Shell Game

by Carol O’Connell

  When he turned around to face the desk, he was staring at a tall blonde with full, ruby lips and a tuxedo. A long leather coat was draped over one arm, and her entire body sparkled with black sequins. He thought the silk top hat was marvelous. It marked her as an escapee from a vintage black-and-white movie. In a further audacity, she wore sunglasses at midnight.

  „I’m Louisa Malakhai, room 408. I need the key card.“

  „Madam, I thought you were dead.“

  The blonde inclined her head, apparently not getting the joke. „I beg your pardon?“

  „I’m sorry, Mrs. Malakhai.“ One hand fluttered up to cover his gaunt face, where brand-new pimples were surely blooming before her eyes. „It must’ve been a misprint.“ He dropped his copy of the Times on the floor.

  „My husband filled out our registration card.“

  „Of course.“ He turned to the computer keyboard and typed in the room number. Louisa Malakhai was indeed a registered guest. He sorted through the box of cards, then pulled one out. Yes, the gentleman had signed for a second occupant, his wife. But according to the newspaper, she had died more than half a century ago.

  Pretty damn dead.

  He looked up at her face, evidently staring at her too long. Her red fingernails were drumming on the mahogany.

  Well, it was an uncommon burglar who showed up in sequins and a top hat. But still – dead was dead. A simple call to the gentleman’s room would – „My husband is asleep. I’d rather you didn’t wake him.“ She laid one soft hand over his to prevent him from picking up the phone. The clerk froze in the attitude of a soldier standing at attention; his insides were flapping like a duck.

  „My bag isn’t heavy. I can carry it.“ She held out her hand, palm up and fingers curling to show him the dangerous tips of long red nails. „Give me the key card.“

  „I’ll need to see some identification.“

  Her mouth dipped on one side, the most subtle indication that she was outraged. This reaction spoke well for both burglar and legal guest, for there was no such thing as hotel security in New York City. It was a lame criminal who could not finesse a victim’s key from any desk clerk in town, striking in the busy daylight hours when the clerks were under pressure and easily conned. But it had never been known to happen in the dead hours of a night shift. He bit down on his lower lip and called himself an overzealous ass.

  Apparently, she had anticipated just such an ass. She held up an open Czech passport. The photograph was recent, agreeing with what he could see of her face. But didn’t the page look a bit yellowed, somewhat older than the picture? Her fingers covered the dates of issue and expiration. Was that deliberate?

  „The key card.“ Her voice had an edge to it.

  They were done with pleasantries. This was an order she was issuing, and nothing in his lifetime of erupting pimples and dateless Saturday nights had prepared him to challenge a tall blonde.

  He gave her his most ingratiating smile as he handed her the electronic card. „Your English is flawless, Mrs. Malakhai.“

  The narrow beam of her penlight played over his face as Malakhai lay sleeping, all the effects of gravity undone. The light moved on, traveling from wall to bedroom wall. Everything was exactly as the maid had described it this morning. The desk clerk’s skepticism had taken her by surprise. The rest of the hotel staff was under the impression that a woman occupied this suite.

  Mallory entered the bathroom, but she did not find the anticipated red hairs in the brush or the comb. And contrary to the maid’s experience, tonight there was no lipstick-stained tissue in the wastebasket. Louisa was fading away.

  She whirled around at the sudden brightness of another light.

  Malakhai stood behind her in the glow of the bedside lamp, wearing a long black robe. His back was turned to her with utter disregard for any threat that she might pose. Her suitcase lay on the bed, and her gun was inside, stored there because the fitted tuxedo jacket would not close on the bulge of her shoulder holster.

  The lock clicked, then he held up a copy of Faustine’s rod of key plugs. „It’s the original, if you’re still curious about that. I never go anywhere without it.“ Malakhai’s hand grazed the contents of the small valise. „Not the typical young lady’s overnight case.“

  He pulled a cloth sack off the wine bottle she had raided from the basement. „Ah, you New York girls. Very chic.“ And now he unwrapped the linen covering two wineglasses. When he dipped back into the case, his hand passed over her revolver in favor of the pearl-handled corkscrew.

  Mallory had lost the element of surprise and the opportunity to do real damage. She was not in control here – not yet.

  As she came up behind him, her voice was full of accusation. „You arranged for Charles to do the Lost Illusion at Carnegie Hall.“

  „Charles was invited to do a tribute to Max Candle.“ Not the least bit defensive, he smiled as he worked the corkscrew into the mouth of the bottle. „I gave him some of Max’s old warm-up tricks – not a death finale. The Lost Illusion was Charles’s idea. He’s doing it for you, Mallory.“

  Malakhai inhaled deeply. „Your perfume is a bit overdone. Louisa was more discreet.“ He appraised the close-fitting tuxedo and the top hat. „But apart from that – not a bad impersonation.“

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. This was not going well. „Did you tell Charles how the illusion was done?“

  „No, he worked out his own solution.“ Malakhai finished uncorking the bottle and poured red wine into the crystal glasses.

  „But it’s not Max Candle’s solution?“

  „Come to the show.“ He handed her a glass. „Judge for yourself.“

  „You wouldn’t hurt him?“

  „Of course not.“ And now he was unsettled, incredulous. „I watched Charles grow up. How could I – “

  „He looks a lot like Max Candle, doesn’t he?“

  „If he were only as handsome as Max, he wouldn’t have to risk his neck to impress you.“ Malakhai sat down on the other side of the bed and lifted his glass. „It’s not going to work though, is it? He’s not your type. I think I’d be afraid of the man who was.“

  He sipped his wine, not catching the dark look that passed across her face.

  Mallory was staring at the pillow on the unwrinkled side of the bed. „You forgot the mint.“

  He turned to see the gold foil resting on a pristine pillowcase. Did this sadden him? Yes.

  „Time to give it up,“ said Mallory. „She’s gone, isn’t she?“

  He shook his head as he stared at the pillow.

  Mallory pressed this one small advantage. „Oh, you know who she was. And you still have a lot of the stories. But it’s getting harder to see her, isn’t it? What will you lose tomorrow? If you kill Nick Prado, I’ll put you away. And after a while, you won’t even remember why I did that to you.“

  He disappointed her with a slow smile. „Would that take all the fun out of it, Mallory?“

  „Yes. I’d rather nail Prado for Oliver’s murder. What do you suppose he did with Franny Futura?“

  „No idea.“ He leaned back to rest against the headboard.

  Mallory swirled the wine, then set the glass on the bedside table. „You know he has to kill Futura.“ She looked at Malakhai, hoping to impress him with her contempt. „Prado needs somebody to take the fall when the body turns up. You’re the perfect patsy – certifiably insane. Your home address is a hospital.“

  Malakhai swallowed the last of his wine and lifted one shoulder to say, Yes, so? He turned to the window of city lights and the glowing streams of midnight traffic. „I really have no idea where Franny is. I wouldn’t lie to you.“

  „But you won’t help me either.“

  Mallory was planning to punish him with another blow to the Louisa illusion, but now she noticed that the hotel mint was gone, and his wife’s pillow bore the deep impression of a human head. A shadow was crawling along the wall at the corner of her field of vision, but she wouldn’t g
ive Malakhai the satisfaction of staring at it.

  Done with distractions, she wondered if she could bludgeon him with something else and hit him in another soft spot.

  The shadow was closer, larger, massing upward as if to strike her. Before Mallory could stop the reflex action, her hand hovered in the air, moving toward the open suitcase and her revolver. „Was Max Candle a war lover like Prado?“ Passing over the suitcase, she reached for the glass instead of her gun.

  Malakhai took this as a request for a refill and leaned across the bed to pour out more burgundy. „No, Max never loved the war.“ He topped off her glass. „The killing sickened him.“

  „You told me the war was sublime.“

  „The sublime can be wonderful or horrible, but it’s always an exalted thing. For Max, the war was a chance to find out what he was made of. He acquitted himself heroically, and he kept his medals locked in a drawer.“

  She sipped the wine, tasting it this time. „What about Oliver?“

  „He was shipped back to the States for basic training, and the army kept him there. They made him a supply clerk. Poor Oliver. He wanted action, but it never came his way.“ Malakhai cradled the bottle in his arm „Every one of us went off to a different war. Nick did fall in love with it, but Emile saw it as a simple matter of honor and duty. And it was all Franny could do just to survive it.“

  „And you?“

  „I thought I’d killed my wife. That was the biggest event of my life. Nothing could surpass it. The war was simply going on around me.“

  „But after the war, when you saw Emile, he told you what really happened to Louisa.“

  The water glass on the night table had lipstick on it now. When had he done that? The ashtray held a smoking cigarette with the imprint of ruby lips.

  „A very stylish interrogation, Mallory.“ He sipped his wine and sighed. „So this is police brutality. I can’t imagine why anyone complains. But you don’t know – “

  „I know everything. Louisa had no idea what the rest of you were plotting. Her plan was to make a run for the border after the show was over.“

  „How did – “

  „Louisa thought she was going to do the act the way she did it every night. When you drew blood, she wasn’t faking the shock.“

  „No, she never expected me to hurt her – not ever.“

  „Prado’s idea, right? She thought Max Candle was going to do the routine with a wire and a ribbon, not a real arrow. It was Max’s act, but he couldn’t go through with Prado’s plan.“

  „Max couldn’t stand the idea of hurting her. He loved Louisa.“

  Not as much as you did.

  „There was no way out of France,“ said Mallory. „And Louisa couldn’t stay. The Germans had to believe she was dead. There were combat soldiers in the audience, and they knew the genuine article when they saw it – blood and shock. Nothing would scare Louisa more than that uniform. Now that was your idea. You knew all her soft places.“

  „Torturing people is your gift, isn’t it, Mallory? I wonder where you learned that.“

  „The wound had to be authentic – real blood. Her life depended on it.

  It should have been Max Candle on that stage. But he couldn’t go through with it. That’s why you did his act that night, and why you wore that uniform. You were the one who loved her enough to frighten her and hurt her – so she could survive.“

  Malakhai stared at her with naked surprise. Perhaps he had never suspected her of having the humanity to work it out.

  „And while she was dying?“ Mallory leaned closer. „You must know what went through her mind. Your wife gave up the fight too soon. You know it’s true. You’ve seen more death than I have. You know what it takes to kill a human being. And you know why she stopped fighting? All the while that bastard was murdering her, she thought she had it coming. Louisa thought you wanted her dead.“

  So much for humanity. She had made him drop his wineglass.

  He dabbed at the red stain on the sheet. „You’re the most ruthless woman I’ve ever met.“

  She sat back, somehow disappointed, waving her hand to ask, Is that all?

  „But whatever you are,“ he said, „I suppose I’m a hundred times worse. I was doing monstrous things when I was only eighteen years old.“

  „I can top that,“ she said. „I was diagnosed as a sociopath when I was eleven years old.“ Did that sound competitive? This was all about control now.

  „You’re lying, Mallory. Ruthless is the only compliment you get.“

  In a case with no hard evidence, so much depended on topping him at ripping human beings to shreds. „It’s true. I’ve got everything it takes to nail that bastard. You can trust me to do the job right.“

  He shook his head to say he didn’t believe her.

  „Helen – my foster mother – she tore the psychiatrist’s report into a million pieces. That’s how bad it was.“ The violence of that tearing and shredding had piqued a child’s curiosity. Long past the bedtime of a little girl, she had retrieved all the scraps from the garbage pail. Behind her locked bedroom door, young Kathy had been wearing the hated ducky pajamas, bright yellow baby birds on a field of ocean blue. She had pretended to love them because they were a gift from Helen’s loving hands.

  The child had patiently worked through the night, taping all the torn bits of paper, restoring each page to precise right-angled corners and perfectly straight edges. Then she had read the diagnosis of an eleven-year-old girl. The summary page had been written in simple language so that no one could escape its meaning – not even a child.

  She recalled the pages falling to the floor, then staring into a mirror, eyes wounded by an assault of words on paper, slowly coming to grips with the idea that a monster could have blue pajamas with yellow ducks.

  „I still remember that test.“ The doctor had said there were no right or wrong answers, only choices. Later it turned out that he had lied about that. „I think I only got one question right.“ One response had been circled in red ink – probably as a consolation prize for her foster mother. Dr. Brenner had known that Helen was a sucker for wounded animals.

  „He asked me to choose between a bag of money and a mangy old cat. Which one would I carry out of a burning building? I picked the cat – because it was alive.“ And because that response would have pleased Helen.

  „Then you didn’t get that one right either,“ said Malakhai. „The rest of us would’ve taken the money.“ He turned to the window. „It’s raining again.“

  She leaned toward him. „Give Prado to me. All I need is a statement. I’ll get even for Oliver and Louisa. That’s my job, and I’m good at it.“

  Better than you – twice the monster. As Emile St. John had said, she was born to do this work.

  Malakhai looked at her across the expanse of the bed. „I’m trying to picture you as a baby sociopath.“ He turned away from her to pour another glass of wine. „I don’t see it.“

  „I can bring Prado down. You want him to suffer? I can arrange that too.“

  Was he laughing at her? She could not see his face.

  Mallory crept across the bed, coming up on his blind side with a new idea for earning his absolute faith in her monsterhood. „Didn’t you think it was odd that Max never got a goodbye letter? He would’ve told you, right? He told you about his diaries. You never wondered about that?“

  „No, not at all. Since Max was running away with Louisa, she wouldn’t need to say goodbye to him.“

  „It wasn’t that kind of goodbye, and you know it. She didn’t think much of her chances for getting across the border alive.“ Mallory held out her glass. „Do you really believe she was planning to get Max killed, too?“

  Now he was paying attention.

  She knelt on the mattress beside him, very close, and he filled her glass with more wine. „Your wife sat down to write that letter after her confession in the park.“ And now, so softly, the hook. „There was only time for one letter. It was beautiful. I
think Louisa worked on it for all the time she had left. Then she hid it away in the toe of a shoe. She didn’t want you to find it, not till she was across the border – or dead.“

  His smile was sad and wry. „Where are you going with this?“

  „Louisa was more devious than you thought.“

  „You can’t possibly know – “

  „Max was in love with her. It wasn’t hard to get him under the sheets. She planned it very coldly on the dancing bed – that’s what Prado called it. You knew she cheated on you before that confession in the park.“

  „Don’t do this, Mallory.“

  „You walked into Oliver’s room while your wife was upstairs, rolling around your bed with another man. She was rocking the whole damn floor with the sound of sex. Louisa wasn’t trying to hide it – she was announcing it. I’d bet even money she timed it so you’d catch her in the act with Max. You’re always telling me that timing is everything.“

  „That’s enough.“ He grabbed her arm. „I don’t want to hear Louisa’s name in your mouth anymore.“

  „But you didn’t go up there, did you, Malakhai? No, you just walked away. And you never would’ve called her on it. That’s why Louisa had to make the confession in the park. She even brought Max along as proof.“

  He tightened his grip on her arm. He was hurting her, but damned if she would show it. She smiled instead. „Emile told her Paris was dangerous. Louisa couldn’t go back to the prison camp, the interrogations. When she wanted to make a run for the Spanish frontier, you told her that was suicide.“

  „The border was closed down and the frontier police had her photograph.“ He pushed her away with enough force to roll her to the other side of the wide bed. „It was a suicide run.“

  „But Louisa already knew that.“ Mallory crept back across the mattress for another turn at him. „Emile would’ve told her the same thing. And still, she was game to make that run.“

  His hand was rising for a strike at her face. She ignored it. „But first, Louisa had to make sure you wouldn’t run after her and die with her. She had to make you bate her. So she slept with your best friend. Louisa was planning a suicide run, but she wanted you to live. That was her plan.“