Dr. Quake, page 11
part #5 of The Destroyer Series
Wyatt swallowed. His seat was really uncomfortable now. “No, I don’t want that. You know that. But how’m I going to convince anybody in Washington to listen to me?”
“If you had even the brain that’s normal for a pig, you’d figure that out. I’ve told you that Remo Blomberg is a government man. So call him. Tell him. He’ll get the message to the government for you and he’ll get the money for you. Oh, and another thing you can tell them is that we’re going to give them a little taste tomorrow. An earthquake. Not a big one. Just a little number eight on the scale. But if we don’t get the million, we’re going to give them the works. We’ll rip California right off the continent.”
“Should I tell that to this Jewboy, Blomberg?”
“Yes. And make sure that’s all you tell him. You mention us and you’ll wind up in a ditch sucking your own guts.”
“Should I kill him after I get the money?”
“That order’s cancelled, pig, because frankly we don’t think you’re man enough to. We’re going to take care of him ourselves.”
“The usual way?”
“The usual way. We’ll give him some pleasant memories to carry to the grave.”
“The poor fagola bastard,” Wyatt said, clucking.
“If you screw up, it’ll happen to you. But without the pleasant memories. Now I think you better get out of here. Jacki’ll be back any minute and the sight of you makes her sick. Just don’t forget. We want that money here tomorrow night. The quake’ll be in the afternoon. Don’t stand under any bridges.”
Wyatt shuffled to his feet. “All right, Jill. But I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like your calling me Jill, as if we were friends. To you, I’m ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am. No offense intended.”
“All right, pig. Beat it.”
On his way back to town, Sheriff Wade Wyatt had other thoughts on his mind. It wasn’t fair for a man’s life to be ruined, just because he had made one mistake. How was he to know that girl in the motel had been a pro and that he was being framed with pictures? They had given him a set of the pictures. He’d be a laughing stock if anybody ever saw them. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, acting the pervert like that. All that French stuff. No wonder the Frenchies didn’t amount to anything. They were all sick. Sex sick.
And he hadn’t even liked it. That’s what made it worse.
Now the twins had the pictures and so they had Sheriff Wade Wyatt. Imagine him, working not only against his own country, but against the sovereign state of California.
He wished he knew what to do.
But she had said this was the last one. Maybe it’d be over then.
Back at his office, Wyatt put his feet up on the desk and looked at the phone a long time, before lifting it up and getting a number from information.
He dialed and the chink answered. When the fag Blomberg got on, the sheriff told him he had to see him right away. “Be glad to come,” the fag said. “How’s your stomach feeling?” he asked before hanging up.
Wyatt thought back to the afternoon. The two men in a ditch. He reached for the wastepaper basket and heaved into it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ON HIS WAY TO WYATT’S office, Remo wondered what the sheriff wanted to talk about. Probably Curpwell’s death. Well, Remo would tell him nothing about that Musso belonged to Remo. Personally.
Of course, it might not be Curpwell. Maybe it was something important. A Red plot to fluoridate the water. Schools brainwashing children.
Maybe something about the earthquake people. Somehow Quake’s machine was under all this. Remo would bet on that. He couldn’t wait for the chance to try extracting some information from Jacki and Jill.
He parked the red car in front of the low two-story frame building which housed a men’s shop on the first floor with Wyatt’s office upstairs.
Remo took the stairs two at a time. The door was open. Remo walked in without knocking.
Wyatt was sitting at his desk. He still looked puke-white, Remo thought. Maybe he’d found out someone was poisoning his food.
“Close the door, Blomberg,” Wyatt said, standing up.
Remo shoved the door shut with his foot and sat in a fabric-covered chair that Wyatt waved him to. The sheriff deposited his bulk back down in his own swivel chair.
“Well, sheriff,” Remo said. “What’s on your mind?”
Wyatt swallowed, getting his words accurately in his mind, then hooked his thumbs under his belt loops and leaned back.
“Blomberg,” he said, finally, “I don’t think you’re a department store owner.”
“Sure, I am,” Remo said. “It’s the big red building down the block. I’m having the signs changed tomorrow.”
“I don’t mean that,” Wyatt said. “I know you own the store. What I mean is, well, I think you do other work too.”
“Other work?” Remo said.
“Yeah. Like I think you work for the government.” He held up a hand to silence Remo. “Now I don’t expect you to tell me anything, so don’t say anything. But just listen, because this is important.”
“All ears, sheriff,” Remo said, crossing his legs at the knee.
“I got a call tonight from the quake people. They told me on the phone there’s going to be a quake tomorrow. A big one. But they want me to get a message to Washington. They want a million dollars or else they’ll pull a quake that’ll split California in half.”
“What are you telling me for? I don’t have a million dollars,” Remo said.
“Well, it’s like I said. I kinda think you work for the government. Now there’s no way I can get that million dollar message to Washington. They’re just going to think I’m some kind of California nougat. But I thought maybe you could get the message through. These people are dangerous and they’re serious. They’ll rip the whole state apart. Blomberg. Damn it, what I’m telling you is I need your help.”
“Well, sheriff, you’re wrong. I don’t work for the government. But I do have some contacts there. Some pretty important people. If you want, I could transmit the message for you.”
“Well, that’s something,” Wyatt said. He smiled. “Maybe that’ll do it.”
Remo stood up. “Are you going to be here a while?” he asked.
Wyatt nodded.
Remo said, “All right, then. I’m going back to my house to make some calls. I’ll call you here and let you know how I make out. By the way, who called you?”
“Called me?”’
“About the quake? And the million dollars?”
“Oh, yeah. A man. Never heard his voice before,” Wyatt said.
“Another by-the-way, sheriff. Any leads on who killed Curpwell?”
“From the description his secretary gave me, I think those guineas we found in the ditch mighta had something to do with it. Anyway, I’m listing it as a heart attack. Don’t want to shake up the town.”
“Been a busy day, sheriff. A heart attack; two hit-and-run victims; now this million dollars.”
“That’s not all, either,” Wyatt said. “I got word today about some kind of a killing today out at the Gromucci farm. Three men, supposed to be killed by two men. One an old Chink. But I called Gromucci and he told me there wasn’t nothing to it. Just a fairy tale.” He looked at Remo suspiciously.
“Can’t believe in fairy tales,” Remo said pleasantly. “I’ll call you back, sheriff.”
“All right, Blomberg,” Wyatt said. “And thanks. I appreciate it. You know, you’re not such a bad guy after all.”
When Remo left, Wyatt stared at the office door. Blomberg wasn’t such a bad guy, particularly for a fairy. It was a shame that he was going to look like when the two girls were done with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
DR. HAROLD SMITH TOYED WITH the 39¢ red plastic letter opener with a magnifying glass on one end as he listened to Remo on the telephone.
“All right,” he said, “I understand. Do you have any leads? Anything at all?”
“Nothing. I think Quake’s machine is involved. Maybe it’s him. But he’s kind of loose.”
“If that’s what you think, work on it.”
“All right, I will. But what about the million?”
“Stay where you are,” Smith said. “I’ll call you back.”
Smith hung up the phone, turned in his chair and stared out at the waters of Long Island Sound. Blackmailing the government. It was unthinkable. But duty required that he report the message to the President. It was a decision for him to make.
He turned back to the desk, opened a drawer and removed a telephone with a red dot in the handle. He picked up the phone.
In Washington, the President chased his wife from the bedroom and picked up the telephone which was kept in a dresser drawer.
He listened as Smith explained the circumstances. His reaction was immediate.
“Pay it,” he told Smith.
“May I advise you, sir, that once started, blackmail is difficult to stop? And this is nothing but blackmail.”
“Doctor Smith, this is also California we’re talking about. Not Texas.”
“The decision is yours, of course,” Smith said.
“And my decision is this. We will pay them the million dollars. And if they cancel the earthquake they have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, we will up the ante to $1.5 million. Do you have that kind of money available?”
“Yes sir.”
“All right. Then pay it.”
“As you wish,” Smith said. He hung up the telephone and dialed Remo’s number. The President was wrong. He should not pay.
Remo picked up the phone on the first ring.
“Yes?”
“The President says we’ll pay.”
“That must send you up the wall,” Remo said. “Is it coming out of your budget?”
“Not only out of my budget, but out of your expenses. You’ll have to wear a pair of shoes more than a week now.”
“Poor Chiun,” Remo said. “He’s going to have to go on short rations.”
“Another thing,” Smith said. “The President says we’ll pay more if tomorrow’s earthquake is cancelled.”
“How much more?”
Smith could not bring himself to say it. He hesitated then said, “$1.2 million total.”
“I don’t know,” Remo said. “I don’t know if I can bring it home for a penny less than $1.5 million.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” Smith groused. “There’ll be a bank draft of $1.5 million to your account in the San Aquino Bank tomorrow morning. Who’s going to deliver the money?”
“The sheriff here. A big blowhard named Wyatt.”
“It might be interesting to find out who he gives the money to,” Smith said.
“Don’t worry. I plan to.”
“And Remo,” Smith said. “Please try to get the money back.”
“You’re some piece of work,” Remo said, as he hung up.
He looked up Wyatt’s telephone number in the phone book and dialed.
Wyatt sounded like a recording. “This is the San Aquino County sheriff’s office. This is Sheriff Wade Wyatt speaking.”
“Remo Blomberg, sheriff. When do you expect those people to contact you again?”
“Probably in the morning.”
“All right. I’ve heard from some people in Washington. They’ll pay. And they’ll pay an extra $500,000 if tomorrow’s earthquake is cancelled. Do you think they’ll stop it?”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt said. “I’ll ask. How will I get the money?”
“I’ll have it tomorrow,” Remo said. “You can get it from me.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. “They told me small, used bills, not in series.”
“Right,” Remo said. “I’ll take care of it. And you let me know how much tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I hear from them,” Wyatt said.
“Okay, sheriff. Good night.”
Remo hung up, glanced at his watch, and practiced his timing. When he felt a minute had passed, he looked at his watch again. Fifty-nine seconds. Not bad. He picked up the phone, dialed Wyatt’s number again. The line was busy. So Wyatt was contacting them. He was probably part of it.
Well, then, tomorrow, Sheriff Wade Wyatt would get it too. Remo could not take a chance of killing him now. Not until he had the whole gang together along with whatever equipment they had. He could take no chances with a pre-set timing device that might touch off a quake.
· · ·
Wyatt drummed his fingers on his desk. The phone rang eleven times before it was answered.
“This is Wyatt.”
“This is Jacki. What are you calling for, pig? I told you never to call.”
“It’s important. Tell your sister she was right. Blomberg does work for the government. And they’ll pay one and a half million if you call off tomorrow’s quake.”
Jacki paused for a moment, then said, “Okay, we’ll do it. When are you going to get the money?”
“From Blomberg. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“All right, pig. Bring it here after dark. And make sure you’re not followed.”
“That Blomberg tries to follow me, I’ll blow him apart.”
“Don’t worry about him. If anybody follows you tomorrow night, it won’t be Blomberg. Our friend Remo’s going to be dead.”
At that same moment, that very thought was in the mind of a man checking into the Cowboy Motel. His name was Musso.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“IT’S ALL THERE, SHERIFF. A million and a half.”
Wade Wyatt stood in Remo’s living room, his beady little eyes peering out from under his Stetson, looking down into a brown leather valise, filled with bills.
“Small bills, old, not in series,” Remo said. “Where are you going to deliver it?”
“I got to leave it tonight out on Route 17 at a special spot,” Wyatt said.
“What spot?”
“Sorry, Blomberg. I can’t tell you that. If I was to be followed, the whole deal’d be off. And you know what that would mean.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Remo said. He was wearing a white bathing suit, having just come in from the pool to meet Wyatt. “Well, good luck,” he said. “And listen. If you could get some idea of who those people are, I know folks in Washington who’d like to know.”
“I’ll try. You can count on that,” Wyatt said, wrinkling his chin in a grimace of determination. He picked up the suitcase and left. Remo watched him walk toward his patrol car.
So much for Wyatt until nightfall. When Remo had spoken to him in the morning on the telephone, Wyatt hadn’t been at all worried when Remo lied that he might not have the money until dinner time.
So his delivery wasn’t until dinner time, at least. Remo would pick him up before that.
Remo went back through the dining room’s sliding glass doors to the pool area. As he passed through the dining area, he heard the television in Chiun’s bedroom blasting forth the continuing saga of Dr. Lawrence Walters, psychiatrist at large. Chiun’s vice: hopeless addiction to TV soap operas.
What was it the man said about California? Remo wondered, as he lay himself down on the slate deck around the pool. The place where all the misfits of the world congregate, under the assumption that since they were going to be miserable anyway, they might as well be warm.
He’d buy that, he thought, as he felt the California sun toasting his bones. Wade Wyatt, Doctor Quake, the twins, Curpwell, the Mafia. He should write a book. About the interesting people he’d met. And the interesting people he’d killed. How many now was it? He had stopped counting. In the hundreds anyway. Just one at a time. Even the slaughter of a thousand persons begins with but a single death. Yep, he should write a book. Smith’d like that. Cut him in for part of the royalties. He’d like that better.
Remo felt himself fading away into a nap. And then he realized he was not alone.
He rolled to his side and in one motion was on his feet, his hands curled at his sides, poised on his toes.
Jacki and Jill stood there. They wore thin yellow dresses that barely reached the tops of their thighs and that hid none of their curves. They ran their eyes openly and hungrily along Remo’s body; suddenly he felt naked.
“My, my, the nervous type,” the one on the left commented. Remo compared her bustline carefully with her sister’s. The one who spoke was Jill. She was bigger.
“And what balance,” added Jacki. Remo felt foolish poised on his toes that way, in fighting position. He let himself softly down onto his feet.
“Speaking of balance,” he said, “how do you two manage to stand up? It seems a violation of a natural law.”
“We encourage violation,” Jill answered.
“Moving violation, I hope?” Remo asked.
“There’s no other kind,” Jill returned. “Tell me, is this all you do? Lie around the side of the pool? Don’t you swim?”
“Sometimes.”
“We came to thank you… really thank you, for helping the professor yesterday.”
“Glad to help.” He fought to keep his eyes on the girls’ faces. Once a tit man, always a tit man.
“Now that we’re here, aren’t you going to invite us in the pool?”
The girls were having that effect on him again, so Remo sat down on the edge of the low diving board.
“Sure. Help yourself.”
They giggled at his discomfiture. Then, in that way known only to women and chimpanzees, they reached their arms up behind their backs and unzipped their dresses.
Slowly, they wriggled their arms from the short sleeves. The dresses fell softly on the sun-yellowed slate. They kicked off their sandals, stood there before Remo, naked, the sun glinting blue off their ebony hair, their skin creamy white as if it had never known sun. Their hips were lush, their legs long and full. Their waists were small and rising above them were the magnificent breasts, erect and full. Remo felt like jumping to his feet and shouting. Except that he couldn’t stand up.
