Stiletto

by Harold Robbins

  “It’s a deal, Mr. Cardinali.” She smiled.

  He reached for his jacket and put it on. “Tune her up and take her out for a road check. Have a full report for me at five o’clock. I’ll be in the bar at El Ciudad.”

  “Okay,” she said. She turned to Esteban. Her voice became very businesslike. “Would you make arrangements for me to use the number two pit, Señor Esteban? The one with the new electrical timer. The first thing I want to do is go over the wiring.”

  Esteban nodded and Cesare turned away and started up the ramp. When he reached the top of the ramp and looked back, she already had the car rolling toward the pit.

  ***

  The light in the cocktail lounge of the El Ciudad came from hidden recesses in the wall that not only hid the lamps but also the light that came from them. Cesare was happy that he could see the drink on the table before him; there was no use looking at his watch to check the time, he was sure he couldn’t see the dial.

  The door opened and a shaft of sunlight split the gloom. Cesare looked toward it. Luke came in and stood there, her eyes adjusting to the dimness, trying to find him. He stood up and waved to her.

  Smiling, she sat down opposite him in the booth. “They ought to give you miners’ lamps when you come in.” She laughed.

  “It is dark,” he admitted. The waiter came up. “Can we have a little more light before we go blind?” Cesare asked him.

  “Of course, señor.” The waiter reached across the table and pressed a hidden button on the wall. Immediately a soft light came into the booth.

  “That’s better,” Cesare smiled. “What will you have to drink?”

  “A daiquiri, please,” she said.

  The waiter went away. Cesare looked at her. “What do you think of the car?”

  Something almost like sadness came into her eyes. “It’s a wonderful car. Too bad. Under ordinary circumstances with a car like that, one could win this race.”

  The waiter placed her drink before her and left. Cesare lifted his glass. “Salud!”

  “Luck!”

  They sipped at their drinks and put them down. “There will be other races,” Cesare said.

  Her voice was expressionless. “I hope so.” She looked around. There was no one near them. “I have connected a timing mechanism to the speedometer,” she said in a low voice. “Exactly one hundred fifteen miles from our starting point, it will blow, wrecking your generator. We will then be two hundred ninety miles from the next check point so it will be about five hours before they find us. There is a small deserted house about a half mile from the road. We will go there and wait for Don Emilio.” She picked up her drink again.

  Cesare sipped at his own. “Is that all?” he asked.

  “That’s all,” she answered.

  Cesare studied her. She had changed into a light summer frock that left no doubt as to her femininity. It also served to make her look more like a young American coed than a woman involved with the illegal activities of the Mafia. He half smiled to himself. Don Emilio was full of surprises.

  She began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He was different than the others she had met. Generally they were coarse men and overt in their manner. There was no question as to where they belonged. But she didn’t quite fit him into the pattern.

  “What are you staring at?” she finally asked. “Haven’t you seen a girl before?” Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt the fool.

  He smiled slowly. “I apologize for staring,” he said. “I was just wondering why? A girl like you?”

  “The money is good,” she said coldly. “I told you I wanted a Ferrari. This is the quickest way for me to get it.” She took another sip of her cocktail. “But what about you? You don’t need the money.”

  He laughed easily. “There aren’t enough races like these. And life between them can become very dull if one does not keep occupied.”

  He signaled the waiter and they were silent until the man had placed fresh drinks before them. Then Cesare picked up his glass and looked into it. “It is too bad,” he said regretfully. “This is one race I would like to win.”

  Luke sipped at her drink. “I know how you feel,” she said, her face suddenly lighting up. “There’s nothing quite like it. The speed, the danger, the excitement. You feel alive, everything inside you tingles, the whole world is churning inside your body.”

  “That’s it! That’s just it,” Cesare said quickly. An almost boyish excitement crept into his voice. “I didn’t think anyone else felt like that. It is like having everything you want in the world. All the money, all the power, all the women!”

  Luke looked down at her glass. She felt almost shy. “I didn’t know anyone else could feel like that.”

  He put his hands across the table on her own. She could feel the strength and power coming from them. She looked up into his face. It was intense and his eyes were glowing like a tiger’s eyes in the night.

  “It is as if I had never been with a woman before,” he said softly.

  A sudden fright came up in her. Not of him, but of herself. She knew too well what a man like him could do to her. She took her hands away quickly. “Let’s keep it business, shall we?” she said as coldly as she could. “We both know we cannot win.”

  His voice was still soft. “Why, Luke? We are here. Why must we keep it business?”

  His eyes were deep magnets and she could feel herself beginning to swirl in their depths. The familiar fever began to rise in her loins, the familiar weakness seep down into her limbs. Why did it always have to be like this? Just when she had everything worked out. She felt the bitter resentment toward herself creep into her voice. “Because with you I’m a loser. I’ve met guys like you before. It’s always the same. First thing you know you can touch the stars. Then, like that—” She snapped her fingers.

  “Must it always be like that?”

  She met his look steadily. “Always.”

  “And you are content to go through life without living because you are afraid of losing?” he asked, almost gently.

  She was angry because he had unerringly put his finger right on it. “What do you want from me anyway?” she snapped. “Are you one of those men who have to gobble up everything in sight? Possess every woman? You’re here with a woman who can probably give you more sex in ten minutes than I can give you in ten days!”

  The tears of anger were beginning to flood into her eyes and she got to her feet before he could see them. “So let’s keep it business!” she said angrily. “See you at the starting line tomorrow!”

  She turned and started out, almost knocking over Ileana who was on her way to the table. Ileana looked after her and then sat down in the seat she had vacated. She looked at Cesare. “Who was that?” she asked curiously.

  Cesare watched Luke go out the door. “My mechanic,” he answered.

  Ileana raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” She turned to the waiter who just came up. “Cinzano on the rocks, please.” The waiter left. “Your mechanic,” she repeated.

  Cesare looked at her. “That’s right!” he snapped.

  Ileana smiled. “You know I could not help overhearing her last few remarks. She is right, you know.”

  Cesare didn’t answer. The waiter placed her drink on the table and left. She picked up the drink and held it toward him in a sort of mock toast.

  “Just the same, I do not think I will meet you in Cuernavaca as we had planned. I will wait right here for you in Mexico City,” she said. She sipped her drink. “Not being American and therefore very understanding about such things, I think I shall give both of you the chance to find out for yourselves and prove each other right.”

  18

  The bright sunlight hurt her eyes after the dimness of the cocktail lounge. She put on her dark glasses and began to walk. At first she walked quickly, angry with herself. Then she noticed people were looking at her strangely. She slowed down. After all this was Mexico City. And nobody down here walked fast.


  What was there about her that brought on things like this? Even when she had been a kid, it had been like that. Other girls had fellows at their houses for a study session and nothing ever happened to them. She had played it as straight as they did but something would always happen before the evening was over.

  When the boy had gone, she used to sit and curse herself. Usually she never saw the boy again but there was always another. And it would start the same way. She had the highest resolves. Just the schoolbooks. She wouldn’t even go near him, would sit on the other side of the table or across the room and they would throw each other questions. At least that was the way the evening would begin.

  But before long she would feel the fever begin inside her. Her legs would grow weak and her speech begin to falter. She would find it more and more difficult to concentrate on the lessons. She would fight the fever inside her, fight so hard the perspiration would break out on her face and her arms so that even she would get the faint scent of musk that rose mixed with perfume from her body.

  And then it would happen. The first few exploratory kisses. She would prove it to herself. Just those kisses and then she would stop. Nothing more after that. Then suddenly the fever would rise inside her and with it would come the frenzy. The frantic tearing of clothing that was constricting to her, the wild desire to cause pain and to feel pain. The worship of the arrogant male and the need to subdue it inside her so she could be the master of its exploding strength.

  She began to feel dizzy. Unconsciously she shook her head. She glanced up at the sun. It was still hot. Too hot. She had better go inside and sit down. She would feel better in the shade.

  She looked around. She had walked almost back to the garage. That was good. She would go there and check the car again. There was something cold and masculine about a racing car that always made her feel better.

  The garage felt cool after the heat outside. Most of the men had gone, it was near dinner time. She walked down the ramp.

  Esteban came out of his little office and called after her. “Hola, Señorita Nichols!”

  She turned toward him, smiling. “Hello, Señor Esteban.”

  He hurried up to her. “You have seen the Count?” he asked. “He is satisfied?”

  She nodded. “I owe you many thanks, Señor Esteban.”

  “No hay de que,” he said. “I am glad to be of service to both of you.” He looked up at her shrewdly. “An interesting man, this Count Cardinali, no?”

  “Si,” she answered. “Very interesting. But tell me this, is he good?”

  He looked at her. “He could be the best. But there is something missing.”

  They started to walk down the ramp. “Missing? I don’t understand.” She asked, “What is missing?”

  “Fear,” he answered. “A racer is like a matador. Neither are any good until they have tasted fear. Once they have done that, they develop their skill. They don’t do foolish unnecessary things. They just drive to win.”

  They came to a stop in front of the long white Ferrari. “He doesn’t care about winning?” she asked, walking over to the car and resting her hand on it.

  “A beautiful automobile,” he said.

  She looked down at it. Unconsciously she rubbed her hand across the fender. “The best in the garage,” she said.

  He smiled shrewdly. “I think maybe this time I will bet my ten pesos on the Count.” He started back up the ramp. “Good luck, señorita.”

  She watched him until he disappeared around the turn. Then she opened the door and sat down in the car. The harsh mixed odor of oil and gasoline and the rubbed leather of the seat came up to her. She slid over behind the wheel and put her hands upon it. This was strength. Pure male strength.

  She remembered sitting in her father’s lap while he drove their car in to town to do their marketing. How big she had felt and how she had waved for everyone to see she was driving. Even Mr. Saunders, the fat policeman who directed traffic on Main Street, came over to see if she had a license. She was only six years old then.

  She knew how to drive before she was ten years old. Papa used to let her run the car on the back road behind the house. Mother used to shake her head.

  “Half the time she doesn’t act like a girl at all,” her mother used to say. “Always hanging around the garage, fooling with cars and hearing all kinds of talk from the roughneck boys that hang around there too.”

  “Aw, let her go, Ma,” her father used to say tolerantly. “Time enough for her to grow up and learn to cook and sew. That ain’t so important nowadays anyhow with everything coming in cans and frozen packages and dresses all ready-made.” He was secretly pleased. He always wanted a son.

  It was better when she was sixteen and got her license to drive. Somehow the boys didn’t bother her so much then. She didn’t feel the need to tear them down so much. Maybe it was because she took it out on them on the road and in the drag races they used to hold out on the Ocean Drive.

  She knew what they thought the first time she came up to them in her own hot rod. Here comes “Easy,” looking to get laid. She knew the stories that went around the school about her. That whenever a boy showed up in the locker room with scratches on his back, the other boys would laugh and begin to pitch nickels at him. It didn’t stop them from clustering around her car when she drove up though.

  Johnny Jordan, the leader of the boys, had swaggered up to the car. He leaned over the door, a cigarette drooping from his lips. “Where’ja get the jalopy?” he asked.

  “At Stan’s,” she said, mentioning the name of the garage where all the boys picked up their second-hand cars.

  He looked it up and down critically. “I never seen it there,” he said.

  “I did a little work on it myself,” she lied. It wasn’t a little work. She had taken the car apart and rebuilt it by hand. It was a beat-up Pontiac convertible that had been in a wreck when she got it. She had taken out the motor and replaced it with a Cadillac engine, put in a new differential, repacked the bearings, widened the brake bands, cut down the body and fitted an old Cord frame over it, then poured lead into the doors to give it weight, and painted it shining silver and black. It had taken her six months.

  “Does it go?” Johnny asked her.

  “It goes,” she said.

  “Move over,” he said, starting to get in.

  She sat firmly behind the wheel. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Nobody gets to drive this until I take a few.”

  He stared at her. “Who yuh gonna get to drag yuh? Ain’t nobody here gonna race a girl.”

  She smiled. “Chicken?” she asked.

  His face flushed. “Ain’t that,” he said. “Who ever heard of a girl ridin’ drag? It just ain’t done.”

  “Okay,” she said. She started the motor again. “I’ll tell ’em back in town that you’re all afraid.” She started to back down the road from them.

  Johnny started after her. “Hey, wait a minute. You got no right to say that.”

  She stopped the car and smiled at him. “Oh, no? Then prove it.”

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But don’t blame me if you get hurt.”

  He pulled his car up beside her. “Drag up the road one mile,” he shouted over the noise of the engines. “Then you hold up there an’ I’ll come back and we’ll go ‘chicken.’”

  She nodded and watched the starter. The boy dropped his hand. She released the clutch and the car jumped forward. She double-clutched into high and looked over at Johnny. His car was even with her. She laughed excitedly and swung toward him. They were no more than a few inches apart now.

  He hit the accelerator trying to inch in front of her. She laughed again and opened up the throttle. He didn’t gain an inch. She moved the car in closer toward him. There was the sound of metal on metal and he moved away to give her room. He was riding half on the shoulder of the road now. She stepped on the accelerator and went away from him as if he were standing still.

  She had the car already turned around as he swung pas
t her and went back down the road. He glared balefully at her as he went by.

  She watched for the starter’s signal again. When it came, she was ready and the car leaped down the road. Then they were coming at each other in the dead center of the pavement. She smiled and put her foot all the way down on the floor. The wheel was steady in her hands.

  When she looked up, his car was almost upon her. Her smile became frozen on her face. She wouldn’t turn the wheel. She wouldn’t.

  At the last possible moment she saw him turn his wheel. There was a flash of his white face, cursing as he passed. She watched his car in the mirror as she slowed down. It was swerving wildly but he brought it under control and came to a stop. She turned around and drove back to him.

  He was out of his car and the boys were around him. They were staring at his left rear fender. It was half torn off. She didn’t even know that she had hit the rear of his car as they passed.

  He looked up at her. “You’re crazy!” he said.

  She smiled and slid over on the seat. “Want to drive?” she asked. “It can do a hundred and twenty on the stretch.”

  He walked around the car and got in beside her. He put the car into gear and they moved off. In a moment he had the car up to ninety miles per hour. He was her first steady.

  It had been different with him. Not like the others. She felt easier, more sure of herself. They didn’t have to go at it like cats and dogs. He respected her. He knew she was his equal. All the same it didn’t keep him from making her pregnant.

  She was in her last year in high school. She waited one week and then went to him. “We’re gonna have to get married,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked her.

  “Why do you think, stupid?” she snapped.

  He stared at her then he cursed. “God damn!” he said. “It’s those lousy cheap rubbers I bought at the drive-in!”

  “It wasn’t the rubbers that did it,” she said. She began to get angry. “It was that goddamn thing of yours. You never stopped poking it at me.”

  “You seemed to like it good enough,” he said. “You never said no!” He glared at her. “Besides how do I know it’s even mine? I heard enough stories about you!”