I don't mean I stood there figuring all this out; but it's always useful to know what kind of a weapon you're up against. As I got my reflexes working, I kept in mind that I was dealing with a fast-firing little gun probably holding in the neighborhood of ten shots, a gun with which the other guy would have to hit me dead center, since he didn't have much shocking power at his disposal. Not that any pistol will really knock a man off his feet, but since the ambusher had missed his first shot I did have a bit of a fire-power edge with my heavier.38 special-if I could get it out in time.
I couldn't use my right hand. That angle was blocked by Vadya, probably deliberately. I remembered the sadness I'd seen on her face when she'd suggested coming back here; and her odd hesitation outside. I remembered also that she did owe me a bullet for old times' sake. Apparently this was the payoff. Well, one shot had already been fired and I wasn't dead.
All kinds of fragmentary thoughts like this were flashing through my mind, but I was already going for the gun in my belt left-handed, twisting it free as I dove to the side. The maneuver is fairly awkward, and while I'm a pretty good shot I'm not really an expert gun-juggler. My performance wouldn't have earned any applause from the boys with the big hats and the tied-down holsters who play fast-draw games with electronic timers. The silenced gun had time to spit once more before I could get lined up properly, but I still wasn't hit.
Then the sawed-off.38 in my hand went off with a deafening report. I mean, in a situation like that, if you've had the training and practice, your gun kind of fires itself as it comes on target. I gave it free rein, so to speak: I don't insist on economical one-shot kills. I'm willing to waste a little ammunition to insure that the other guy gets dead and I stay alive. I let the gun keep firing until the target went down.
It took three shots. Suddenly the room was very quiet again, until lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. I listened intently afterwards, expecting to hear excited voices and hurrying footsteps coming my way, but the hotel was silent. Whatever noises had been heard beyond this room, they'd apparently been attributed to the storm-or to the Mexican kids and their inevitable firecrackers.
I drew a long breath and shifted the revolver from my left hand to my right, which shoots better. Not that the left had done too badly tonight. Belatedly I looked around for Vadya. I found her lying on the floor almost at my feet.
This wasn't on the program, or what I'd thought was the program. It was her room and her ambush, wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to be hurt; I was.
Bewildered, I glanced at the man I'd shot, lying face down across the bathroom threshold. He was wearing a light suit, almost white, but dark blood was crawling out from under his motionless body in large quantities and spreading across the tiled floor. I didn't have to worry about him. They don't make trouble when there's that much blood.
I knelt beside Vadya and lifted her gently. There was some blood here, too; a round stain of it on the white dress over the breast, and a trickle across the face. She'd taken both of the dead man's bullets, and both had been placed squarely in the spots most vulnerable for a small-caliber weapon: the heart and the head. One could have been an accident, not two.
I sighed and lowered her carefully to the floor and stood up. Things were becoming a little clearer, but no more pleasant. I walked grimly over to the body in the bathroom doorway and raised it a bit with my foot, enough so that I could see the face. By this time I wasn't really surprised to learn that it wasn't a man at an.
It was the short-haired blonde lady Priscilla had identified as Laura Waterman, the California gym teacher with the fullback figure. She was wearing one of those idiot pantsuits that have recently come into style, with a man-tailored jacket and sharply creased trousers: a real natty gents' outfit complete to soft silk shirt and flowing tie. Well, if they will dress like men, they can't complain if they get shot for men when things get hectic.
I was glad to see that, as I'd guessed, the gun was a silenced.22 automatic. At least I'd been right about something.
I drew a long breath and went back to Vadya. I didn't lift her this time. I just crouched beside her body briefly and had some thoughts. They weren't very nice thoughts. Obviously she'd sensed that she was being set up for the kill-the touch, as we call it-and most likely she'd thought I knew all about it. Perhaps she'd even credited me with planning it. Yet she'd walked right into the room ahead of me. I would probably never know why. I didn't even want to know why. Perhaps she'd just known that the game was over between us, although that was a bit of sentiment I wouldn't really have expected to influence her to such an extent, flattering though the thought might be.
I got up slowly and went to the phone and asked for room 116. When a girl's voice answered, I said, "Priscilla, get over here right away."
"Mr. Helm? Where-"
"Cut it out," I said. "You know where. On the double. And tell Hartford to lock the door behind you and stay awake."
I hung up and sat on the bed with my thoughts and my gun until she knocked on the door. Then I rose and walked over and yanked it open, letting it swing wide of its own accord while I took a quick step in the other direction. Most room-entering techniques are based on the assumption that the man inside the room will go the same way as the door he's opening for you, and there was an instant, looking for me over there, when Priscilla was off guard.
I said, "You see, you did know where to come." She spun around to face me. I said, "Sweetheart, if that purse swings live degrees more in my direction, or if there's anything in your hand when it comes out of there, this room will be just loaded with corpses. Now bring it out empty like a good girl. That's better."
"Mr. Helm, what in the world…?" Her voice stopped. Her eyes widened. "Laura!"
"Hold it!" I snapped as she started forward. "First, the purse. On the bed, if you please. Second, watch your step. We don't want to go tracking a lot of gore around the place, do we?"
She put the purse on the bed without taking her eyes from the motionless form sprawled in the bathroom doorway.
"Laura!" she breathed, and went on without looking in my direction: "You… you killed her!"
"That's right. I killed her. But who did I kill?"
That brought her head around sharply. "You know perfectly well-"
"Sure. You told me. A schoolteacher on vacation, a harmless lady tourist from California. A tourist who opened up with a silenced gun when I stepped into this room. What was I supposed to do, take your word for it she was harmless while she was blasting away with her little.22?"
Priscilla licked her lips. "You're being ridiculous! You'll never get away with this, Helm! You're going to pay for it. You've killed a fellow U.S. agent-" It was what I'd already guessed, and having my guess confirmed didn't really make me happy, but there was no need for her to know that. I just sighed in a relieved sort of way.
"At last. Somebody has finally admitted, now that she's dead, what the dame actually is. Or was."
"You can't stand there and pretend you didn't know-" I said patiently, "Look, doll, I just saw the woman once outside this room, in the airport with you. Something about her made me curious. I had a hunch she was someone I ought to know more about, so I asked you. You gave me the harmless-tourist runaround. Being a persistent fellow, I reported your story through channels and asked for the real dope. That got me a slap-down from my boss, who obviously got some kind of security door shut in his face when he passed my innocent query along. Apparently he was told to inform me that the lady was none of my goddamn business, and he did. Well, anybody who shoots at me is my business…"
"She wasn't shooting at you!"