The mechanic went back to work again with his little hammer, and for a minute or two conversation was impossible.
When we could hear again, Charlie said stiffly, "You've referred to marihuana, Mr. Helm, as if nothing else was ever smuggled across the Mexican border, but Frank Warfel isn't interested in that weed. There's not enough profit in it, and the amateur competition is too great. Every long-haired hippie who manages to get into Mexico tries to come back with a car full of pot."
I couldn't help a quick glance at her crisp, clipped hair, realizing now that it was an anti-revolutionary symboclass="underline" as long as the unwashed, protesting, drug-absorbing young wore their hair long, she'd wear hers short.
"What's Frankie's bag, then?" I asked. "Coke or heroin?"
"The coca leaf grows only in South America, Mr. Helm," she said rather pedantically. "Frankie would want his source closer at hand. The opium poppy, on the other hand, grows quite well in Mexico. That's where the gum comes from. The Chinese opium addicts use it straight, or did before they were corrupted by Western bad habits, but most other users prefer to get their kicks in more concentrated form. Extracting the morphine base from the gum is a fairly simple process; the catch is refining the base into high-grade heroin. The Mexican product has traditionally been pretty poor. They haven't had the technicians or the equipment, so they haven't been able to compete with the pure stuff refined in Europe. It takes a real chemist with good laboratory facilities-"
"A real chemist?" I said, frowning. "I don't suppose a meteorologist would have an adequate chemical background."
Charlie frowned at the interruption. "You've got a fixation on this missing Sorenson man, haven't you? Or do you know something about him you haven't told me?"
"Not a thing," I said honestly. Then I grimaced, and said, a little embarrassed: "Hell, Charlie, I'm a hunch player. Most agents are. I got vibrations when I read that squib in the paper. Humor me and check on Sorenson's scientific training when you get a chance, will you?"
She wasn't impressed. "Well, if you think it's important," she said negligently. "Anyway, the border traffic in hard drugs has been relatively unorganized in this area, but we have reason to think Frank Warfel intends to change all that. There are indications that he's trying to set up a smuggling route between some place here in southern California, and some below the border down along the Baja coast, probably in the neighborhood of Ensenada. Hundreds of pleasure boats wander between U.S. and Mexican waters on a good summer weekend; nobody can really check them all."
"Has he got a boat of his own?" I asked. "He didn't look like a yachting type to me."
"That's more or less what put us onto it," she said. "He bought a yachting cap and a big seagoing motorsailer a couple of years ago and started getting very nautical indeed. Since then he's been running down to the Ensenada area quite frequently. Ostensibly it's just a matter of booze and broads, if you know what I mean-the shipboard parties get pretty noisy sometimes. We have a hunch some of that noise is generated for public consumption, so to speak, and the parties have actually been a cover for some trial runs. Naturally, we've left him strictly alone so far. We've been trying to determine just how many boats besides the Fleetwind are involved; and where the actual southern terminus is located."
"So you've got the probable route pinned down," I said. "Have you any line on the laboratory, and the source of supply?"
"The source is easy, and at the same time impossible," she said wryly. "What I mean is, there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of Mexican farmers back in the hills growing the poppies on a small scale. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of independent collectors buying the gum from them and boiling it up to get the morphine base, which they'll sell to anyone who'll pay the going price-" She had to stop as the elderly gent in coveralls passed us once more, heading for a grimy door next to the office, presumably the john.
"It would take the Mexican Army to make an impression at that end," Charlie said when the old man was back on the job once more. "As a matter of fact, the crackdown by our brother agencies along the border has kind of jogged them into taking a little action: burning a few fields and arresting a few peasants. It won't last, of course; it never does; but it's the best we can hope for right now. The laboratory is a different matter. Frankie has got to set up a good one somewhere, if he wants to market a high-class product. We think he must have it just about ready to go."
"Have you any idea where?"
She moved her shoulders half-helplessly. "Not really, except that it will undoubtedly be in Mexico. The surveillance problems are smaller there; besides, the refined heroin takes up less room than the morphine base and is easier to smuggle. We figure it's either in Ensenada or between there and the border, but Frankie's been very careful on his south-of-the-border cruises and we've had to do our watching from a distance so as not to tip him off. Once we locate the lab, we can get the Mexican authorities to close it down for us-but of course we don't really want that to happen until the timing is just right. We want to be certain that the place is in actual production, and that Frankie himself has taken delivery of a few kilos and brought them up here, where we'll be waiting."
"What makes you think he'll handle the smuggling himself?" I asked. "Most of those big boys make a point of keeping their hands clean of everything connected with drugs except the money."
"Frankie's got a problem," she said. "The syndicate does frown on the dope trade these days, officially, for public relations motives. That means that Frankie's got to keep his activities secret not only from us, but from his Mafia associates and superiors as well. I don't think he'll trust any underlings to handle the first few shipments. He'll take as few syndicate people into his confidence as possible until he's got things running smoothly and profitably."
"It sounds reasonable," I said. "But you're going to a hell of a lot of trouble, it seems to me, to catch just one man with a few pounds of happy-dust."
She hesitated. "You don't understand; it's not just one man we're concerned with. At present the syndicate is more or less out of the drug business, except for a few greedy, rebellious individuals like Frank Warfel. Right now, Frankie's superiors would certainly crack down on him if they knew he was planning to involve the organization in a risky gamble with dope. But suppose he manages to hold them off until he can show them a smoothly functioning gold mine from which they can all profit? In that case, they'll be much less likely to chastise him, won't they? They may even be tempted to change their official policy once more. And even if they don't, they may find more and more backsliders like Frankie defying their edict-"
"Actually, from what little I know about them, I gather the various families don't really have much authority over each other."
"That's right." Charlie looked at me almost pleadingly. "You see how important it is, Matt? You see that it's got to take precedence over your quest for vengeance. I mean, thousands of lives will be ruined by drugs if Frankie succeeds; or if… if somebody kills him so we can't catch him red-handed and make such a big public 'stink that his Cosa Nostra friends will continue to stay out of the drug business, permanently."
Well, she had a point. I might kid her about the strange legal logic that tries to cure an addict by making a criminal of him, but I hold no brief for anyone who tries to cash in on his addiction.
I said, "Well, to the best of my knowledge, I'm not really after Frank Warfel."
"Perhaps not. But judging by your record, which I've read with great interest-the parts we were able to obtain-you certainly wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if he got in your way. And that mustn't happen." She drew a long breath. "Look, I'll make a bargain with you. You leave us our Frankie and we'll do our best to get you your Nicholas. Okay?"