It was quieter now. Cars were still parked on one side, but the few pedestrians were faceless individuals in the darkness and the doorways he passed were obscure. Opposite the newspaper he stopped to let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. He could see a front office through the barred and open windows on the street floor. Light glowed more brightly from some room beyond, and far back in the adjacent hall he could make out the rolls of newsprint.
He found a cigarette and lit it, standing now so that he faced the street. Footsteps coming downhill made him turn his head. A man and woman, walking close together and speaking softly, passed behind him and presently the silence caine again. It had a strange, narcotic effect on his senses so that he was not aware of any sound or any movement behind him until something brushed against his
ONE MDWTE PAST EIGHT
shoulder and told him he was not alone. Before he could react the voice came, its accents clipped and quiet.
'Buenos noches, senor.'
Without actually moving, Jeff felt as if he had jumped a foot and then the tension' hit him solidly to hold him rigid and close his throat. It took a tremendous effort to break his paralysis but when his mind began to work there was nothing in it but hopelessness and despair.
So this is it, he thought. The long arm of Segurnal had caught up with him and he had been a fool to think he could long escape it. So all right, he thought. You tried and you muffed it somehow so take your medicine. He took a small breath and moved his head slowly, still not recognizing the voice until it came again.
'You're hot, Lane. You ought to watch it.'
Jeff stared until the face at his shoulder swam into focus. Because his nerves were frayed his first reaction was one of anger rather than relief.
'Jesus, Webb!' he said and let his breath out in a long blast. 'Is that your idea of humor? You scared hell out of me. Where were you?'
'In the doorway here. I saw you come but I thought Td see what you had in mind. You gonna wait for Spencer?'
'Good enough. We'll wait together.' He bent his head to examine his watch and slid a folded newspaper out from under his arm, 'Take a look at this,' he said. 'We've got a little time. Take it up to the corner where there's some light. Ill stay here just in case.'
Jeff took the paper, nerves quieting but still hesitant as he considered the suggestion. He did not understand the reason for it and he was reluctant to leave, yet something in Carl Webb's tone told him this was no idle whim. He glanced around, estimating the distance to the comer, took
another look across the street, and started off, his legs stretching.
Light from a tiny soft-drink stand proved sufficient for his needs and he saw that he held a Spanish-language newspaper whose masthead proclaimed it: Esfera. It had been folded twice and when he turned it over his jaw dropped and his eyes popped with incredulity.
For what he saw was a one-column picture topping a one-column head. He could not read the head but the photograph was agonizingly familiar because it was his own. Having no idea where it came from, he stared at it a long moment, fascinated, despairing, and empty inside. When he realized what he was doing, he glanced up to see if anyone had noticed him; then wheeled, and hurried back into the temporary security of the darkness.
Carl Webb was standing just where Jeff had left him. He accepted the newspaper and put it back under his arm,
'Kind of knocked you over, Hunh?' he said. 'I told you you were hot.'
'What's it say?'
'My Spanish is weak, but I think it says you're wanted for questioning. Did you knock him off?'
It was not an accusation and carried no overtones. It was simply a routine question and he accepted Jeff's denial without comment.
'I had a session with the law this afternoon myself,' he said, and related how he had gone to Grayson's office to find Karen Holmes already there and the body on the floor.
'What do the police think?'
'They're not saying,' Webb replied. 'I don't think they know.'
'Where did they get my picture?'
**You had three of those tourist cards when you came, didn't you?'
'Sure'
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
'They had your picture on them, didn't they? And Immigration took two of them? Hell, it's simple; the trouble is you're not thinking. Segurnal knows when you got here. They borrow a photo from Immigration, make copies, and spread them around.**
Silently Jeff agreed that the explanation was simple. What discouraged him now was die fact that Segurnal could work so swiftly and efficiently and, recalling things Cordovez had said, he began to wonder how long he could keep his freedom now that his picture had been published. To add to his dismay was the knowledge of that thirty- day term of arrest that was waiting for him if Pedro Vidal decided it was necessary.
'Why should they be looking for me at ail?' he demanded querulously.
'I don't know,' Webb said. 'Why did you disappear?'
'I had a row with Grayson earlier/' Jeff said, deciding that he had very little to lose in confiding in Webb. 'I got a couple of scabs on my knuckles and a cut mouth/' he said, 'They're going to be hard to explain unless I can pick something out of the hat before I get grabbed/'
He hesitated, considering Webb's background and Ms mission, and now his mind began to work and he put his thoughts in order,
'You didn't get your cash, hunh?'
'Not yet.'
'Did you expect to?'
'What do you mean?'
'Did Grayson make you any promise?'
'Hell, yes. That's why I went to his office this afternoon. He told me this morning he'd have four hundred thousand bolivars—which is the same as a hundred and twenty grand and just as good—by four thirty. In five- hundred-bolivar bills/' he said. 'Eight packs of a hundred bills each. He said it would be all wrapped up and ready to go and I'm
damn store lie wouldn't con me if lie didn't think lie could deliver.'
Jeff agreed with, the statement, though lie did not say so. 'And you think Spencer might have it?'
'I just want to be sure.'
'You knew him in Las Vegas?'
'Sure I knew him.'
'What kind of a guy is lie? Could he have killed Baker or Grayson? Or both?'
'Dan Spencer,' Webb said disdainfully, 'is a mouse with the heart of a chicken. He hasn't the guts to kill anyone. He wouldn't' even swing at you unless he was cornered and he's too fast on his feet for that,'
'He had guts enough to blackmail Grayson.'
'Who told you?' Webb demanded. 'What kind of blackmail?'
Jeff spoke of the checkbook he had inspected and his theory of the reason for the payments.
'That could be/' Webb admitted. 'Grayson was running scared and Spencer knew all about the trouble. He's not the kind to get greedy about a big score so he tried a small tap; when it worked he was on the payroll.'
'He was also around here this afternoon.'
'Where?'
Jeff pointed up the street and explained how Spencer had come along with his invitation to have a beer,
'He could have seen somebody else besides me.'
Webb thought it over a silent moment. A match scratched loudly and his squarish, muscular face was highlighted as he put the flame to his cigarette. When darkness came again he said:
'If he did he won't be telling if there's a chance to collect. He's the kind of guy that fools around with things he can't handle and winds up dead.'
