“What about it?”
She opened her purse, and allowed him to look inside. The black revolver was there, among Kleenex, notepads, pens, makeup.
“You always carry it with you?”
“Always,” she said. “Four ball to the side pocket.” She shot, clearing the table.
“The game’s over,” she said, “and you’ve lost.”
He smiled.
As it turned out, she did not go home directly. Instead, they went to a private club after the closing time for the pubs; it was a jazz place with an occasional stripper who attempted, unsuccessfully, to enliven things. Jane didn’t mind the place because she had always been interested in strippers. Most women were, she felt. It was a kind of challenge, six different ways. Much more of a challenge for women to watch a stripper than for men.
They had several drinks, too many, really. She began to get tight, and the slight tic in her eye began to get bad, as it always did when she was tight, but she didn’t give a damn, because she trusted the guy, somehow. She wasn’t sure how she trusted him, or why, but she trusted him. And it had a bad effect: loosened the tongue.
“You’re staring at me again,” she said.
“Sorry. It’s your hair.”
“You’re always staring at me. Why is that?”
“Maybe I like you.”
“Do you lust after me?” she asked, giggling. Oops: drunk. Mustn’t say things like that.
“A little.”
“Just for the record,” she said, raising her glass, “I am thirty-seven—twenty-one—thirty-six. Much better than her.” She nodded to the stripper.
“Yes.”
“I have a very small waist.”
“I noticed.”
“I noticed you noticed.” She giggled again.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“You wouldn’t want to hear.”
“I would.”
“Well,” she said, “then we need another drink.”
“You sure?”
“I keep telling you,” she said, “that I can look out for myself.”
He got her another drink. He had a sort of concerned look on his face, very sweet.
“Well,” she said. “I’ll tell you. There were these five guys, see? Five. One, two, three…” She counted them on her fingers. “All the way up to five.”
“Yes?”
“And they were all bastards.”
She told herself she shouldn’t be talking about this, not about any of it. There wasn’t any sense, any point to talking about it.
“I’ve known a lot of bastards, men-wise.”
“Ever been married?”
“No. And I never will be. I hate marrys.”
“Marriage.”
“Yes. You said it.”
“Why do you hate it?”
“Just because. It’s a bad idea. And all the men, all they really want is your mon—your body.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, so they say.”
He seemed unhappy to hear her talk like this. He was frowning, concerned. Really sweet. A sweet bruiser, that’s what he was.
“You’re cute.”
He smiled. “So they say.”
She sipped her drink, spilling some. “Oops. Must have been drinking.” She wiped her chin with her finger. “You know what else is cute?”
“What?”
“Diapers. They’re very cute.”
“Diapers?”
“Yes. You know, like for baby bottoms.”
He nodded.
“Baby bottoms, they’re cute, too. Small and round and nice. When I have a baby, I’m going to change the diapers myself and the hell with the maid. And that’s the truth.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
“You are humoring me,” she said sternly. “You are humoring me because I am potted. A potted plant. That’s me. Right?”
“You’re okay,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“I am not okay. I am potted. Admit it.”
“I admit it. You’re potted.”
She giggled. “I like honest men.” She sipped the drink again, this time without spilling it. She set the glass down with a small grin of triumph. “Tell you a secret.”
“What.”
“I almost had a baby, once.”
“You did?”
“Stop prying,” she said, pulling away from him on the bar. “You expect me to tell you everything about myself? I hardly know you.”
She paused, and looked at him, cocking one eyebrow. She could not really see him well, because of the damn tic in her eye. But she pretended she could see him. Pretending was almost as good as the real thing.
“Are you a nice person?”
He shrugged.
“Because, you seem like a nice person. But you can never tell. What do you do for a living, with those snakes and everything?”
“I’m a smuggler.”
“You’re supposed to be serious. We are having a serious discussion. Very intellectual. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a smuggler,” he repeated.
“You know,” she said, “you sound as if you believed that.”
“I do,” he said. “In fact, I’m convinced of it.”
“A smuggler?”
“Not so loud,” he said, looking around. Christ, he was cute when he looked around.
“You know what else is cute?” she said. “Pregnant women. They are very cute.”
“You think so?”
“I do. I definitely do. I’ll tell you a secret.” She frowned. “No, I won’t. Never mind.”
“Go ahead.”
“There you are, prying again.” She finished her drink. “You know what? I think you are up to no good. No good at all. I think you’re a bastard and a liar and a thief. And I know you’re a smuggler. Though you’re sweet to tell me.”
“Any time.”
“But why are you hanging around with Richard Pierce?”
“Damned if I know,” Raynaud said.
“He’s not nice.”
“He is,” Raynaud said, “much worse than that.”
In front of the hotel, he opened the door to the car and said, “Can you make it all right?”
“Sure,” she said. “It’s always easy for me.” And she thought, for Christ’s sake, shut your mouth. You’re asking for it.
Charles said, “That’s good to know.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “one way or the other.”
“You’re right,” he said, and kissed her lightly.
As she walked up the steps to the hotel, watching as the doorman weaved in front of her, drunken doorman, a real disgrace, she thought to herself that Charles Raynaud was an evil and unprincipled man, and very, very exciting.
13. MEDICINAL PURPOSES
“SHIT! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, shit!”
“Take it easy,” Black said, as he swabbed the cuts on Richard’s face. “You’ll be all right.”
“The hell I will. What is that stuff, anyway?”
“Alcohol.”
“Shit, it stings like hell.”
“Just relax,” Black said mildly.
He surveyed Richard’s battered body. Charles had done quite a thorough job. Richard’s left eye was closed; there were cuts and bruises around his jaw and dark purple blotches on his abdomen and back.
Black finished cleaning the cuts and applied bandages. Richard groaned and swore whenever the alcohol touched him.
“I’d like to kill her,” he said.
“Her?”
“That fucking girl. I’d like to kill her.”
“Why the girl?”
“It’s all her fault. Charles and I were friends, before this. Before she showed up. He was the only real friend I had. Then she got in the way, with her coy prancing, her… her…” He trailed off, wincing as Black applied bandages.
“You’re angry with her?” Black said.
“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” Richard s
aid. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I wasn’t psychoanalyzing you. Just asking.”
“The hell. You were psychoanalyzing.”
Black shrugged. He finished with the bandages and stepped back. “There,” he said. “All done.” He glanced at his watch, “I want you to go to the hospital now and have some X-rays.”
“I don’t want X-rays.”
“And then, you can come back here.”
“I don’t want any bleeding X-rays.”
“It’s a precaution,” Black said. “You might have a concussion. We’d better check it—after all, you wouldn’t want to die just before you inherited your fortune, would you?”
“Lucienne’d love it.”
“Forget Lucienne.”
“Yah. I’d like to.”
Black picked up the phone. “I’ll just call a taxi,” he said, “and they’ll take you over to the hospital.”
Pierce touched his bruised eye gingerly. “Like to kill that stupid Yank bitch,” he said.
A marvelously blatant example of displacement, Black thought, when he was alone in his study. Totally irrational, and fully complete. Richard was angry, consumed with self-pity and hatred for Charles. But he could not fight Charles again, so he shifted his anger to the girl, a more vulnerable target.
Interesting. And useful.
Black tapped his pencil on the desk. This development could be put to use, particularly if he employed his trump card. For Black had a way to put pressure on Richard, the kind of pressure he would now be extremely vulnerable to.
It was all a matter of timing, of presentation. If the situation were presented artfully, Richard would react with an irrepressible fury. And if there were an extra touch…
An hour and a half passed before Richard returned.
“I think they sterilized me.”
Interesting imagery, Black thought. “Oh?”
“Fucking X-rays,” Richard said, entering the room. “You didn’t tell me they were going to take so many. Sprayed my gonies a dozen times over.”
“It was for the best,” Black said. “But, Richard—”
“How about a drink?” Pierce said. “For medicinal purposes.”
“All right.”
They walked downstairs to the living room. On the stairs, Black felt a slight twinge of anginal pain in his chest. He ignored it, expecting it to go away, and fortunately it did.
They came into the living room. “What will you have?”
“Vodka. Straight.”
“Ice?”
“No. This is medicinal, remember?”
Black poured it and handed it to him.
“Not joining me?”
“No. Bit too early.”
“I haven’t seen you take a drink for a long time,” Pierce said. “And you’ve cut out smoking, too.”
“No, just cut down.”
“Something wrong?”
“No. Just trying to ease off on my vices.”
Pierce laughed. “I’m the one that should be doing that.”
Black sat down and motioned Pierce to a chair. Richard sat slowly, grimacing in pain as he settled himself. “Jesus, I hurt all over.”
“I can imagine.”
“Jesus, all over.” He sipped the drink and said, “Fucking girl.”
“About the girl, Richard…”
“Like to kill her.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“A Yank tart, that’s who she is.”
“Not exactly, Richard.” Black sighed.
“Something wrong?”
“Not exactly, Richard. But I have some serious news.”
Richard waited expectantly. Black let him wait, let him get a bit nervous.
“I’ve just been told,” Black said, “that the girl is traveling incognito.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. She is sole heir to the Mitchell Mining fortune. She’s a millionaire.”
Pierce laughed. “Impossible.”
“Quite true, I’m afraid.”
“Why are you afraid?”
“Because she is here to sell some stock in Copper and Brass, Limited.”
“Say,” Pierce said, “we own that, don’t we?”
“Until now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d better explain,” Black said.
And he did, quickly and tersely. He explained about the Dutch, and about the decision of the board. He put it with the proper degree of subtlety, and the proper degree of bluntness.
Finally, Richard said, “What you’re saying is that Shore Industries, Limited, will be sold off.”
Black looked down at his hands. “Yes.”
“That decision is final?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“And they can’t be…uh, persuaded to change their minds?”
Black shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Shit,” Richard said.
“There’s no way out,” Black said.
“There must be a way out.”
“There isn’t,” Black said.
“There must be. Because I must retain control of Shore Industries. There is too much at stake.”
Black shrugged.
“What you’re saying,” Pierce said, “is that the girl will ruin me.”
“Well, perhaps not—”
“Yes. Ruin me.”
“Richard, there are other avenues, other ways to explore—”
“Don’t say it,” Richard said. “Don’t bother.”
“I’m not trying to kid you. I’m trying to make you understand.”
“That everyone is screwing me.”
“No, indeed, Richard. It is a simple matter of business…”
“The hell.” He frowned, lit a cigarette, and sipped his drink. “Tell me,” he said. “If the girl is not around, what happens to the deal?”
“I am not certain. She may or may not have signed power of attorney.”
“And if she hasn’t?”
“Naturally, any sale would be delayed in her absence.”
“That’s interesting,” Richard said.
“But I would strongly advise you, Richard, to avoid any contact—”
“Don’t worry,” Richard said, standing up. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll figure this out for myself, and I’ll take care of it.”
“You mustn’t be rash.”
“I won’t be rash,” he said, with a slight grin. “I’ll be effective.”
“Richard, please—”
“Don’t worry,” Richard said. “Just don’t worry about a thing.”
He stalked out, leaving Black alone in the room. Black reached into his pocket and removed the small vial of white powder. Dezisen: the perfect treatment, for the perfect condition.
He would use it tomorrow.
14. KIDNAP
SHE CAME DOWN THE street in front of the hotel shortly before noon, and Raynaud was astonished. She was wearing a vinyl dress of bright red and black checks, cut low in a V between her breasts, and high over her hips. She was wearing bright red velvet boots, knee length, and her long legs straddled a shiny chrome Triumph Bonneville.
She roared down the street and pulled up in front of where he was parked. He leaned out the window of his car and said, “Hey, lady.”
He was wearing sunglasses, with a fat cigar between his teeth.
She brushed back her hair with her hand. “Yes?”
He opened the door and growled, “Get in.”
She laughed.
“I’m kidnapping you, sweetheart,” Raynaud said. “Now move it.”
“But I have things to do.”
“Too bad. When you’re kidnapped, you have to do as you’re told.”
She laughed again and got in beside him. “Where are you; taking me?”
“To the country.”
“Why?”
“To make a pass at you.”
“That,” she said, “you could do in London.”
“But the count
ry is more romantic.”
She smiled wryly. “Are you a romantic?”
“That’s for me to know, sweetheart, and you to find out.”
He drove north and east, up the Kingsway to Southampton Row and right on Euston Road, past King’s Cross and St. Pancrase. A dingy, depressing part of town, but he regarded it benignly.
“Where in the country?” she said.
“Cambridge. I’m told it’s pretty.”
“Who told you that?”
“Richard.” He laughed.
They picked up the A-10 on the northern outskirts of the city and passed through a succession of small towns: Cheshunt, Ware, Buntingford. The land was farming country, perfectly flat.
“Nice day,” she said.
“Very nice for a kidnapping.”
Overhead the clouds were soft, like pulled cotton, and the sky was light blue.
“I thought as long as you had a gun, you might as well see what a real kidnapping was like.”
“It’s exciting.”
“It will get more exciting.”
“Will it?”
“Yes,” he said. “By the way, where’d you get your machine?”
“The Bonneville?”
“Yes.”
“Bought it a few days ago. You like?”
“I like. You know how to drive?”
“More or less,” she said, stretching her legs and pulling her red boots up.
“You make a good impression,” he said.
“That’s the idea,” she said. “I only bought it to impress future kidnappers.”
They were caught in a traffic jam in Royston, and stopped for a sandwich and a pint in a roadside pub. It was filled with local laborers and rock ’n’ roll from a juke box.
“Good sandwiches,” Jane said. She munched and smiled.
“What’s funny?”
“You. You look very earnest today.”
“All kidnappers are earnest.”
“But your cigar has gone out.”
“You can’t have everything.”
“When are you going to make your pass?” she said.
“When I work up the nerve.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You see, my governess used to beat me with a metal-studded whip. She turned me off women for years.”
“When was this?”
“When I was a little boy.”
“So now you kidnap girls?”
“Yes.”
She smiled and drank the beer from the heavy mug, licking away the foam from her upper lip.
Venom Business Page 31