s good bribery, like the promise of results that can be gotten no other way. Keep it in mind. Now, is that all?”
“That’s all for now,” Watford said.
I looked down the table, fastening all the faces in my mind. They sat there hating the orders they had but not being able to do anything about it. I got up, poured a drink of water for myself, waved and left.
Chapter 8
It was Friday. The rain had stopped at last and the low scud hid the tops of the buildings above the twentieth floors. On the street people still carried their umbrellas and raincoats, not wanting to take a chance on the weather.
Outside the U.N. buildings the black limousines were pulling away from the curbs with taxis filling in the places they left. I waited ten minutes before Rondine came out, watched while she paused in the doorway until a tall brunette in a tan suede coat came out and they walked toward me together.
The brunette I had seen before. She was the one Burton Selwick had visited down in the Village and taken out to supper. When they reached the street I walked up and said, “Hello, Rondine.”
It should have startled her, but didn’t, that’s how good she was. She turned her head almost casually, but her smile was a shade too tight to be real.
“Oh ... Tiger,” she said.
“Like a bad penny.” I looked at the brunette.
“Gretchen Lark ... Tiger Mann.”
The brunette said, “How do you do, Mr. Mann. Or is Tiger a pet name?”
“My real one.”
“Very picturesque. It has certain connotations,” she smiled. Gretchen gave Edith a small puzzled glance then. “Rondine?”
“Now that’s a pet name,” I exclaimed. “We’re real old friends.”
Her eyebrows went up and her mouth pursed with a humorous, pseudo-knowing look and she laughed, “Well, then, I’ll just say so long and leave you two old friends alone.”
Edith said, “Oh, but ...”
I just winked and grinned at her as if she had said the right thing and took Edith’s arm. I thought for a moment she’d pull away when I felt the muscles harden under my fingers, but when I squeezed just a little bit she shrugged resignedly and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow, Gretch.”
“Do that. Good-bye, Tiger.”
“See you,” I said.
Most of the crowd had found taxis by then and we didn’t have to wait. I flagged down a cruiser, eased Edith in, told the driver to take us to the Blue Ribbon on Forty-fourth and leaned back into the cushions with my beautiful killer beside me.
It was
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