car, opened it and levered Malone gently to aseat inside, just as Bill said, "So with the cut and all, we figuredhe ought to go over to St. Vincent's. You people were already on theway, so we didn't bother with ambulances."
The driver snorted. "Next time you want taxi service," he said, "youjust call us up. What do you think, a prowl car's an easy life?"
"Easier than doing a beat," Bill said mournfully. "And anyway," headded in a low, penetrating whisper, "the guy's FBI."
"So the FBI's got all kinds of equipment," the driver said. "Thelatest. Why don't he whistle up a helicopter or a jet?" Then,apparently deciding that further invective would get him nowhere, hesettled back in his seat, said, "Aah, forget it," and started the carwith a small but perceptible jerk.
Malone decided not to get into the argument. He was tired, and it waslate. He rested his head on the back seat and tried to relax, but allhe could do was think about red Cadillacs.
He wished he had never even heard of red Cadillacs.
2
And it had all started so simply, too. Malone remembered very clearlythe first time he had had any indication that red Cadillacs wereanything unusual, or special. Before that, he'd viewed them all withslightly wistful eyes: red, blue, green, gray, white, or even blackCadillacs were all the same to him. They spelled luxury and wealth anddisplay, and a lot of other nice things.
Now, he wasn't at all sure what they spelled. Except that it wasdefinitely uncomfortable, and highly baffling.
He'd walked into the offices of Andrew J. Burris, Director of the FBI,just one week ago. It was a beautiful office, pine-paneled andspacious, and it boasted an enormous polished desk. And behind thedesk sat Burris himself, looking both tired and somehow a littlekindly.
"You sent for me, Chief?" Malone said.
"That's right." Burris nodded. "Malone, you've been working too hardlately."
Now, Malone thought, it was coming. The dismissal he'd always feared.At last Burris had found out that he wasn't the bright, intelligent,fearless, and alert FBI agent he was supposed to be. Burris haddiscovered that he was nothing more or less than lucky, and that allthe "fine jobs" he was supposed to have done were only the result ofluck.
Oh, well, Malone thought. Not being an FBI agent wouldn't be so bad.He could always find another job.
Only at the moment he couldn't think of one he liked.
He decided to make one last plea. "I haven't been working so hard,Chief," he said. "Not too hard, anyhow. I'm in great shape. I--"
"I've taken advantage of you, Malone, that's what I've done," Burrissaid, just as if Malone hadn't spoken at all. "Just because you're thebest agent I've got, that's no reason for me to hand you all the toughones."
"Just because I'm what?" Malone said, feeling slightly faint.
"I've given you the tough ones because you could handle them," Burrissaid. "But that's no reason to keep loading jobs on you. After thatjob you did on the Gorelik kidnaping, and the way you wrapped up theTransom counterfeit ring--well, Malone, I think you need a littlerelaxation."
"Relaxation?" Malone said, feeling just a little bit pleased. Ofcourse, he didn't deserve any of the praise he was getting, he knew.He'd just happened to walk in on the Gorelik kidnapers because histelephone had been out of order. And the Transom ring hadn't been justhis job. After all, if other agents hadn't managed to trace thecounterfeit bills back to a common area in Cincinnati, he'd never havebeen able to complete his part of the assignment. But it was nice tobe praised, anyhow. Malone felt a twinge of guilt, and told himselfsternly to relax and enjoy himself.
"That's what I said," Burris told him. "Relaxation."
"Well," Malone said, "I certainly would like a vacation, that's forsure. I'd like to snooze for a couple of weeks, or maybe go up to CapeCod for a while. There's a lot of nice scenery up around there. It'srestful, sort of, and I could just--"
He stopped. Burris was frowning, and when Andrew J. Burris frowned itwas a good idea to look attentive, interested, and alert. "Now,Malone," Burris said sadly, "I wasn't exactly thinking about avacation. You're not scheduled for one until August, you know."
"Oh, I know, Chief," Malone said. "But I thought--"
"Much as I'd like to," Burris said, "I just can't make an exception;you know that, Malone. I've got to go pretty much by the schedule."
"Yes, sir," Malone said, feeling just a shade disappointed.
"But I do think you deserve a rest," Burris said.
"Well, if I--"
"Here's what I'm going to do," Burris said, and paused. Malone felt alittle unsure as to exactly what his chief was talking about, but bynow he knew better than to ask a lot of questions. Sooner or later,Burris would probably explain himself. And if he didn't, then therewas no use worrying about it. That was just the way Burris acted.
"Suppose I gave you a chance to take it easy for a while," Burrissaid. "You could catch up on your sleep, see some shows, have a coupleof drinks during the evening, take girls out for dinner--you know.Something like that. How would you like it?"
"Well..." Malone said cautiously.
"Good," Burris said. "I knew you would."
Malone opened his mouth, thought briefly and closed it again. Afterall, it did sound sort of promising, and if there was a catch in ithe'd find out about it soon enough.
"It's really just a routine case," Burris said in an offhand tone."Nothing to it."
"Oh," Malone said.
"There's this red Cadillac," Burris said. "It was stolen from a partyin Connecticut, out near Danbury, and it showed up in New York City.Now, the car's crossed a state line."
"That puts it in our jurisdiction," Malone said, feeling obvious.
"Right," Burris said. "Right on the nose."
"But the New York office--"
"Naturally, they're in charge of everything," Burris said. "But I'msending you out as sort of a special observer. Just keep your eyesopen, and nose around and let me know what's happening."
"Keep my eyes and nose what?" Malone said.
"Open," Burris said. "And let me know about it."
Malone tried to picture himself with his eyes and nose open, anddecided he didn't look very attractive that way. Well, it was only afigure of speech or something. He didn't have to think about it.
It really made a very ugly picture.
"But why a special observer?" he said after a second. Burris couldread the reports from the New York office, and probably get more factsthan any single agent could find out just wandering around a strangecity. It sounded as if there were something, Malone told himself, justa tiny shade rotten in Denmark. It sounded as if there were going tobe something in the nice easy assignment he was getting that wouldmake him wish he'd gone lion hunting in Darkest Africa instead.
And then again, maybe he was wrong. He stood at ease and waited tofind out.
"Well," Burris said, "it is just a routine case. Just like I said. Butthere seems to be something a little bit odd about it."
"I see," Malone said with a sinking feeling.
"Here's what happened," Burris said hurriedly, as if he were afraidMalone was going to change his mind and refuse the assignment. "Thisred Cadillac I told you about was reported stolen from Danbury. Threedays later, it turned up in New York City--parked smack across thestreet from a precinct police station. Of course it took them a whileto wake up, but one of the officers happened to notice the routinereport on stolen cars in the area, and he decided to go across thestreet and check the license number on the car. Then something funnyhappened."
"Something funny?" Malone asked. He doubted that, whatever it was, itwas going to make him laugh. But he kept his face a careful, receptiveblank.
"That's right," Burris said. "Now, if you're going to understand whathappened, you've got to get the whole picture."
"Sure," Malone said.
"Only that isn't what I mean," Burris added suddenly.
Malone blinked. "_What_ isn't what you mean?" he said.
"Understa
nding what happened," Burris said. "That's the trouble. Youwon't understand what happened. I don't understand it, and neitherdoes anybody else. So what do you think about it?"
"Think about what?" Malone said.
"About what I've been telling you," Burris snapped. "This