“Tell Joe I think it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever done.”

  “I will.” Taveras went to the door, opened it. “If you have any success with your client, please let us know.”

  “How?”

  “The Norseman.”

  The door closed behind him and I was alone.

  I finished my brandy, picked up the phone, punched out my client’s number. There were three buzzes at the other end of the line, a click, and Craig’s veddy veddy English voice:

  “The Pierson residence.”

  “Kent here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kent?”

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Pierson.”

  “One moment, sir. I’ll see if Mr. Pierson is available.”

  Half a minute passed and then my client’s voice was in my ear:

  “Yes, Larry?”

  “Gordon, I’d like to have a talk with you.”

  “All right. Talk.”

  “Face to face.”

  “Do you have something important to tell me?”

  “I think so.”

  “You merely think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Fine. Can you drive out here?”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  There was a click in my ear.

  Chapter 5 ... fangs ...

  I pulled up the Corvette in front of the gate and watched the camera turn to bear on me. I stuck my head out the window and the gate swung open. I drove through and went over the gravel road that led to the front of the big house. Craig descended the stone stairs and was waiting for me when I braked the Corvette to a stop. He went around the car and opened the door. I stepped out and caught a whiff of sweet perfume. I sniffed and Craig’s thin lips spread in his version of a smile.

  “The perfume, sir?”

  “The perfume,” I said.

  “It’s for the dogs, sir.”

  One of the Dobermans growled on cue. The dog stood in the shadows, his teeth gleaming.

  “They are trained not to attack anyone wearing this particular scent, sir,” Craig said.

  “I see.”

  “Mr. Pierson is waiting for you in his study.”

  Craig led me up the stone steps and into the house. We went through the darkened entrance room and along a hallway. He stopped at an oak door and knocked.

  “Mr. Kent is here, sir.”

  “Send him in, Craig,” said Pierson.

  Craig opened the door and stepped aside. I entered a somber study illuminated by a standard lamp. Pierson sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He rose as I entered, put out his hand, gave me his firm grip and squeezed. I squeezed back. He increased the pressure and so did I. His hand relaxed. I let go of it. It was the first time he’d tried to show his physical strength.

  “Drink, Larry?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He waved to a chair across the desk from him and sat down. The door closed as Craig left the room. Pierson lowered himself to his chair. His chair seat was higher than mine or there was a small dais behind the desk; I had to look up at him. The only illumination in the room was the Tiffany lamp on the desk. Its yellow light threw shadows across Pierson’s face, giving him the look of a handsome Satan.

  “Any new developments, Larry?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward a little. “Tell me.”

  “Well, I told you about going to a certain place where I talked to a spokesman for the Night People. His name is Carlos Taveras.”

  “I don’t care what his name is.” Pierson sounded impatient. “Please get on with it.”

  “Taveras came to my apartment tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “He and his people are concerned about your plan to invade the tunnels.”

  Pierson smiled thinly. “They have good reason to be concerned.”

  “Listen to me, Gordon—”

  “Oh, I am, Larry, I am.” He leaned back in his chair. “Talk on.”

  “The Night People have weapons down there.”

  “Stolen weapons, no doubt.”

  “They’re prepared to fight. They won’t surrender.”

  “That makes them extremely dangerous, Larry.”

  “Look. All they want is to be left alone.”

  “My daughter wanted the same thing. Did they leave her alone?”

  “They didn’t kidnap your daughter.”

  “Then who did?”

  “San Domingo rebels dressed in their Penitente robes.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “San Domingo Penitentes killed your brother and his wife. But you’re their real enemy. You own half that island. It’s your money that keeps General Alvard in power.”

  Pierson smiled easily. “With the blessings, dear boy, of our State Department.”

  “I’m not talking about international rights or wrongs. I’m talking about hundreds of people who are outcasts ... who want nothing more than to be left alone.”

  Pierson suddenly slammed his fist down on the desk, making the Tiffany lamp sway. “You’re talking about people who are no good to anyone, including themselves. They’re thieves who come out only at night—”

  “They don’t steal.”

  “Then where did they get those weapons you spoke about?” Pierson laughed. “You can’t answer that, can you? Where do they get the money for food, medical supplies, clothing?”

  I thought of the winged horse on the table in my apartment. I said, “There are gifted people among them. One carves small pieces from wood. Each piece sells for hundreds of dollars. They also have artists and writers who send their work to the outside world.”

  “How do they sell? How does the money come back to them? Who buys supplies for them?”

  “They have people who help them.”

  “Including you, Larry?”

  “No. Not that I wouldn’t.”

  “You’re trying to help them now, dear boy.”

  “Because they deserve it, Gordon. Look. They’re just unfortunate people who can’t live in the outside world ... so they’ve created a world of their own.”

  Pierson straightened in the chair and seemed to grow a few inches taller. “Larry, I’m going to tell you why I support General Alvard. He and those who rule San Domingo along with him are intelligent. As for the rebels who want to get control of the government, they’re an uneducated, illiterate rabble. Less than normal, that’s what they are. All people who are less than normal don’t deserve to live.”

  Anger burned in my stomach. “That,” I said, “is a paraphrase of a quote I read. The quota was attributed to a gentleman named … Adolf Hitler.”

  Gordon Pierson surprised me. He smiled. “Adolf didn’t get credit for all the good things he achieved. For instance, he all but exterminated the gypsies of Europe. Have you ever known any person to be as useless as the gypsy? I haven’t ... that is, until I learned about the Night People.”

  There it was: the Gospel according to Gordon Pierson; if people didn’t conform to his definition of the norm, they were less than normal’ and should be destroyed. I saw that I couldn’t talk reason to him. I got to my feet and reached into the handkerchief pocket of my sports jacket.

  “Your retainer check,” I said, showing it to him. I tore it five or six times and dropped the pieces on his desk. “You’re no longer my client.”

  He stared into my eyes, a small smile on his lips. “I’m sorry about that, Larry.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re not going to leave me on this note. You have something further to say to me, don’t you?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  “Then say it.”

  “I have some influence with the news media.”

  He nodded. “I know, I know. It’s part of the mystique of Larry Kent. Some years ago the news media saved your life. The Mafia had you on their kill list. They sent eight men after you in teams of two. You killed seven and put the eighth in a wheel chair for the rest of his life. The police and other law enforcement agencies were apparently unable to help you. Then the news media came to your aid. They made sure that every person in the United States knew you were a Mafia target. This was broadcast over radio and television and appeared, usually on the front page, of newspapers across the country. Huge caches of drugs were confiscated, dozens of arrests were made on charges of extortion, murder, prostitution, illegal gambling, you name it. Things became so hot for the Mafia that they scratched you from their kill list. It was a good move on their part. The news media stopped hammering at them, police commissioners and attorneys general took their bows before an adoring public, and soon things returned to normal for organized crime.”

  “The news media helped me a few times since then,” I said.

  “I’m aware of that, Larry. And now you think you’ll go to them again, eh?” Another chuckle. “Things have changed in this city. There are now only three newspapers, and each of them depends on advertising to keep going. I can have enough advertising withdrawn to bankrupt all three newspapers. As for the radio and television stations, they do as they’re told when the right person pulls the strings. I’m the right person, Larry.”

  “They’re not all corrupt,” I said.

  “Corruption has nothing to do with it, dear boy. It’s a matter of survival. No radio or television station or newspaper is going to mention the plight of your freaks if they know it means extinction. Not extinction of the station or newspaper ... I mean extinction of the people responsible for printing or broadcasting your plea for the Night People. You see, Larry, I deal with individuals. I don’t attack corporations, only people.”

  “Another thing you learned from Adolf,” I said.

  “Quite.”

  I wanted to swing at him, to punch the sneer from his face. My feelings must have been obvious because suddenly there was a glittering automatic in his right hand.

  “Go ahead, Larry. Punch away.”

  I let out a sigh. “I just don’t figure you, Mr. Pierson.”

  “Not Gordon, Larry? I gave you permission to call me Gordon.”

  I disregarded his sarcasm. “I don’t figure you at all. You hired me to investigate the kidnapping of your daughter. The F.B.I. and local police were already working on the case, so you must have had some confidence in me.”

  “I did, Larry.”

  “Then why don’t you listen to me?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind, Larry. Maybe it was the Night People, or maybe the kidnapping was done by San Domingo rebels wearing Penitente robes. No matter. I’ll get both. You see, I have plans for San Domingo. The rebels are hiding in the jungles. One of the rebels is a spy working with General Alvard. He’s going to pinpoint rebel headquarters. A dozen World War Two bombers will hit the place, dropping napalm. General Alvard’s army will then close in, using flame throwers. So, you see, I don’t need proof one way or the other. When it’s all over I’ll know I got the murderers of my daughter.”

  “Even though you may have killed hundreds of innocent people.”

  “The Night People? You know how I feel about them. That’s still another thing I learned from Adolf, Larry. If two factions are involved and you’re not sure which is guilty, destroy both. Do you have anything further to say?”

  “Not anything you’d understand.”

  “Then we’ll part company.” He punched a button on his desk. “Don’t try to give me trouble, Larry. You can’t win.”

  “I just want to say something, Mr. Pierson.”

  “Say it.”

  “I’m staying on this case.”

  “You just fired yourself.”

  “I don’t need a client. As a matter of fact, I’d rather not have you as a client.”

  The door opened. “Sir?” Craig said.

  “Mr. Kent is no longer an employee. He’s finished. Understood, Craig?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pierson picked up some papers from his desk and began to read them. It was as though I no longer existed. I went to the door and Craig led me out of the big house and down the stone steps to my car. The Dobermans came running out of the darkness and stopped seven or eight feet from me as they got a whiff of the strong scent Craig wore. Craig walked with me to the side of the Corvette.

  “I’ll activate the gate mechanism immediately,” he said.

  Something moved in the space behind the bucket seats as I opened the door. I got an even stronger smell of the musky perfume used to keep the dogs at bay. Blue eyes flashed and I caught a glimpse of corn silk hair. Adrienne Pierson was my stowaway. She winked one eye and then her face disappeared. I got behind the wheel, turned the key, flicked on the lights. Craig was climbing the steps as I made a U-turn. I drove slowly over the pebbled drive.

  “Isn’t it kind of uncomfortable back there?” I said.

  “I’ll get up front with you when we’re well clear of this place,” she said.

  “Are you going anywhere in particular?”

  “I think I’m saving your life.”

  “Really?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Does your uncle know about this?”

  “Of course not!” She sounded highly annoyed.

  The gate loomed ahead. It was only half open. I braked the Corvette and looked around.

  “Do you get the picture, Larry?”

  “I think so. I’m supposed to get out of the car and pull the gate all the way open so I can drive through.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And while I’m doing that the dogs will get me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew this was going to happen?”

  “Yes. Now listen. There isn’t any time to waste. Here ...” She reached over the bucket seat, a small bottle in her hand. “Put some of this on your hands, then wipe your hands over your face and clothing.”

  I unscrewed the cap on the bottle, pulled it off. The strong smell of perfume made me snap my head back.

  “All of us except my uncle have to use that perfume if we leave the house after dark,” she said. “If you don’t move quickly, Larry, my uncle may decide to send Craig to investigate. There are two cameras on this car right now and my uncle is looking at the monitor screens. I don’t think the cameras can pick you up while you’re in the car.”

  I bent low, just in case, and quickly applied the perfume. Then I opened the door and got out.

  “Use your gun,” Adrienne said in a low voice. “It may fool my uncle into thinking the shots frightened off the dogs.”

  I drew my gun. Two of the Dobermans stood about fifteen feet away, their white fangs bared as they snarled. One started to come forward a little. I saw him move his head to the side as he smelled the perfume. At that moment I fired. The dogs backed off but didn’t flee. I ran to the gate and pulled it open, then I fired two more shots and got behind the wheel and roared the Corvette through the gateway, not bothering to close the door until the car was on the road outside the Pierson estate.

  “Make sure we’re not followed,” Adrienne said.

  I drove along at about thirty-five. After a mile or so there were headlights behind. The car was coming on fast. I turned onto the first road I came to. The car flashed by on the main road. I drove another few miles and pulled the Corvette onto the road shoulder and under big trees.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I’ll come up front now,” she said, climbing over the top of the bucket seat.

  “Something just occurred to me,” I said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You may be in trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, what if your uncle discovers you’re not in the house?”

  “Uncle Gordon won’t check my room.”

  “But what if he does?”

  “I’ll be there, reading. You can take me back. Not to the front gate. There’s a road that goes around the back of the estate. There’s a tall oak tree a few feet from the stone wall. It’s easy to climb and one of its limbs juts over the top of the wall.”

  “Now we come to the why of it,” I said.

  “Do you have a cigarette?”

  I produced my Camels. She took one and I put one between my lips. We lit up from my Ronson.

  “You want to know why I saved your life,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “You phoned Uncle Gordon about an hour ago. I found out about the phone call and the fact that you’d be visiting when my uncle spoke to Craig about it. Craig is more than a butler, you see. He began to work for my uncle a long time ago. I think he’s the only person my uncle trusts completely.”

  “Are you saying that they decided to kill me before I got there?”

  “They discussed options.”

  “Where did this talk take place?”

  “In my uncle’s study. You must have noticed the French windows behind his desk. Well, one was slightly open. I was outside the house.” She smiled. “I’m a born eavesdropper. Anyhow, Craig thought it had been a mistake to hire you. Uncle Gordon agreed. My uncle said you were getting hard to handle, and that you were trying to protect the underground freaks and killers who call themselves the Night People. ‘Freaks and killers’ were his words, not mine.”

  I said, “Adrienne, I know how your uncle feels about groups of people who keep to themselves and refuse to enter what he calls the ‘mainstream of American life’. Do you think his bias is so strong that he’s making himself believe that the Night People kidnapped his daughter?”

  She hesitated before answering. “I think he truly believes they kidnapped Suzanne.”

  “Did you know Suzanne very well?”

  “Oh yes. We spent our childhood together.”

  “What sort of person was she?”

  Adrienne smiled slightly. “The opposite of what you’d expect from a daughter of Gordon Pierson. Suzanne loved every living thing. She’d go far out of her way to avoid stepping on an insect.”

  “Were you living in the Pierson home when Suzanne was kidnapped?”

  “No. I was at college. You see, I missed a few years of college when I joined the Peace Corps.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “San Domingo.”

  “Was that before ...”

  “Before my parents were assassinated? Six months remained on my contract when they were killed.” She paused, looking away. “I didn’t see much of my parents while I was there. I worked with a doctor. We went from village to village. It was most rewarding work. You see, only a small percentage of the people of San Domingo have incomes that put them above the poverty level. That’s in the cities. In the villages, everyone is poor. There are no doctors, no medical supplies. Most of the people had awful skin ulcers because of their diet. It’s amazing what a little penicillin or antibiotics will do.”

 

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