The Killing Man

What I didn't tell him was that I knew she'd been sitting there waiting for me to call ever since she put on that show with her titties.

The Irishman who ran the Pub gave me a big hello, reserved a table for me in back and set up a Miller Lite on the bar while I waited. I was early because I knew she'd be early. Anyone who wanted the presidency had to be early.

She smiled coming in the door and I said, 'Good evening, Miss Amory.'

'Hello, Mr. Hammer. Am I in time?'

'Right on the button. Want a drink at the bar or shall we go back to the table?'

'Oh, let's go to the table. It's been a long day. I'd rather sit down.'

I waved toward the rear and let her follow the waiter. The Pub had good Irish class, great corned beef and typical New York customers. It wasn't upper crust and the elite choose other places to see or be seen, and from her surreptitious motions I knew Candace Amory was putting it in a niche of its own, adding another check mark on my character sheet.

When we sat down I said, 'It's a good address.'

Puzzled, she looked at me, a cigarette halfway to her lips. 'What?'

'Nothing.' I pointed to the butt between her fingers. 'Why do you smoke?'

'Habit I suppose.' Again she seemed puzzled.

'A mouth like yours doesn't need a cigarette in it.'

Her tongue flicked out and wet her lips. 'Oh? What does it need, Mr. Hammer?'

I gave her a little smile and her face got red. I got her off the hook nice and easy. 'How about a hot corned beef sandwich?'

For a minute there some of the frost had melted on the Ice Lady, but the confusion only lasted a few moments. At least the first points were mine. She put the cigarette down.

A lot of things can get said across a dinner table. The mere fact of eating gives you time to think, to plan, to probe. We each had our own reasons for being there and all the weapons were out in the open.

The lady was coolly conscious of the way her dress accentuated the curve of her bosom, showing you just so much, yet letting you know there was so much more to be seen. When she'd walked to the table, shrugging the coat off her shoulders, she knew that eyes were watching her, drinking up her catlike grace, taking in sharp breaths at the sensuous rhythm of her walk. Now I had all her weaponry concentrated on me and I was glad I had enough years on me to tell me not to get blindsided like an amateur.

'Tell me, Mr. Hammer . . .'

'Mike.'

'Then you may call me Candace.'

'Never Candy?'

'No, never. And I am Candace only socially.'

'Wouldn't be proper at a board meeting?'

She smiled. 'Nor in a courtroom.'

'Now what did you want me to tell you?' I asked.

'What your motives are in asking me for supper.'

I took another bite of the corned beef. 'To get you to open up and let me in on what's happening. Our Penta guy is getting some pretty high-level attention.'

'Deservedly so.'

'Bradley never mentioned the name of the agent who was murdered.'

'Naturally.'

'Do you know?'

She shook her head. 'Nor do I want to. Dead men are . . . dead. The live ones can be made to talk and put on a witness stand. We are looking for a multiple killer now, a torture murderer who has to be stopped before he gets to somebody else.'

'And that's what you really wanted to know in the beginning, wasn't it, Candace?'

This time her expression went through a variety of phases before it steadied into a defiant stare. 'Tell me,' she said deliberately.

'How come I'm not scared to death to be out alone knowing Penta wanted me? If I was the one he wanted.'

'You amaze me, Mike. Why aren't you?'

'All of a sudden I'm on my toes. I don't feel like being mugged again. I don't like being a target, either, so the first slob who goes to do a heavy on me is going to get a slug up his kiester. Or wherever.'

'Wherever sounds better.' This time she got into her sandwich.

'Tell me something, Candace, aren't you spooked about the way all this is being handled?' She kept eating, waiting for an explanation. 'Everybody is talking to me, inviting me in for open conferences, ostensibly giving me classified information . . . everything that's in direct violation of law-enforcement practices.'

'Not necessarily. Witnesses can be treated . . . in a friendly fashion.'

'Again, pardon the language, bullshit. You damn well know that I'm not anything so far. I'm an innocent bystander in a murder, a victim in a mugging and a suspect of an indefinable sort at this point. But I'm something else too, lady. I'm a guy with a reputation that has to hold the line. I'm a damn headhunter and I get the feeling every one of you are standing by waiting to see who makes the first move and hoping I can simplify your case with a .45 in Penta's nose.'

She took a ladylike nibble at her sandwich. 'Very forcefully said.'

'So why the heavy hitters from the agencies?'

Once again she timed it nicely, finishing her coffee before she made her decision. 'My friend Jerome Coleman was formerly with the FBI.'

I took a wild shot. 'He was one of your instructors at the academy in Norfolk, wasn't he?' The guess was right and caught her completely off guard.

'Why . . . yes.' Her eyes were asking me a question.

'Just something I picked up,' I said. Her association with the FBI would be public information, but not her friendship with Coleman. 'Go on.'

'He was in my office when we got news of the murder in your office. The name Penta touched something in his memory and he called Frank Carmody. That's when the federal agencies came into the picture. Penta was wanted for the murder of their man overseas.'

'They must have a description of him,' I suggested.

'Not an iota. No prints, no photos, nothing.'

'Where did all this happen?'

'England. Somewhere in England. Outside Manchester, I think.'

'Yet they know his name.'

'Yes. I don't know how.'

I was getting some ideas, but they would take time to look into. Now I had to let her have her turn. I said, 'What can I do for you?'

She looked down at the small diamond-studded watch on her wrist. 'Take me home, for one thing. We can talk on the way.'

I paid the bill and walked her out of the place, enjoying the envious looks I got. This time her walk was more sedate, but she couldn't hide the contours of her body. A cab was at the curb and we got in and she gave the driver her address. We were almost there when I said to her, 'You haven't answered my question yet, Candace.'

'I've been told you're very aggressive,' she started.

'Sure, I'm in a tough business.'

'Then tell me . . . what do you plan on doing about this . . . matter?'

The lady asked some dramatic questions, all right. The cab pulled up outside her apartment, a uniformed doorman ran up, opened the door and we got out. He said good evening to Candace, barely nodded to me, then seemed to recognize me and nodded again, annoyed because he didn't remember my name.

'Would you care to come up for a drink?'

No way I'd spoil her plan of attack. I said yes, went inside, took the elevator up to the twelfth floor and did