Читать книгу Kiss and Kill - Richard Deming - Страница 7

MRS. HOLLINGSWORTH was so enthused about seeing Mary Applebee that she insisted on meeting the plane. This was a complication that wasn’t very difficult to work out. I phoned Mavis to get out to the International Airport in advance with her bags and post herself near the proper gate. When she heard the announcement that the plane she was supposed to be on had come in, she could mingle with the passengers as they came out the gate, so that it would appear that she had been on it.

“Be surprised to see me,” I cautioned her. “You’re not supposed to know I’m meeting you.”

Everything went smoothly. The plane came in on time at 5:35 P.M. Mavis was properly surprised to see me. Cora Hollingsworth was obviously charmed by her fresh, innocent appearance.

Following the instructions I had given her over the phone, Mavis said her plans were to stay overnight in Los Angeles, as she couldn’t get a bus out to her aunt’s until the next day. To avoid the possibility of Mrs. Hollingsworth insisting she stay at the Beverly-Wilshire, where the desk clerk knew Mavis by her real name, I had told Mavis to say she had a reservation at a small, moderately-priced hotel in downtown Los Angeles.

I took both women to the Statler, which is also in downtown Los Angeles, for dinner.

Mavis put on a superb performance by simply being herself. She seemed awed by the unexpected attention that she, a mere stenographer, was getting from one of the top executives of her company. She was equally awed by the Statler dining room, its head waiter and by the prices on the menu. She respectfully addressed me as “sir.” I was afraid she was going to overdo it by calling Mrs. Hollingsworth “ma’am,” but she showed surprising discrimination now that she wasn’t trying to be an heiress. Mrs. Hollingsworth was too maternal a type to awe anyone, and Mavis seemed to sense that with her it would be out of place not to be at ease. She struck exactly the right note by being respectful and just a little shy.

Her responses to Mrs. Hollingsworth’s questions about her husband were flawless, too. She even amazed me by coming through when Mrs. Hollingsworth threw her a curve I hadn’t anticipated.

It was as we were having coffee. Mrs. Hollingsworth had plied Mavis with sympathetic questions all during the meal. Now, all of a sudden, she asked, “Do you have a picture of your husband, Mary?”

My heart sank. It would be completely out of character for a woman as concerned over her imprisoned husband as Mary Applebee was supposed to be not to carry a picture of him. But I’d never thought of it. It was one of those vital minor details which can wreck the best-laid plans.

Mavis came through after only the barest hesitation. Opening her simulated alligator bag she drew out a wallet. From the wallet she produced a small portrait photograph of a good-looking young man about her own age.

“It’s three years old,” she said apologetically as she handed it over. “It’s been that long since we’ve seen each other.”

Probably an ex-boyfriend, I thought with relief. It was fast thinking to remember it was in her wallet. I was proud of her.

“My, he’s a nice-looking boy,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said. “I don’t blame you for wanting him back.” She handed back the photograph. “Mr. Carter tells me a ten-thousand-dollar bribe would free him.”

Mavis nodded and carefully tucked the photo away. “I save every cent I can. I wouldn’t even have come down here if my aunt hadn’t mailed me the ticket. But it will take years to save that much. About ten more, I figure.” There was nothing forlorn in her voice. It contained a note of desperate determination.

Mrs. Hollingsworth stared at her thoughtfully. Then she glanced at me, cleared her throat and turned back to Mavis again. “I have a little money, dear. And I give heavily to charities all the time. There’s no reason I couldn’t do some personal charity work for a change.”

Frowning at her, I gave my head a slight shake.

“You mind your business, Mr. Carter,” she told me with spirit. “It’s my money, and I’ll do what I please with it.” She returned to Mavis. “My dear, I’m going to put up the money to get your husband freed from that awful place.”

Mavis’s face turned radiant. “Honest? Oh, if you would, I’d thank you forever!”

I said reprovingly, “Mrs. Hollingsworth, I thought we agreed that this isn’t your problem.”

She gave me a haughty look. “It’s certainly my money. Are you going to try to discourage me right in front of the child? She’ll certainly think highly of you if you try to block the freeing of her husband.”

“That’s not fair,” I protested. “Naturally I’d like to see Mary happy. I feel a certain responsibility here because I was the one who told you about her problem. I’m merely trying to protect your interests.”

Deciding she had me on the defensive, Mrs. Hollingsworth followed up her advantage. “You should be protecting Mary’s interests instead. She’s an employee of yours, and I’m not. A thoughtful boss would put her welfare ahead of an outsider’s. No wonder workers band into unions.”

Mavis said eagerly, “It would only be a loan, Mr. Carter. John and I could pay it back, once he’s home and both of us are working. Lots of couples owe more than that on a home. Oh, please, sir, let her.”

“Let me, fiddlesticks,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said. “I have sons older than your boss, child, and they don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need his permission. The matter’s settled.” She looked at me defiantly.

I gave a resigned shrug. “As you say, it’s your money, Mrs. Hollingsworth.”

“Hmph,” she said. “Am I also going to have to go to China and make personal arrangements, or will you deign to use your connections to get the bribe placed in the proper hands there?”

Mavis looked at me appealingly. “You know what arrangements have to be made, sir. You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

With a rueful smile I raised my hands in a gesture of defeat. “I won’t argue any more. Mrs. Hollingsworth has placed me in the position of a villain trying to keep your husband imprisoned for some fiendish reason of my own. As long as she’s determined to put up the money, I’ll be glad to use my connections to have John freed. You understand, Mary, that I wasn’t trying to discourage the loan because I’m unsympathetic. It’s just—”

“It’s just that Mr. Carter is a businessman,” Mrs. Hollingsworth interrupted. “He doesn’t understand that human values are more important than dollars and cents.” She added for my benefit, in case I thought she was being too harsh with me, “Not that I don’t like him. He’s really quite charming, and probably a good boss in most ways. Don’t think badly of him.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Mavis said enthusiastically. “Tonight I think everybody is wonderful.”

Again I was afraid she was going to overdo it, but she didn’t. She didn’t engulf Mrs. Hollingsworth with thanks. She acted as though she were too overwhelmed to express herself properly, which was a more effective thank-you than a lot of words would have been.

When we left the Statler, the elderly dowager said, “We’ll drop you off at your hotel now, dear. You go on to your aunt’s tomorrow and enjoy your vacation. I’ll give Mr. Carter a check as soon as we get home, so he can start matters moving at once.”

We dropped Mavis off in front of the small hotel she designated, and I drove back to the Beverly-Wilshire. Mrs. Hollingsworth asked me to stop by her room for a moment, wrote out a check for ten thousand dollars and handed it to me.

“Better phone your bank in the morning and tell them it’s all right to cash this,” I advised. “I’ll want to exchange it for a cashier’s check and get it off to New York at once.”

She did phone the bank the next morning, and I had no trouble exchanging it for a cashier’s check made out to myself.

Immediately afterward I checked out of the hotel, picked up Mavis and we headed for Las Vegas.

Mavis seemed strangely subdued. We were well on the way before I noticed it, though. When putting distance behind me after a job, I concentrate on the road ahead. We were fifty miles out of town before I grew conscious of her odd silence.

“What’s the matter with you?” I inquired. “You ought to feel good. You did a beautiful job.”

“I keep thinking about that old lady,” she said. “She was such a nice person, Sam. I keep wondering what she’ll think when she realizes we were crooks.”

I frowned sidewise at her. “She won’t miss the money. She’s loaded. You know what the first major rule of this racket is?”

“What?”

“Never give a trimmed mark another thought. If you do, you won’t sleep nights. If you’re going to feel sorry for marks, you’re in the wrong racket. Want to mail your share of the take back?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. Her expression turned dreamy. “All that nice money. How many things it can buy! Don’t worry about my conscience, Sam. As long as we can make money this easily, I’ll subdue it.”

“You sure you can?”

She gave a definite nod. “I promise I’ll never think of the old lady again. Or any other mark, after a job.”

“What makes you think there will be any more jobs?”

She gave me an anxious look. “Aren’t you going to keep me with you? You said I did a beautiful job.”

“You want to form a permanent partnership?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly. “I want to stick with you. Can I, Sam?”

“We’ll see when we get where we’re going,” I said noncommittally.

We hit Las Vegas at two P.M. I converted the cashier’s check into cash, and then sold my car to a used-car dealer on the off-chance that Mrs. Hollingsworth might remember the license number. Two hours after we arrived in Las Vegas, we were riding a plane toward Denver under assumed names.

We had dinner on the plane. When we landed, I had a taxi drive us directly to a small hotel on the outskirts of the city.

En route I glanced at Mavis’s left hand, noted it was bare and asked, “What did you do with that wedding band and engagement ring?”

“They’re in my bag,” she said. “Why?”

“Put them on.”

She gave me a puzzled look, but obeyed.

At the hotel I registered as Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Kinn of Houston, Texas. Mavis said nothing until the bellhop had deposited our bags in our room and departed. Then she thoughtfully regarded the double bed with which the room was furnished.

“Don’t I even get asked?” she inquired.

I pulled a bottle of bourbon from one of my bags, set it on the dresser and phoned room service for soda and ice.

When I hung up, she said, “Don’t I get answered either?”

“Sure,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted this to be a permanent partnership?”

“I was thinking of a business partnership.”

“With me, it’s all the way or not at all,” I told her. “That’s the way it is. You can still walk out.”

Her lower lip stuck out petulantly. “You could be a little more romantic about it.”

“I know how to be romantic,” I assured her. “You’ll be treated like a queen. I’m starting us off this way on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to have no doubt in your mind from the beginning about who’s boss.” I tapped my chest. “This guy is. In business, in bed, everywhere. I give the orders and you take them. You want to stay under my conditions, or take your cut and leave right now?”

She studied me for a moment more. “Do you have to make it an ultimatum?” she complained. “Couldn’t you at least say you want me because I appeal to you as a woman?”

“If you didn’t appeal to me as a woman, you’d be registered in another room.” I crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then warily moved toward me.

Pulling her against my chest, I wound my fingers in her black hair and jerked her head back. She put up a token struggle when I kissed her, but after a moment her arms slid about my neck. Her lips opened under mine and her body strained against me.

She whispered, “You can be boss, Sam. Everywhere.”

Picking her up bodily, I tossed her on the bed. Her eyes grew wider and wider as I tossed my coat onto a chair, tossed my tie after it and began to strip off my shirt.

A knock came at the door. I had completely forgotten ordering ice and soda from room service.