Blood on the Mink

by Robert Silverberg

  The snotty secretary said, “He won’t be in till later tonight, Lowney.”

  “What time later?”

  “How should I know? Nine, ten.”

  “Okay. I’ll call him then. I’m going out for some dinner now. Tell him I’ve been calling.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  “Listen, you stupid punk, you’ve got some lessons in manners coming to you. And maybe the next time I see you I’ll take care of giving them to you.”

  I slammed down the phone. Feeling tense and hot under the collar, I went downstairs, ordered a cab, and told the driver to take me to the best restaurant in town. If I had to waste time, I thought, I was going to do it in style, and let the expense account boys sweat over my vouchers.

  He took me to a French restaurant a block or two south of City Hall, which was a distance I could have walked for myself if I felt like it. The restaurant had no tables, they told me, but a discreet fiver slipped to the maître d’ changed that situation in a hurry. I was taken to a table on the upper level of the restaurant.

  Plush was the word for it. Red velvet on the walls, mirrors everywhere, enough waiters and busboys to fill Yankee Stadium down to the last seat.

  I had no complaints about the meal. Oysters and Chablis, vichyssoise, Scotch grouse accompanied by Mouton Rothschild ’52—no, not a bad little meal at all, even if it did set my expense account back to the tune of $31.50, including tip and the two snifters of VSOP cognac that I helped wash my coffee down with.

  It was a fine night, crisp and clear and fresh, so I decided to walk back to the Penn Plaza and use up some of the calories I had just consumed.

  That was a mistake.

  It could almost have been a fatal mistake.

  I was sauntering along Market Street in a leisurely way when I passed a narrow alleyway, about three blocks from the hotel. I had just half a second to see some shadowy figures lurking in the alleyway. Then they leaped at me.

  I sidestepped one, but two others dragged me into the alley.

  It was dark in there. I couldn’t see faces. I could see shapes, though, and I swung out hard, landing a couple of solid punches in someone’s belly. I heard a hoodlum vomiting.

  Then I heard the click of a safety being removed.

  I flattened myself against the wall. There was the sudden roar of a gun and a bullet whizzed past my face. The flash gave me enough light to see by, and by then I had my own .38 out. I answered the fire, and someone yelped and grunted in pain.

  Then I heard footsteps. Running away.

  I struck a match. The alley was empty. The idiots had scrammed.

  Not a very well-organized assassination party, I had to admit. What the hell, though. They had come close, and if they had had any brains I’d have been a dead man now. I felt that $31.50 dinner starting to turn a little sour around the edges inside me. Staring death in the face isn’t good for the digestion.

  I hurried back to the hotel before my playmates, whoever they were, came back for a second try.

  My phone was ringing as I let myself into my room. I snatched it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Vic? Carol here.” She was breathing fast. “I can’t talk long. Listen, Vic, Minton sent some goons out to rub you out tonight. You’ve got to be careful. You—”

  “It’s too late, Carol. I’ve already met them.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just a little winded. They weren’t very smart goons. I shot one of them.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad! I was terrified they’d get you—I’ve been trying to call all evening. Ever since I overheard them planning it.”

  “Doesn’t Klaus object when his little man goes around eradicating business associates? Or did Klaus put him up to it?”

  “No, this was strictly Minton’s idea. He figured he’d knock you off while Klaus was out of town.”

  “He isn’t back yet?”

  “No. He ought to be, any minute. I hear talk that they’re trying to cut you and Hammell out of the deal, though. That he’s negotiating with someone else.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s all I know. I can’t talk any more now. Be careful, Vic. They’re all out to get you here. Don’t take any chances. Remember our deal.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She blew me a kiss. I returned it.

  She hung up.

  So Minton had been behind that crude rubout attempt, eh? Just a little matter of personal pique, I guessed. I had humiliated him, and so he was trying to take care of me. But not trying very well.

  I decided to turn the screw on him a little. I called Klaus’ number, and got Minton again.

  “Lowney?” He sounded surprised to hear from me alive.

  “None other,” I said. “Klaus back yet?”

  “Not yet. You gonna keep bugging me all night?”

  “I enjoy it, sonny-boy.” I let the phone drop into its cradle.

  I called back three more times that evening. The first two, I was told that Klaus had not yet come back. The third time, which was around midnight, the word was that Klaus was back, but had gone to bed. The word “bed” was delivered with such a lip-smacking leer that I had a vivid picture of Carol Champlain naked in Klaus’ bedroom, with the crime czar greedily caressing the soft curving goodies and asking her if she’d been a good girl while he was away.

  “You can reach him after noon tomorrow,” I was told.

  I called Klaus again at five after twelve Saturday morning. This time I got through to him.

  “I hear you’ve been trying to get me,” he said. “Sorry but I was out of town.”

  “So I hear.”

  “What’s on your mind, Lowney?”

  “First thing is just to tell you that I got shot at last night. You know, that’s no way to treat a visitor from out of town, Klaus. Hammell wouldn’t like it if his man came home to L.A. on a slab.”

  “I don’t know anything about this, Lowney.”

  “Well, maybe somebody in your organization does. Anyway, I think you ought to check, just in case those boys happened to be in your outfit. Because they did such a lousy bungling job that they deserve to be fired.”

  “I tell you it wasn’t our bunch, Lowney. Maybe some other outfit is after your skin. Not us.”

  I let that pass. “The other thing is, I’ve talked to Hammell and I’ve been given permission to raise my bid a little. But this is final. We’ll offer—”

  “Hold it,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Save the bid for tonight. Come over here around eight-thirty, nine o’clock tonight and we can have a little auction. There’s another bidder involved now.”

  “Huh?”

  “I didn’t like the way you were bidding,” Klaus said evenly. “So I got in touch with another boy from out your way. Ricky Chavez. He’ll be coming in by jet this afternoon, and he’ll be over at my place tonight. You’ll like to see your old pal again, I imagine. And the two of you can bid against each other for my merchandise.”

  The phone went dead.

  My jaw dropped. My flesh crawled a little.

  Ricky Chavez coming to town? Meeting me face to face?

  That was a catastrophe. Chavez, I knew, had once been part of Hammell’s organization. But he had split away, three or four years ago, to form his own rival bunch. He generally covered the territory south of L.A., down to San Diego. He was a thorn in Charley Hammell’s side.

  I didn’t like the idea of having another bidder in town. That confused the situation, blurred things.

  But much worse than that was the thought that the guy who was coming in was Ricky Chavez.

  Chavez knew what the real Vic Lowney looked like.

  Chavez would spot me for a phony the minute he laid eyes on me.

  And there was no way I could get out of the meeting at Klaus’ tonight. I had to go. And when I walked in and Klaus introduced me to Chavez as “Vic Lowney,” there was going to be all hell to pay. Maybe.<
br />
  I was going to have to play this situation by ear. But I had to risk it. Even though there was a fifty-fifty chance that the undertaker would be fitting me with a shroud before the night was over.

  EIGHT

  At half past eight I arrived at Klaus’ suite at the Burke. Klaus was long past the stage of sending chauffeurs to transport me; I took a cab.

  One of the goons answered the door. But it was Minton who came from within to greet me. He gave me a cold glare of pure hatred. I smiled warmly in return.

  “Take me to your leader,” I said lightly.

  He muttered, “Lowney, one of these days—”

  “Go on,” I said. “One of these days what?” My fists opened and closed a couple of times, meaningfully.

  Minton scowled. “Skip it. The boss is expecting you inside.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “He’s got company. Ricky Chavez is with him.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “I haven’t seen my old pal Ricky since he got out of reform school. Which way?”

  “You know the way by now.”

  “Show me, pal. I’m a guest here.”

  Minton said something under his breath and led me through the suite to Klaus’ office. He knocked, and Klaus said to come on in. Minton opened the door for me.

  Klaus and Chavez were sitting at the table, both of them facing the door, with a big pile of probably phony bills in front of them. Klaus gave me a look of sullen dislike. The expression on Ricky Chavez’ face was a totally blank one.

  I strode forward, coming in on an angle to block my face from Klaus. I thrust my hand at Chavez and said heartily, “Hello there, Ricky-boy! How about a big handshake for your old buddy Vic Lowney?”

  And I winked as hard as I knew how.

  Chavez could have blown the whole thing up right then and there. All he needed to do was say, “Who the hell are you, buster?” But he didn’t. He was smarter than that. He threw me a quick glance that said, “You better be prepared to explain this deal later, Jack.” Then he stood up and extended his hand.

  “Hello, Lowney,” he said without enthusiasm.

  “You boys sound like great pals,” Klaus said.

  “We are,” I told him. “We were juvenile delinquents together. Then we grew up and became adult delinquents. How you been, Ricky?”

  “No complaints,” he said thinly. “How’s the wife, Lowney?”

  “You been reading the gossip columns? Last I heard I didn’t have a wife.”

  “Just wondering,” Chavez said. “Must have been some other guy I heard got married last month.”

  He gave me a sly look. I knew damned well Lowney didn’t have any wives. Chavez was just trying to confuse me a little, to see how much I knew about Lowney, to find out just what in blazes I was up to. I favored him with a brotherly smile.

  He was a dapper little fellow, no more than five feet six, impeccably dressed. There was Latin American blood in him, and as so often happens he had a kind of hybrid attractiveness, with his dark glossy hair, even features, and smooth Latin look.

  They said he was hell on wheels with women, and no wonder. But there was a steely glint in his eyes, and I knew he could handle himself with a gun. Un hombre muy tough, Chavez was. And knew it.

  I decided on the informal approach.

  “You have a good flight, Chavez?”

  “Lousy. Storms all the way this side of the Rockies. How long you been here, Lowney?”

  “Since Tuesday. The town’s a drag.”

  “I hear you got shot at,” he said.

  “Only once. Dull town. Where’d you hear?”

  “I told him,” Klaus put in. “I thought he’d be amused.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. It was a riot.” Without being asked, I pulled the decanter of Scotch across the table toward me and filled my glass, dumping a couple of cubes in from the ice-bucket.

  Klaus wasn’t minded to be very hospitable. I could tell that he and Chavez had already talked business, and if they hadn’t agreed on terms they were probably pretty close. I was being frozen out, that was obvious. There was a definite sense of a link between them that didn’t include me. I sipped my drink.

  Chavez picked up a stack of paper money and fondled it. “They turn out a nice product here, eh, Lowney?”

  “Passable.”

  “I’ll say. They tell me you aren’t willing to pay very much for it, though.”

  I shrugged. “I made what I considered was a fair offer.”

  “Mr. Klaus here didn’t think so.”

  I said to Klaus, “Does this mean you two have already clinched a deal?”

  Klaus gave me the Mona Lisa smile. “We’ve discussed some terms. There’s no agreement yet.”

  “I’m still in the running, then?”

  “The only one who’s eliminating you is yourself, Lowney,” Klaus said gently. “There was no real reason for me to call Chavez here in the first place. Except that you decided you wanted to bleed me.”

  The atmosphere in the room was getting frostier by the moment. And I was sitting with my back to the door, which I didn’t care for at all. If Klaus had reached terms with Chavez, they might have decided to elect me odd man out. Unobtrusively I slipped out of my chair and began to wander around the room, taking care to keep myself close to the table. Any bullet aimed at me would have to pass through Klaus or Chavez first,

  I said, “Okay, let’s talk turkey. Tell me what your bid is, Chavez. If I can undercut it, I will. If I can’t, I’ll be on the next plane out of here.”

  Klaus said, “That isn’t a businesslike way of doing things, Lowney.”

  “Why not?”

  “This isn’t exactly a public auction. I’ve got a better idea.”

  “Which is?”

  “Written bids.” He handed each of us a sheet of paper and an envelope. “Write down your best price and seal it in the envelope. I’ll open them after you’ve gone and I’ll notify the successful bidder. I might warn you, Lowney, that Chavez knows your bid and plans to raise it substantially, so if you want the contract you’d better be prepared to back down a ways.”

  I sat down again—at the side of the table, with my eyes on the door. Klaus was fidgeting. Shielding his paper, Chavez scribbled something quickly and put the paper in the envelope. Staring off into space, I tried hard to look like I was faced with a difficult decision.

  After a long moment I uncapped the pen and wrote, My best offer is eight cents on the dollar, pickup in Philly and transcontinental transport at our expense. Not a penny higher. Lowney.

  I sealed the envelope and handed it to Klaus. He put it in his desk without looking at it.

  “All right,” he said. “So much for business. You fellows in the mood for some cards?”

  Chavez was. I went along.

  Klaus pressed a buzzer and Carol entered, carrying a tray with some decks of cards and chips. She was wearing a blue cocktail dress that showed just about everything she had above the waist, and she took good care to bend way over when she put the cards down. When she had, she circled behind Klaus and Chavez and, facing me, silently shaped the word Careful with her lips, and rolled her eyes toward the door. Then she tiptoed out.

  A three-man card game can be pretty dull unless it’s for blood. This one was. After half an hour I found myself behind some four hundred bucks, and a little while later I was down a thousand and some. My luck started to change, and I began to catch up. Carol kept going in and out, filling our glasses, but I didn’t drink much.

  Klaus and Chavez were watching me closely. So far as I could tell the cards were straight and there was no collusion between the two of them. But I had the impression Klaus was waiting for a chance to catch me cheating and have me taken care of.

  I didn’t give him the opportunity. I played it straight and hard, wiggled out of the hole, and after a spell I was about even, with Chavez maybe fifty ahead and Klaus fifty behind. I tossed in my cards.

  “I’ve had it,” I said. “I think I’ll
take off.”

  “Stick round,” said Klaus. “The evening’s young.”

  “Not for me. I’ve had a busy day.” I walked quickly toward the door and yanked it open.

  One of Klaus’ goons was standing there with a blank look of amazement on his face. I dragged him into the room. Turning to Klaus, I said, “What was this one doing there?”

  “He’s my bodyguard,” Klaus said glibly. “Whenever I’m alone with strangers he’s posted out there. He’s a hundred percent trustworthy.”

  It wasn’t a very probable story, but I couldn’t argue with it. Whatever plans Klaus might have had for ambushing me this evening, they had evaporated with nothing coming of them.

  I said, “Okay. Will you be in touch with me about the contract?”

  “I’ll let you know who had the high bid,” Klaus said. “Don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

  “Any way you want. Goodnight, Klaus. See you back in L.A., Chavez.”

  “Hold on,” Chavez said, getting up. “I think I’ll be moving along too.”

  Klaus looked displeased. “Stick around a while, Ricky. It’s early yet.”

  Chavez shook his head. “I’m not used to this time zone yet. I can use some sleep. Anyway, I want to have a little chat with my old buddy Vic here.”

  We walked out together—past the goons, past Minton, past Carol, past the whole organization with which Klaus had surrounded himself. While we waited for the elevator, Chavez said conversationally, “Where you staying?”

  “The Penn Plaza. You?”

  “The Bingham.”

  Minton appeared abruptly. He said, “Mr. Klaus says to wait a moment, he’ll let you have a chauffeur to take you home.”

  “Never mind,” Chavez said. “We’ll take a cab.”

  “Suit yourself,” Minton said, and went back inside. The elevator arrived. We got in and the door slid smoothly shut, as though flowing on oil.

  Chavez leaned against the rail and said, “You were pretty smooth in there, man.”

  “Thanks. You were okay yourself, Chavez. You’ve got good reactions. Anybody else might have given me away the second I walked through the door.”