“So two birds got killed with one stone,” I said.
“Right. The Red organization piled up loot and the moral breakdown was speeded up here with the influx of H.”
I got up to leave.
“Fallon... How far is this going? Are we covered?”
“Nothing will involve you.”
“Good. Let me know if you need a couple of hands. I know some boys who will be glad to do a favor for Slim, too.”
I called Lois Hays from the lobby of the Jackson Hotel and was invited right up. When I knocked, she opened the door and stood there smiling at some secret joke, waiting while I took my time to look at her.
The sheer black negligee was all she had on, carefully arranged so that the neckline plunged in a wide open V that laid bare half her breasts before it swept into a knotted belt.
“Like?” she asked.
“Neat, but not gaudy,” I said.
She chuckled and led me into the room, quite conscious of the fact that the sun streaming through the window in the far wall did more than just silhouette her figure. It illuminated it with cleverly distorted shadows that were uncomfortable to watch. Sitting down was another contrived production designed to jolt the stability of any situation. Almost carelessly, she crossed her legs and let the flesh of her thighs sparkle through the slit in the gown.
I showed my appreciation and looked — like I was supposed to. The only trouble was that there was nothing new about it. But women never seem to take that into consideration.
“You said you’d bring a bottle.”
“And you said why waste time.”
“So?”
“You were right. There’s more to do.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Bananas. You asked me about them. So has everybody else.”
I slid into a chair beside the phone and glanced at my watch. “You brought the bit up, so you must know something about it. You’re in the news business. You’re covering something to do with the Cuban situation. Whatever the bananas are, they’re not quite a secret and since I’m involved I’d like to be let in a little bit more before I stick my neck out.”
“And how far will that be, Mr. Fallon?”
I watched her a few moments, then I said, “All the way, kid. Somehow it revolves around me. I don’t know how, but I intend to find out. I got the strange idea that without me the whole thing can’t work.”
“Possibly,” she told me.
“Or something else.”
She paused in the act of reaching for a cigarette. “And what might that be?”
“Maybe it’s just necessary to be sure I don’t know anything — because if I did I might want to follow through on what Tuck started.”
“What do you intend doing?”
“I’m going to satisfy my curiosity, sugar.”
“That’s what killed the cat.”
“Not this cat. Can I use the phone?” She waved her hand to go ahead. “Long distance?” I asked.
“It’ll go on expenses.” She snubbed the cigarette out and unfolded from the chair. “I’ll get dressed.”
The long-distance operator made a good missing persons tracer. She started with an obsolete number, but finally ran down Joe Conway operating a propeller rebuilding shop in south Jersey. He was another guy from the old 252nd Fighter Squadron whom I had seen on rare occasions since the war. He had put in a lot of pub time in London with us. Like Tuck, Joe had known practically everybody on the base.
For ten minutes, he rehashed the old days in a bubble of enthusiasm before he realized there was something I wanted. He had read of Tuck’s death and didn’t seem surprised at me inheriting his estate. All I told him was that Tuck mentioned two other guys and wanted me to look them up — Verdo and Christy.
After a moment’s silence, Joe said, “Jeez, pal, those names are familiar, but I’ll be damned if I remember who they are. You sure they were with our outfit?”
“They must have been. Think they were late replacements?”
“Could be, but I knew most of those, too. This real important?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell you what. I see Whitey Thompson once in a while, and he has an album full of pictures of the old bunch. Suppose I go over what he has and see what I can do.”
“I’d appreciate it, Joe.”
“I’ll get right on it. Keep your head out of the cockpit.”
“You know me.”
When I hung up, I dialed George Clinton to see if he had found anything out. “Cat Fallon, George. Find your man?”
There was a small hesitation, then, “Yeah, I got him.”
“Well?”
“Your buddy Tucker Stacy was working against the Castro bunch, all right. He was making arms drops, but from what I gather it was more of a cover for something else. He was closer to the political situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was hauling important people in and out of Cuba, working on the big end. Now listen, these people of mine have funny sources of information. It’s damn reliable, and in their kind of work they have to be sure of the score. At the same time, they don’t want to get involved. They come up with more stuff than the CIA. You know what happens if any of this leaks through you? Even Slim Upgate won’t try to help you.”
“I’m clued in, buddy.”
“Okay then. Ever since the Bay of Pigs, something big has been in the works down in Cuba. Nobody seems to know what it really is, but it’s mighty explosive. Our own agencies have been working on it and running up against a wall. Whenever someone gets inside the Castro outfit and learns something, they never show up again, so their counterespionage must be pretty good. Whatever’s going on, Stacy was wise to it. He got so hot none of the boys would do business with him. They’ll peddle guns, ammo, equipment — but nix on politics. They can be hit from both ends if they try.”
“How about Andre Marcel?”
“A Castro boy. He doesn’t give a damn about arms shipments because the Reds can out-supply anything the black market can send over from the U.S. He’s strictly political. A rough guy. I’ll tell you something else, too. Nobody seems to think Stacy died accidentally. He had some live cargo with him when he went down, somebody from the hills with proof of what was going on down there.”
I said, “That’s all?”
“That’s all anybody will talk about. What comes next?”
“A trip to Miami. I want to find out a little more about that accident. And give me a contact there.”
“Try Felix Ramsey at the Cable-Hurley Supplies Company. It’s listed in the book. Felix runs the operation from behind the scenes. He’ll go along with whatever you want as long as it’s in line with policy.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Good luck. You want my boys?”
“I’ll handle it.”
When he hung up, I called Upgate in New York and passed on the word. Slim seemed pleased and wished me luck, too, without asking what I was doing. I cradled the phone and sat there thinking the thing through. But it still boiled down to just one thing... who were Cristy and Verdo?
“Do I look all right?” she said from the doorway.
Lois Hayes was sheathed in black, the sheen of a soft fabric clinging to the curves of her body. A wide belt nipped her in at the waist, giving the thrust of her breasts the look of aggressive jetpods on a Boeing 707. I had to laugh.
She frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. What’s the outfit for?”
“I thought you’d take me with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re looking for something. So am I. It may be the same thing.”
“What’ll you do with it when you find it, kid?”
She took a few long-legged strides into the room so I could get the full effect. “I want to write about it. That’s my job.”