“It probably saved my life, even if it did cost me my twenty-five-thousand-dollar fee.”
“Onza says you were working indirectly for the American government.”
“I guess so. I didn’t know it until he told me. Apparently they wanted a flag to use as evidence of that harbor. Onza was acting on his own, without the President’s knowledge, which is why he had to hire you to steal the flags rather than simply take them himself. I suspect he was working out his own deal with Cuba for a naval base, and perhaps even planning a coup. He had to remove the flags before they fell into the wrong hands, and before the President learned of his special interest in them.”
“Did Onza tell you how we stole the flag in New York?”
“Yes, but how did you work the theft in Washington? Was Leon Oeste an accomplice, too?”
“No.” She sipped her drink and smiled at him. “I hired an embassy maid to cut through the halyard in two places and glue the rope ends lightly together. The weight of the flag pulled them apart after a few minutes and the flag simply fell to the sidewalk. I picked it up and walked away. I was a newsboy that morning and the flag went into my sack of papers. You didn’t see me.”
“I saw you, but I didn’t recognize you.”
She glanced at her watch. “My flight should be boarding.” She stood, gathering up her things, and smiled at Nick. “It’s been fun.”
He walked her to the gate and watched the plane. Once it was off the ground, he sent a telegram to her at the Los Angeles airport, to be delivered on her arrivaclass="underline"
SANDRA: I ONLY NEEDED ONE FLAG SO I REMOVED THE WASHINGTON ONE FROM YOUR SUITCASE LAST NIGHT WHILE YOU SLEPT. CLIMBING UP TWO STORIES TO YOUR BALCONY WASN’T EASY BUT IT WAS WORTH IT TO SEE YOU SO PEACEFULLY ASLEEP IN THE MOONLIGHT. NICK.
Detectiverse
Wages of Sin
by Bonnie Ryan-Fisher
© 1988 by Bonnie Ryan-Fisher.
A Real Mark
by James Neill Northe
© 1988 by James Neill Northe.
Too Good To Be True
by Katy Peake
© 1988 by Katy Peake.
A Slightly Less Dangerous Insanity
by Carl Martin
© 1988 by Carl Martin.
“I don’t know what you did,” one of Jean’s co-workers commented, “but you’ve certainly got that man’s attention...”
Jean Brophy couldn’t say exactly when Steve Collins had begun to frighten her. She only knew that he did, and her fear increased with every passing day, hour, and minute. What had started as an innocent flirtation, followed by a couple of pleasant dates, had quickly escalated into a nightmare.
He had seemed nice enough at first, even charming. He made a great first impression. After they had gone out together once, he had sent her flowers every day at work. Each evening when she got home from the office, the phone would be ringing. He kept her on the line as long as she was willing to talk.
Handsome professional men who were also single were scarce in Bradleyville. It was unusual to have one relocate in Bradleyville from Pittsburg, as he had done. She had been flattered by his attention and the open envy many of her friends expressed.
“I don’t know what you did, but you’ve certainly got that man’s attention,” one of her co-workers commented.
Jean didn’t know what she had done, either, but she was enjoying being pursued.
As they stood at the entrance to her apartment building at the end of their second date, he asked her to marry him. She laughed and gave him a playful push. She thought he was joking, but she should have realized he was serious. There was something a bit too intense about him even then.
The flowers continued to arrive, and he started to call her during working hours, too. He wanted to hear her voice. He said he wanted to take her to lunch. He told her he loved her and repeated his marriage proposal. Jean began to find this sudden ardor a bit disconcerting, so she didn’t encourage him. However, she did nothing to discourage him, either.
A couple of days after their second date, she had to work late. One of the men in the office drove her home and dropped her off in front of her apartment building. Steve was sitting on the steps waiting for her.
Speaking past clenched teeth, he demanded to know where she had been. And who was the man who had just driven away? Who was she seeing behind his back?
Jean told him she had been working.
He called her a liar. “When I couldn’t reach you at home, I tried you at the office. No one answered.”
Patiently, Jean explained that the switchboard was closed after five-thirty. No one was there to take incoming calls.
He listened, but for all the effect it had she might have been speaking Chinese. When she finished, he swore, called her a string of vile names, and again accused her of cheating on him. He paced back and forth, swinging his arms in short, choppy motions, but his voice never rose above a conversational level. To anyone watching from a distance, they might have been discussing sports or the weather. His anger seemed cold and controlled, not the product of hot-blooded, emotional irrationality, and this made it all the more terrifying.
Jean had the key to the outside door in her hand. When his back was turned momentarily, she used it, shutting the door firmly behind her. He rushed forward, yanked on the handle, then stood glaring at her through the heavy glass panel. She ran to the elevator without looking back.
When she reached her apartment, Jean took the phone off the hook. She went to bed, but sleep eluded her for hours. She kept playing the horrible scene over in her mind. He must be crazy, she thought, but it gave her no comfort.
The next morning he called her at work, full of apology and remorse. He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He begged her forgiveness. “It’ll never happen again,” he promised.
Jean let him talk, then told him she didn’t want to see him again. She was polite but firm.
When he called back, she rejected the call. When his flowers arrived, she refused delivery. And when he tried to reach her at home, she hung up on him. He would eventually get the message, she figured. But she was wrong. Even after the switchboard operator at work learned to recognize his voice and stopped putting his calls through, he continued to call her at home. Sometimes he seemed rational. Other times his voice was high and shrill. She always hung up on him.
Finally, after an evening when he called every half hour all night long, she had her number changed. The lull lasted only three days. Then he somehow obtained her new number and began calling again. Only now he didn’t talk. He listened. It was as though he was satisfied to merely hear the agitation in her voice when she answered.