Read Online A Shroud for Jesso by Peter Rabe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Rabe
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“While I take another cigar, Jesso, you may begin your questions.”
“Who was Snell?”
“You mean, I’m sure, what was he to me?”
“Any way you want to put it, Baron.”
“Snell had worked with me for many years. But he was an American. And like you and all your countrymen, he was an opportunist. He tried to cheat me.”
“How?”
“Snell was in the States to transmit information. He was my courier. He had picked up the information as arranged and then decided not to deliver. Instead he meant to sell it himself.”
“That’s why he was scared to death?”
Kator shrugged. “He was, like many of his countrymen, a coward. I am not including you, dear Jesso,” and Kator gave a pleasant nod.
“So now we’re buddies.”
They exchanged smiles like two actors on a stage. “What was this hot news, Baron?”
“Jesso, that man Snell had been with me for twenty years. Not even Snell knew the meaning of the message.”
“Good for you.”
“What else would you like to know?”
“What’s your business, Baron?”
“Very simple. I deal in information.”
“Espionage?”
“Sometimes, Jesso.”
“This time, Kator?”
“This time, espionage.”
Kator had made a smoke ring, blue and lazy, and they both watched it float. It disappeared after a while.
“Have you found your clue yet, Jesso?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting there, it’s starting to make sense. Snell kept telling me of dates, dates. He meant data. He must have meant that he had data on him.”
“Brilliant, Jesso.”
“Now don’t get snippish, Baron. I’m trying my best. Now that I know what you’ve told me, data makes sense. And something else makes sense. Dates in the head, he kept saying, dates in the head.” Jesso looked up, making his face intent. “You got there when he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“But you got his data—dates in the head. He must have carried something near his head, on his head, so that—I got it! Snell had typed information and carried the paper under a toupé!”
It sounded real hot. Kator looked impressed. But then he tapped ashes into the tray and looked bored again. “Of course, I knew this without your help.”
“Sure. But I didn’t. Not until you went along with me and gave out with information.”
“Go on, Jesso.” Kator was smoking again.
“What was it, the stuff Snell carried?”
“I told you, Jesso, my courier didn’t even know that, my agent for twenty years. And I don’t know you.” Kator hesitated, smiled. “Or rather, I do know you.”
“You’re only stalling yourself, Kator.”
Kator was rolling the cigar in his mouth and his lips looked like an inner tube. “You have convinced me, Jesso.” He sat up with a theatrical sigh. “I’ll say this once, hoping you will forget it quickly. I’ll say it now so that we can come to a conclusion.”
Jesso sat up too. This was the time when Kator would hand out the death certificate with the name of Jackie Jesso. Or, perhaps, the gilt-edged thing that spelled Jack’s billion-dollar jackpot.
Kator got up and smoothed his jacket. His suit was dark and simple, but on Kator it looked like a uniform. He walked to the desk where the bottle had landed against the wall, and brushed some splinters to the floor. There was a locked compartment in the back, and inside it was a small green box, the kind that cashiers use.
When Kator started to unlock it, he did it in a funny way. He lifted the handle up, making it awkward to get the key in right. Then the box sprang open.
Besides the oilskin packet inside, there was a compact battery, a small thing like a stick in brown wrapping paper, and a mess of wire. The wires were attached behind the handle.
“Suspicious, aren’t you?” said Jesso.
“Yes.”
Kator flipped a wire off and took the packet out of the box. It seemed thick, but there was nothing in it except a sheet of onionskin. There were two columns of figures on the sheet. An ordinary typewriter had
“While I take another cigar, Jesso, you may begin your questions.”
“Who was Snell?”
“You mean, I’m sure, what was he to me?”
“Any way you want to put it, Baron.”
“Snell had worked with me for many years. But he was an American. And like you and all your countrymen, he was an opportunist. He tried to cheat me.”
“How?”
“Snell was in the States to transmit information. He was my courier. He had picked up the information as arranged and then decided not to deliver. Instead he meant to sell it himself.”
“That’s why he was scared to death?”
Kator shrugged. “He was, like many of his countrymen, a coward. I am not including you, dear Jesso,” and Kator gave a pleasant nod.
“So now we’re buddies.”
They exchanged smiles like two actors on a stage. “What was this hot news, Baron?”
“Jesso, that man Snell had been with me for twenty years. Not even Snell knew the meaning of the message.”
“Good for you.”
“What else would you like to know?”
“What’s your business, Baron?”
“Very simple. I deal in information.”
“Espionage?”
“Sometimes, Jesso.”
“This time, Kator?”
“This time, espionage.”
Kator had made a smoke ring, blue and lazy, and they both watched it float. It disappeared after a while.
“Have you found your clue yet, Jesso?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting there, it’s starting to make sense. Snell kept telling me of dates, dates. He meant data. He must have meant that he had data on him.”
“Brilliant, Jesso.”
“Now don’t get snippish, Baron. I’m trying my best. Now that I know what you’ve told me, data makes sense. And something else makes sense. Dates in the head, he kept saying, dates in the head.” Jesso looked up, making his face intent. “You got there when he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“But you got his data—dates in the head. He must have carried something near his head, on his head, so that—I got it! Snell had typed information and carried the paper under a toupé!”
It sounded real hot. Kator looked impressed. But then he tapped ashes into the tray and looked bored again. “Of course, I knew this without your help.”
“Sure. But I didn’t. Not until you went along with me and gave out with information.”
“Go on, Jesso.” Kator was smoking again.
“What was it, the stuff Snell carried?”
“I told you, Jesso, my courier didn’t even know that, my agent for twenty years. And I don’t know you.” Kator hesitated, smiled. “Or rather, I do know you.”
“You’re only stalling yourself, Kator.”
Kator was rolling the cigar in his mouth and his lips looked like an inner tube. “You have convinced me, Jesso.” He sat up with a theatrical sigh. “I’ll say this once, hoping you will forget it quickly. I’ll say it now so that we can come to a conclusion.”
Jesso sat up too. This was the time when Kator would hand out the death certificate with the name of Jackie Jesso. Or, perhaps, the gilt-edged thing that spelled Jack’s billion-dollar jackpot.
Kator got up and smoothed his jacket. His suit was dark and simple, but on Kator it looked like a uniform. He walked to the desk where the bottle had landed against the wall, and brushed some splinters to the floor. There was a locked compartment in the back, and inside it was a small green box, the kind that cashiers use.
When Kator started to unlock it, he did it in a funny way. He lifted the handle up, making it awkward to get the key in right. Then the box sprang open.
Besides the oilskin packet inside, there was a compact battery, a small thing like a stick in brown wrapping paper, and a mess of wire. The wires were attached behind the handle.
“Suspicious, aren’t you?” said Jesso.
“Yes.”
Kator flipped a wire off and took the packet out of the box. It seemed thick, but there was nothing in it except a sheet of onionskin. There were two columns of figures on the sheet. An ordinary typewriter had