Blood on the Mink

by Robert Silverberg

  “You are so very kind,” she whispered. And then—as a kind of promissory note—she put her arms round my neck and stood up on tiptoe and kissed me. Her lips were cold. I pulled her toward me, and I could feel her heart thumping back of that virginal bosom, and I gave her the sort of kiss Lowney would be likely to give. When I let go of her, she slithered back, threw me a frightened little smile, and was gone like a shot.

  I wiped the lipstick off. And scowled at my reflection in the mirror.

  So the engraver was a captive Hungarian refugee? Interesting, I thought. Klaus was fully capable of such a stunt. I felt a little sick at the thought of Elena Szekely running around offering to sleep with a slick hood from the Coast just to get her father released.

  All kinds of possibilities presented themselves. I felt sorry for the girl, though. Somebody who had put her life on the line for so-called freedom, only to find that America wasn’t quite the paradise of liberty she’d been led to believe—Elena Szekely deserved better of the world than to live under Henry Klaus’ thumb.

  No wonder she was willing to sleep with Lowney. After what she and her father had been through in life, a little thing like losing her virginity wouldn’t matter if it could finally guarantee them the freedom they wanted so badly.

  Well, maybe Vic Lowney would take advantage of her, but I wouldn’t. You’ve got to have some shred of decency, after all. But I figured she could be very helpful to me. Now I had my first link with the engraver—the key man in the whole caper.

  FIVE

  I had lunch. A light one. I was on my coffee when a bellhop came over and said, “Mr. Lowney?”

  “You guessed it.”

  “Phone call for you. Want to take it at the table?”

  “Why not?”

  He brought me a plug-in phone. I picked up the receiver and a soft, throaty, purring voice said, “Hello, Vic?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “You mean you don’t recognize the voice?”

  “I guess I’m slow today. Who?”

  “Carol Champlain.”

  I frowned. What did Klaus’ girlfriend want with me? “Yeah?” I said. “What is it?”

  “Listen,” she said, “are you free tonight?”

  “What’s the pitch?”

  “Klaus is going out of town. He won’t be back till tomorrow. And he’s leaving me behind. So that gives me the night off. I want to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Mutual aid. You free? I’ll come to your hotel around nine.”

  “This on the level?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” she breathed. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I put down the phone, not knowing what it was all about but willing to listen. I didn’t trust Klaus, so why should I trust his chick? But maybe she had something worth my while to hear. It never pays to say no.

  Especially to a dame built the way that one was.

  I had nothing much to do for the rest of the afternoon. For the sake of keeping things moving along, I phoned Klaus at his suite around four o’clock. He was getting ready to go out of town, Minton told me, so at least that much of Carol’s story was kosher.

  “Let me talk to him anyway,” I said. “Just for a minute.”

  “He doesn’t want to be dis—”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  I could practically feel Minton glaring at me over the wire. But he backed down, and a moment later I heard the voice of Klaus himself greeting me none too warmly.

  “I just want to tell you I’ve been thinking over the product you showed me last night, Klaus,” I said. “Despite everything we can still do business “

  “Glad to hear it. What’s your bid?”

  “Five cents on the dollar,” I said

  There was a long moment of silence at the other end. Then Klaus said, “You must be nuts.”

  “Five cents. Take it or leave it “

  “Listen, Lowney, what we’ve got to offer is as good as the real thing. I could get ten times your bid without raising a sweat.”

  “I’d like to see you,” I said. No queer-passer will work on that slim a profit margin. The risks are too great. “A nickel’s the bid.”

  “Why don’t you offer me two cents, while you’re at it?” he jeered. “Listen, Lowney, you go away somewhere and think it over some more. When you’re ready to make a real bid, you let me know.”

  “You heard my bid,” I said.

  “Sure, I heard it. And you know what you can do with it, don’t you?”

  “Never mind,” I said.

  I hung up. I hadn’t expected him to accept the bid, of course. But I had to begin negotiations somewhere. And the lower the better, I figured. The longer I could keep him on the string, the more time I would have for snooping around finding out the things I had to know.

  I relaxed away the rest of the afternoon in front of the TV set in my room, and had a hearty dinner downstairs in the hotel dining room. Afterwards I returned to my room, got out of my clothes and into a pair of lounging pajamas and a silk dressing gown, and sat down to wait for Carol Champlain to show up.

  I waited. As patiently as I knew how.

  The evening ticked away. A little before nine, there was a knock on the door, very gentle, very soft. I opened it carefully.

  “Hi,” Carol said.

  She slithered inside. I locked and chained the door as she got out of her jacket. Underneath she was wearing what must have been simple clothes for her—a clinging, exotic sheath that stunningly molded the supple contours of her breasts and thighs and buttocks. Her full red lips glistened in a kissable way.

  But we eyed each other like people who couldn’t fully trust each other, which we were at the moment. She said finally, “If Klaus knew I had come here, he’d kill me. Let’s hope I wasn’t trailed.”

  “Would he kill me too?”

  “He’s probably going to do that anyway,” she said casually. “Get us some drinks, will you?”

  “Such as?”

  “Bourbon’ll do just fine.”

  I phoned room service, asked them to send up a fifth of bourbon, some mix, and a small pitcher of vodka martinis. Carol settled herself comfortably in my armchair and watched me closely.

  I returned the compliment. Her sheath had a Hong Kong-style slit up the side, and I could see plenty of flawless, tapering leg and even some smooth thigh.

  I wondered what, if anything, she had on underneath the sheath. The way it fitted—smooth, without any underclothes marks showing—I was willing to bet there was nothing but Carol Champlain underneath.

  The drinks arrived. We got to work on the first round to loosen the tensions.

  Then she said, “I’m going to be straight with you, Vic. If you want to doublecross me, go ahead. You’ll be signing my death warrant. But it wouldn’t be smart. I happen to know that Klaus would like to rub you out just on general principles. You’ve got to watch your step with him. I get the idea you don’t like him much. Eh?”

  “He’s not my most favorite person,” I said.

  “Nor mine. I hate his stinking guts.”

  “Huh? Why shack up with him if you hate him?”

  “I don’t have any choice,” she said in a thin, bitter voice. “I can’t leave him. He’d have me killed if I ever pulled out. He can’t stand it when a girl walks out on him. I know he rubbed out the girl he had before me.”

  “Why do you stick with him?” I asked, pouring her a refill.

  She shrugged, and the shrug did stunning things to the front of her sheath where the firm hills of her breasts pushed against the fabric. “I told you, I don’t dare break loose. It’s too risky.”

  “How’d you get mixed up with him in the first place?”

  She said, “I got into trouble. Never mind what kind of trouble. Someone told Klaus about me and he got me out of the trouble. In return for which he expected certain favors. He took a fancy to me and one day he told me I was his Number One girl. That’s how it
happened.”

  My eyes narrowed. “So I can get into real big trouble if he finds out you’re here. So what’s on your mind?”

  She said in a steady voice, “I’ve got a deal for you, Vic.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to kill Klaus for me.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Two things,” she said. “One is that you get me. The other is that I’ll help you get the engraved plates for the queer. We can head west together and set up in business with those plates. You interested?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “If I’m sure you’re not snowing me.”

  “I’m on the level,” she said, and I believed her. “You don’t know how bad I want to get free of Klaus. And killing him is the only way I can ever escape him.” Her eyes glittered. “We’ll work together. I know where the plates are. We’ll figure out some way of knocking Klaus off, and then we’ll grab the plates and get out of here. You won’t regret it, Vic. I can make a man happy.”

  “Can you?”

  “You want me to prove it?”

  “Wouldn’t mind.”

  “Come here,” she said.

  She flowed out of the chair. I went to her, and her body pressed up tight against mine, all those liquid curves tight and soft against me. Our mouths met. Her kiss was fiery.

  When we came up for air, she said, “Put your hand on the back of my neck.”

  I did. There was a zipper there.

  “Unzip me.”

  I unzipped her. The zipper ran from the nape of her neck down to the beginning of her buttocks, and when I finished unzipping she was halfway out of the sheath. She stepped out of it and tossed it onto a chair.

  I had been right. She had nothing on under it. Not a stitch.

  I took a long look, and liked what I saw. High, firm breasts, a flat belly, gorgeous legs. She was a girl who was made for love. That was her role in life.

  She came toward me, her lips parted, her eyes smoky. I opened my arms for her, and she glided right in, and we kissed again, longer than the first time. She was smiling at me, smiling with those bedroom eyes.

  I let my hands rove over her body like I was handling precious jewels. Which I was, in a way. We eased over to the bed.

  She said she was going to show me she could make a man happy.

  She showed me.

  She showed me for a couple of hours. By the time we were finished, I was very, very happy. So, I think, was she.

  I was lying there in the dark puffing on a butt. It was about four in the morning or so. Carol was lying by my side. She had been asleep for a while. But suddenly she woke up.

  “What time is it?”

  I looked. “Quarter past four.”

  “I’ve got to be going.”

  “How come?”

  “Klaus’ goons may check my room in the morning. I wouldn’t want them to tell Klaus I was somewhere else.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  She switched on a lamp and began to dress. I watched regretfully as she hid those supple curves from view, one at a time. Finally she was fully dressed and I had nothing but my imagination and my memories to tell me what those silken breasts and satiny thighs looked like and felt like. She said, “We all agreed, now?”

  “I’m going to rub out Klaus. You’re going to help me get the plates. Then we scram for the far west.”

  “Right.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. I’ll let you know. We’ve got to work things out so they mesh,” she said. “Give me a couple of days to plan things.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I went to the door with her. We had one last kiss. She was soft and warm and clinging, and I was sorry to see her go. Finally she left, and I went back to bed, feeling relaxed and easy about things. There are certain little rewards in this business, after all. Fringe benefits, you might say. I slept soundly.

  SIX

  Friday was half gone when I woke up. I was awakened by the sound of a ringing phone. I picked it up and heard Elena Szekely tell me she was downstairs and wanted to see me.

  “I’ll be right down,” I told her. “Give me five minutes.”

  I shaved in a flash, dressed, and headed downstairs. She was in the lobby near the main desk. After the night with Carol, Elena looked more innocent, more virginal than ever. I said, “I haven’t had breakfast yet. Want to join me in the coffee shop?”

  We took a table. I ordered a healthy meal—Carol had left me with a ravenous appetite—and Elena ordered a glass of milk.

  She said, “You have spoken to Klaus about my father?”

  I shrugged. “I mentioned the matter to him.”

  “And?”

  “He won’t release him, Elena. Your father’s much too valuable for him to let him go.”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I knew it. I knew you could do nothing!”

  “Hold on a sec,” I said. “I never really thought I’d get anywhere talking to Klaus. But there are other ways of getting your father free.”

  “What?”

  “Leave that to me,” I said. “Just tell me where your father is kept. I’ll arrange to get him out of there.”

  “You will not let him get hurt?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

  She gave me the address. “But remember,” she said. “Klaus will kill my father if he thinks anything is wrong. You must not tell the police.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I assured her. “I don’t tell the police anything, Elena. I’ll get your father out of there my own way.”

  “I will be grateful. I will give anything to you. Anything. Only get him free!”

  “Don’t start that again, huh?”

  “I mean it. I will be yours—if you will only free him!”

  She left me soon afterward. And now I had a big asset—the whereabouts of the engraver. Maybe I couldn’t get to him, but at least I knew where he was, and that was a big step in the right direction.

  With Klaus out of town, there wasn’t much I could do in the afternoon. I decided it might be an idea to go out to the address Elena had given me, and scout the place around. Get the feel of it.

  I hailed a cab and gave him the address. “Whereabouts is that?” I asked

  “North end of town.”

  I sat back and watched the meter click. Five bucks later, I said, “Let me know when you’re a couple of blocks away.”

  “We’re a couple of blocks away right now.”

  “Okay. Let me off right here.”

  I paid him and got out. He drove away, and I continued on foot. This was a sleepy, seedy section of Philly, with a lot of identical houses on every block. I crossed the street cautiously and scanned the numbers on the houses.

  Old Szekely was being kept in Number 1132. I walked along the odd-number side of the street, looking.

  And I saw.

  I saw a house with its blinds drawn, and a big mobsterish-looking limousine parked in the driveway. It was 1132. It looked like a fortress, even though it was just a simple, shabby brick two-story house. She’d said he was held in a room upstairs, though he did his work for Klaus from a windowless room in the basement. That was also where they kept the plates, she’d told me.

  There was a kid playing near the end of the block. I walked up to him and said, “How’d you like to make a quarter, kid?”

  “How?” He looked sassy.

  I pointed to 1132. “Go over there and ring the doorbell. Keep ringing it till somebody answers. When the door opens, ask them if they need their lawn mowed. Then leave.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  He looked at me like I was nuts. “Okay,” he said. “Pay in advance.”

  I dug down, gave him a quarter. The kid—he was all of nine—crossed the street and started up the steps of 1132, while I faded back into an alleyway to watch.

  He rang the bell. Nothing happened. He rang it again. The door opened about half an inch. I saw a nose
stick suspiciously out. The kid talked to somebody for half a second, then turned and walked away.

  They were taking no chances. I wondered how many goons were in there guarding the engraver. They had the place under guard, for sure. I couldn’t just walk in there and yank Szekely out.

  I faded away, crossed the street, headed back to the nearest big street, and got a cab.

  “The Penn Plaza,” I said.

  Cracking into that place wouldn’t be a cinch. But maybe I could get someone to do the job for me. Maybe.

  It was time to phone Litwhiler, up in New York, and get him into the act.

  I put through a long-distance call to the New York number he had given me, and asked for Harold as directed. There was some mumbo-jumbo at the other end, but finally Litwhiler’s voice said, “Litwhiler here.”

  “Lowney.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Plenty,” I said. “The wheels are turning. We’re in business, Litwhiler.”

  “Tell me more, man.”

  I wet my lips. “Item number one,” I said, “I know where the engraver is. And the plates. Item number two, I can get him for you. Item number three, I’m willing to get him for you.”

  “Item number four,” Litwhiler said, “you’ve got yourself a deal. I mentioned a figure the other day. Is it okay?”

  “Twenty-five grand to me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’s a deal,” I said.

  “Okay. When does all this happen?”

  “Anytime you want,” I said. “Just let me know how you want to arrange it.”

  “This weekend?”

  “Why not,” I said.

  “Give me a day or so to get my end of it organized,” he said. “Will you need men?”

  “I guess I will,” I told him. “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow when things are in clearer shape. Meantime you round up your squad. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be looking to hear from you.”

  I put down the phone. So much for Litwhiler.

  Things were moving right along.

  SEVEN

  That night I called Klaus, figuring I’d up my bid a little if he had come back from his out-of-town trip. But Klaus wasn’t there. I talked to Minton instead.