Istanbul (6 page)

"Eyes?"

Mousy nodded. "Now that's one thing we got pretty universal agreement on — coal black. Sort of a staring look."

Nick rubbed his chin. "I thought you said you couldn't get people to talk about this guy? You seem to have done pretty well."

"Not really." Mousy lit a cigarette. "All that stuff is what we got from joints around town, mostly high class night clubs and so on,
after
we got interested in the guy. We got it from headwaiters, bartenders, people like that, who didn't really know him. Just vaguely remembered him. But every time we got a lead to someone who had actually
known
him — that was different! For one thing..." and Mousy sighed — "a lot of them just weren't around any more! Vanished. We did find one guy who admitted having known Johnny Ruthless — he had the nerve to tell us he thought it was the guy's right name — and I think maybe he slipped a little. He said he thought Ruthless was from Chicago..."

"Chicago?"

"Yeah — then the guy got so scared at what he'd said that
he
clammed up. Not even the Turkish police could make him talk — and if they can't, no one can. Later they found out he had a phony passport and deported him. Anyway he claimed mat he hadn't known Johnny very well, just around the gambling clubs and such. And didn't know where he lived.
Nobody
we talked to had the faintest idea where Johnny lived. It was like the guy didn't have a home!"

Nick was thoughtful. "It's hard to see how anyone could be so evasive. The Turkish police are supposed to be pretty good."

"They are. But this character was like a ghost."

"You make him sound like one, I'll admit. But even ghosts have to live somewhere."

Mousy shrugged. "I told you — it's a bastard!"

"Most cold trails are," Nick agreed. "Now, from Washington I got it that the first Narcotics man was murdered about six months ago?"

"Right. Fished out of the Bosphorus with his throat cut. All of his identification
on
him. They wanted us to know — of course it wasn't
our
job then!"

Nick nodded. "Of course. It was a warning. Three months ago another Narcotics man was killed. Right?"

"Yes. Same thing. Pulled out of the Bosphorus with his throat cut."

Nick fit a cigarette. "And it was then, after this second murder, that you started looking for Johnny Ruthless and he had vanished?"

Mousy looked at the
raki
bottle. Nick pushed it away. "Yes," said Mousy. "We — the Narcotics people — had one vague tip that the second murdered guy had been seen talking to someone who might have been Johnny Ruthless. Anyway when they started looking for him he had dropped out of sight. No report of him since."

Nick pondered, remembering his Washington briefing. "Then in recent weeks Narcotics lost two more men — one of them being Pete Todhunter, Jim's brother?"

Mousy was beginning to look miserable.

"Right. Both with their throats cut. Only difference being that one of
them
was found in the Golden Horn instead of in the Bosphorus."

"We've got a razor man on our hands," Nick Carter said, almost to himself. "The good old fashioned straight edge razor. A nasty weapon."

Mousy stared at him. "How do you know? The Turkish MO said he couldn't be sure."

Mousy happened to be looking straight into Nick Carter's eyes as he spoke. He could never quite remember the color of this big man's eyes. They changed. Now he thought they were green, a deep sea green, and for a moment a shark swirled and turned in the depths. Mousy shivered.

"I know," said Nick Carter softly. "It's got the feel. A razor man is a sadist — loves his work." He looked at Mousy and grinned and suddenly the little man felt better.

Nick said: "Better get some sleep now, Mousy. Remember I got a date to take you to the movies tonight!"

The little agent made a face. "The things I do fot AXE! Letting myself be dressed as a girl and taken to see feelthy moving peectures!" But he laughed. "You promised you would never tell anyone back in Washington about this?"

"I know," said Nick. "Now beat it. I'll call you when it's time to begin the beguine."

The tall anvil shouldered man who had been standing so long in the chill shadows stirred at last. He took a deep breath and peered around and for a moment his eyes were vacant and unfocused.

Nick glanced at his wrist watch. He had been standing motionless for nearly an hour. He flexed the big, long smooth running muscles and took a few deep breaths, did a few knee bends. Then he glanced toward the niche where the girl slept. Best get on with it.

Nick took a large and powerful flash from a clammy ledge and went to the niche. Mija Gialellis was sleeping on her side, her cheek cushioned on her arms. Her breathing was slow and peaceful. If she's got a bad conscience, Nick thought, she doesn't let it bother her. But then maybe she's a pro — or a junky!

Nick wasted no time. He directed the powerful beam full into her face. The girl came awake with a frightened little cry — "Uhhhh!"

"Don't be afraid," Nick said. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I've got to do this. Take off your clothes!"

"What!" Her red mouth was a round red O of astonishment as she stared into the light, her smoky brown eyes narrowed. She was fully clothed, yet instinctively she clutched the single sleazy blanket to her breasts.

"Look," said Nick Carter patiently. "I'll explain it once. No more. Then if you don't cooperate I'll take off your clothes myself. Okay. You say you're a cured addict! You say you want to help us! Maybe it's true, I hope it is. But I can't take your word for it — surely you can see that? So take off your clothes, please, so I can look for fresh needle marks. If you're clean — fine. If not — well, then we'll know, won't we? Now start undressing. I won't touch you. I'm working, Mija! This isn't pleasure for me." Nick couldn't help wondering if that last statement was a hundred percent true?

"Yok!"
The Turkish NO that really means NO! She sat up on the cot, still clutching the blanket to her. "This is a horrible thing you do to me! I will not! You cannot make me!"

Smiling to reassure her, keeping his own voice low, Nick said:
"Evet!
Yes I can! I will if you force me. Now!"

Her mouth began to tremble. In a voice of entreaty she whispered,
"Rica ederim?"

Nick firmed his voice. "Begging won't help, Mija. Now start undressing. Right now!" N3's voice cracked like a whip.

The girl glanced wildly around. "No use screaming for help," Nick told her. "You don't need it — and it won't do any good. I give the orders."

She hesitated. Nick reached a hand for the blanket. In the angled light she saw the planes of his face as hard as stone. She twisted away.
"Yok!
I... I will do it!"

"Good." He stepped back and directed the flash on her. "That will save everybody a lot of trouble. Take off all your clothes and then stretch out on the cot face down."

Mija Gialellis sat on the edge of the cot and began to undress, her lovely face distorted by a scowl of rage. "I am to hate you for this," she spat. "Forever I hate you! If I am live to be many years I shall hate you and..."

"Shut up," Nick told her. "You talk too much. Just keep quiet and get on with it. It'll be over just that much sooner."

Mija unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged out of it. She put it on the cot and bent forward to begin sliding off the black stretch pants.

"Your brassiere, too," Nick commanded. "I said everything. I meant everything!"

She gave him a look of pure hatred. "You are filthy! You want the peeps show!"

Nick gave her a look. "What I
don't
want is to lose patience with you! But..." He took a step toward the cot.

She craned behind her to unsnap the black brassiere and slide it down slim arms. Mija tossed it on the floor with a gasp of frustrated rage. She glared at him, making no effort to cover her small melon sized breasts. "You are; satisfy now?"

Nick repressed a grin. She was working up a full head of steam. Sternly he said, "No. I'm not. Now the pants, please."

Her firm breasts, red-ochre tipped, rippled as she leaned to obey. She did not look at him now. Her flesh was a tawny shade, a trifle lighter than olive and smooth with a fine texture. The top of her head, in the blaze of the flashlight, glistened like a black helmet. Nick heard her choke back a sob, whether in rage or hurt modesty he did not know. Or care. They were getting on with the job. Soon he would know at least part of the truth about her.

The stretch pants were on the floor. She was wearing a pair of very skimpy white panties. Nick waited. She did not move.

"Off with them," he commanded.

She stared sullenly at the floor. "I will not. It is too much!"

"Damn it!" Nick moved.

"Hayir!"
The more gentle no this time. "I... I will do myself." A stretch and slither of elastic and nylon and the panties were on the floor.

"That's fine," said Nick. He smiled at her, trying to ease things a bit. "You could make a good living striping in the States, you know. You take long enough. Now turn over on the cot."

Mija scowled. "Y... you promise you will not touch me?"

"I promise. Now turn over!"

The girl turned over and lay face down. Nick took a step forward and saw her tense. "Relax," he said cheerfully. "This won't hurt a bit."

Beginning at her ankles he moved the flash up along the splendid body. Her legs were longer than he had thought at first, the ankles sturdy but clean boned, the flesh behind the knees taut flexured. Nick realized that Mija had the body of a fine girl athlete. He saw that she was trembling ever so slightly. To put her at ease he asked, casually, if she had ever been an athlete. To his surprise she answered.

"Yes. Since I am a little girl until... you know..."

Nick nodded savagely. He knew. Until she got the monkey on her back! Until life became a desperate stretch of time from one fix to another!

Nick took the light up over fine lean hips and buttocks that were just rounded enough. A waist amazingly small. Strong column of spine, lying sinuous under muscles that rippled beneath tawny velvet smooth skin. Her shoulders were wide for a girl.

So far Nick had not detected a blemish, not even a mole. But he knew what he would find when she turned over. Just so none of them were fresh!

"Okay," he told her. "You can turn over now."

He had expected another argument, but instead Mija rolled docilely over on her back. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

Nick saw them then. Little white stipples, countless tiny scars around her shoulders and the inner upper arms. Both shoulders. Both arms. This kid had been a mainliner. It was a marvel she had ever made it back. If she had!

He could not find a fresh scar. One possible spot remained.

"Raise your breasts," he told her.

The girl's long brown eyes flew open. "What?"

"Raise your breasts with your hands so I can see under to the ribcage. Come on, now, Mija! It's almost over."

She closed her eyes again. She took one solid breast in each hand and lifted it. No scars. Nick turned away. "Fine. You can get dressed now."

"You will turn the light away, please?. I can dress in the dark." Nick did so. He heard a rustle and slide of clothing. Then she stopped dressing. "You trust me now?"

"Not exactly," he said. "But it's a big point in your favor. Ready for the light?"

"Yes, please." There was a subtle change in her tone of voice. Softer? Certainly no longer the tones of anger or outrage. He clicked on the flash and faced her. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Mija. But you of all people should understand! You know what we're up against, what we must do. We've got to destroy those people — I couldn't take a chance that you were a plant for them!"

There was a look of curious tenderness in the eyes of Mija Gialellis as she looked at Nick. Moisture sparkled on her lashes. "I do know," she said softly. "And I thank you — Nick! For being with me so gentle. B... But you say you still do not trust me?"

If there was any softness about him she could not find it. Nick regarded her levelly for a moment, then said, "That will have to wait, Mija. Trust — and perhaps other things. Come on, now. I've got to get Mousy made up to something reasonably like a woman. At least in a dark alley. You can help."

But for a moment neither moved. Their eyes clung, his somber and hard, hers softened now even in the harsh light.

N3 knew then that there was going to be something between them.
Inshallah!
As Mousy would say.

"Come on," he commanded. "It's getting late."

Mija smiled at him. She knew.

They both knew.

Le Cinema Bleu
made no bones about its existence on a mean street in the Egyptian Bazaar sector, near the Galata bridge. In fact the
Cinema Bleu
advertised — a squiggle of neon tubing on either side of a plain door of blue painted wood advised the public that within might be found food, drink, and entertainment. Said entertainment consisting of a poodle act, a snake dancer, and Rafe Burke's Jazz Combo straight from the United States. That was all that was promised.

Yet within
Le Cinema,
as the hour approached midnight, there was an air of expectancy. Patrons, all couples of various sorts and sexes, kept glancing at the Pernod clock over the bar and consulting their watches. One couple, however, seemed very much intent on their own affairs to the exclusion of everything else.

Mustafa Bey of the Istanbul police, plain clothes, could not quite figure this particular couple. He did not try very hard. This was all very old hat to him by now — he and Memet had been sitting around
Le Cinema
for three months now, with orders to protect the Standish woman — and Mustafa Bey was a little bored with it all. Still — that couple at the tiny table in the dark corner? It gave one to think that such freakish matters could occur, that such oddly matched couples should ever get together! One so small and skinny and — Mustafa Bey shuddered — ugly! The man was not bad, he supposed, if you liked big men in ill fitting suits. Mustafa Bey sipped at his
Pernod,
which he much preferred to
raki,
and considered the couple again. He grimaced. Allah only knew what they could see in each other, but then love was a crazy thing. It probably
was
love — they spent so much time whispering to each other. But then — and Mustafa Bey took another drink and sighed — in this place and all like it a great many strange things passed for love. He glanced at the clock over the bar. Five minutes to midnight. Then those who held cards would go upstairs to see the dirty pictures.