I grinned down at her. “Do as I say, honey,” I asked her. “Believe me, you’ll find your way someplace else. I know you’re not ready, but that’s not important now. Move out, sweetie. It’s time.”
I kissed her quickly and left, hoping I’d scared her enough to get moving.
I headed for Karminian’s flat to pick up my things and find someplace else from which to operate. I was on that list Rashid had rattled off to the Casbah killers and staying in Karminian’s flat like a sitting duck would only be making their task easier. They were a completely unexpected development.
I could see the Russians wanting Karminian if they suspected him of selling to us or if they knew he had hold of something big involving them. But the fierce fighters from the mountainous Rif? It just didn’t fit in and yet they were in, in for murder.
I hurried through the silent, dark streets of Casablanca with the feeling that my discovery about Karminian was not the only strange twist in store for me in this thing.
Chapter 4
Returning to Karminian’s place for my things wasn’t a poor move. It had to be done — I’d left too many things behind. It had been a long day, and I was starting to feel a little tired when I put two tubes of paint in my pocket, closed up the paint box, took a last look around the flat and then closed the door behind me.
I had just walked out the arched doorway when the two shapes appeared, one on each side of me, and I felt the hard end of two guns pressed into me. I looked at the small, hard-blue eyes of the crew-cut Russian, his lips grim, set in a thin line.
“We will kill you here if we have to,” he muttered.
I saw the black Mercedes 600 pull around from the side street.
“You don’t have to,” I shrugged. “I’m easy to get along with.”
Pig-eyes gave me a fast frisking and took Wilhelmina. Crew-cut took the paint box and handed it to the other one. They didn’t have to tell me to get into the Mercedes.
I followed Crew-cut in and sat down between the two of them. The chauffeur turned and stared at me for a moment, his eyes very much the same hard, cold blue as Crew-cut’s unblinking orbs. He put the car into gear and we rolled quietly away. Two revolvers were poking into me.
It wasn’t a spot for anything more than conversation.
“What’s this all about?” I asked for openers.
Silence was my only answer, cold, angry silence.
“Don’t tell me,” I tried again. “Let me guess. Let’s see now... you want your portrait painted.”
Crew-cut glared at me but said nothing.
I tried another tack. “If you think I know where Karminian is you’re wasting your time,” I said.
“Neither did Ivan but it didn’t stop you from killing him,” Crew-cut finally answered, his voice a low snarl.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” I protested.
I saw the Russian lift his arm and bring it around in a short, chopping blow, the gun still gripped in his hand. It landed on my cheek and upper lip and I felt the trickle of blood that immediately ran down the side of my mouth.
“Lying pig!” he spit out. “You thought Ivan knew where Karminian was and you killed him when he refused to tell you. Now we will do the same thing to you.”
My mind was racing and I deduced what had happened instantly. The Rifs had struck again but telling Crew-cut and his pals wouldn’t help any.
First, I didn’t want to clue them in on anything and secondly they’d never believe me anyway. All I could do for now was hold to my story.
“When was I supposed to have killed your Ivan?” I asked.
“You know very well when, swine,” he barked. “When you found he was alone in the house, waiting for a radio message from Moscow.”
“Why me?” I cut in. “It could have been anybody, even a thief.”
“Bah!” the Russian grunted. “You seek Karminian too. It took someone with strength, someone who knew how to use the Moorish dagger. That rules out either of the women. And you are not an artist. We believe you are an American agent.”
I almost said congratulations. They’d gotten one thing right anyway. But I could see where I’d be their logical suspect and I decided on a little fishing of my own.
“Did I only kill one of your men?” I asked. “There were five of you including that ape dressed up like a chauffeur.”
The “ape” turned to give me a hard look.
“Da,” Crew-cut answered. “Panusky is at the house, waiting for us. That will leaves four of us, more than enough to take care of you.”
It was a good supposition for him anyway, and I’d found out what I’d wanted to learn. There were no others I hadn’t seen during our first go-round.
The Mercedes halted, and I saw the low-hanging crossbars forming part of the entranceway roof once again. I got out, and both their guns stayed in my ribs and this time the chauffeur came up behind us. They weren’t taking any chances with me.
“Panusky,” Crew-cut called out. “It’s Estan.”
There was no answer, and I felt a chilling premonition race through my body.
The Russian called out again and once more the house was silent.
I saw him frown.
“That’s strange,” he growled.
Pushing me along before them, they went into the inner room.
I wasn’t nearly as surprised as they were.
Panusky lay on the floor in a pool of blood, his head nearly severed from his neck.
I saw the slice in his neck was a curved arc, extending from almost the back of the neck to a point just under the chin. From the freshness of the still widening pool of blood, it hadn’t happened more than about fifteen minutes ago.
The Russians were staring at the man’s lifeless form as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.
I was thinking about the Rifs. They’d obviously been watching the place, saw the others leave and struck. They wanted to take the Russians one by one, apparently, silently, without any noisy shoot-outs.
“When did I kill him?” I asked. “When you were holding me prisoner in the car? He hasn’t been dead more than fifteen or twenty minutes. Now maybe you’ll believe me.”
The one called Estan spoke to the others in short, rapid sentences, naturally unaware that my Russian was more than passable.
They were shaken up, alarmed, confused. Who, when and why flew in all directions but they kept their damned guns in my ribs.
Finally, Crew-cut turned to me again.
“You are not working alone,” he announced. “You have others with you who did this.”
“Yeah,” I said. “With the Moorish dagger again. We always use them. You know, when in Rome do as the Romans do.”
His hard, pig-like blue eyes studied me, and I could see him trying to think this out in a hurry. It took effort.
“Maybe you didn’t do it,” he said finally. “You might even be an artist. It really doesn’t matter any longer. We will have to kill you anyway. You know too much to let you run around loose.”
“I forget quickly,” I said but the Russian just continued to stare at me.
Hugo was silently waiting against my forearm. It was beginning to look as though I would have to finish what the Rifs had started, if I could finish it, that is.
They kept their guns steady. One sudden move and two slugs would be meeting inside me someplace.
“Where, Estan?” the second Russian asked.
“Here,” Crew-cut replied. “We’ll leave his body here with Panusky’s and work out of someplace else. Take Panusky’s passport and identification card first. I don’t like sloppy work.”
The chauffeur retrieved the dead man’s identity papers and I knew I had to buy some time and buy it fast.
“Wait,” I said. “What if I could take you to where Karminian is staying?”