The Removers by Donald Hamilton Page A

right?” she asked, looking straight ahead.
    “Yes.”
    “What were they going to do to you?”
    “An operation was mentioned, I believe, among other things.”
    She swallowed hard. “How lousy can you get?” Then she said harshly, “Well, if there’s a way of getting lousier, he’ll find it!”
    Then she gave me a sudden, startled, questioning look, and I realized what she was thinking: she’d left me alone with her father—a prisoner—and she’d found me down here, walking free.
    I said, “It’s all right, Moira. Your dad’s all right.”
    “Did I ask? Do I give a damn?”
    I said, “Lousy as he is, he’s still your louse, you said once.”
    She started to speak angrily; then she sighed. “Sure. Blood is thicker than water and all that crap. The hell of it is, it’s true. I could never feel the same.” She glanced at me, flushed, and stopped. After a moment, she said, changing the subject completely: “You haven’t asked me about my trip.”
    “Tell me about your trip.”
    “That’s a real creep, from Creepville.”
    “I know,” I said. “He reminds you of me.”
    She made a face at me. “Fenn,” she said, tasting the word. It didn’t taste good. “He didn’t say a word out of line. He didn’t touch me. But think? My God, he had me raped once a block and twice at each traffic light. He’s got it on his mind so bad he aches all over. I’d hate to be working in the house that gets his business.”
    It was a matter of record, of course, but I was glad to have it confirmed from the feminine viewpoint.
    “I was damn glad when the car that had been tailing us pulled up to pick him up,” she said. “I was afraid he’d come into the house with me in spite of Dad’s orders. I waited until they were out of sight, and jumped back in the Merc and drove like hell. I hope Sheik’s all right, alone there. Baby, do you think it’s safe to go home?”
    I considered the question briefly. Martell might want to come right after me again, but I doubted that Fredericks would let him. “I’d say so. I gave myself away pretty badly when I took those punks. Your dad will spot it as professional work.”
    She glanced at me. “Professional. I don’t suppose I’d better ask what profession.”
    “You’d better not,” I said. “I might tell you.”
    “I still think you’re a government man. Even if—”
    “Even if what?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to know. How does your giving yourself away make it safe for us to go home?”
    “Your dad acted hastily and lost a couple of his boys, at least temporarily. He won’t want to make the same mistake again. He’ll guess I’m not just an amorous tourist, and he’ll want to do some serious investigating before he takes further action.”
    “You hope,” she said, “because here we are.”
    We pulled into the driveway by the little blue house and went inside, picking up the newspaper that lay on the front step. I had again that funny feeling of guilt. I was bringing my girl home in broad daylight after a long and dissipated night.
    The dog had a nice padded wicker bed by the little fireplace at the end of the living room. He acknowledged our presence, after the door had closed behind us, by opening one eye to look at us warily and closing it again with relief: we weren’t the kicking variety of humans.
    “Some watchdog,” I said. “I read somewhere that they were even used to hunt leopards back where they came from, but I guess the modern breed is pretty much for show and rabbits. It’s funny how they can breed the guts out of just about any animal, if they keep at it long enough.”
    I was teasing her, and she reacted right away: “You’re not being fair! Just because he wouldn’t. I asked too much of him. He just didn’t understand!”
    “Maybe not,” I said, “but I’d sure hate to stack him up against a real tough bobcat, and they only weigh about thirty pounds. All right, all right,” I said,