Free The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon by Dell Shannon

remain in Athens, so close to these
never-enough-to-be-cursed Russians, who knows what enormity they
conceive next? But it should not be in America, for these uncouth
strangers to own! We shall see that it is taken out safely, Berthe. I
say we, for you are the seamstress, and I have thought of an
excellent way to carry it. It shall all be sewn in the hems of my
clothes— piece by piece— well wrapped, of course, and only a few
in each, lest the weight make the customs officers suspicious. But
this is for the future. Before, there is this Donovan." She
sipped wine reflectively. "Skyros need not think I am so
ignorant. I have seen on the Elms how it is here, with the gangsters.
Quite like the war, Berthe, This little gang and that little gang,
and bitter rivalries between. And the police are not at all like the
police in Paris, intelligent and honorable men— they are quite as
bad as the gangsters, everyone knows that. They would not interfere
if they were paid— but only if it is necessary, I do not want to
pauperize myself in this affair. We shall see, about that. For the
rest, well! This red-haired woman of Donovan's— this Alison Weir—
has told him my message by now, he has one more day to take the
offered price. If he does not— " She got up and paced back and
forth to the window, to the little wine-table, sipping again. "Ah,
let him try to give me the stall— I know a trick for that too!
These gangsters, one may hire them. One goes to them and says, such a
one I wish shot, and the bargain is made. Voil á! And I even know one, or at least the name, I remember one small thing
Skyros says— it is as if to himself, but I hear the name. Italian—
all gangsters are Italians. Except a few like this Donovan who are
Irishmen. I have not made up my mind whether I have him shoot Donovan
or this red-haired woman— Answer the door, Berthe."
    When the maid came clumping back into the suite she
bore a card.
    "It's the man who was here before, madame.
Monsieur Driscoll."
    “ Ah, how annoying! But I must be very polite to
them, until they have paid me the money. Very well, let him come in."
 

    SEVEN
    Jackie Donovan sat on a bench in Pershing Square,
watching the pigeons, and smoked cigarettes nervously. Pigeons! he
thought, savage at himself. Him, Donovan, two weeks out and he sat
watching pigeons in the park. The hell of a lot of things he'd kept
thinking about, wanting, if promising himself for when he got out,
and what the hell was wrong with him, he couldn't just go and—
    All different, somehow. He felt he couldn't get a
hold on anything. Like the car. Damn good of Denny, have it all ready
and waiting like that. Handling cars since he was a kid, God, the
first job he'd got dropped on for was hopping shorts— but it was
different. Kept reaching for the clutch, just habit; my God, he'd
driven a couple those first automatics that come out, couple years
before he was sent across this time, he ought to catch on quicker.
And tell the truth, these freeways, they scared the bejesus out of
him. They had different kinds of signals too, those little green
arrows, first off he couldn't figure them out. Oh, hell, give him a
little time, things bound to be kind of strange at first. That was
the longest stretch he'd done, after all. Fifteen years.
    The women looked different too. Wearing skirts short
again, well, that was 0.K., but most of them, it looked like, with
these funny short haircuts too— crazy— straight, like a man's,
left just anyhow, not curled.
    But things like that he'd kind of expected. Bound to
be changes. Have to get used to things outside again.
    What he hadn't expected, what made him feel funny
inside, was this— this not being sure. Him, Donovan! Always the
brains— ask Jackie, Jackie'll know just how— and God, he didn't,
no more. Things in the business changed too, all kinds of the
business, names he didn't know, all the old fences gone, new fellows
all over. He felt kind of still out of