Fallen Sparrow (22 page)

Elise had relayed that. He said, “No. Not at this time. I’m working alone on this. Because Louie was my friend.”

She said with emotion, “I’m sorry it happened. If I’d known, I couldn’t have prevented it, but I’m sorry. When a world is crazed with war, many sparrows fall.”

He agreed sombrely, “Yes.” He pushed away the cup. “Do you know why Louie was killed?”

“He was investigating for the F.B.I. It was his life or theirs. But they say he fell.”

Kit shook his head. “Louie was killed because of me.” He wasn’t certain if she’d known. “I’m the one they’re after. Because I have the Babylon goblets.”

Her eyes filled with light. “You do have them?”

“Yes.”

“You stole them from—from the one to whom they belonged?”

“No, Toni. That’s lies too. They belonged to the Duke Manuel—Mad Manuel. But he was dead.”

“He gave them to José.”

He smiled slightly. “They lay in the dust of his crypt for long years. The peasants of Andalusia knew they were there but they feared to touch them.” Was José one of those peasant lads who knew the legend? “Don Manuel laid a curse on the one who should disturb his dust. But a German boy wasn’t as afraid of old Spanish curses as of his leader. He stole them. If he’d been able to get through the lines, I would never have seen the goblets. He was caught behind. The curse may have worked; he’d infected his foot and he couldn’t move fast enough. I took the cups from the thief. And later I was caught. But I still have them.”

She said simply, “You are under the curse, too.”

“I don’t believe so.” He felt a flick of sureness; something he hadn’t known for hours, not since he’d made his first move to force them to hasten the climax. “I didn’t disturb the old man’s dust. I was never near his sacred bones. He didn’t curse the cups, only the defiler of his dust”

She asked breathlessly then, “Do they mean much to you? Are they so important? Would it hurt you to give them up?”

“Once they meant little to me, priceless and legendary as they were. They weren’t more than a nice trinket for Geoffrey, my stepfather, a slight repayment for all he’d given me through the years. That and the thwarting of a man whose chin I didn’t like.” His jaw hardened and the white mold of her face grew more white, fluttered to despair. “Through the years that they tried to force me to give them up, they meant life to me. My hold on existence.” His nostrils flared. “Now they mean more to me than life. Now they are the symbol of all the right and justice and beauty that should be the heritage of man on this earth, that would be our heritage if the false god were slain and his prophets ground to dust.”

She whispered, “I’m sorry, Kit.”

“You don’t believe I can win?”

She shook her head. “I know that you cannot win.”

His smile was ugly. “There’s one way you can win when you’re fighting animals. You can be more bestial than they.”

Was there a quiver of hope through her or was it despair?

“My heart doesn’t speak now when I say those words: right and justice and beauty. Once it did. I thought I was a poet once. Then I fell into their hands. I learned from them. Now the words are no more than that—words. My heart holds but one creed now, their creed. There is one god and his name is Power. Strength. Force. There is one abstraction. Might. Might is right.”

Her eyes were lidded.

“The poets don’t sing to me now. Death does. Death to those weaker than I.” He thumped the table with his spoon. He said to the fat Carlo, “A bottle of wine, Signor. We’ll drink to that, Toni Donne.”

She was motionless. Carlo Lepetino moved, returned, moved away. He understood nothing.

Kit poured the two glasses. “You’ll drink with me. Death to the weak! Victory to the vicious!”

She didn’t touch the glass. She was trembling as if the bleak fingers of Death spoke benediction above her head.

He drained his. He mocked, “Shall I take you home now?”

She seemed to draw on fading strength and she refused. “Not just yet.”

He didn’t understand. He said, “You know now I’m one of their kind, on the opposite side.”

She said, “Maybe you are.” She closed her eyes. “I have loved beauty and right and peace. I have loved all little quiet things. These will come again. You are wrong if you shut them from you. They will come to those who wait for them. They will not die as long as some believe in them and wait for them.”

He scorned. “The meek shall inherit the earth?”

“Yes. Still I can believe that. And I know, far more than you could know, the viciousness of these times.”

He said, “The meek will inherit when they destroy the strong. It won’t be their meekness that hands them the earth. It’ll be their bombs that are heavier, their gases more poisonous, their leaders more ruthless.”

Her cloudy hair fell across her cheeks. “I am sorry for you. It hurts you to believe as you do. Nor do you have to hold this belief. You are not forced as I, as many others. You are free.”

He stated, “I’ll be free when I have destroyed one man, the man I spoke of before. The man I call the Wobblefoot. He was sent here to destroy me. You are working for him. The Prince and the Skaases and José all work for him. One of you will be sent to lead me to him. When I meet him, I will kill him. You know who he is.”

She didn’t speak; she didn’t look at him.

“If you wish to warn him, tell him that.”

She murmured, “I will not warn him.”

He finished the wine. He said, “We will go now. I’ve had a hard day. I’m tired. I don’t want to be tired.”

She moved with reluctance.

Duck asked, “The Park, Boss?”

“Not tonight.”

She was small and shadowy in the far corner of the cab.

He asked, “Where does José come into this?”

“He is a musician; he cares only for his career. But he is poor and only beginning. He was educated at the best universities and conservatoires. For his help in certain matters, he is paid well. And he expects a fortune when they obtain the treasure; they have promised to buy it from him. He truly claims the goblets belong to him, as bastard of Mad Manuel.”

They had reached the apartment. She didn’t move. He put his hand on the door and she spoke, spoke hurriedly, “Need this be goodbye, Kit? Can’t we have another meeting?” It came then, slowly. “Why do you not come to dinner with us tomorrow night? A farewell before—your Mil.” Red circled her cheeks. “We will invite Det, and Barby with Otto, José and Content. We will make a party. Music and song—”

A party. The violin. Tsigane. It had come. He helped her out. “If I came—do you suppose it would be possible for me to slip upstairs and take a look at Dr. Skaas’ desk? There might be something there that would lead me to the man I want, to the Wobblefoot.”

He was casual. “Could you arrange it?”

She wasn’t fooled. “You really want that?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was steady. “I will arrange it.”

D
ET WAS SHORT OF
breath. “Kit, you mustn’t go to dinner at Prince Felix’s tonight.”

He yawned. It was too early for realities.

Her face was frozen. “It will be dangerous for you. It will mean your death.”

He opened his eyes wide. “Did Toni send you?”

“No.” She clutched her coat. “But I know it”

He interrupted, “Did she say anything?”

“No.”

“Then I’m going.”

Her eyes turned hard as pavement She said, “I’ve warned you not to hurt Toni.”

“I haven’t hurt her.”

“What happened between you last night?”

He didn’t answer her.

“She won’t tell me but she’s frightened. And she won’t talk about you.” She said wearily, “I’ve tried to help you both.”

He spoke slowly. “These are not the times for the middle of the road, Det. It’s one side or the other.”

Her lips closed. Wordless she walked to the door.

He asked, “Why is Toni so important to you?”

She didn’t turn. She said, “Once I too was controlled by a madman.” She added with impact, “I’ll be there tonight myself to see that she’s safe.”

He rang Tobin when she left. “Will you call off your dogs for twenty-four hours? I can wind it up if you will. But I’m afraid there’ll be a slip otherwise. They’ve too many mice.”

Tobin was afraid of it; Kit was convincing. He didn’t want police witnesses when he killed a man. He didn’t want to pay, not until it was all over.

He said, “I’ll ring you later. Stand by.” He added, “As a favor don’t let Det go to dinner at the Prince’s apartment tonight.”

She was about ready to break now; she wasn’t up to a plunge into the unknown dangers that would develop. He couldn’t trust her in her zeal for Toni; she could be a real hindrance. She knew too much and too little. Tobin could work out a way to restrain her.

A second call. To Barby. Too early to disturb her but stressing of the urgency put her on the wire. He said, “I’m on my way down to see you.” He ignored her protest. “Can you reach Otto and have him meet me there? Something important has come up. I need his help.”

It wouldn’t be difficult for her to arrange; she’d probably moved him in, with the family in Florida. She asked for an hour’s delay; he granted thirty minutes.

He had to go at it convincingly, make lies truth. He had to get rid of Otto Skaas for tonight. He didn’t doubt that Otto had been the strong arm squad, although not necessarily the murderer, when Louie was killed. A man who walked as did the Wobblefoot would need armed assistance. Kit couldn’t risk the gunman in his way tonight. He didn’t need to kill underlings. Better to save Otto, turn him over to the F.B.I. and the police. They could knock a confession out of him easily enough.

Barby received in the dining-room. “I knew you wouldn’t have had breakfast at this hour, so I ordered for all of us.” She was radiant in something that covered but revealed her, something that went with the ivy and the silver wall paneling. Otto was pleasantly smug.

Kit began without preliminaries, “You offered to help me out, Otto. Are you still willing?”

There was but the faintest hesitation but the enthusiasm was well-tempered. “Certainly.”

Barby was excited. “What’s up, Kit?”

“I need you too. I had a call earlier from Washington. A fellow named Southey says he can get hold of proof of who killed Ab and why. He doesn’t have it but he knows the man who does. It’s in copies of certain documents and cables, part in German. That’s where you come in, Otto. I need someone I can trust to translate these, know if they’re not phonies. This fellow Southey spoke of wants money. I’m willing to pay but I don’t want to be rooked. Will you help out?”

The sleek head just moved. “Yes.”

“Barby, I want you to see Dantone this afternoon. You and Otto. Don’t tell him any of this but get him to talk about what Ab was doing.” Sidney wouldn’t give out a thing but it would keep the two busy. “Tell him your doubts as to the correctness of their verdict. You know how to go about it. Get all you can out of him.” He consulted his watch. “If you’ll dress now, you can make the eleven o’clock plane. I’ve a cab waiting. I’ll join you at the Wardman Park this evening. I wired for reservations—two rooms—just ask in my name.”

Without knowing why, Otto was suspicious. “You don’t go with us?”

Kit scowled. “I’ve got to go to Centre Street this morning and answer some more fool questions from that fool Inspector. I’ll fly down as soon as I can get away, join Southey and make an appointment with this fellow for tonight in my rooms at the hotel. I’ll meet you there. If the fellow comes before Southey and I get there, you hang on to him, pump him.”

Barby said, “I’ll dress.” She was delighted.

Otto was still hesitant. This wasn’t in the Wobblefoot’s plan and he rightfully had doubts. He said, “We promised the Prince to have dinner with him tonight.” Kit spoke impatiently. “I promised too. I’ll call Toni and explain for all of us. See if she’ll make it for tomorrow night.”

He had to out-talk Otto’s thought procession. But that made it right. If Kit were not going to show up at the apartment tonight, Otto needn’t be there. A trip with Barby was more interesting. His bold eyes said that.

Kit urged, “Hurry, Barby. I’ll give Otto some more dope while you change.” The fellow mustn’t get to a phone for conference. This must not be vetoed.

He didn’t exhale until he saw the wings of their ship in the sky. The rest of the day was his. To build his defense. To prepare. He stopped at a shooting gallery on Broadway. Neither hand had lost its cunning. The admiring Duck drove him to the apartment. Kit said, “I won’t need you until dinner time. I’m not going out again until then.”

He felt good. He wasn’t nervous. He oiled the Luger, reloaded it. He checked the midget carefully. He’d carry the extra bowstring tonight. He wondered where Content was. Evidently she’d left his rooftree for good. He didn’t care; he preferred aloneness, thought. He had good appetite; he could rest. He wasn’t afraid at all. He could do it, walk into the trap open-eyed, close it on the man who’d set it for him. He’d never killed a man in cold blood. He wondered how it felt. No more than hitting a tin can on a fence post, a painted duck on a treadmill. When the man deserved death, worse than death, it would be that easy.

He’d have a chance to do it; he wouldn’t be murdered as Louie and Ab had been. The trap wouldn’t be for that purpose yet; it would be to take him captive. No one would dare kill him, not until he had been forced to talk. But this time the Wobblefoot wouldn’t give up. He would make Kit talk. He knew he’d broken him in Spain; a convalescence wouldn’t mean complete recovery so quickly. Kit would break more easily a second time. He wiped the dampness out of his hands. The Wobblefoot wouldn’t be allowed this second chance. Kit would shoot to kill.

He was curious as to how their plan was to be accomplished. He wasn’t nervous about it, merely curious. He stopped pacing, sat down in a chair, avoided the drink at hand. Toni would give him the nod. The pattern of Louie’s death repeated. All the hirelings vouched for while the victim invaded a supposedly empty room. One deviation: he wouldn’t be killed quickly. He wiped his hands on his trousers. He wouldn’t be killed at all; he would kill. Would the Wobblefoot be waiting in that room? Or would it all fall through with the gunsel out of town. Was that the reason why he’d sent Otto away, because within him he wanted it to fall through? No. He would do nothing to necessitate the agony of waiting again. He wasn’t afraid.