Nothing To Lose, page 4
“Good evening,” said the redhead politely. “Are you staying, or just passing through?”
Larren stared at her dumbly. She lay full length on the wide bed, wearing nothing but a flimsy negligée of transparent nylon, slightly tinged with pink. She was leaning on one elbow, her hand outstretched and resting on the light switch. The other hand was on a level with her nose and was pointing a small calibre automatic at the region of his kidneys.
“What’s the matter, darling, surprised?” Her green eyes were laughing at him and there was an impudent smile on her lips. Her flaming red hair hung down well below her shoulders and lay like a pool of fire on the pillows behind.
Larren said slowly. “A little surprised. Who are you?”
“Whoa now,” she pulled herself up a little more and settled herself comfortably on the bed, the automatic still steady in her hand. The fact that the negligée left her as good as naked didn’t seem to bother her at all. “First, my tall, dark and handsome intruder, tell me who you are? And why you’re sneaking about my bedroom without even the courtesy of a knock?” She flashed him a devilish smile. “I should like to think that you’ve come to seduce me, but it’s obviously not that or you wouldn’t have been so eager to go straight out through the other exit.”
Larren was realising grimly that Smith’s file on Vargo had been far from accurate; there had been no mention of Vargo having a mistress.
He said coolly, “Actually, I’m the gas inspector, I’ve just come to have a look at the mains.”
She nodded as though impressed. “Of course, I should have guessed. All gas inspectors come round at this time of night, and they all come via the windows.” She smiled again. “Now tell me a fairy story.”
Larren moved closer to the foot of the bed. Deciding on a policy of bluff, he said calmly, “Shouldn’t you be screaming, or calling for the police or something? It’s not customary to just lie there in the near nude and laugh.”
She shook her head carelessly, and the movement made the flames in her hair dance anew. “I’m not the customary sort of girl, darling. I’m afraid I don’t scream — well hardly, and I don’t like policemen. I guess at heart, I’m just a bad girl.”
“What do you intend to do then?”
“Well, I might shoot you.” For a moment her eyes were almost serious, then the laughter came back into them again. “But you’re too nice looking for that. It would be such a waste.” She hesitated for a second then said, “I presume that you’re looking for poor Anton?”
Larren slid his hands calmly into his trouser pockets. “Why should I be looking for dear Anton?”
The redhead laughed. “There’s lots of reasons why people should come looking for him. He’s been getting too careless lately. I’ve been expecting someone like you sooner or later. Tell me, are you from the police?”
“Not quite, I’m more of a privateer.”
“How romantic. I didn’t know such people existed any more. Were you going to kill Anton?”
“You say that as though he might deserve killing. And I thought you were his mistress.”
She scowled. “That’s not a nice word. Only married men have mistresses, and Anton isn’t married — at least I don’t think he is. The correct phrase is lady friend. It sounds much more polite.”
“I apologise. But to return to the original subject, why should Anton deserve killing?”
She waved the gun reprovingly. “You’re not playing fair. You’re the bad man and I’ve got the gun. You should let me ask the questions.”
Larren smiled and glanced at the gun in her hand. “Would you really use that if I came any closer.”
The red lips parted in a broad smile. “I might, if I thought you meant to murder me in my bed. Apart from that I don’t think there’s anything I should be really offended about.”
Larren ignored the slight hint of an invitation in her tone and said calmly, “What time will Vargo be back?”
“Aha,” there was a gleam of triumph in her eyes. “So you are looking for Anton. If you were just an ordinary burglar you wouldn’t know his name. Still, you needn’t worry. He’ll be gone for some time yet.”
As she talked Larren was trying to visualise some method of extricating himself from his precarious situation. For he had no doubt that the redhead was dangerous, despite her bantering tone. For one thing she handled the gun too confidently, and she was obviously fully accustomed to using one. And the very fact that Smith’s department knew nothing of her indicated that she was probably one link in the chain the counter-espionage man was trying to smash. Had that automatic been fitted with an efficient silencer he doubted whether he would be alive now.
The redhead went on. “While we’re waiting for Anton we can have a little chat. You can tell me all about yourself. Only no more fairy stories — please.” She made a slight warning movement with the gun as she finished and smiled sweetly.
Larren withdrew his hands from his pockets and rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. “Well, mine is a pretty ordinary life story, I was born in a bed at the tender age of nothing and I’ve amounted to nothing much ever since.” As he spoke his eyes rested for a second on the foot of the bed and he recalled the success he had had in upsetting Christina Bruce earlier on. He suddenly realised that there was no reason why the same trick shouldn’t work twice.
He raised his eyes to meet the redhead again and went on: “Of course I’ve had my moments. A passionate lust for my nurse at the age of five, and an attempt on the housemaid’s virginity at seven. Not to mention—” He broke off in mid-sentence and threw himself flat on the floor at the foot of the bed.
His dive carried his head and shoulders right underneath the low bed and for the moment he was completely out of the redhead’s range and sight. He heard her moving sharply across the bed above him in an attempt to line the gun up again and then he arched his shoulders and tipped the bed upwards. He reached his knees and straightened up in one violent lunge, spilling mattress, sheets, pillows, gun and redhead on to the floor.
The redhead landed with a thud that knocked the wind out of her and she wriggled helplessly in the tangle of bedclothes. She was still hanging on to her automatic and her eyes were glittering as she fought to get it clear of the sheets. Larren stepped away from the bed and dropped it down again with a crash as she finally succeeded. Without hesitation he threw himself on top of her.
She squirmed and twisted in fury beneath him as he clamped one hand around her fist where she held the gun. With a startling show of strength she almost threw him off and they rolled clumsily across the floor before Larren could regain the top position again. Her eyes were blazing savagely now and she lunged her face upwards and locked her teeth in the lobe of Larren’s ear.
Larren choked back a yelp of agony and used his free hand to squeeze her throat until she let go. She choked and hissed something unintelligible, at the same time raking at his face with her nails.
Larren was breathing hard now, already tiring in his efforts to hold down this concentrated ball of writhing limbs and muscle. With a final effort he managed to wrench the gun from her hand and roll clear.
He scrambled quickly to his feet and leaned breathlessly against the wall, cautiously covering the redhead with the gun as she struggled weakly clear of the torn sheets. She sat up slowly amid the tangle, her dark green eyes full of hate. The pointless negligée was now reduced to a few flimsy strips of material that still clung somehow to one shoulder. Her bared breasts were rising jerkily and her whole body was trembling violently.
Larren reached up to finger the perforated lobe of his ear and traced a trickle of blood down the side of his neck. He said ruefully, “You don’t play fair either. It’s contrary to Queensberry rules to bite.”
Slowly the anger began to fade from the redhead’s eyes, a smile of devilment appeared instead. “You’re not exactly a Galahad yourself. Gentlemen don’t tip a lady out of bed and then jump on her.”
“Sheer cowardice,” he explained. “Guns make me nervous.”
The redhead got up slowly. “What happens now?”
“Well first you can put the mattress back on the bed, then you can lie down again.”
She looked deliberately down the tantalising length of her smooth body, and then made a coquettish mockery of adjusting the remains of her negligée. “So you did come to seduce me, how lovely.”
Larren grinned. “Maybe, but don’t count on it.”
The redhead shrugged and then turned to pick up the mattress. She rearranged it on the bed and then lay back calmly. She crossed her ankles and wriggled her toes at him, grinning impishly.
Larren recalled the hateful glitter of a few moments ago and wondered what kind of a woman he was really dealing with. He said flatly, “Roll over on to your face, and put your hands behind your back.”
She hesitated and then obeyed. “This isn’t necessary you know.”
Larren grinned and shook a pillow out of its case with his free hand. “Not for what you want maybe, but it is for me.” He moved over to the bed and planted his knee in the small of her back to hold her down while he slipped his gun into his pocket and secured her wrists with the pillow case.
“Not a permanent job,” he observed as he stepped back. “But it will keep you out of mischief for a few minutes.” He picked up a sheet as she rolled over to face him and tore off a strip to tie her ankles.
She watched him with interest as he worked. “What are you going to do, darling?”
He smiled down at her. “I’m going to run, like all good cowards. But first I’ve got to make sure you don’t start calling for help as soon as I’ve gone. So, I’m afraid I’ve got to gag you.”
She smiled as he bent over her with another strip of the torn sheet. “I told you once, I don’t like policemen. I shan’t be naughty.”
“I can’t take that chance. There might be other people you could call on for help.”
She wriggled deeper into the bed as if to get away from him; a deliberately seductive movement of her body. Her red mouth pouted coyly. “And I did so want to be seduced, especially by a handsome privateer.” Her eyes mocked him. “Don’t I even get one little kiss?”
It was doubtful whether a bishop could have refused her as she lay bound and naked on the bed. And Larren was no bishop. “Promise to be good?” he demanded.
“I promise.”
He leaned over her as she arched her shoulders upwards to meet him. His hands held her up as her mouth clamped hungrily against his own. Her eyes remained open, laughing up at him.
It was then that he heard a movement from behind. He dropped the redhead sharply and spun round just as the door opened.
Anton Vargo must have entered through the front of the house, for Larren had heard no sound of his arrival. He stepped through the door and halted like a startled animal as he saw the scene in the bedroom. Instinctively his hand was inside his jacket, reaching beneath his left armpit where he obviously carried a shoulder holster. His dark face was twisted into a mask of fury.
CHAPTER 5: FORCING THE PACE
Vargo was already drawing his gun free when Larren scooped a pillow from the floor and threw it straight in his face. Vargo swore as he fended off the harmless missile, but before he had a second chance to level his weapon Larren had whipped the redhead’s automatic from his pocket.
He snapped harshly, “Hold it, Vargo! If you want to live just stand perfectly still.”
Vargo threw the pillow down angrily and let his gun fall back into its holster. He spread his hands wide in a gesture of defeat and then glared past Larren at the woman.
“Claudine, what is going on here?”
“I was about to be seduced, before you so unkindly interrupted.” The redhead was still unperturbed by his arrival.
Larren moved across the room to a point where he could watch them both. He said flatly. “Did you hear him coming? Is that why you wanted to play games? To distract me?”
Claudine stretched luxuriously. “Of course not — I’m as disappointed as you are. Anton, you’re a measly old nuisance.”
Vargo ignored her and turned his glare on Larren. “Perhaps you will kindly tell me who the hell you are?”
“I’m the bogeyman,” Larren retorted amiably. “Didn’t mummy ever tell you about me?”
Despite his tone Larren was fuming inside. The last thing he had wanted was to meet Vargo face to face and by doing so he had made just about the biggest blunder possible. His chances of getting close to the man would be nil now that he had allowed himself to be identified as an enemy. He was of no more use than any of Smith’s other agents. Within a matter of hours he had let the counter-espionage man down and completely fouled up the works.
Vargo was looking at Claudine again. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me about your friend, who he is, and where he has come from?”
“Actually he’s a privateer, and he came through the window.” Claudine seemed to be enjoying herself.
Baffled Vargo swung back on Larren again, his teeth were clamped tight and his whole being trembled angrily. For a moment Larren thought that he was going to ignore the gun and charge and he raised the weapon warningly.
He said slowly, “You’re a problem, Vargo, a real problem. I don’t quite know what to do with you.” He moved closer as he spoke and suddenly unleashed his left fist in a fast, powerful drive that landed just below the belt. Vargo gave a choking gurgle and folded abruptly forwards from the waist. Larren chopped smartly at the side of his neck with the butt of the automatic and he collapsed without another sound.
Calmly Larren stepped back and surveyed the damage. He said apologetically, “Well, that’s one answer.”
Claudine twisted slightly in her bonds and moved to one side of the bed for a closer look. “Poor Anton,” she murmured. “I was fond of him too.”
Larren didn’t bother to answer her. Instead he knelt by the unconscious Vargo and extracted a 38 calibre automatic from beneath the man’s armpit. He slipped both guns into his pockets and then lifted the heavy body on to a nearby chair. He tore several more of the scattered sheets into strips and then lashed the man tightly into place. Only then did he turn back to Claudine.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he demanded.
“Just out on the landing, first door on the left.”
“Thanks.” He felt her eyes on his back as he went out of the door, and wondered, yet again, what was going on in her scheming mind.
In the bathroom he found a plastic bowl which he filled with cold water. He brought it back to the bedroom and poured it slowly over Vargo’s head. He had already made up his mind what his next move must be, for he had no intention of reporting his failure to Smith and then letting the matter go. He still wanted the people behind Vargo, the people responsible for Andrea’s murder. He could lose nothing now by forcing the pace.
Vargo began to groan and shake his head as the cold water ran down his face and chest, he choked once and stirred weakly against his bonds. A few seconds later he opened his eyes. He blinked back the water from his lids and shook his head groggily. His gaze found Larren and he straightened a little. He made no attempt to speak.
Larren left him to gather his wits and turned back to Claudine who was watching with interest from the bed. He moved over to her and said calmly. “I’m sorry, but this time I’ve got to gag you, and this time no tricks.”
“You’re the boss.” She was fatalistic about it. She allowed him to fasten a strip of torn sheet around her mouth without a single attempt at enticement. When he had finished her dark green eyes were unreadable.
“If I were you I should turn over and shut your eyes,” he advised her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to be a little bit harsher with Vargo. There are a few things I want him to tell me.”
Her bare shoulders moved in a careless shrug. She made no attempt to take his advice. Her manner sent an eerie chill through Larren’s stomach, and he found himself hoping that their positions were never reversed. She was as callous as she was beautiful.
Vargo was glowering at him when he turned back. He strained tentatively at his bonds and then demanded for the third time, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Larren took the largest automatic from his pocket and held it just under the man’s nose. He paused for effect and then said softly. “The name is Simon Larren. Does that mean anything to you?”
Vargo shook his head.
“Then I’ll explain. Five days ago a man and a woman died in a dirty little back street in Paris. The man was an old friend of mine named Tim Carter. The woman was my wife.” Larren stopped there. He did not intend to mention Smith, or the fact that he had taken over Carter’s job, he wanted Vargo to believe that he was acting on his own. Vargo’s superiors would be wary of stirring up too much trouble by killing another man from counter-espionage, but it was quite likely that they would not hesitate to eliminate an interfering freelance, provided he made enough trouble. Larren knew that the only way he could make contact with the men above Vargo now was to make them come after him. He finished up softly. “Before he died Tim Carter mentioned your name. I want to know why?”
Vargo said tautly, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Larren’s face was cold, his grey-green eyes hard and frightening. He leaned forward casually and struck one slashing blow with the barrel of the automatic, splitting the skin along Vargo’s cheekbone. He watched the blood trickle down the dark face for a moment, then said quietly, “Try and think again.”
Vargo spat. “You will not get away with this.”
Deftly Larren opened up the other cheekbone. He felt no pangs of conscience over his methods for he knew full well that Vargo’s kind would not have hesitated to use them had he been the one strapped in the chair. Vargo was also a traitor with the blood of several good men on his hands, besides being one of the people directly responsible for Andrea’s death. When he thought of Andrea, Larren could feel the urge to kill Anton Vargo mounting within him.
