by Nick Carter
"Tanya!" I shouted, and knew I had made the same mistake she had earlier.
She was right there. She moved like lace in a wind, across the room, arm back. Then the arm shot forward and connected against the man's neck. His feet went out to the side as he slipped and went down.
Then Tanya was between him and the door, and I was moving in. I could see him shake his head. In a split second he took in the situation, Tanya blocking his escape, me coming in fast from his right. He was on hands and knees.
Too late I saw the bulge in his cheek, and I knew what it meant. A tooth cap had been lifted, a cyanide capsule released.
I reached him on my knees. I grabbed his throat and tried to pry his mouth open. Damn him! There were questions I wanted to ask. Who sent them? Why did they choose Acasano's apartment? Where were they from?
One small gagging sound, a jerk of his body, and he died with my hand still on his throat. His body seemed frail and small-boned.
Tanya stepped up on my left. "I'm sorry, Nick. I should have put him out."
"Not Nick," I said softly. "Thomas, or Tom. And you're Sandee, no matter what."
"All right, Tom."
I patted the man's pockets, knowing I would find nothing. No laundry marks on the suit coat. Tailored in Hong Kong. English style. No tailor's name and absolutely no identification. There was nothing on the other man either.
"Should we call the police?" Tanya asked while I stood in the middle of the shambles with my hands on my hips.
I gave her a stem look. "We should not. Get some blankets or sheets out of the bedroom. We have to get rid of the bodies."
She stood hesitating, looking innocent and delicate through the make-up and tight, teasing clothes. I knew what was running through her mind. Even with all the training she had, ever since she could remember, when something happened you called in the authority. You let the law handle things.
I smiled at her. "This is something we play by ear, Sandee. Call it the unexpected, the unplanned. Our assignment hasn't changed at all. We are still to wait for that telegram." I nodded at the bodies. "These two were after something from Acasano. By the look of the place, they were in a hurry to find it. Somebody knows they're here, and will be waiting for them. All right, they're dead. Just as they would be dead if Acasano had found them. We're still safe. We'll get rid of these bodies and act as if these two had never been here."
She looked at them, then at me. "I'll get the blankets," she said.
With her help I wrapped the pair individually in blankets. The stiletto hadn't left much blood. She cleaned it up while I toted the bodies, one at a time, outside in the snow.
Behind the apartments, I had found a large trash can, the kind garbage trucks just hook onto, Dempsey Dumpsters, or something like that. There were four of them next to an alley. Two were half filled with trash, the other two were almost empty.
I toted the bodies one at a time, slinging them over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carried them down the rear exitway concrete stairs. Before dumping them in the big trash cans, I removed some of the trash, and when both bodies were in, scattered newspapers, beer cans and plastic cartons over them.
Then Tanya and I cleaned the place up. There was no way of telling how long we'd have to wait, a day, a week, even a month. We straightened furniture and put papers back where they belonged. She had already cleaned up the small pool of blood on the carpet.
"Hungry?" she asked when the place was fairly presentable.
We were standing in the kitchen where we had found spare bulbs to put in the broken lamps. I nodded, and watched as she went on a food hunt through the kitchen cupboards.
The skirt pulled even tighter each time she knelt or bent over. The bleached hair looked good, and since the real Sandee Catron also had green eyes, there had been no need to give Tanya colored contact lenses.
I could definitely feel her presence there in the small confines of the kitchen. It was a physical awareness of her. She may have been only nineteen, but she was a fully developed, ripe woman.
She spun around with a can of something in her hand. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "Look." It was a family-size can of spaghetti. "Now, sir, you shall see the magical things I can do with one small can. You see? Nothing up my sleeves, no hidden wands or magic potions. Before your very eyes, I shall transform this humble can of goodies into a gastronomical delight."
"I can hardly wait."
The green eyes taunted while the rest of her teased. "Out. I am now going to start rattling pots and pans."
There were still things to do while she messed around in the kitchen. I started with the bedroom, going through drawers and patting clothes in the closet.
The apartment was a one-bedroom affair, furnished in assembly-fine taste. It gave you the impression that every apartment in the building was laid out exactly the same and with the same kind of furniture, arranged the same way. There was a king-size bed; Acasano was a big man, like me. And there was a vanity with a mirror, complete with white wrought-iron, pink-padded chair. Sandee had loads of cosmetics to play with, and they were stretched out on the top of the vanity.
In the closet were skirts, blouses, and dresses, low-cut in the front and in the back. On the top shelf was a row of shoeboxes.
I noticed that Acasano had few clothes here: a couple of suits, one drawer in the dresser devoted to his things containing a fresh shirt, three sets of underwear, three pairs of socks, and some handkerchiefs.
What Acasano did was universal. You begin by spending the night a time or two. The weather is wicked. You're tired and don't want to drive home. Whatever. This stretches to three and four nights in a row. You should really have some shaving gear so you won't get five o'clock shadow at eight in the morning. Then you're getting to feel a little seedy putting on the same underwear after a shower that you had on before, so — fresh underwear. A spot on the suit during dinner? Bring over a spare, just in case. You don't want to lounge around wearing a suit all the time. Some casual clothes are inserted. By that time you are spending every night there and not seeing much of your own place.
"Come and get it before I send it to Red China," Tanya hollered.
I had just finished going through the shoeboxes. Three of the boxes did not contain shoes. Two of them held girlish junk, magazine cutouts of movie stars, buttons, pins, dress patterns, pieces of cloth. The third contained two packets of letters.
"Hey, I am not slaving in the kitchen because I get turned on watching gas flames." Tanya was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. There was an apron tied around her waist.
I showed her the letters. Her eyebrows raised in interest. "After we eat," I said. "We'll go through these and find out what kind of girl Sandee Catron really is."
She took my hand and led me to the dining room. Somewhere she had found bread and a bottle of pink Chablis.
All the lights were out. Two candles glimmered on the table. Tanya disappeared into the kitchen, then returned minus the apron, hair brushed, wearing fresh lipstick, and toting a steaming dish.
It was good. It didn't taste of the can at all; in fact she spiced it up enough to make it taste like the restaurant stuff. When she picked up her wine glass she held it toward me.
"To the success of our mission," she said.
We touched glasses. "And to tonight," I added, which brought a frown from her. She didn't know it, but I had made up my mind. I was going to have her. Tonight.
When we were finished, I helped her clear the dishes from the table. We stacked them on the sink in the kitchen. With all the fights out and only the candles burning we could barely see each other.
We were close, standing directly in front of the sink. She reached in front of me and across to get the apron. My hands circled her waist and twisted her around so she was facing me. Then I pulled her against me.
"Nick!" she gasped. "I…"
"Hush." I bent slightly and my mouth found hers.
At first her lips were stiff and unyielding. Her hands
pressed lightly against my chest. It wasn't until I let my arms slide below the small of her back and pulled her tighter against me that her lips relaxed. I let my tongue dart in and out, then moved it lightly back and forth across the roof of her mouth. Her hands moved up to my shoulders, then around my neck. When I moved my tongue between her lips slowly, back and forth, she pushed away from me.
She stood back panting. "I… I think we should…"
"Should what, Tanya?"
She cleared her throat and swallowed. Her green eyes were blinking rapidly. "S-something. We should…"
I smiled at her. "You have a low boiling point," I said softly. "I could feel the way your body was relaxing. And you were getting warm. Very warm."
"No. It was just that… I mean…"
"You mean it wasn't like before, when you were just testing your little panty gun and could concentrate on something else."
"Yes, I mean, no. You just sort of… took me by surprise."
I was holding her at arm's length. "What are we going to do about it?" I asked.
She swallowed again. "Nothing," she said, but there was no conviction in it. "Packet. Letters." Her face lit up. "We're going to look at those letters of Sandee's."
I stepped away from her, smiling. "Whatever you say. They're in the bedroom."
"Oh. Well, maybe…"
But by that time I had her hand and was leading her through the living room, down the hallway to the bedroom. When we were standing by the foot of the king-size bed, she looked up at me. Her green eyes were curious.
I smiled at her, then nodded toward the bed. "The letters are in that shoebox."
She spun toward the box on the bed. "Oh." Then she went around to the side of the bed and sat on the edge. She opened the box and pulled out one packet of letters. They were held together by a pair of rubber bands. With slightly shaking fingers she pulled the first letter out of the envelope and began to read it. She pretended not to notice when I moved to sit beside her and pulled out another packet of letters.
Some of those letters were pretty torrid. A lot of them were from overseas, but mostly they were written by someone named Mike, who, I guessed, had been her boyfriend before Acasano entered the scene.
Twice I caught Tanya blushing as she read. The majority of letters were from Mike. But evidently Sandee had a little trouble being faithful to Mike. From the tone of some of the other letters, she was doing a lot of sleeping around, even after Acasano set her up in this apartment.
And then I found a photo. "Let me see," Tanya said when she saw it fall out of the letter I was holding.
It was a poor Polaroid showing Sandee coupled with a young man. From the way the man's arm went out of range, it was obvious he had taken the photo after moving between Sandee's legs. While he concentrated on her small protruding breasts, she was smiling at the camera.
"Wow!" Tanya said. "I wonder if Mike knew about the others?" She turned the photo over. "There's writing on the back. 'Dear Sandee, I wish we could stay in this position all the time. You're the best I ever had. Mike. So that's what Mike looks like." She raised her eyebrows. "Hmmm. Not bad."
"From the tone of the note, Sandee isn't bad either," I said. I took the photo and studied the face of the young man in it.
The quality was poor, but there were enough features to tell what he looked like. He was in his early twenties, with blond hair, high cheekbones, sensuous mouth, no hair on his chest but lots of muscle. He was a good-looking kid. I was struck by the remarkable resemblance Tanya had to the real Sandee. She could have passed for a twin.
I didn't realize it but Tanya had been staring at me while I looked at the photo. When our eyes met I read something there. She had no more of that embarrassed coyness she had shown in the kitchen.
"Do you think that the real Sandee is that good? As good as Mike says?"
"I wouldn't know, Tanya."
I pulled her close to me and pushed her gently down on the bed. My band lightly cupped her breast while I looked at her with my face inches from hers.
"I want you, Nick," she whispered.
I undressed her slowly, enjoying and savoring each part of her I uncovered. My lips moved softly from the hollow of her throat along the upsweep of her breasts to the plum-colored nipples. I lingered there, letting the tip of my tongue move lightly around each hardened nipple. She was making the sounds of readiness a woman makes when she gives herself completely to emotion.
The sounds increased when my lips moved over the mound of her rib cage and paused along the flatness of her stomach. Her skin was blemish-free and smooth. She was beginning to make movements to match the sounds.
And then I stopped. I pushed myself to the edge of the bed and stood looking down at her. Her body was still moving, only now she knew I was looking at her. There was no more self-conscious embarrassment. Like most women, once she was naked with a man's eyes watching her, she became shameless and open.
I watched her while I undressed. At her insistence I turned out the light. Then I waited until the total darkness had passed and the room became filled with shapes of things. That was when I joined her.
The first time is always clumsy. The act of love never begins smoothly. There are two fresh and different people unknown to each other. Arms get entwined. Noses get in the way. Smoothness comes with practice.
She was very young and, by her own admission, didn't have much experience. I led her gently, letting my lips continue the course they had begun. There was a newness about her I hadn't felt in a long time.
At first she was too eager, overwilling to please. There was so much she wanted to do for me, and she wanted to do it all at once. Only after I convinced her that there would be time, to take it slow, did she relax. She had been apprehensive and unsure of her own ability. I told her in whispers that there would be other times. Everything she had ever thought about would be done. There was much time. And this first one was for her.
Only when she begged and pleaded did I enter her. I felt her close around me with a sigh. She came alive then, moving with an ancient wisdom that was part learned and part instinct.
We were very slow. There was nothing wild or bouncing or screaming. It was a blending of two bodies, kissing, touching, exploring, while we moved a little at a time, together, then apart. And with each movement I tried to make it different for her, never the same.
When it happened for her the first time, it was a stiffening of her limbs, a clutching of my hair, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. And a long, low, lovely groan, ending in a tiny, little-girl whimper.
Then she couldn't kiss me enough. Her lips moved over my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth, then my own lips. She held onto me tightly as if afraid I would move away.
I held her close and remained quiet for awhile. When she fell back against the pillow, I started moving again. She tossed her head back and forth on the pillow.
Her head stopped. Without opening her eyes she let her hands move to each side of my face. "I… couldn't… not again…" she sighed.
"Yes," I said softly. "You can. Let me show you."
As I started moving again, I felt her body come alive under me. The room was no longer dark. I could see her clearly.
And the second time she gave out little cries and squeals. Her heels dug deep in the mattress. Fingernails raked across my side and back.
The third time we had both totally committed ourselves to the act. When it happened to both of us it was a grinding, mashing, clutching, grabbing at each other, neither of us able to hold enough of the other. The sounds were low groans, and neither of us was aware of noise, the bed, anything except the other, and the draining, blinding pleasure we were feeling.
Six
I told myself I would just rest for a few minutes. But when I opened my eyes I found the first hint of daylight creeping into the room. I was on my back. Tanya's bleached hair was resting in the hollow of my shoulder.
I wondered why it was that in the morning a woman's body is always so very warm, and
so much smoother than it had been the night before.
But something had awakened me. Something had stirred my subconscious to bring me aware of what was around me. I lifted my left arm enough to look at my watch. A little after five.
Then the sound came again. A steady pounding on the front door, muffled by air space through the living room and hallway. It was not even a knock or a quick rapping. It was slow and irregularly spaced like a loud, dying heartbeat. I stirred, which woke Tanya.
She raised her head without opening her eyes. "Nick?" she murmured. "What is it?"
"Somebody is pounding at our door."
Her head went back to my shoulder. "They'll go away," she said sleepily.
I shook her shoulder. "Sandee," I whispered loudly. "This is your place, and I want to know who it is."
She licked her lips without opening her eyes. "They'll go away," she mumbled. "Don't want to know."
"I want to know. It might be some more like our two friends last night."
Her green eyes popped open. She raised up just as the pounding came again. There was no sleep in those eyes now.
"Nick," she said out loud. "Somebody is pounding on the front door."
I nodded, smiling at her. "Why don't you see who it is."
She threw back the covers, and for a few moments I enjoyed the movements of her nakedness as she fished through her suitcase. She found a little powder-blue shorty negligee complete with matching panties.
Her fingers combed through her hair as she made last-minute adjustments to the nightie. It was sheer enough to make out the color of her nipples. With a quick smile at me, she went out of the bedroom and along the hallway to the front door.
I moved quickly out of bed, knelt, and opened my own suitcase. There was a black quilted robe, which I put on. Then I fished under my pants lying on the floor next to the bed until I felt the cold steel of Wilhelmina, my Luger.
With the gun in my hand I moved to the open doorway of the bedroom. I could see down the hall and across the living room to the front door. Tanya waited at the door watching me. I closed the door, leaving just a crack to look out of. Then I nodded at her.