Delta Factor, The by Mickey Spillane Page B

was all raw power with no concern for personal safety, giving himself over to some wild driving force inside himself that even he couldn’t understand.
    â€œIncidentally, Mr. Morgan, my associate, Senor Sabin, informed me you suffered an altercation of sorts recently.”
    â€œSomebody tried to kill me.”
    â€œRegrettable. I have given instructions personally to investigate fully. Would you have any idea who it could have been?”
    â€œYour associate suspected a robbery attempt,” I said.
    Something changed in Ortega’s face. “Not from across the street,” he told me.
    â€œThat’s what I figured.”
    He gave me an odd stare, then turned to the major and motioned for him to leave, then followed him past us with a stiff little bow to Kim. I opened the door, watched them step into the corridor, then turned on my nasty charm and said, “By the way, Mr. Ortega, would it inconvenience your people if I yanked the bugs out of the room? After all, it is our honeymoon.”
    It never fazed him at all. It was almost as if he had expected it. “Certainly, Mr. Morgan. I apologize for the clumsy installation.”
    So I laid it on a little thicker. “And I’d reprimand whoever shook the room down. They weren’t very good ei-. ther.”
    The major’s face darkened with suppressed fury, but Ortega seemed to enjoy his discomfort. “It is very difficult when you deal with professionals, Mr. Morgan. Good night, sir, and congratulations to the señora.”
    I closed the door and looked at Kim. “That was quick.” She watched me carefully, curiosity in her face. “You pushed too hard, Morgan.”
    â€œI don’t like reflections on my marital status, baby ... such as it is.”
    She had the decency to blush, but her face didn’t change any. “I didn’t mean that. I was referring to the hidden microphones.”
    I grunted and went over to the sideboard and poured out a cold beer. “He didn’t mind, kid. He would have thought me pretty stupid if I didn’t spot them. Besides, something has him worried.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThat shooting,” I said. “He spotted the catch in it right away. He didn’t kid about it. He wants me alive if he expects to nick my bundle. We got more here to worry about than the Ortega regime.”
    Kim took the glass I held out. “But ... who else ...”
    â€œThat’s what I’m going to find out. So far I’ve only been pitched to once.”
    She didn’t get the drift of my meaning so I finished my beer, put the glass down and told her I’d be back later.

6
    Like LAS VEGAS, there was no night in Nuevo Cádiz. There was a brightly illuminated darkness, but not night. The carnival atmosphere grew more frantic, the crowd thicker, the noises louder as the hours passed. The play at the casinos was heavy and the ballrooms were crowded with couples and groups taking a break, but there was one thing that never changed, the harried bartenders sweating out their shift before their relief came on and they could go home.
    At the Delmonico I slid on a stool, ordered Fleisch-mann’s Preferred and ginger ale, passed a five-spot across the bar and told the guy to keep the change. He gave me a grateful nod and made my drink a double, then looked at my face again. “You been in before?”
    â€œJust got here.”
    â€œStates?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWhat’s the news from home?” he asked me.
    â€œHow long you been away?”
    â€œToo long.”
    â€œThen you haven’t missed anything,” I told him. “Nothing’s changed. A few more buildings in Manhattan, a big LSD kick on and the same scramble for the buck.”
    â€œBetter’n here, though.”
    â€œSo go back.”
    He shook his head. “Can’t. I jumped bail on an assault rap and they’d pick me up.”
    â€œGuilty?”
    â€œHell, yes.