going into this together we’re really going into it together. You have to promise me you’ll take me with you wherever you go and always tell me what’s happening … especially that you’ll take me everywhere you go and don’t do anything without me.”
“Sounds like an intriguing proposal,” the Saint said.
His hostess flushed slightly, opened her mouth and closed it again before she finally spoke.
“When there’s a line to draw, I’ll draw it,” she said. “Do you agree?”
He hesitated just a few seconds before answering, then he raised his hands briefly in a gesture of acquiescence.
“Whither I go thou shalt go,” he said. “It’s a deal. And now, since we’re going to become inseparable, may I ask what your intimates call you? ‘Slugger?’ ‘Killer?’”
“Tammy,” she said. “Any objections?”
“Not if I’m admitted to the club. So now let’s get down to facts. Just how much do you really know about this immigration gang?”
“More than I had the nerve to print,” she stated.
“I noticed you didn’t name names. Do you know any?”
“Names?” she asked. “Yes, a couple. I don’t know who’s at the top of the whole thing, but I know who does the dirty work and I’ve got a pretty complete picture of the way the extortion side of the business operates.”
“As part of our bargain, how about giving me the names of the thugs you do know?”
Tammy Rowan looked at him with a peculiar mysteriousness and then said something that rang an alarm through every fibre in his body.
“I’ll do better than that: in just about ten seconds you can see one of them.”
3
Tammy saw the Saint tense, and her turquoise eyes glinted with amusement. She pointed at the television screen.
“On there,” she said. “Believe me, I haven’t invited him up for supper.”
She got out of her chair and turned up the volume of the television. One of the. wrestling matches had ended and another was about to begin. The ring was empty except for the announcer, who was stepping into the centre with his microphone in hand. Tammy spoke before he did.
“The charming character you’re about to see is the highest man on the totem pole that I know about,” she said. “He’s made himself a pile of money off the racket and you almost never see him wrestle any more.”
The crowd was cheering happily as a muscular sandy-haired young man with a face out of a toothpaste advertisement bounded into the wrestling ring.
“Cleancut rat,” Simon commented.
“That’s not him,” said the girl. “Here he comes.”
The new arrival was accompanied down the aisle by a wave of jeers and boos which swelled to a crest as he climbed stolidly up on to the canvas in his corner. Even before he came from the aisle into the lights and turned so that the TV camera could catch his face Simon more than suspected who he was. Suddenly in close-up on the screen flashed the muttonchop-whiskered beady-eyed countenance of the huge man Simon had seen outside the Golden Crescent.
“We have a mutual acquaintance,” he murmured with a quiet satisfaction.
She looked at him sharply. The announcer was introducing the sandy-haired wrestler, who drew cheers.
“You know him already?” she asked.
“The one with the weedy jowls? Yes. I haven’t had the pleasure of a chat with him, but I saw him this evening for the first time.”
The Saint and Tammy both paused and looked at the screen as the announcer pointed to the giant, silk-robed Pakistani.
“And in this corner, from London, weighing seventeen stone five, Kalki the Conqueror.”
To coincide with his formal presentation to the unadoring public, Kalki the Conqueror stripped off his robe and raised both massive arms and flexed his muscles. The bombardment of the arena with eight tons of excruciatingly aromatic decayed eggs would have produced a more gleeful response in the crowd than did the unveiling of Kalki the Conqueror. Their collective howl rattled the loudspeaker,
“Sounds like an intriguing proposal,” the Saint said.
His hostess flushed slightly, opened her mouth and closed it again before she finally spoke.
“When there’s a line to draw, I’ll draw it,” she said. “Do you agree?”
He hesitated just a few seconds before answering, then he raised his hands briefly in a gesture of acquiescence.
“Whither I go thou shalt go,” he said. “It’s a deal. And now, since we’re going to become inseparable, may I ask what your intimates call you? ‘Slugger?’ ‘Killer?’”
“Tammy,” she said. “Any objections?”
“Not if I’m admitted to the club. So now let’s get down to facts. Just how much do you really know about this immigration gang?”
“More than I had the nerve to print,” she stated.
“I noticed you didn’t name names. Do you know any?”
“Names?” she asked. “Yes, a couple. I don’t know who’s at the top of the whole thing, but I know who does the dirty work and I’ve got a pretty complete picture of the way the extortion side of the business operates.”
“As part of our bargain, how about giving me the names of the thugs you do know?”
Tammy Rowan looked at him with a peculiar mysteriousness and then said something that rang an alarm through every fibre in his body.
“I’ll do better than that: in just about ten seconds you can see one of them.”
3
Tammy saw the Saint tense, and her turquoise eyes glinted with amusement. She pointed at the television screen.
“On there,” she said. “Believe me, I haven’t invited him up for supper.”
She got out of her chair and turned up the volume of the television. One of the. wrestling matches had ended and another was about to begin. The ring was empty except for the announcer, who was stepping into the centre with his microphone in hand. Tammy spoke before he did.
“The charming character you’re about to see is the highest man on the totem pole that I know about,” she said. “He’s made himself a pile of money off the racket and you almost never see him wrestle any more.”
The crowd was cheering happily as a muscular sandy-haired young man with a face out of a toothpaste advertisement bounded into the wrestling ring.
“Cleancut rat,” Simon commented.
“That’s not him,” said the girl. “Here he comes.”
The new arrival was accompanied down the aisle by a wave of jeers and boos which swelled to a crest as he climbed stolidly up on to the canvas in his corner. Even before he came from the aisle into the lights and turned so that the TV camera could catch his face Simon more than suspected who he was. Suddenly in close-up on the screen flashed the muttonchop-whiskered beady-eyed countenance of the huge man Simon had seen outside the Golden Crescent.
“We have a mutual acquaintance,” he murmured with a quiet satisfaction.
She looked at him sharply. The announcer was introducing the sandy-haired wrestler, who drew cheers.
“You know him already?” she asked.
“The one with the weedy jowls? Yes. I haven’t had the pleasure of a chat with him, but I saw him this evening for the first time.”
The Saint and Tammy both paused and looked at the screen as the announcer pointed to the giant, silk-robed Pakistani.
“And in this corner, from London, weighing seventeen stone five, Kalki the Conqueror.”
To coincide with his formal presentation to the unadoring public, Kalki the Conqueror stripped off his robe and raised both massive arms and flexed his muscles. The bombardment of the arena with eight tons of excruciatingly aromatic decayed eggs would have produced a more gleeful response in the crowd than did the unveiling of Kalki the Conqueror. Their collective howl rattled the loudspeaker,
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