asked.
He jumped to his feet. “So! You have the diary and have been offered more!”
“Relax, I know from nothing about any diary, or girl. You said before Sowor had once given $50,000 for it, so I made a wisecrack. That's all.”
Jock made with the mock bow again. “If I ask you to believe me, of course I must also return such trust in you. Frankly we are not as rich as the others. Ten thousand dollars is all we can gamble. Remember, the diary may be only hot air.”
I pocketed his card. “I'm not selling anything. I mean, I haven't anything to sell. But as you said, if should luck up on this gal you think is Rose, I'll give her your card,” I said, sure of one thing: Jock and Colette were do- gooders out to save the world... and I was too. I wanted to save the little island world Rose and I had. The only way to do that was to mind our own business, and keep the boat and Ansel's island our secret. “But as the horse players say, this is all very 'iffy.'”
Jock shrugged. “We ask no more than that you try.”
There was a moment of silence all around. I picked up the bag of food and headed for the door. “Thanks for everything, Colette. You'll have the money back in a few days.” I waved at Jock.
He said, “I have a car outside. Can I drop you anywhere?”
“No thanks.” I opened the door.
He said softly, “Please do not forget me, Monsieur Mouse. As for Rose, at least tell her to come and talk to me. What sort of a person is this Mary, who I am sure is Rose?”
Walking down the stairs I called back, “She's just a girl who doesn't want to be a pain in the neck to anybody.”
IX
There was a black Caddy waiting outside with a conservatively-dressed but hard-looking joker behind the wheel. The license plate said something about diplomatic corps. The driver gave me a casual glance. A bodyguard looks the same the world over. For a fast moment I wondered if it would be an idea to let him drive me to downtown Manhattan. At least I'd get there without being hurt, maybe.
I walked along the dimly lighted streets for a few blocks, then cut over to the avenue. No one seemed to be following me. To confuse somebody, perhaps myself, I rode a bus past the subway station, then got off and stood in the doorway of a locked store for several minutes, watching the street. There were very few people or cars out. When a police radio car cruised by I decided it might be best if I left the neighborhood; all I'd need now would be to run into the super I'd slugged.
The subway platform was empty. I rode in the first car and went through the routine of looking-jumping-out-the-door at every other stop. Now that I knew the score,
I spun around to see the motorman leaning out of his window and grinning at me. Maybe it was all my imagination but he looked a lot like the basketball player who'd thrown a gun in my side and walked me to the demolished buildings. At the next stop I got off and waited for another train. I left this at 34th Street for a “tube” running under the Hudson River to Newark, according to a sign. The damp and dreary station gave me a weird feeling as if I was in a vast tomb where anything could happen, like me being shot. I was the only person on the platform so I left there fast and crossed the street to the big railway station, where I was told most trains stopped at Newark as they headed West.
It was a good deal: with all the trains it would be hard to tell where I was going. Also there were upper and lower levels, making it easier to duck anybody. A redcap said I could pay for my ticket on the train due to pull out in eight minutes. I walked to the lower level where I found a kind of deserted tile alcove not far from stairs running down to the train track. In about five minutes I'd be on my way.
Leaning against the wall, I kept glancing around carefully, certain I must look like a guy making the late shift. A man passed carrying a big bundle of morning papers on his shoulders... tossed the bundle at me. About a hundred pounds hit my chest and by the time I recovered my balance I was looking into the grim, lardy-face of the clown who ran when I drop-kicked his partner. He held a thin billy in his right hand, “Don't make me lump you, wise guy,” he said. “No rough and tumble act.”
I figured his partner had to be scouting another part of the station for me, and would be along any minute. “Don't you jerks get tired of all this stuff?”
“Don't act up,” he said, waving the blackjack.
“I don't want you combing my hair with that.” I heard steps coming toward us. I glanced in their direction but didn't see anybody. “Beside, I haven't a chance. Here comes your partner.”
My left and his eyes moved at the same time. I felt the numbness spread along my knuckles as I hooked his big jaw. He sat down hard, fell backwards in slow motion. Yanking the billy out of his hand, I saw a pair of blue pants walking faster toward us. Bending down, as if feeling the dick's head, my other hand raced through his pockets until I found the little leather holder with his badge. The cop was coming on the run now.
I stood up, pushing the billy into the sleeve of Hal's auto coat. “Sure glad to see you, officer. Private investigator.” I flashed the badge, gave it to him. “Working for Transworld-wide Oil. You've heard of 'em, biggest oil outfit in the world.”
“Transworld-wide Oil? Yeah,” he said, handing the badge back. “Trouble with this guy?” The cop pointed at the dick with his toe.
“Not exactly. I been tailing him for weeks. Head of the Washington office wants to have a talk with him. Big-deal stuff about oil maps. I don't know what it's all about except he's a little nuts and... Look,
“Okay. Is he hurt?”
“Naw, I had to clout him to make him stand still. I'll be right back. If he starts raving, tell him to shut up.” I ran out of the alcove and up to another level, then down a stairway, and hopped the train a few seconds before it pulled out. I felt very pleased. Transworld-wide was a name I'd made up and I fully realized what Jock had meant by the “unofficial” law. I paid for a ticket and stepped off at Newark minutes later. At the bus terminal I had a half hour wait for the last bus to Red Bank. I found the address of the detective agency in the phone book and wrote it down on the back of Jock's card, then spent the rest of the time hiding in the men's room. Boarding the bus I was reasonably certain I wasn't being followed.
It was after midnight when I stepped off at Red Bank. I still had over ten dollars and I took a taxi to the first open bar I saw in Long Branch, had a beer, and started walking the remaining four or five miles to Asbury. Except for passing cars I didn't see a soul. It was a clear night with enough wind, and the smell of salt and the sight of the ocean made me feel fine. Yet, all the time I had a feeling it was too easy, that
The Sea Princess looked beautiful as could be. I ran aboard, crouched in the cockpit and listened for any following footsteps. Rose stuck her head out of the cabin hatch, her face becoming a large smile of relief. As she came forward to hug me, I pushed her away, told her, “Get out the carbine and hurry it up!”
She dived into the cabin. There wasn't a sound on the dock, not even a light in the boat house. Rose came back and handed me the gun. “Mickey, are you...?”
“Are we squared away with the yardman?”
“Yes. Oh, honey, is...?”
“I'm going to start the motors. Hop up oh the dock, ready to throw off the lines.”
“Mickey, you don't know how happy I am to see you. I...”
“Later. Stand by the ropes,” I barked, raising the motor hatch.
The engines worked on the first try. Rose loosened the lines and leaped aboard. Seconds later we were following the channel buoys out past the breakwater, the Sea Princess starting to dance to the rhythm of the waves.
“Hon, are you okay? Were you hurt?” Rose asked, a dream even bundled in a suit of oilskins. “What happened all this....?”
“Take the wheel while I raise the sails. Keep her headed as she is.” I had the bow aimed straight toward Europe.
When the Sea Princess was racing along under full sail I cut the engines and sat at the wheel, watching the starlit sky for a plane, or twisting to look aft for boat lights. There was a large tug off our port but she wasn't making for us. Rose started to ask again what had happened and I told her to keep still. I was still too scared to kiss her, still afraid that something else would happen. She cried, “My God, you think I've had a cinch waiting on the boat? Going crazy with fear...?”
“Later, honey,” I said, listening to the sound of the wind in the rigging, the regular gurgle and slap of the waves; straining my ears for the throb of a speedboat.
Calling me a name Rose went below. I screamed at her not to turn on the cabin lights. I sat by the
