Hawk to meet her uptown in the Picadilly Bar at One-twenty-five West Fifty-seventh,' Erikson rapped at me when I got to the phone booth. 'Get up there and make sure it's the right guy. Hustle, will you?'
I hustled.
I'd have hustled anywhere to bring an end to what was rapidly becoming one of the least rewarding experiences of my life. I don't have the patience to sit in bars and watch the faces in the booths and the faces coming through the front entrance.
A cab deposited me within a few feet of a marquee with the single word PICADILLY on it. It was an English- style pub with a fake coat-of-arms plaque inside the door. The clientele had some of the chi-chi look that went with the art galleries in the neighborhood. Velvet jackets and wide-flowing ties predominated at the half-filled bar.
I couldn't see the Turkish girl as I took a booth. I ordered a drink I didn't want, and wondered if I'd just exchanged one shellac emporium for another. I wondered if the girl would show. If she somehow knew her phone had been tapped, she could have pitched Erikson a curve.
Then she breezed through the Picadilly front entrance, giving the appearance of a high-fashion model, in a smart lightweight suit. I lowered my eyes to my glass as she settled herself across the width of the room from me. She had placed herself where she could also watch the entrance.
She removed her gloves and placed them in her handbag, fitted a dark-brown cigarette into a jeweled holder, and smiled at the waiter when he lighted the cigarette for her. The waiter came back from the bar with another of the tiny golden liqueurs I had seen previously. Talia Rhazmet sipped at it with an expression of leisured elegance on her beautiful face. She couldn't have appeared more at ease in an embassy drawing room.
Hawk entered the tavern. His powerful looking body filled the entrance for a second as he scanned the room, looking everywhere except at the girl. Then he went to the end of the bar and ordered a drink. If he gave the girl a signal, I didn't see it, but she picked up her handbag and took out her gloves. I saw a quick flash of white as she also placed what appeared to be an unmarked envelope on the seat beside her with her body shielding it from the room. While not nearly as bulky as the package that had changed hands at the Alhambra, this envelope was thick enough to indicate that it contained more than a check. Or a message.
The girl rose to her feet, and Hawk left the bar and started toward her booth as she moved toward the entrance. They had just passed each other with no sign of recognition when a foreign-looking man rose from another booth and walked rapidly to the one the girl had vacated.
At the sight, Hawk accelerated to a run. He landed hard on the back of the foreign-looking man who was leaning into the booth. A knife gleamed in Hawk's hand. One of the wide-tied, velvet-jacketed fags at the bar exclaimed shrilly.
I was on my feet and moving fast when there was another interruption. I didn't see where he came from, but a second man moved in behind Hawk. He had a knife, too. In a single motion he grabbed a handful of Hawk's plentiful black hair, jerked his head back, and slit his exposed throat. The fag at the bar screamed in a falsetto as the man pushed Hawk away from him. The once-powerful body fell to the floor where it twitched and quivered, dark red blood gouting over the imitation parquet.
When she saw the commotion, the Rhazmet girl had run back toward the booth. She and I arrived there at the same time. The first man was again trying to pick up the envelope, and I pushed him off balance. The bartender materialized suddenly with a bungstarter in his hand. ' 'Ere!' he exclaimed, menacing everyone with it. 'What the bloody 'ell's goin' on!'
Talia Rhazmet leaned across the booth table and tried to recover the envelope. The man with the knife slashed at her and she clutched at her arm. A chorus from the bar echoed her muted scream as she bent double, holding the arm against her body. The man with the knife set himself, and I realized he meant to kill the girl. With Hawk dead, as he surely was from the gaping wound in his throat, the girl was my only link to Hazel's money.
I reached for the man with the knife with one hand while I drew my.38 with my right. I slapped it against the side of his head, and his knees hit the floor with his body still upright. I looked for the first man, but the bartender had him backed into a corner with the menacing bungstarter.
For a second no one was watching me. I reached down into the booth and snatched up the envelope, stuffing it under an armpit inside my jacket. Then I turned to the girl. I straightened her up from her semi-crouching position and examined the blood oozing through a slash in the sleeve of her suit. Her pain-glazed eyes took in the.38 still in my hand. 'P-please!' she said in a half whisper. 'Get me-out of here!'
It coincided with my own thinking. The man with the knife was on his knees, still dazed. The first man was not. He bounded straight up into the air and nailed the bartender in the throat with a beautiful savage kick. The bartender slid on his back with the bungstarter still in his hand, knocking over chairs.
The first man jerked his companion to his feet and half carried him toward the door. I showed the barflies the.38, and no one moved as I led Talia in the same direction. I holstered the.38 before reaching the sidewalk. I ran out onto the street, stopped a cab, returned to the girl, and loaded her into it. I couldn't see anything of the two foreign-looking types.
The girl's lips were bluish white, and I was afraid she was going to faint. I whipped out a handkerchief and knotted it tightly around the crimson crease in her sleeve jacket. The cabbie had noticed something, too. 'Where to, Mac?' he asked, turning to look at us.
'Bellevue emergency,' I said. 'There's been an accident.'
'No-hospital,' the girl murmured in a choked voice. 'No hospital. My-place.'
'Where's your place?'
She had to repeat it twice before I understood her. 'Two-twenty East Sixty-third, cabbie,' I ordered. If I could handle it myself, it would be better. Once inside a hospital emergency room, I might lose contact with the girl.
She spoke only once during the ride. 'Are you-from Iskir?' she asked faintly.
'I don't know an Iskir,' I answered truthfully.
We rode in silence then until the taxi pulled up in front of 220 East Sixty-third Street. I could see what Erikson meant about the girl spending more than her wages. The building was a high-rise apartment that looked like ready money. I gave the cabbie five dollars and helped Talia out of the taxi. She had taken a head scarf from her bag and placed it over the sleeve of her suit, concealing the handkerchief I had bound around her arm.
The foyer was small but richly decorated. A splashy mural of abstract design covered one entire wall. We boarded the elevator and Talia pressed the 'seven' button. I could see that she had regained a good deal of her composure, but her face was very pale.
The seventh floor corridor was well lighted. Talia stopped before a door marked 7-D. She unlocked the door and went inside, discarding her shoes on a rubber mat. When she turned on a light, I saw that the Japanese custom had a practical application since the carpeting was thick, white pile.
The room we were in was decorated in bright reds, oranges, and black. At the other end of the room a pair of tall french doors that served as windows gave access to a narrow balcony beyond. The decor was Oriental with the furniture being made of natural bamboo. End tables glistened with black lacquer and were topped with lamps with pagoda-shaped bases and coolie-hat shades. On one table was a telephone and a large, smiling, carved ivory Buddha alongside a polished brass elephant with a clock face buried in its side. A black-framed parchment screen half concealed a kitchenette alcove. Another door evidently led to the bedroom.
It was too garish for my taste. The room was too small to stand the vivid colors. There was a burnt incense odor in the air. Talia sank down upon a brightly colored cushion in a bamboo chair. 'Take your shoes off, please,' she said to me. She was within arm's reach of the telephone, so despite her acceptance of my help, I was far from being totally in her confidence.
'What's your name?' I asked her as I took off my shoes. I had to get her to tell me before I made the mistake of using it. I wasn't supposed to know her name.
'Talia,' she said. 'Thank you for bringing me here.' Her tone was almost formal. I could hear the same slightly foreign accent I'd heard on the voice printer in Erikson's office. She cocked her head to one side until the wings of her dark hair framed her beautiful features so perfectly I knew the pose was calculated. 'Now,' she said. 'Who are you?'
'Earl Drake.'
She shook her head impatiently. 'No. Who
'Sometimes I need it. Lucky for you I had it. That guy was going to carve you good.'
She passed it by to ask the question I'd been expecting. 'What happened to the envelope?'
'Envelope?'
