Chapter 9
Matt was puzzled at first, and then suspicious. It was the lovely young girl he found himself continually encountering. He originally noticed her on the first day of his adventure in the flat with Guthrie. He was at the corner grocer's picking up some breakfast items, and she entered the store. She appeared to be seeking someone, and upon seeing him, she seemed startled. It was almost as if he were the object of her search.
The next meeting occurred on the second night when he was entering the pub to check on the German. At first Matt marked it off as mere coincidence, supposing the girl lived somewhere in the area. But it didn't seem reasonable. This area of the city was obviously of a lower socio-economic level than that of the girl. She wore expensive, rather modish clothes, and didn't act familiar with the surroundings.
The third meeting caused even greater concern. He saw her on that occasion, but she didn't see him. When she entered a side street, Matt followed. He saw her get into a red Fiat Spyder and buzz off into the night.
Was she an agent? He discounted this possibility at once. She was much too obtrusive and flamboyant. She certainly wasn't typical material for such assignments, at any rate. But then times had changed, hadn't they?
He went to Guthrie with the story, but Guthrie wrote it off. He said the girl was probably having a lark with some truck driver or something. He philosophized that with the emasculation of the average London male, she had to travel afield for virile companionship. Matt admitted the possibility, and dropped the subject.
Matt wasn't satisfied, however. Guthrie's light treatment of this matter disturbed him, but so did his behavior in general. Rollo was out of the flat too often to please Matt, and seemed to be withholding too much information.
While Matt risked his life to establish rapport with the dangerous German, Guthrie seemed occupied by matters outside the basic operation. Twice Matt asked Guthrie where he went during the evening, and received no valid explanation. The second time he questioned him, Guthrie grinned and implied that he was having a final fling with a very special friend.
This angered Matt. Because, if it were true, Guthrie was doing what Matt had been warned not to do. Matt could still be enjoying Carey's bed if Guthrie hadn't insisted that he sever all previous relationships. In answer to Matt's anger, Guthrie asked him to simply trust him. He said he knew what he was doing.
Matt didn't persevere, but his confidence was rapidly fading. His intuition ordered him to withdraw at once. He should have relied on memory and instinct in regard to Guthrie. But it wasn't that simple. For one thing, his intrinsic curiosity would demand a denouement to this bizarre happening, but secondly-if there were indeed a chance to nail Bormann-he would have to take it.
With his doubts firmly established, Matt went to the boxes of belongings to uncover a trusted companion, his souvenir luger. As he rummaged through the material, he remembered. Once there had been evidence of a prowler at Carey's apartment, and he had loaned her the weapon. He even recalled where she had kept it, on the high shelf above the kitchen sink. Well, he would have to get it, and there was no better time than the present.
Fritz Heintz always isolated himself in his rooms between the hours of eight and ten. It was during these hours, obviously, that he was ordered to stand at the radio. Almost every message taped by Guthrie's man had been transmitted during that time. It was only seven now, so Matt had at least three hours to himself. He hadn't seen Guthrie since early afternoon, but left no message for him. If Guthrie could come and go as he pleased-so could Matt.
Matt took a cab to the center of London. The chances were remote that Carey would be home. When she was employed, she seldom returned to the apartment before nine, at the earliest. He was certain he would let himself in, secure the luger, and leave without his visit being known. That was his plan.
The gun wouldn't be needed for Fritz-there were quieter methods of liquidation. He simply wanted a weapon nearby. He didn't want to be put in an embarrassing situation by Guthrie's mysterious shenanigans. He had no reason to consider Guthrie a personal menace; he would never be that foolish. But who could tell what fringe activities the character was involved in.
Matt paid the cabbie and entered the downstairs hallway. After climbing the stairs, he listened in front of Carey's apartment. All seemed quiet; no light was showing beneath the door. He quietly used his key and let himself into the silent rooms. Just as he eased the door shut, he realized the rooms weren't absolutely silent after all. There were definite sounds coming from the back bedroom.
Matt took care not to be heard. He secured the door and stepped softly through the kitchen. To see into the bedroom would be easy because of the windows. Between the kitchen and the bedroom was the row of windows covered half way up with adhesive shelf paper. Carey had chosen the checkered material to give the bedroom at least a semblance of privacy.
He almost stumbled over a chair, but grabbed it just in time. By then the softly murmured conversation was becoming audible.
"But we shouldn't be here," Carey was protesting. "You said you were my friend."
Matt continued his move to the windows and stretched to peer through the upper panes. In the light from the sign above a distant building, he could see Carey lying on the disarranged bed. A man had her pinned there and was busily kissing about her neck.
"I want to be a better friend," mumbled the man between the kisses. "After all, you like a good time as well as the next girl."
"Don't," she moaned, resisting and snuggling at the same time. "I'm too plastered and sleepy. Please-uh-don't."
The protest was of the token variety and Matt knew it. Otherwise he'd have interceded. As it was, he could wait. It might be very interesting to see what kind of girl he had been associated with.
"A pretty girl like you-shouldn't be without-a lover," said the man. Matt saw a hand in the lights as it covered Carey's breast. She seemed to be wearing only pants and bra. The hand pressed and squeezed as the kiss on her mouth made an indistinct silhouette. The swath of light was only capturing the hand and the breast at the moment. Matt saw Carey's hand feebly attempt to pry the hand away, but the effort was minimal. The man shifted his weight to make a firmer body-to-body contact. Before Matt's eyes he was watching his former girl friend submit herself to seduction. He couldn't justify interference. He was the uninvited member of the threesome.
The kiss broke finally, and she let out a gush of air. Now her hands pressed back the man's body to gain respite. "Whew!" she moaned. "Easy-eh? You're making me sexy. And that silly moustache-it tickles."
The male figure moved back, and in the very dim light, Matt saw a flurry of movement. A garment flew past the light. The bastard was getting undressed. Carey? She simply lay there, waiting. She lifted a knee, and her glorious leg could be seen in the light as it swayed back and forth.
"Whatya think you're doing?" she inquired sleepily.
The man failed to reply, but Matt could swear that he heard his heavy breathing. He was hurrying with his undressing, but Carey was giving him plenty of time.
"I don't think I want to screw you," she said. "I've always been a one-man girl. I pretend to be a swinger, but I'm not really. Anyway-I'm drunk. Too drunk to be any good."
She started to lift from the bed, but a hand gently restrained her. "It will be fine," he whispered soothingly. "Just wait and see."
"I hate moustaches," she argued.
He was over her this time, and he was without clothing. Matt saw him center his eager body over Carey's, but this time her arms went around his neck. The kiss was meaningful, and his body began to move up, down, from side to side. His hands were all over her, probing feverishly.
"Here," he whispered. "Off with this."
He was fumbling behind her back at the bra catch, and Carey cooperated fully. "Are you sure-he said he was-bored with me?" she asked in a whimpering voice.
"Yes-he told me to be his guest." The bra was off, and Matt caught a glimpse of her shimmering breasts in an instant of light. "He said you were good-very good."
Matt was puzzled now. He was caught up in the action, so the words had hardly registered. But as he saw the man tap Carey's bottom to make it lift, it all started to fall into place. Carey's panties were being yanked down from her rounded hips.
"The bastard!" she cried, naked and ready. She clutched her lover and her legs opened. He snuggled between them and the embrace strengthened. As the man felt below to make way for sex, Carey lent a helping hand. "Put it in," she cried. "I'll prove Matt was right. I'll show you the best piece of ass in London. And-when we finish that, I'll do other things to prove my talent. Then you can tell Matt all about it. You can brag about your conquests.
The two of you can compare notes. Oh-yes, yes, yes. More, more, more. . . ."
Already the bodies were thrashing together in deep sexual strokes. Carey's knees lifted and she hooked her ankles about her lover's slim hips. She arched her lithe hips very high, clutching his buttocks in her frantic hands.
Matt sighed. He reached up for the luger on the high shelf and went around to the hallway that led to the bedroom. The door was open, so all he had to do was switch on the light. He did it, and the thrashing bodies stopped in mid-stroke. The frozen forms were almost comical, but Matt wasn't laughing.
"Hi, Carey," Matt said quietly. "I came back for this."
Roland Guthrie let out a gasp and practically flew out of Carey's embrace. He cringed against an outside window, whimpering in panic. His eyes came to focus on the blue steel luger, and he was like a cornered, doomed animal.
"You wouldn't. Matt, please. I beg of you!"
Carey had drawn a fist to her mouth upon the burst of light, and remained that way. She wasn't eyeing the weapon. She was studying Matt's face.
"I heard what that sniveling slob said to you," Matt said to Carey. "It wasn't true. I'd never do a thing like that and you should know it."
"But he said. . . ."
Matt nodded. "All you needed was an excuse, wasn't it? As long as you can justify it, it's all okay. Well-hope you two will be very happy. You deserve each other."
Matt turned to leave, but Guthrie scurried after him. He ran to Matt naked, and clutched at his sleeve. "Look, old boy," he pleaded with a bit more composure. "You can't hold this against me." Matt glared into his eyes. "I mean, after all, you did say you were through with her. I mean. . . ."
Matt put the gun in his inside pocket, and in a swift move spun Guthrie around and twisted his arm up behind his back. He marched him bedside where Carey was huddling. "Okay, you slimy bastard-tell her why I moved out. . . ."
"But Matt-ow-oh, please-you're breaking my arm."
"I said-tell her."
"It will spoil our plan. How can I tell her?" Guthrie was half bent over resisting the muscular stress. "He-didn't turn you over to me, Carey," he finally said, his voice thick with pain. "We're working on a project. I told him to move away. It was-my idea."
Matt released him, and Guthrie fell to the floor.
Carey's eyes were wet with tears. She extended a hand, but Matt wasn't having any. "I-believed him," she cried. "Oh, Matt-Matt, darling. . . ."
Matt drew in a heavy breath of air and turned around. He left the room and the apartment. Carey called after him, but he ignored her cries. When he was halfway down the stairs, he heard her leave the apartment and follow him.
"Please, Matt-wait. Don't leave me with him. I love you, Matt. I'm crazy about you." Matt didn't hurry his stride, but he didn't pause either. She clutched his arm and sobbed as they reached the front door. Matt burst out into the street and paused finally. "You'd better get back inside," he said coldly. "You don't want to get yourself arrested."
"I don't care," she cried. "I would never go with another man-not if. . . ."
Matt studied the abject "form standing naked on the sidewalk before him, and in a panoramic glance, saw at least a dozen people converging on them. It was early evening and the streets were crowded. A car squealed to a stop; a catcall came from a passing cab.
Before a bobby was included in the curious throng, Matt yanked her back inside the doorway. "Get back upstairs, do you hear? Don't be a worse tramp than you already are."
She seemed to come to her senses then, and made a feeble attempt to cover herself. Despite the urgency of the drama, Matt let his mind speculate on this peculiarity about women. Why, when they were totally naked, did they reflex-ively try to hide only their breasts? Her triangle of pubic hair was in clear view, but the breasts were safe.
Carey turned then and rushed up the stairs. Matt lingered long enough to capture the picture of her round buttocks as they rhythmically shifted in her stride.
When she was lost from view, Matt left the doorway, and had to fight his way through a group of young men whistling and calling from the sidewalk. As they started to present a physical challenge, a small red car pulled to the curb. He looked that way and immediately recognized the driver. It was the ubiquitous doll that had been around every corner for nearly a week.
"Get in," she said gaily.
Without hesitation Matt complied.