He handed me the print, and when he turned to take the other one over to Meyer, I let mine slip to the floor, moved quickly behind him, locked his left arm, and reached around and under with the right hand and yanked the belly holster out, gun, belt clip, and all, and then slammed him into Swimmer, who was heading for the closet. They went into a lamp table and snapped a couple of slender legs as they brought it down.
By then I had the short-barreled revolver properly in hand, and Meyer was standing beside me.
“Slow and easy,” I said, and they did indeed move slowly as they separated themselves from each other and from the pieces of lamp and table. There was nothing pleasant about their faces, but nothing ugly either. No sign of strain or worry. A watchful competence, like a very good boxer waiting for the opening.
I have to go on instinct. Sometimes it has betrayed me. Never fatally, fortunately. Most of the time it works for me.
I said, “Well play it your way, gentlemen. I didn’t want you to go away with the impression we’re a pair of clowns. It is a matter of pride with me. Let’s say our relationship has reached a new level. First names would help.”
The Green Ripper
I tossed the gun onto the nearest bed and extended my hand to Weightlifter. As he tools it and I pulled him to his feet, he said, “Max. He’s Jake.”
Jake got up and cocked his head as he stared at me. “Maybe if I hadn’t read off the name of that walkie-talkie?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Max slid the revolver into the holster after checking it over, and clipped the holster to his pants and smoothed the sport shirt down over the bulge. He looked thoughtful. ‘McGee, you may be half again as big as I expected, and you are certainly twice as quick as anybody your size I’ve ever seen, but it was still a hell of a risk. It was a stupid risk. You miss the gun and maybe I kill you as I am falling. From instinct. From training. From too long doing what I do.”
“He wanted to mate an impression on you,” Meyer said.
Jake said, “There are some folks we work with and work for who would never let us forget how we got taken.”
“And never understand it,” Max said.
‘Tut they weren’t here to watch,” I said.
I saw the tension going out of him, little by lithe. Jake had a bad bruise on his shin. It was swelling and turning blue. I had torn a fingernail snatching the revolver.
Finally Max grinned at me and said, ‘mow I understand a little bit more about some of the things I found out about you. Now they make more sense. But it was still stupid.”
Meyer made an odd sound. He looked up from the print he was holding. He looked questioningly at Max and said, “Markov?”
‘~Yes. And you better tell me how you know about that!”
94 t
– – l
Meyer looked at Max, his expression puzzled. “But why wouldn’t I know about it? It had a lot of pubs licity.”
“But how would you make the connection from these photographs?”
Still puzzled, Meyer said, “The details made an impression on me.” He looked toward the ceiling, frowned, closed his eyes, and said, “A sphere of platinum and iridium I forget the percentages of each in the alloy. One fifteenth of an inch in diameter, with two tiny holes dolled into it at right angles to each other, with traces of an unknown substance in the holes.”
“But you glanced at these photos and made the connection.”
Meyer straightened and glared at him. “If you are pretending to be professional, act like a profes- sional. If I had any trace of guilty knowledge, would I have revealed it? The people who do have guilty knowledge are certainly too professional to reveal it.”
I interrupted, saying, “Let me explain something. Meyer has a fantastic memory. I don’t know what the hell either of you are talking about. What Eve got here is a picture of what looks like a lumpy silver bowling ball with the holes drilled badly.”