“Will do, Tiger. They’re easy to speak to.”
“If necessary, let Martin Grady do the talking. He’s got the power to push it through if he has to.”
“I think I can reach them,” he told me. “By the way, we had a signal from London ten minutes ago on Niger Hoppes. He goes for one brand of inhaler called Bezex. It’s made in West Germany and imported here. Sells for one ninety-eight and isn’t an item generally stocked. One national drug chain handles it in limited quantities, but the main sale is to independent stores in areas where sinus trouble is prevalent. Martin staked out people wherever he could to watch sales, working from the manufacturer’s sales guide he got, but you’re not on the chart. The nearest place to you that handles Bezex is Miami. I’ve sent you a carton of twelve to plant somewhere if you want to try to lay a trap for your boy. I would have sent the other twelve, but I needed two containers to work out a gimmick.”
“Ernie, look...”
“You’ll get two in a separate box,” he told me. “Don’t try using them. They look alike and they’re packaged alike, but unscrew the cap and sniff once and all you’ll get is a nose full of cyanide gas. Life expectancy after that is about two seconds. Beware the innocent bystander. I’ll get the photo off right now.”
“Hurry it up.”
“Right. Watch yourself.”
I hung the phone up, frowning. Henri Frank. It was a name I had seen before. I ran it through my mind several times before I placed it. Henri Frank had been one of those listed in the Unsatisfactory Reports Doug Hamilton had submitted to Washington. At some time he had applied for a job at Belt-Aire Electronics and Hamilton’s check had found him to be a security risk.
I grabbed the phone, dialed the apartment in New York over Shigley’s to try to reach Rondine, listened to it ring a dozen times before I hung up, got a new connection and called Newark Control.
Virgil took my identification and said, “Clear, Tiger.”
“Try to make contact with Rondine at the apartment. Tell her to forget the others and concentrate on Henri Frank. She has Hamilton’s UR’s and will know what to do. If she comes up with anything, have her contact me at this number. If she can’t reach me, tell her to stay put at the apartment until I get a call through.”
“Got it.”
“Ernie’s got photos of Frank he’s sending down. Have him make copies and spread them around the city. He was pushing narcotics down here, but that was an assignment, not a trade. Check him out with those who might tie him into a Commie setup.”
“What do we do with him?”
“Nothing. He’s dead. I want to know his associates. He’s part of the machine working against us, but so far he’s the only one who can give us a direct contact if we can locate it. His prints were on file in Washington, only not through a police record, so there’s no angle there or Ernie would have notified me. This guy’s managed to stay clean in that department.”
“Okay, Tiger, check back tomorrow. Time enough?”
“No. I’m going to try a couple other ways too.”
“Keep us informed.”
“Roger.”
I held the phone down to break the connection, lifted it and gave the operator the number of Belt-Aire Electronics. The girl at the switchboard answered, took my name and put me through to Camille Hunt’s secretary, and after a few seconds Camille said, “Well, hello, fly.”
“Hi, kid.”
“You’ve kept me waiting.”
“Not you, baby. You don’t wait for anybody.”
Her laugh was a low, pleasant thing. “For some unaccountable reason I’ve been waiting for you. It’s an admission I don’t like to make.”
“Flies make a lousy meal,” I said.
“Ah, but you said you were the mud dauber type. They’re tastier.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She laughed again. “Now... are we on business or pleasure?”
“Business.”
“Damn.”
I grinned at her through the phone. “Favor, honey. Take a quick check through your records and see what you have on Henri Frank. He made an application there and Hamilton’s check rejected him.”
“Frank, Frank,” she mused. “Wait a second. I don’t think I have to.” I heard a drawer open and shut, pages being ruffled, then she said, “Remember I told you I took notes on certain people?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, he was one. I have it here... wait a second.” She paused and I could hear her whispering to herself, trying to decipher what she had written. Then: “Strange little man. My impression was negative. He applied for common labor and gave half a dozen former places he had worked in the Florida area.”
“What are they?”
“I... don’t know offhand. I seem to remember something he said... oh, damn... I didn’t write it down. These were personality notes. Lack of sincerity, hesitancy in offering information, no apparent ambition.”
“How about the files?”
“If he were a UR only Washington would have them.”
“Then think about what he told you.”
“Tiger... that was some time ago. Perhaps I can recall, but...”
“All right, do this then... hop a plane down here. I’m at Eau Gallie, Florida, right next to the Cape Kennedy project. I’ll check the schedules myself and meet the flight you’ll be on. Don’t bother packing... just get on the first one out. Think about it on the way down and we’ll pick it up when you get here. And forget the job... this is a Martin Grady authorization.” I laughed and added, “Besides, you can use a vacation.”
“Sure, without clothes?”
“What better kind?” I said.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she told me, a lilt in her voice, “but you’re making it sound awfully interesting. I’ll see you shortly, mud dauber.”
Captain Hardecker was rolled back in his desk chair when I opened the door. His feet were propped on the window sill, the stub of a cigar clamped in his teeth while he looked at the telephoto in his hands. The look he gave me was hard, but not too unfriendly. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.
“Henri Frank?”
“A missing person. Do I get an explanation?”
I took the picture he held out to me, a front and profile view of a guy who would always be missing. “You got it,” I said. “He’s disappeared.”
“Can I make a guess?”
“Go ahead.”
“Like blown to bits?”
I shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
“How distinct?”
“Very.”
“I’m glad you admitted it.”
“Why?”
“Because some kid at the motel found a gun that had been blown fifty yards away and his old man turned it in to us. We checked the ballistics and the slugs matched those used out at Boster’s place.”
“It figures,” I said.
“Then why the picture?” he asked.
“To find out what’s known about him. I want some b.g. on the guy.”
“Nobody here knew him.”
“I didn’t think they would.”
“Since it came in on the printer as an m.p. I took the liberty of running off a few copies. Two of my men are asking around. Know where they might hit pay dirt?”
“Not the faintest.”
“And if we hit it anyway...?”
“Any cooperation would be appreciated.”
“You scare me,” he said bluntly. “You and that goddamn attitude, that look in your eyes. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. I’ve been in this business a long time and I can classify types automatically. Like in the movies, there are good guys and bad guys and if I had to put you anywhere it would be the bad guy department, only bad guys don’t have your connections and that’s what scares me. This whole damn situation is unreal, and that’s what makes it too real for me. This town is a hotspot to start with and someplace the Soviets have an ICBM lined up to pop right down our throats like they have all their other primary targets. I don’t enjoy sitting on my thumbs having nothing to do while something is ready to claw me up.” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it into the metal wastebasket where it hit with a wet plop. “How bad is it?”