Upon arrival at the station, she turned to her trusty sidekick, her Scottish terrier, “Enigma, stay put damn it, mommies’ going to look for someone. Now what do you do if a stranger comes?”
The small dog sat up on the seat, barked, and bared her teeth, followed by a sincere growl. “Good baby” she said as she patted the pooches head.
As Cynthia approached the train platform, she could see a crowd gathering around something. As she neared, she could see a man was laying on the floor, near his head a fedora. Her stomach tightened as she could see the policeman, pulling a blanket that appeared to be from the sleeper car, and gently lay it over the mans head….a clear sign he was gone. As she approached the crowd, a man in a plain grey suit walked towards her, and in a single motion only a seasoned detective could master, displayed his badge and ID, “OK, sister, where ya think you’re goin?” as he grabbed her arm.
She fidgeted for a moment, then regaining her composure, slide her hand into her bag, and withdrew her own ID, “Cynthia Veil, Bay Area News, ever hear of it , flat foot?”
He grimaced, and tightened his grip on her arm, “ Look cookie, don’t get uppity on me, I don’t take no lip from nobody, even a cute broad like you, get it?”
“Quite a mouthful for a simple underpaid cop, wouldn’t you say. Look, all I want to do is get some details and file a story, OK?”
He relaxed his grip, and lead her thru to the corpse...he motioned, and a uniform cop pulled back the blanket, which was clearly marked Centennial Starlight, the train she had been trying to intercept.
“You know this pug?” he asked. She studied him, fedora, seemed stout, most likely him, and then she spied the well worn Thom McCanns. That and the greasy pompadour made it most likely him. Her heart sank as she asked, “did he have any ID? I’d like to get it accurate in the story.”
“Nope, poor sap only had this in his coat pocket” as he held out a note, part of a telegram. All she could tell was it was sent from London. She scribble the transmission number from the corner remaining, and asked where the pay phone was.
“Operator, give me Washington exchange, I need Ivanhoe 4- 0989, hurry please”
She relayed the information she had from the scene, and was taken aback by the news she heard.
“If the man you saw was our man, something really fishy is going on. Did he have a small scar on his face, below his left eye?”
“No, I didn’t see one”
“Cynthia, he was not our man. I don’t know who he is, but our man surfaced in London two days ago. We have been after Sidney Waddlesnot, and the FBI let us know that he had sent a telegram, and urgent telegram, to our man to catch a plane, and fly to London. He suspects nothing, but we think this has something to do with Maria McFall…”
“LADY Maria McFall???” her astonishment travelled well cross country, as the tenor of her voice changed remarkably.
“You know Maria McFall?”
“Damn right I do, the strumpet”
She recounted how at Cal, she had met this ne’er do well woman of extreme pretension and no class, Maria McFall, or Lady McFall as she preferred. Lady was not only inaccurate, it seemed almost humorous, given the stories the fraternity boys told about her in the Gun Club. She had been raised in the Boston area, and spoke with this obviously intoned accent that was neither Bostonian nor British; hell, even a lowland Scotsman would not have any idea from what part of the isle she came from, and so everyone assumed her noblesse fausse.
Maria’s involvement in this increasingly sordid affair was at once surprising and then invoked a knowing satisfaction, like knowing the guy in Golden Gate Park dressed like an admiral and feeding pigeons was most likely a drunken bum, and then sadly realizing the veracity of your assumptions. She had always hoped the stories were merely vicious gossip, yet something had told her back then this one was one to steer clear of. There was a certain almost predatory feel about her, like she needed to feed off peoples need to believe in her stories, and once they did, she would take and take and take until they were bitter, or broke, or both.
“OK kid, so you gotta get your sweet patootie across the pond..jump on over the the airport”
She ran back to the car, barely acknowledging the lustful glare of the detective as he tipped his hat.
“Bark, bark, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”
“Bad dog!, Its me dumb ass!” as she swung open the car door, scooping Enigma from the driver seat “ You’re not going to like this, but we are taking a long by by baby”
From Denver she flew to Chicago, then on the Big Apple. She boarded a Pan Am , and was finally on her way to Britain. In New York, she had called in again, and made the connection that the agent was now in her company, and that she was being tailed by Scotland Yard. British intelligence was tracking Waddlesnot. HQ was even more concerned about Albee, they usually could count on him. Rumor was he maybe had turned rogue….or traitor.
Either way, she was to find him, and report back. And in Britain, she would be joined by another agent, who would provide her a sidearm and make sure the other side did not get wise to her, for all intents and purposes a mere California photojournalist on assignment.
No comments:
Post a Comment