Chapter 13

It was getting dark when I drove out of Santa Margherita, and I watched the mirror to be sure no one was following me. I couldn't exclude the possibility that I might have a tail. They might hope that if I knew where Zora was hidden I'd go to meet her, and they'd find her then through me.

I noticed nothing that looked suspicious. I even made it a point to glance at all the cars I saw, watching for the Mercedes with the T0-24818 license plate.

Passing the town of Nervi I glanced to my left and I noticed that someone had recently strung up a bunch of lights along the edges of buildings, on top of church steeples, and outlining the crosses. Apparently they were getting ready for a celebration, or it might be a religious holiday.

I drove on, and when I was about five minutes' drive away from the Lido, I came around a curve and my headlights hit the license plate of a car just coming to a stop, facing me, and on the opposite side of the street.

The grey Mercedes. TO-24818.

It was pure luck seeing that car again, because if I'd been hunting it, I couldn't have found it in a thousand years. Maybe the Great Equalizer wanted me to square things-giving me a chance to get in my licks.

I braked over to the curb just as a guy got out from under the wheel of the Mercedes. He went around the car and stepped up on the sidewalk. By the glare of the street lamp nearby I recognized him as the one with the gun that afternoon.

An hour ago I'd been happy to leave well enough alone, to forget about the way they'd treated me, but now I couldn't wait to get my hands on him.

I flipped out my lights and turned off the ignition key. For a second I thought he was going into the small church that was perched at the edge of the sea, but at the last moment he turned left, and he seemed to be going down a flight of steps.

I hopped out of my car and scurried across the street. Then I saw that there was a long flight of stone steps leading down to the sea. He was walking slowly, and he was about halfway down.

I could see a small cove below, with a lot of fishing boats bobbing around in the water, many of them were turned upside down on the gravelly beach. A small village was huddled back in the cove, with the stone buildings butted right up against a steep cliff.

There were quite a number of people out, taking a little evening stroll. Many were sightseers and tourists, and I noticed that most of them were eating ice cream cones. Now I remembered one of the waiters in the hotel telling me about the tiny fishing village of Boccadasse. It was noted for its excellent ice cream.

When my quarry had reached the bottom of the steps, I started down. I saw him walking towards his left, beginning to mix in with the people, and I hurried so I wouldn't lose him. When I reached the bottom of the steps I saw that he'd stopped at the edge of a small crowd of people. They were all standing in front of a brightly-lighted ice cream shop where four uniformed girls were filling cones. He fished into his pocket and I assumed he was getting some ice cream, too.

I moved on towards my right so that I'd be in the darkness along the front of the buildings where I could observe him without being seen. His turn came up eventually. I watched him get his cone and pay for it.

Up to that moment it had been my guess that he merely come down here to get some ice cream and then he'd go back up the steps again. But he didn't do that. He turned and came in my direction, walking slowly, and keeping an eye on the cone because the ice cream was melting a little and beginning to run down his fingers.

So I kept moving away from him, and always ahead of him, but staying in the shadow of the buildings. The only reason he never saw me was because he was concentrating on licking ice cream that was dribbling down the side of the cone, licking that which spilled on his fingers, and glancing down at his front occasionally to see whether he'd messed up those fancy clothes.

By that time I couldn't move alongside the buildings anymore; because twenty feet farther was the water's edge. Fortunately, I found a narrow passageway between two buildings, and I began backing into it. It was only about five feet wide and the buildings rose straight up on both sides. One good thing about it, the passageway was almost pitch dark.

I could hear his steps coming nearer now, and I knew that if he entered the passageway he couldn't help but see me. I peered over my Shoulder and in the direction he was headed. The side of the cliff rose abruptly. The passageway ended there.

If he entered it I was trapped.

He did.

At that second I felt an opening beside me, and I slipped into it. It was an open doorway, with only darkness inside. I didn't know whether I was standing in someone's hall or front bedroom. He was coming nearer, his steps sounding louder every second. In a moment he'd reach the doorway.

I decided to take him, even though he probably hadn't finished his ice cream. The moment the dark outline of him moved by the doorway I chopped him hard in the back of the neck. I caught him as he fell forward, pulled him up, and then clipped him with my fist.

He crumpled silently, and I dragged him inside the dark hallway. I searched him quickly, and I found the keys to the Mercedes Which I took. He had no gun, no knife, neither the sap. I didn't care about his identification.

By that time my eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness, and I surveyed the narrow hallway. Two oars were leaning up against the wall in one corner. Behind them on the floor appeared to be a roll of fishing line. I felt of it, found it strong, and I tied his hands and feet. I guess the pain of the line cutting into his skin speeded up his revival.

Squatting down beside him I whispered my question. "Are you still looking for Zora?"

He didn't answer me.

I chopped him smartly across the Adam's apple with the heel of my hand. That started him coughing and wretching and squirming; and for a moment I thought he might choke. He didn't.

Again I asked, "Are you still looking for Zora?"

"No."

"Did you find her?"

He didn't answer until I brought up my hand again.

"Yes," he said quickly. "We found her."

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs."

"You're kidding."

"No. She's upstairs."

"Now you listen to me," I said softly. "I want the truth."

"It's the truth," he said. "She's upstairs in the room. Go see for yourself. Go up the little street. Take the first door on your right. Go upstairs, you'll see."

"Who's up there with her?"

"She's by herself. There's no one else with her."

This time I really let him have it across the apple, and it took him several minutes to get over it.

When he'd settled down again I asked, "Where is she?"

"She is upstairs."

"Where's your buddy?"

"He-he's with her."

"Is there anyone else up there?"

He shook his head vigorously. "No one else. Believe me, it's the truth."

"All right."

I tied my handkerchief across his mouth, and tight enough so that it was almost rubbing up against his epiglottis. Then I dragged him into the rear corner of the hallway.

I stepped out into the narrow passageway and listened for a moment. The only sound audible was that of the people talking and laughing in the vicinity of the ice cream shop. I couldn't understand why there weren't any people in these buildings. Maybe this was the time of day when they went out for fresh air and a long walk.

Moving silently to my right I found the door that he'd recommended. It was slightly ajar, and I stepped inside. I saw a small flight of stairs ahead of me, and I moved up them slowly. I'd forgotten to ask him which room the two were in, but as it turned out it didn't matter. There was only one door upstairs.

It was closed, but along the bottom of it I saw a faint and narrow strip of light.

Now, how to get in?

I couldn't think of any of those fancy tricks they use on television when the hero wants to enter a room where trouble lies in wait. So I just knocked.

I heard the scrape of a chair inside, then slow and heavy footsteps coming nearer. There was the sound of a wooden latch being lifted. The door opened and the one with the round face was framed against a pale lighted background.

If Knute Rockne had seen me take him out with that shoulder block, I'm sure there would have been Five Horsemen. I heard his breath go out with a whoosh, and something snapped inside him when he hit the floor. It was probably only a rib, because it didn't slow him up. He was on his feet the same instant as I was.

My right shot for his face but he ducked, and I missed him.

I was off balance for a split second, but I caught a glimpse of someone else in the room. Then his knee boomed into my guts. I staggered backwards, trying to regain my balance. I crashed against the wall, and the force of it stunned me momentarily. He dove on top of me. Now his hands had found my throat, and he was beginning to put on the pressure.

I twisted and bucked and squirmed and tried to tear his hands away, but his fingers were digging in that much harder. I tried to shove my fingers into his eyes but he kept twisting and turning his head. By that time the blood was roaring in my ears, the pressure was building up in my head and setting off a string of exploding firecrackers. My lungs screamed for air. I clawed and ripped at the fingers around my throat. Nothing helped. The end wasn't far off, and I had to do something quickly if I wanted to five.

Fuzzily, I could see him gritting his teeth as he put on the pressure, and his nose seemed about a foot away from mine. I formed up all the saliva I could find in my mouth.

Then I spit the whole mess right into his face.

When it hit him he jerked back, relaxing his fingers for a split second. That's all I needed. I tore his hands away from my throat and jolted him in the groin with my knee. That doubled him over slightly. And that was the turning point.

I scooted out from under him, and I was on my feet when he got up. He got three of my fingers jabbed into one eye. He had trouble seeing me now, and he didn't know what to do a-bout the fists I was slamming into his guts and into his face. I unloaded the big one right on the point of his chin.

That ended all his problems of trying to see. He sort of folded up and slid to the floor. I dove on top of him, but he didn't move. Neither did I for several minutes because I was too weary and winded.

Then I searched his pockets. I found the gun in the back pocket and I transferred it to mine. I also felt a lump in another pocket. When I'd worked it out, I could see the little pouch filled with bird shot. The leather felt as soft as a baby's skin. Italian leather goods are first rate. I didn't want the sap, and so I tossed it across the room.

I stood up then and looked around. On the floor was a burning candle stuck in the top of an old straw-covered wine bottle. There was a homemade rickety stool, and there was a narrow and old wooden bed with a stained and discolored tick on it.

On top of that was Zora, tied hand and foot, and gagged. Her eyes were open, watching every move I made.

First I went to the door, stuck my head outside and listened. There was no sound of anyone stirring within the building. I eased the door shut and dropped the wooden latch in place.

Then I walked over to the bed. After I'd untied the sailing rope tied around her beautiful ankles, I used it to tie the guy's hands behind his back. The rope I took off her wrists I transferred to his ankles. By that time Zora had ripped off the gag.

"Oh, cherie," she said, "how can I thank you?"

"I don't know," I said.

She began rubbing her wrists while I took the gag she'd tossed aside and used it on the guy. Then I went over to bed and sat down on it.

"I'll rub your ankles," I said. "You keep working on the wrists."

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"That's quite a story."

The smell coming from the bed was almost unbearable, a strong biting scent of urine, as though a chronic bedwetter had slept on it for a half a century.

I had to stand up. Then I asked, "Who is this man?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe a kidnapper."

"Who would pay a ransom to get you back?"

She smiled. "Maybe you, my dear, don't you think?"

I said, "Tell me about Nick."

"Let's get out of here first." She swung her legs off the bed and started to get up.

The smell was bad enough to make me want to agree to that, but I wanted to talk first. I set my hand on her shoulder and shoved her down again. "Not until you tell me a few things."

"What is it, my dear?" Her eyes widened with surprise.

I couldn't tell whether it was because I knew about Nick, or because I'd set her down on the bed again. I asked, "Did you kill Nick?"

"Yes," she said. "And I would do it again if the same thing happened."

"Why?"

"Because-the way he treated me."

"What did he do?"

"If I tell you, will we go then?"

"Then we'll go," I promised.

According to Zora, Nick had befriended her. He was one of the directors of a freight shipping line, and he'd bought the apartment in Genoa, and she'd become his mistress. He'd been wonderful to her, until about a month ago. Then he'd changed, suddenly becoming jealous and very demanding, and insisting that she never go out of the apartment. When she heard he had been invited to George and Terry's cocktail party, she'd talked him into letting her go with his partner, DeSoto, who had also been invited.

Nick, of course, had been at the cocktail party with his wife, and he'd become very upset by the way the men had been attracted to Zora that night. The night following the cocktail party he'd seemed almost insane with jealousy. He'd screamed at her, telling her he couldn't stand other men looking at her with the naked lust showing in their eyes.

The night I'd been at her apartment, Nick had gone to Milan on business, but he hadn't left Genoa until after dinner. That's why she'd stalled my coming to see her until late.

The following night, the second time I was to see her, Nick had told her he was driving to Rome that afternoon, but at eight o'clock he suddenly Showed up at her apartment. At first she'd thought he was merely checking up on her, but it was much worse than that.

He'd brought with him a strapping, illiterate deck hand. Nick explained to her that if she was going to let every man in town pant over her, then it should be done right. Nick was going to have the deck hand make love to her while Nick stood around and watched. Then, Nick, assured her, he was going to throw her out of the apartment.

When Nick came at her she went into a rage. She grabbed the vase in the hallway and smashed it over his head, killing him. When the deckhand saw what happened, he ran out of the apartment. Then she panicked, too, and she fled. She knew that as soon as Nick's death was discovered, the police would be looking for her. She didn't know where to hide.

Then she thought of me, and she found out I was staying at the Hotel Continental. She came to my room because, first of all, she wanted to spend a night with me, and secondly, she wanted time to think about how she was going to explain the death of Nick to the police. She'd slipped out of my room early in the morning again, she explained, because she didn't want me to get involved with the police because of her.

"Now you know everything," she said quietly.

I'd heard quite a story, but I doubted whether I knew everything. "What about the part with George?" I said.

"With George?"

"Yes. George Heatherington."

She shook her head, as though she didn't understand at all. "What do you mean, my dear?"

"The blackmail."

"I don't understand," she said. "What are you talking about?"

Because of the tone of her voice and the puzzled frown on her face, I was almost willing to believe her. For a moment I doubted the things George had told me. Maybe he had lied to me, but I didn't know why he should.

I had to get several things straightened out. I nodded to the trussed man on the floor. "Was he the only one that kidnapped you?"

"No," she said quickly. "There was another one. There were two of them working together."

"Where is the other one?"

"I don't know. He left quite some time ago."

"How did they kidnap you?"

Anger flashed in her eyes. "I was walking up the street, on my way to turn myself in to the police, and they came up to me and with a gun and made me get into the car. They brought me here and tied me up."

"And you don't know who they are?"

"I can't even guess," she said, glaring at the man on the floor.

"All right," I said, "let's get out of here."

She stood up quickly, her face worried. "Will you take me to the police?"

"Not right away," I said. "Not until the two of us have had a long talk with George Heatherington."

"All right." She sounded relieved and headed for the door. Suddenly she stopped and then came back a step. "I almost forgot my purse. It's under the edge of the bed, I believe. Would you get it for me, please?"

The bed was so low I practically had to get down on my stomach to look under it. After a moment I saw the purse. It was a large brown leather one, with a long carrying strap, and it was the type that a woman can sling over her shoulder.

As I picked it up, I remembered the visa George had given her. I wondered whether it might not be in her purse.

That's when I heard a quick footstep beside me. I spun around. Too late.

Zora had sapped the sap.

It slammed against my left temple, I felt myself falling and I felt the purse being ripped out of my hands.