Blood on the Mink

by Robert Silverberg

  “How dumb do you think I am?”

  “Not very. I think you’re a hell of a shrewd cookie, Chavez. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  He seemed to lose interest in me. The elevator continued its long glide down from the penthouse, and Chavez took out what looked like a gold toothpick and set to work on his molars. The elevator arrived at the lobby. We strolled out, into the coolish night.

  There was a cab waiting at a hack stand on the corner. I started to signal it, but Chavez caught my arm and dragged it down. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not ready to go home,” he said. He pointed across the street, to a neon bar sign. “Let’s go get a couple of drinks. I want to talk to you, man.”

  I didn’t object. We crossed the street, but as we got to the bar the neon sign winked out.

  “What the hell?” Chavez grunted.

  “It’s 12:01 Saturday night,” I said. “Which means it’s Sunday morning. Which means you can’t legally buy a drink in Philadelphia.”

  Chavez delivered himself of two short, emphatic sentences that would have sizzled the ears of any loyal inhabitant of the City of Brotherly Love. Then he said, “We’ll go to my place instead.”

  *

  He didn’t wait for my opinion. He waved for the cab I had tried to signal, and we got in. We rode to the Bingham in silence. It was an old-line hotel, well upholstered and conservative looking. We entered Chavez’ sprawling suite on the eighth floor, and he locked and chained the door carefully.

  Then he whirled around to face me. I had half a foot of height on him, but he glared up commandingly all the same.

  “All right, buster,” he said frigidly. “We both know you aren’t Vic Lowney. I want to know who the hell you are, man.”

  NINE

  I let him know I wasn’t afraid of him. I strolled around him, lowered myself into an overstuffed armchair, and loosened my tie. Only then did I deign to answer.

  “The name doesn’t matter,” I said. “Call me Joe if you have to.”

  “Cut the crap,” he hissed. “What kind of caper are you pulling? Where’s Lowney?”

  “Dead,” I said

  He recoiled. “You’re funning me, mister. I hate that. I ain’t got any sense of humor along that line.”

  “I said Lowney is dead,” I told him evenly. “He’s resting in the dear old California sod, under eight feet of dirt in Jovenita Canyon. I put him there.”

  “Don’t fun me, man,” he said getting tense and looking menacingly at me. “It takes more than you got to plow Vic Lowney under.”

  “Suit yourself. Believe it or not.”

  “Wise guy.”

  “I cooled Lowney off. If you don’t want to believe it, Chavez, you know what you can do about it.”

  His handsome face turned ugly all at once. The eyelids drooped, the lower lip curled up tight. I knew he had a gun somewhere under his jacket, and I knew Ricky Chavez had a low boiling point. Any second he’d go for the gun. Maybe not to shoot, just to pistol-whip me a little. I got ready.

  “I don’t like punks to talk to me that way,” Chavez crooned. “For the last time, who the blazes are you and how’d you slip into this caper?”

  “I killed Lowney and took his place on the plane.”

  “Goddamit, don’t give me that crap! Lowney could cut down six of you!”

  “You’re wasting my time, Chavez, I give you answers and you don’t listen to them.” I started up out of the chair, ostensibly heading for the door. But Chavez reacted as I expected. The right hand went diving into the jacket to get the gun. I swung to my left and caught hold of him as though we were going to waltz, wrapping my left arm around his shoulders and grabbing his jacket-front with my right. He couldn’t draw his gun out of the jacket—or his hand, for that matter. His face was white with hatred and surprise. I held him tight.

  “Let go of the gun, Ricky.”

  “You son of a bitch—”

  “Let go of it. You’re only making trouble for yourself.” He got so tensed up his arm started to shake. I guess nobody had ever handled him this way before. I cradled him tight, and after a moment I felt his right arm relax inside the jacket. I stepped away from him quickly, drawing my own gun and covering him.

  Chavez looked like a trapped rat. “You stinking bastard,” he murmured.

  “Don’t be rude, Ricky. I didn’t ask you to go pulling on me. I came up here for a nice friendly chat.”

  “Put the gun away, man.”

  “I don’t know if that would be smart.”

  “I won’t draw on you,” he whispered harshly.

  I eyed him for a moment, then slid the gun back into its holster. Chavez licked his lips unhappily. His eyes were like little slits. But I knew I had him. It was the first time in his life he’d ever been boxed in, and he was afraid to start things a second time.

  “Now do you believe I cooled off Vic Lowney?” I asked.

  He sat down, looking a little limp. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. Sure. Imagine that. Does Hammell know about it?”

  “Not yet. He thinks Lowney’s in Philadelphia.”

  “And you been fooling Klaus all this time?”

  “Yep.”

  Chavez shook his head “What’s the pitch, man?”

  “I’m out for me, is all.”

  “Who the crap are you, anyway?”

  I shrugged. “Call me Joe, if you want, like I said. I’m from Vegas.”

  “I never seen you there.”

  “You never looked. I’ve got a stake in the Côte d’Azur, on the Strip. I spend most of my time in Mexico, though. Acapulco.”

  “How’d you get into the Lowney caper?”

  I took a fastidious look at my fingernails before answering. “I got friends. They told me about the kind of queer Klaus was printing. They told me Vic Lowney was going to Philly to tie up the California distributorship for Hammell. I’m around Lowney’s size and build. I know a lot about him. And I owed him something, anyway. Sort of killing two birds with one stone.”

  “You cooled him off?” Chavez said. He still didn’t believe it.

  I nodded. “I went out to Pacific Palisades Monday night and rang the doorbell at two in the morning. Lowney came to the door himself and I shot him. Just as simple as that. Dumped him in the car, drove him up to the canyon country, buried him. The next morning I got on the plane and came right here.”

  “Klaus didn’t suspect?”

  “Klaus never met Lowney. I had everything all sewed up, I thought. Only you had to bust in.”

  Chavez grinned faintly. “Klaus told me you offered him a nickel on the dollar. You didn’t seriously figure to make a deal like that, man?”

  “It couldn’t hurt to start low. I could always up the ante later, I figured. I didn’t figure Klaus would bring you into the picture.”

  “Sometimes you can’t figure everything, man.” Chavez was warming to me, now. To salvage his own pride at being pushed around the way I had pushed him around, he had to build me up in his own mind as somebody special, somebody worth knowing. He leaned forward and flashed a smile. “I like you, man. You’ve got guts. And you did me a big favor, too.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “Cutting Hammell out of this deal. You know how I feel about Hammell? I feel like I want to cut his face off with a razor. That’s how much I hate that bastard. And you just sideswiped him out of the whole Klaus deal for me. He’ll pop his cork when he finds out that I’m handling the Klaus product on the Coast.”

  “You’re overlooking one thing, Chavez.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I’m still in the picture. Maybe Hammell isn’t, but I am.”

  “The hell you are. You don’t seriously think you’ll get the contract at your price?”

  I smiled evenly. “My price can be raised. I can match everything you put up, plus. That’s what I told Klaus in the bid. I offered him two cents per dollar higher than your bid, whatever your bid was.�
��

  “If you’re joking me—”

  “I’m dead serious,” I said. “Klaus won’t risk swindling me. I said the deal was contingent on his showing me your bid. So he’ll call me tomorrow and say the contract’s mine.”

  Chavez’ face grew cloudy again. He made a snarling incoherent sound.

  I said, “What was your bid, Chavez?”

  “Twenty cents on the dollar.”

  “So I get it for twenty-two,” I mused. “More than I wanted to put up, but less than Klaus was asking. And the product is damned good.”

  Chavez was building up toward the boiling point again. I could practically see the dials spinning round, getting closer and closer to overload.

  He said in a hollow voice, “You ain’t got the organization to handle it right.”

  “How do you know?”

  That stymied him, but only for a moment. “I know because there ain’t no gangs I don’t know about. You’re a lone wolf, aren’t you?”

  “Like hell. I’ve got men. We’ll operate out of Vegas, spreading the stuff there and in Cal. And across the border too. A Mex isn’t so fussy about the printing on his bills as long as they say United States of America on them.”

  “Damn you, I’ll call Klaus and offer twenty-three!” Chavez muttered.

  “My bid stands. Two cents per hundred above anything you offer.”

  “Anything? Suppose I offer ninety-eight?”

  I laughed. “I’ll let you have it, man. I give you a tip: I drop out of the bidding above fifty cents on the dollar. So that’s what you can shoot for.”

  “It isn’t worth it,” he grumbled. His fingers started to get itchy, as though he were beginning to decide that it would be a lot cheaper to eliminate me right here and now. I smiled and pointed at his middle.

  “Don’t get ideas about the gun, Chavez. You’ll lose again, and you’ll lose hard the second time.”

  He scowled at me. “I’ll get you. Maybe not now, but later. You ain’t gonna take this deal away from me. I promise you that, man.”

  “You’ve got the wrong approach, Chavez. I’m not looking for any trouble.”

  “You’re gonna get it, though!”

  “Ease up, man. Let me say my say. There’s no reason why we’ve got to threaten each other. We can go into partnership instead.”

  He looked at me as if I’d just said something in Sanskrit. “Partnership?” he repeated incredulously.

  “Sure. Why let Klaus bulldoze us? I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him I’m withdrawing my bid. You get the contract by default, at twenty cents per hundred. Maybe you can even sweat him down to sixteen or seventeen, being as you have the field to yourself.”

  He frowned suspiciously. “And then what? What’s in it for you?”

  “A cut,” I said. “Three cents on every dollar goes to me.”

  “That’s a pretty fat cut, man.”

  “It’s better than fighting. The other way, either I get the contract at twenty-two, or you have to bid me all the way up to fifty to snag it for yourself. It’s a lot cheaper to pay sixteen or seventeen to Klaus and three to me. And I’ll cooperate on the Nevada distribution. Maybe I’ll even let you use my men. We can—merge, Chavez. How about that? Instead of cutting each other’s throats, we can team up and cut Hammell’s throat instead.”

  “How do I know you ain’t cruddin’ me?”

  “What’s in it for me? I’d rather work with you than against you, Chavez. I like your style. And I got plenty of reasons for wanting to see Charley Hammell knocked off his high horse. With Lowney gone, it wouldn’t be very hard to finish Hammell. Then you’d have the whole southwest tied up exclusive, Chavez. Isn’t that better than wrangling with me?”

  He smiled, slowly, grudgingly. “Yeah,” he whispered finally. “Yeah.”

  “It’s a deal, then?”

  “Y-yeah.” Hesitantly.

  I stood up and gave him my hand. He got up reluctantly and we shook. It wasn’t exactly a handshake between two men who trusted each other. But that was okay. I didn’t need Chavez to trust me. Matter of fact, the best thing in the world that he could do was to doublecross me, which he probably would.

  “I’ll phone Klaus tomorrow and tell him my bid’s cancelled. Then you can sweat the contract out of him on your own.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll be in touch with you on the Coast,” I said. “I’ve got some business to tidy up in Vegas, and then I’ll come to L.A. and we can get things all worked out. I’ll be staying at the Beverly Wilshire, and you can reach me there after next week.”

  “Sure,” Chavez said. There was a cold glitter in his eyes that he wasn’t bothering to hide. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight. What’s your last name, Joe?”

  “Manners,” I improvised.

  “Joe Manners,” he repeated. “Okay, Joe. I don’t know you from Adam, but you handle yourself okay. I was just letting you push me around before, you know. Sort of like a test to see how good you really were.”

  “Sure, Ricky. I understand.”

  Our eyes met, and I made sure he understood. Little men often talk big in retrospect. By the time morning came around, Chavez would have convinced himself that he really had been only shamming when I blocked him from drawing his gun. These sawed-off killers live in little fantasy worlds where they’re really six feet five and everybody bows to them.

  I walked to the door.

  “So long—partner.”

  “Yeah,” Chavez said, deep in his throat. “So long, partner.”

  I closed the door behind me and rang for the elevator.

  So I was Ricky Chavez’ partner now. And I was in for a slice of his profits on the Klaus deal.

  At least, that was the way it worked theoretically. But I knew what was on Chavez’ mind. He was in a sweat to sign the contract with Klaus, so he was willing to agree to anything. The important thing was horning Hammell aside. He could always deal with a Joe Manners later.

  Joe Manners wouldn’t be getting any slices from Ricky Chavez. If Chavez had his way, the only thing Manners would end up by getting would be some lead in the belly.

  TEN

  I woke up early on Sunday morning. It was a bright, sunny day. The hotel coffee shop was a ghost town when I came in for breakfast, a little after nine. Philadelphia at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning is just one big morgue. The corpses don’t start stirring until ten or eleven.

  I didn’t want to disturb the slumbers of my buddy Klaus, so I waited until half past eleven to phone him. The phone rang close to a dozen times, and just as I was about to give up I heard a click and then the extremely sleepy-sounding voice of Carol Champlain.

  “Hello?”

  “Morning, sweetheart. I wake you up?”

  “Who’s this?” She was still foggy.

  “The name is Lowney. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. I come from California.”

  “Oh—oh, gosh. Vic. Hold on a second and let me get my eyes open.”

  “Must have been a big night, eh?”

  She yawned. “Klaus had a celebration after you left. Champagne and everything. We didn’t get to bed till almost five. Klaus is still asleep. Everybody else is gone.”

  “Just you and Klaus there?”

  “And the bodyguards. They aren’t supposed to answer the phone.”

  “Why the wing-ding?” I asked.

  “Because of the deal,” Carol said. “Vic, he’s going to make a deal with that horrible little Chavez man.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “No, he didn’t say a thing. Except once or twice he remarked that he’d be glad to see you clear out. He hates you something fierce, Vic.”

  “I imagine he does. Let me talk to him, will you, honey?”

  “He’s asleep, Vic.”

  “Then wake him up.”

  “But—”

  “Come on, Carol. I don’t have all day to stand around waiting on Klaus. Roust him up.”

  “If you insist. But he’s going to be sore
as hell.”

  “I’ll worry about that,” I said. “You just get him out of bed.”

  A couple of minutes went by, and then Klaus came to the phone. He sounded surly, and his voice was an octave deeper than normal.

  “Yeah?”

  “Good morning, Klaus. You shouldn’t sleep so late. You’re missing all the sunshine.”

  “You got a hell of a nerve, Lowney. I feel like sending my guys out to rough you up and knock some manners into you. What the hell kind of hour is this to call on a Sunday morning?” he grumbled.

  “Cool it, Klaus. I’ve got something on my mind.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m withdrawing my bid. Hammell wired me and told me not to make any deals with you. So it’s all off.”

  “Isn’t that nice?” Klaus growled. “Well, you could have saved yourself a phone call. And some breath. There isn’t any need for you to withdraw your bid. Chavez outbid you by exactly twenty-five percent. I was going to call you both later and let you know.”

  “He gets the contract, right?”

  “Right. So you don’t have to bother me anymore, Lowney. You hear that?”

  “I’m not deaf.”

  “You got your plane ticket back to L.A.?”

  “You in a hurry to see me leave?”

  “The quicker the better,” Klaus said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I’ll be around town for another couple of days. Sightseeing.”

  “Just keep away from me,”

  “You’re one sight I’ve already seen. So long, Klaus. It was fun doing business with you. Congratulate Chavez for me. I guess the biggest sucker won.”

  I hung up, cutting off Klaus’ angry sputter.

  Now I had to wait. I had to give Chavez time to do my work for me.

  I sat down on the edge of my bed and puffed on a cigarette, staring at the floor and trying to fit all the pieces of the jigsaw together. The way you work in this kind of operation, you’ve got to set up a smooth hunk of machinery that will weave and spin and finally clamp an unbreakable web around everyone you’re trying to nail. The only difficulty is that the parts of the machine are of necessity human beings. And you can set human beings in motion, but you can’t always control the direction they move in....