Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries)

by Langtry, Leslie

  Felix raised his hands and shook his head, “Don’t worry—Dmi and I have come up with a brilliant plan.”

  Uh oh. The clock on the wall now showed we were well into the afternoon. I could come up with a plan on short notice, but I wasn’t sure these guys could. I wondered if we should cancel the attempt.

  Felix motioned for me to follow him out of the kitchen, down the hallway and a set of stairs to a private dining room. The room was tiny, with windows high up at street level. One end held a small, round table and wooden chairs, and the other end seemed to be some sort of area for entertaining.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Oh, this is where various Yusupovs have entertained lovers over the years. It’ll be perfect.”

  I sighed. “And just how will this be perfect without the potential lover?”

  Felix nodded. “I know what you are thinking. But we have it figured out! Dmi and the doctor will be upstairs making noise in a parlor. I’ll tell Rasputin that Irina is entertaining unexpected guests, and while we are waiting for them to leave, he will eat the poisoned food and drink!” He grinned like an idiot who thought he had it all figured out.

  I wasn’t sure if it was false hope or temporary insanity. But I thought this might work.

  Felix pointed to a screen halfway across the room. “You can hide here to make sure it works out. And it will. Dmi is a genius at these things.”

  I was about to ask him how many assassinations Dmi had planned and successfully executed (my personal record was forty-seven) but changed my mind. It was getting late, and there was work to be done.

  Back in the kitchen, I started to make the tarts and cakes that would hide the potassium cyanide. After a few hours, the sun had gone down, and I had several platters of various sweets. I added a bottle of red wine to the tray with two glasses and made my way down to the small dining room.

  Dr. Lazavert barely noticed me. And why should he? Servants were ignored, and this was part of the plan. The doctor would add the cyanide to the baked goods and wine, making sure to add enough poison to kill a man without it tasting obviously of poison. I set the napkins and cutlery, watching the doctor work.

  He was nervous and wearing rubber gloves. I stoked the fire and stood aside, presumably awaiting instructions, but actually observing. The doc seemed to know what he was doing, even though he was perspiring heavily. He added poison to all the platters but one and told Felix to make sure only to eat from that tray. Then, the man stripped off his rubber gloves, and, to my absolute shock, tossed them into the fireplace.

  The smell hit first, followed by an unnatural smoke that quickly filled the low-ceilinged room. I grabbed the fireplace tongs and removed the burning gloves. The doc was trying to open the tiny windows.

  I couldn’t chastise the idiot doctor—I was merely a servant. I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t do that either because we still needed him. Instead I merely seethed as I tried to fan the smoke out of the room. The smell of burning rubber would be very hard to explain to anyone, let alone a suspicious Rasputin. Rumor had it that he had foreseen his own death recently and had become quite paranoid. I silently cursed the doctor and vowed never to take a job in Russia again. Was it possible to suddenly forget a language I’d known my whole life? I’d have to give some serious thought to that one.

  “What’s that smell?” Felix entered, holding his nose. I didn’t answer, so the doctor nervously explained what had happened—except in his version, I was the one who had thrown the gloves in the fireplace. I steeled myself and gave Felix a deadly look.

  “Um, okay, that’s fine,” the prince said as he waved away the stench. “We have to leave soon, Doc, to pick up our special guest for tonight.” He actually wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Dr. Lazavert nodded and fled the room, leaving me to deal with the mess. Sigh. How typical.

  The smell of burnt rubber is certainly a force to reckon with. The windows were open and the fire was blazing but that horrible smell hung in the air, refusing to budge. I raced upstairs to the kitchen and searched the cupboards until I found some sage branches. Returning to the small dining room downstairs, I burned the ends in the fireplace and waved the smoking branches around the room, feeling a bit silly. It worked though. I’d used burning sage before to mask other odors during my assignments, but to use it to erase such a strong, chemical smell was new. I was just closing up the windows when Felix led Rasputin down the stairs and into the room.

  “Irina is entertaining some guests from America!” Felix said way too loudly. “She will join us when they leave. Aren’t Americans tiresome?” The prince gave a garish smile. What was he doing?

  Rasputin said nothing. He grunted and turned his attention to me. His eyes were truly hypnotic and a bit crazy. I cast my gaze to the floor and curtseyed like a good maid.

  “That’s Olga,” Felix shouted. The Mad Monk wasn’t hard of hearing. “She’ll fetch us whatever we need.”

  I nodded and curtseyed again, and after both men were seated, I stepped behind the screen. It was a Chinese screen with a lot of complicated carvings on it. There were spaces that I could see through, so I could observe what was going on unnoticed.

  “How about a pastry?” Felix practically screamed as he slid one of the poisoned platters toward his guest.

  Rasputin did not move. “No,” he said. Maybe he was unnerved by Felix’s shouting.

  “What?” The prince’s voice went up an octave. “Why? I…I thought you liked these…” he sputtered. The man was losing it already. All he had to do was be patient. Rasputin would eat, I was sure of that.

  “Too sweet,” Rasputin grunted.

  Felix stood and poured his guest a glass of poisoned claret. Then he filled his glass. With the poisoned claret. I wondered if he would drink it.

  “No.” Rasputin pushed away the glass. Apparently, he didn’t want to eat or drink yet.

  Assassination is basically a game of hurry-up-and-wait. I understood this. In the case of poisoning someone at dinner, especially, you don’t want to push your victim into it. Let him decide when to drink and eat. Being pushy would only raise suspicions.

  Unfortunately, Felix Yusupov had the patience of a fruit fly. He started to perspire. His face turned red and, again, he loudly insisted Rasputin eat and drink.

  “No,” was all Rasputin said. I was starting to wonder if that was the only word he knew.

  “Um, I’ll just…check on things…” Felix stammered and vanished up the staircase. Smooth. If I was Rasputin, I’d find this suspicious. What was that stupid prince doing?

  I stepped out from behind the screen and tidied up the table a bit, even though nothing had been touched. Something told me that my presence might allay Rasputin’s suspicions. Unfortunately, it did.

  I felt a sharp pinch on my arse. Son of a bitch. That nasty bastard was flirting with me! I had to keep it together. Turning and deftly stepping out of Rasputin’s reach, I tried to giggle flirtatiously.

  “You are pretty,” he grunted and reached for me again. I giggled unenthusiastically and stepped out of his way. Upstairs, someone put a record on the phonograph and “Yankee Doodle Dandy” blasted. For the first time, I heard laughter and murmurs. I guessed they were finally getting started on the Irina-entertaining-Americans ruse.

  Felix returned back down the stairs, looking pale but acting gracious. “Irina’s guests are upstairs,” he managed weakly, his loud voice now gone. He sat down at the table and picked up a pastry from the non-poisoned tray and started nibbling at it. My guess was Dmitry told him if he ate something, Rasputin would. Felix then raised his glass of the poisoned wine. I moved quickly to stand behind Rasputin and shook my head vigorously.

  Felix’s eyes bulged as he remembered the poison in his glass and replaced it on the table without taking so much as a sip. For a moment I thought I should’ve let him drink it. But while potassium cyanide took a few moments to work, Rasputin would certainly become suspicious if his host clutched his chest and fel
l to the floor.

  Rasputin grunted and finally reached for one of the pastries. He took a large bite and seemed to swallow without chewing. Pale, flaky crumbs littered his dark beard. One more bite and he finished the pastry and reached for another. A few minutes passed and he’d eaten four, washing it down with a gulp of wine.

  I slid behind the screen and allowed myself a small smile. The amount of poison he’d just ingested would’ve killed an ox. We just had to wait now for it to kick in.

  Felix relaxed somewhat and began chatting amiably. He did most of the talking, and most of it was silly gossip about the most beautiful ladies in the court—one of Rasputin’s favorite subjects. The monk grunted his agreement here and there but said little. He seemed comfortable and at ease.

  Time passed. A lot of time. Rasputin ate four more poisoned pastries and drank two more full glasses of poisoned wine. Nothing happened. Did the doctor screw up? I could swear I saw him load the pastries with the poison. The bag he used was clearly labeled cyanide. He was a doctor and surely knew where to get the real stuff.

  My heart began to pound. Yes, assassination is a waiting game, but it had been half an hour. Rasputin had ingested more poison than you’d use to kill off a dinner party of twenty people. (And, yes, I speak from experience.) And yet here he sat, perfectly fine. That weird, creepiness he exuded worried me. Was he immune to potassium cyanide? I’d never heard of such a thing.

  Rasputin pointed at a guitar in the corner. “Little One, do you play?”

  Felix nodded shakily. Clearly he was anxious about the fact that Rasputin wasn’t dead yet. I was inclined to agree.

  “Play something for me!” Rasputin ordered. I stepped from behind the screen, and after retrieving the guitar, I handed it to Felix. He searched my face with a what-the-hell look, but I gave him nothing and returned to my spot behind the screen.

  The prince found his courage and began to play one of several Russian folk songs. The music clashed with the constant, loud, repetitive playing of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” upstairs (Seriously? Did they only have one song?), but Rasputin didn’t seem to mind as he began to hum along to the music, closing his eyes and tapping his feet.

  After several songs, Felix stopped, rose to his feet and after setting the guitar down said, “I think I’ll see what’s keeping Irina.” He vanished up the stairs.

  I emerged from the screen and returned the guitar to its spot in the corner. Rasputin rose to his feet so I could clear the now dried-out pastries from the table. He wandered over to an ebony cabinet against the south wall and began to examine it.

  Rasputin had eaten two trays full of poisoned food and drunk an entire bottle of poisoned wine. He should be dead and writhing on the floor. Instead, he seemed completely and unnaturally healthy. Footsteps came down the stairs, and I wondered if I had a second to warn Felix to calm down a little. All these disappearances were suspicious.

  Rasputin ignored the sounds, fascinated with the cabinet. To my shock, I saw that Felix was now carrying Dmitry’s gun. Was he insane? The police station was down the street! We’d agreed no guns because that might cause some unwanted attention.

  Before I could cross the room, Felix Yusupov stepped up behind Rasputin and aimed the gun at his back. “Grigory,” Felix said as he saw the monk studying a crucifix in the cabinet, “you would do better to look at the crucifix and pray to it.” Felix then fired the pistol into Rasputin’s back and watched as he fell to the floor.

  Dmitry and Dr. Lazavert came flying down the stairs to see Rasputin lying on the floor. I wanted to strangle all of them—, Dmitry for giving Felix his weapon and Lazavert for screwing up the poison somehow. I also wanted to beat Felix for his stupid little monologue. We have a strict rule in the Bombay family—don’t give speeches, just kill them. You’d be surprised how many times the bad guy gets away because some moron decides to give a speech.

  “The rug!” Felix howled. For a moment, I thought he’d regained his senses. Yes, we should roll him up in the rug and move him before a bloodstain forms.

  “Get him off the rug!” Felix shrieked. “It’s polar bear!”

  I stared at these idiots as they moved the body off the rug so that it wouldn’t get stained.

  Rasputin’s body began to twitch, convulsing on the carpet, before going completely still.

  “That’ll do it then,” Dr. Lazavert confirmed—without checking the body. I watched in surprise as the men patted each other on the back and celebrated.

  “Come on!” Felix roared with the first shadow of confidence I’d seen all night. “Let’s go upstairs and toast the death of the monster!”

  The three men left the room, laughing as they mounted the stairs. I heard them call for Buzhinsky and champagne. I examined the body, trying not to look at the blood. Rasputin was stiff and cold. I couldn’t find a heartbeat. This was good news. While the men waited for it to get later and dark enough to dump the body, I took the trays of poisoned crumbs, the wine glasses and empty bottle upstairs to dispose of them.

  It was finally done, I thought. I cleaned the platters thoroughly three times, the last time with bleach. I did the same with the wine glasses and bottle before taking it all out to the garbage.

  The wind whistled through the bare branches outside, and I slid back into the shadows of the trees in the courtyard, letting out a huge sigh of relief. It had been a very long night. We still needed to get rid of the body, but that should be the easiest part of the plan. Rasputin was dead. I’d finally gotten the job done. And it wasn’t easy.

  Maybe I needed to rethink this idea of getting others to do the work. We barely made it through this murder. Maybe the other Bombays were right to just do the job themselves. If anything, the screw-ups this evening were a good sign that it was time to go solo.

  To my amazement, even though nearly every aspect of the plan had gone wrong, these guys actually did what Guseva couldn’t a few years ago. They had managed to kill Rasputin. The Mad Monk was dead. And he was running into the courtyard…wait, what?

  Which brings us back to where I started…with Rasputin’s caved-in face and bullet in the head on the carpet in the hall, Felix holding cast iron dumbbells in each hand, splattered with blood.

  I helped the men roll the carpet around the now certainly dead Rasputin. We secured it with rope. Dr. Lazavert assured us this time the man was dead. I watched as the men, with the servant Buzhinsky, carried the body to the trunk of Felix’s car and drove off into the night.

  I was mopping the blood up from the foyer, pretending it was wine so as not to get lightheaded, when I heard Buzhinsky re-enter the room with Dmitry.

  “Do you think the policeman believed the story of a backfiring automobile?” Dmitry said somewhat sarcastically.

  Buzhinsky nodded. “Maybe.”

  Dmitry said nothing for a moment as I wrung the last of the blood—er, wine—into the bucket and went into the kitchen to pour it out. When I returned with a cloth to dry the floor, I found the policeman Vlassiyev standing in the foyer with Dmitry. What was he doing here? Maybe he didn’t buy the story and had returned?

  “Thank you for coming,” Dmitry said as he rose to his full height and puffed out his chest. “I appreciate it at such a late hour.”

  Wait…what? Dmitry had called him? To come here??

  The policeman nodded and waited.

  I stared openly at Dmitry. What was he thinking? I had Vlassiyev convinced it was nothing! But Dummy Dmi summoned him back? Did he not notice the huge pool of blood in the courtyard!?

  Dmitry introduced himself to the policeman and asked if Vlassiyev had heard of him. Of all the egotistical bullshit! This was not the time to throw your weight around as some sort of political celebrity, Dmi!

  “I have heard of you,” Vlassiyev replied.

  “Have you ever heard of Rasputin?” Dmitry waited for the policeman to nod—which he did. I broke out in a cold sweat. What was happening?

  “Well,” Dmitry continued in a proud voice, “Rasputin is de
ad. And if you love our mother Russia, you’ll keep quiet about it.”

  My mouth hung completely open. This idiot just told the police that we’d murdered the tsarina’s favorite Russian!

  “Yes, sir.” Vlassiyev nodded and left.

  Dmitry clapped his hands and laughed. “Well, that’s that! We won’t have to worry about him!” His tone was smug and self-congratulatory. I had just witnessed the stupidest thing I’d ever seen. If I moved quickly, I could kill Dmitry before the others got back. I didn’t care if anyone saw me do it. I could get out of Russia before they even looked for me. Maybe I should kill Felix, Dr. Lazavert and Buzhinsky too. My mind was whirling, and I was lightheaded, unable to think straight. Maybe I could make it look like they all committed suicide so they wouldn’t get caught? I took a step toward Dmitry just as Felix and the doctor burst through the door in a triumphant mood.

  “We did it!” Felix said as he raised one of the bloody dumbbells into the air. “We threw him in the river!” He handed the bloody dumbbells to me for cleaning and smiled dopily.

  I stared at the weights. The weights that were supposed to be tucked inside the carpet just before they tossed Rasputin into the water. The weights that were supposed to make the body sink so it wouldn’t be found. The weights I held in my hands.

  I closed my eyes and used every ounce of will that I had to not attack Felix with them.

  When I regained my senses, I heard Dmitry finishing his story about how he masterfully handled the policeman. Felix clapped his friends on the back, and they decided the deed was done, and they all went their separate ways.

  I was sitting in the kitchen an hour later, still trying to wrap my head around the events. By now, Rasputin, if he wasn’t dead before, would have been dead almost an hour from hypothermia. I felt fairly confident about that.

  Didn’t I?

  The bottle of very expensive champagne was empty next to me; I’d just finished the last glass. Two empty tins of Felix’s best caviar sat beside me. I spared no expense. Fuck Felix if he was pissed. The man barely pulled it off.