“There may be some questions for you to answer first. I’m not sure.”
“Then you’re not Castor Oil. If you were, you'd be sure.”
“Not necessarily. I could be waiting for further instructions from you-know-where.”
The door from the living room opened silently behind her. When a gun poked through the opening, I assumed it was the confederate for whom she’d seemed to be waiting. I was wrong.
The figure tiptoed up behind her silently and brought the butt of the gun down on her skull. The blow was a lot neater, a lot more expert than the one Happy had delivered to the noggin of Dwight Floyd Rank only a few moments earlier. But the effect was the same. Donna dropped my gun and pitched to the floor, face first.
I picked up the gun and turned to my second rescuer of the evening. “Gee, thanks, Voluptua,” I told her. “When you first came in, I didn't know which side you were on."
“I'm on the same side you’re on,” the Amazonian beauty assured me. “But I must say I don’t really approve of their sending an amateur like you out on this assignment. They should leave these things to the professionals.”
“Are you a professional?”
“How do you mean that?” She couldn’t resist the “in-character” wisecrack. “But I am a professional,” she continued. “I'm CIA.”
“Really?” I was impressed. Most of the CIA agents I'd known were bunglers. Voluptua was a decided improvement. They must have upped their recruiting standards. “How did you know I was here?” I asked her.
“I tailed you. I’ve been tailing you quite a bit lately. But you've had an annoying habit of losing me just when you most need my help. Tonight was different.”
“Thank goodness," I sighed.
“Too much thanks too soon!” The voice came from behind us. “Don't turn around!” it cautioned quickly. “Just toss your guns onto the bed, both of you.”
We did as the voice ordered.
“Now you can turn around—slowly.”
We turned around. It was no surprise to find myself facing Winthrop Van Ardsdale. I’d recognised the voice when he’d first spoken.
“Well, well,” he said. “How nice. Two American agents at one crack.”
“You’re Castor Oil,” I guessed,
“That's right.” He admitted his identity.
“And Donna is one of your people,” I deduced,
“Correct. So now you’ve found out everything you wanted to know, Steve. But what good is it going to do you? Either of you? You realize that you’ll never live to pass on my identity to the CIA or your Mr. Putnam.”
“If you’re going to kill us anyway, how come Donna didn’t kill me before?” I wondered.
“Because she is stupid. And she follows orders with blind stupidity. Her orders were to get you here and keep you here. So she would not have killed you before my arrival. However, now that I’m here -”
“Drop that gun!”
It was getting to be a familiar line. Likewise, it was getting to be a familiar situation. I was getting almost as tired of being rescued in the nick of time as I was of being told I was about to die. Almost, but not quite.
Castor Oil, nee Winthrop Van Ardsdale, dropped the gun. Misty Milo stepped from behind him and picked it up. I was damned glad to see her get away with it. The difference between Misty and my previous rescuers was that they’d had some sort of weapon in their hands when they’d come bouncing onto the scene and Misty hadn’t. She’d really bluffed Van Ardsdale into dropping his gun, and now that was the gun she was holding on him.
“I bluffed you! I bluffed you!” she taunted Winthrop now.
“Damn! How could I have been so dumb?” He leaned against the wall and banged his head against it. “How could I?”
“It was in the cards,” I told him. “You were doomed from the moment you became a Russian agent, Van Ardsdale. Traitors always pay the penalty of their treachery!”
“Who writes your material?” Voluptua wondered.
“That's the American way,” I insisted.
“My gorge won’t take much more of this,” Voluptua said. “Why don’t you two just run along? I’ll clean up things here. Go on. Just toddle on into the sunset.”
“The sun already set,” Misty told her.
“Don’t worry. For you two it’ll set again. After all, this is Hollywood.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And thank goodness for Hollywood endings. They’re always happy. Still—" I was reminded of something. “They have to be explained. Just what brought you down here in that well-worn nick of time?” I asked Misty.
“Well, when I contrived to have Happy sic Rank on you, it was because I was jealous and mad as hell. But when I stopped to think about it later, I began to worry that he might really hurt you. So I came down here to warn you.”
“Very sweet of you. Only you were two threats late. Still, I’m glad you came.” I kissed her gratefully.
I kissed her gratefully again later that evening. But this time my gratitude was for something else entirely. And, with the bed swaying gently beneath us, we were about to embark on still another journey for which we would both have cause to be grateful. But before we could, the phone rang.
“Hello, Victor, this is Charles Putnam!”
“Dammit to hell!” I exploded.
Misty giggled.
“Victor! Have you got a woman in your room? Answer me! Have you!”
Misty took the receiver out of my hand. “Sorry, wrong number!” she cooed into it. “And please don't call us; we’ll call you.”
Putnam was still cursing as she hung the phone up and came back into my arms. “But not tonight we won’t," she added. “We won’t call him tonight.”
And We didn’t!
Notes
[←1 ]
Ex-lax is a powerful laxative. (Bob)
[←2 ]
Not a reference to the Joe Dante movie of 1984, since this work was published in 1967! A gemlin is an imaginary mischievous sprite regarded as responsible for an unexplained mechanical or electronic problem or fault. (Bob)
[←3 ]
1967 dollars! About 7 times more in 2016, thus: approx 17000 $
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER NINE
1
2
3
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