‘I knew there was a catch to this. Sorry, we’re not a messenger service.’
‘No romance in your soul, hunh?’
‘Only if the roses are going to me, dahling.’
‘You’ve been a great help. Sometime when I’m in Pompano Beach I’ll call. Maybe we can have lunch.’
‘If you’re sending twelve dozen roses to anybody, we can skip the lunch thing and start right off with dinner.’
‘Bye, Carole.’
‘Bye, Mr—uh...’
‘O’Hara.’
‘Gotcha.’
The King Steamship Line had a special operator to take messages for its passengers. O’Hara got him and said, ‘This goes to Mr J.M. Teach. He’s boarding the Gulf Star in Port Cortez, Honduras.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘J.M. ... colon ... Have additional information on the Master plan. Period. Do not leave ship in Montego Bay until I contact you. Period.’ Sign it ... “Quill.”
O’Hara half slept on the Lear as it streaked southward out over the ocean but was wide awake when they landed in St Lucifer. He was beginning to feel a little like a yo..yo. Japan to Boston to St Lucifer to Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas to Fort Lauderdale, all in three days, and now, at one-thirty in the morning, he was back in St Lucy. A cab was waiting for him at the airport, which was closed for the night. Even customs was locked up. But what would anyone smuggle into St Lucy, anyway, day or night?
He heard the Mag, playing a furious version of ‘C-Jam Blues’ as he climbed the stairs to the main floor. The big room was almost empty. A young couple nuzzled each other at a table, and there were a few hangers-on at the bar. Jolicoeur was one of them and he excused himself as soon as he saw O’Hara. The Mag was oblivious, his six fingers rambling across the keyboard.
‘Bon soir, mon ami, good to see you! We lave interesting news.’
When the Magician saw him, he finished the tune he was playing, closed the piano and put a stand-up sign on its top that said: ‘Closed. Don’t mess with the piano. Violators will be shot at sunrise.’ He ambled across the room, a cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth. ‘That was quick,’ he said, giving the weary reporter a bear hug.
O’Hara looked at him through bleary eyes. ‘Lead me to my digs, I don’t think I can stand up much longer.’
As they walked down the hail, Rothschild told him they had run all the names through the computer and had print-outs on three of them — Lavander, Falmouth and Daniov. There was nothing on Hinge so far, and checking out Chameleon had turned up dozens of references to zoological and biological booklets, articles from nature-study magazines, even several encyclopaedias.
‘What’re you so interested in chameleons for?’
Told Joli, it’s a cover. Try the CIA, military or naval intelligence, like that. Also you might run Cohn Bradley, CIA, through that infernal machine of yours. Chameleon supposedly burned Bradley last Christmas.’
‘What is going on?’ the Mag asked.
‘Later...’
O’Hara entered the room, conveniently located across from the Mag’s suite, dropped his suitcase and said, ‘Wake me around noon.’
‘We been getting these reports together ever since you called,’ the Magician said. ‘Aren’t you even gonna read them?’
‘Can’t,’ he mumbled. ‘Too much jet lag. Fishing. Sun. I’m a wreck,’ and peeling his clothes off, he collapsed in bed.
‘Call me for lunch,’ he said and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
The knocking on his door was insistent.
‘Go away,’ he groaned.
The knocking continued.
‘Do not disturb. Go away.’
More knocking.
‘A demain! A bientot! Au revoir! he yelled.
It did not help. The knocking became more intense. ‘Shit!’
That didn’t help either.
He stumbled out of bed and opened the door a crack, peering around the edge.
He stared at Lizzie Gunn for several moments, squinting his eyes. ‘Oh my God,’ he said.
She held a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. ‘Coffee?’ she said brightly.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said finally.
‘Found you again,’ she said. Her smile was so bright it hurt his eyes.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Eight A.M.’
‘Eight AM.!’
‘Right. Eight AM.’
‘Unbelievable.’
‘Don’t you want your coffee?’
‘Not unless you want to see a grown man throw up.’
‘May I come in?’
‘Is there any way to stop you?’
‘Nope.
‘Let me get back in bed. I’m naked.’
‘I don’t mind, I had three brothers.’
‘Well, I’m not one of them.’ He staggered back to bed and pulled the sheet over his head.
‘Not very hospitable,’ she said.
‘I may die of terminal jet lag. Or lack of sleep. They’re both waiting for me ... in long black robes, just outside the door, there.’ He spoke from under the sheet.
She sat down in a chair and poised the coffee on her knee. He looked back at her from under the sheet. ‘You’re not going to go away, are you?’
‘Uh uh.’
‘Were you obnoxious as a child?’
She shook her head, still smiling.
‘Had to wait until you grew up, hunh.’ He retreated back under the sheet.
‘Mr Jolicoeur said you’d be this way.’
‘How the hell d’you know Jolicoeur?’
‘He was in the lobby, if that’s what they call it, when I got in.’ She took a sip of the coffee. ‘He kissed my hand.’
‘He kisses everybody’s hand. It’s one of the things he does, he kisses hands.’
‘Well, nobody’s ever kissed my hand before.’
‘Why don’t you go back down to the lobby. I’m sure he’ll be glad to kiss your hand all day long.’
She continued to sip her coffee. He sat up suddenly. ‘How the hell did you find me? How the hell did you get here this fast?’
‘The pilot had to file a flight plan in Boston and another one in Fort Lauderdale.’
‘That’s all it took, hunh?’
‘Well... I used to date him too.’
‘The pilot?’
‘Uh huh.’
O’Hara shook his head. ‘I should of stayed in Japan,’ he said, half aloud. He stared at her through lumpy eyes. ‘Does Howe know you’re down here?’
She nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘You’re the surprise Howe was talking about.
‘Howe told you I was coming?’
‘Not in so many words. He sent you to follow me, right?’
‘Well, not exactly...’
‘Well, exactly what did he do?’
‘He finally agreed that a little competition never hurt anybody.’
‘That makes a lot of sense, Gunn, assigning one of his reporters to scoop another one.’
‘I thought we could work together. After all, you’re print, and I’m video. There’s no real competition. This way Howe gets it both ways. He really gets his money’s worth.’
‘Always thinking, aren’t you?’
‘I try,’
‘How much do you know so far?’
‘Well, he let me read that letter from — uh...’
‘Falmouth.’
‘Right. I might as well have been reading ancient Greek.’
‘See what I mean.’
‘I can learn.’
‘This is not a game for neophytes. These—’
‘Neophyte, my ass! I’ve been a reporter—’
‘I’m not talking about reporting. I’m talking about the Game, about dealing with some of the most dangerous people in the wor—’
‘And I’m a woman, right?’
‘Will you let me finish? It hasn’t got anything to do with sex. I know these characters, know how they operate. I’ve worked with or against — most of them. You don’t know the territory. You make one slip, they’ll drop you like they swat a fly.’
‘Don’t worry about me, O’Hara, I’ve dealt with the Mafia,’
‘Compared with the bunch I’m talking about, kid stuff.’
‘Kid stuff indeed!’
‘Kid stuff nevertheless. You’re good, I’ll give you that, but—’