Katherine O’Neal (52 page)

“—their
considerable
skills—”

“—to save their beloved
Globe-Journal
from the clutches of the evil Scotsman. They’ll hoist us on their
backs and carry us down bloody Fifth Avenue before I’m
through!”

She’d been laughing, but she sobered at the
thought of it. “If all goes well,” she cautioned.

“Now to the next step...”

* * *

The following day, a piece appeared in the
Globe-Journal
about an earthquake in Bolivia that took the
lives of three people and effectively closed down production of
several of the zinc mines in the vicinity.

“What about this?” Sander exploded, slamming
the paper down on Lance’s desk. “This earthquake just wiped out a
third of my income. Madame Zorina’s first prediction has come
true.”

“Give me that.” Lance grabbed the paper and
skimmed the story. “I didn’t see this before it went to press.”

“Now who’s being hustled? You’re so used to
playing games, you don’t know the real article when you see it.
Thanks to you, I’ve just lost a fortune!”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions, man. I know
Mace is behind this. I just don’t know how. We’ll check it out, and
you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

Bat Masterson was waiting outside the
Globe-Journal
building when Lance came out. Armed with his
sixguns, Bat trailed him from a safe distance. When Lance stopped
at the telegraph office, Bat waited for him to begin writing out
his telegram, then cracked the door and listened. Lance arranged
for the telegram to be sent to Bolivia and asked that the reply be
delivered immediately to his office at the
Globe-Journal
. By
the time he left, Bat had hidden himself on the side of the
building, where he wouldn’t be seen.

A half hour later, Bat walked into the
telegraph office and tipped his derby to the clerk. “Mr. Blackwood
sent me over to see if that telegram he’s expecting came in
yet.”

The clerk seemed flustered. “Why, no. I told
him it might be some time. For all I know, it’s night in Bolivia.
Besides, if they’ve had an earthquake, the lines may be down. I
explained all that—”

Bat leaned over the counter with a grimace.
“Between you and me, patience isn’t Blackwood’s strong suit. I’ll
wait if you don’t mind. It could mean my job if I go back
empty-handed.”

“Wait if you like,” the clerk agreed. “So
long as you know it might be a long one.”

It was an hour before the telegram came in.
The clerk read it over after he’d taken it down and muttered,
“Well, that’s strange...”

Bat removed a few gold pieces from his vest
pocket. “Just so this doesn’t go any further,” he explained.

The clerk seemed offended. “I
never
reveal the contents of telegrams. I don’t care who asks!”

But he took the gold just the same.

Mace looked over the telegram stating that
there had been no earthquake in Bolivia and expressing surprise at
the inquiry. Then he handed it over to Stubbs. “Use your contact to
get that redone. ‘Earthquake confirmed. Devastation widespread.
Mines closed permanently. Financial help desperately needed.’ That
sort of thing.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Have it delivered to the paper at once.
Then, in disguise, seek out McLeod with an offer to buy the paper.
Let’s just see what he has to say.”

That evening, Stubbs returned, wearing a
blond wig and waxed mustache and dressed in an expensive suit. He
removed his grey gloves and tossed them aside, flexing his stubby
fingers. “He’s being cautious. Says that even if he does sell, he’s
not selling to just anyone off the street. Wants to check me out
first. I disguised my voice the best I could, but he kept looking
at me funny. Like maybe he hears the Lower East Side when I
talk.”

“If he checks Stubbs out, we could be
finished,” Saranda warned.

But Mace just grinned. “You’re never finished
till you’ve achieved your objective. It’s time for the next step.”
He picked up the copy of the paper with the story exposing his
identity. “Call me a cheap con man, will you?” he muttered.
“McLeod, you poor bloody bastard. You don’t know who you’re dealing
with.”

“What do you know?” Saranda said as she
perused the next morning’s paper. “A fire in Chicago burned down
the Gresham Hotel. Poor Sander. Doesn’t he
own
that
hotel?”

Mace was shaving in the bathroom. “What does
it say about us?”

She read him the article’s high points. “City
authorities are furious with the federals—a city policeman fired
upon—courts waiting for a writ from the federal judge—looks like
the crisis is coming to a head. We may not be able to stall much
longer. Oh, it says we’re sending a barrister to court to argue our
case. Are we?”

“That’s what I’m about this morning.” He
dried his face and came over and gave her a long kiss.

“My! You’re certainly frisky lately. Don’t
tell me my Madame Zorina costume aroused you?”

“Planning the perfect flam arouses me. Too
bad Stubbs is due any minute. I might be enticed to show you how
much.” He lowered himself over her so she was forced back into the
bed where she’d been lounging, drinking her morning tea. She kissed
him leisurely, then asked,“
Is
it the perfect swindle?”

“Do you doubt it?”

“There’s the small matter of the
hundred-thousand-dollar down payment we need to buy the paper
back.”

“What’s the best way to buy something from a
sucker?” he inquired.

“With his own money.”

“Precisely.”

“How do we do that? Convince him to bet it at
the racetrack and have Stubbs and his men working there?”

“Too involved.”

“Work on his superstition by telling him to
bury a hundred thousand dollars to erase the curse?”

“Too unbelievable.”

“What, then?”

“That’s where Madame Zorina comes into
play.”

“You want me to go see him?”

“You won’t have to. He’ll come to you.”

“How do you know he will?”

“Instinct.” When she opened her mouth to
speak, he kissed her into silence. Soon she lost her will to
question him further. He looked at her with a gleam in his eyes,
but she sensed the seriousness of his words. “When a good flam is
in motion, never question the planner.”

“Oh? Pity. I had a question in mind that I
fancied you might rather like.”

“What’s that?”

She found the rampant bulge in his trousers
and unfastened the buttons. “Is this for me?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he said.

“Sure you’re not a fortune-teller? You’re so
good at reading people’s minds.”

Just then there was a knock on the door.
Saranda let out a disappointed groan. “What beastly timing. Do tell
Stubbs to come back later.”

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, kissing her and
buttoning his pants. “I shall be back.”

She stretched her arms over her head and said
sleepily, “Leave the bedroom door open. I rather fancy you
conducting business in the sitting room, knowing I’m in bed waiting
for you.”

“The job comes first, remember?”

“How could I forget? It’s your genius for the
job at hand that gets me so excited.”

* * *

Less than ten minutes later she heard him
usher them out. “You certainly handled that with the utmost
dispatch,” she called.

He came to the door and leaned on the jamb,
watching her appreciatively as she pulled her peach nightgown from
under the covers and daintily dropped it to the floor. “I had a
fair incentive. Now... what were you doing while I was away?”

“Come under the covers and find out...”

* * *

Later that evening, Stubbs arrived,
agitated.

“I tell you, Mace, he’s talking to another
buyer. I swear he’s going with him.”

“Who has another buyer?” Saranda asked.
“Sander?”

“McLeod’s still not sure he wants to sell.
But he found this other buyer on his own. Even I have to admit the
guy sounds perfect. From an upstanding Georgia family. Someone in
the medical profession. No ties to New York or the West, which
McLeod would have cause to suspect. I did all I could to convince
him I’m his man, but he’s waffling. I’m telling you, if he sells,
he’s going with this other guy.”

Alarmed, Saranda said, “I never thought of
him selling to someone
else!
What are we going to do?”

“Stubbs, go back tomorrow and push him. Make
yourself as obnoxious as you can. Insist if you have to.”

“I’m telling you, boss, he ain’t going for
it. I push him, and he’s for sure going the other way.”

“Just do it. We’ll see what happens.”

Shrugging as if he thought Mace was crazy,
Stubbs said, “You’re the boss,” and left.

“Sander needs another push,” Saranda told
Mace when they were alone. “Why don’t we go ahead with the flood
story tomorrow? Show him we mean business.”

Mace removed his jacket and draped it across
the back of a chair. Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet and
into his arms. “Let’s give it another day,” he said casually,
lowering his mouth to hers.

* * *

The next morning, it was Mace who was
surprised by the headlines. He loomed over her as she sat at the
vanity, brushing her hair. She looked up to find him glowering at
her.

“You didn’t have the flood story planted
behind my back, did you?”

“Of course not. What—”

“Then it’s real!”

He showed her the paper. Her hands trembled
as she read it. “There was a flood in Pennsylvania...
just where
we predicted!
”

Mace was staring at her with some of the same
awe she’d been feeling for him. “How did you do that?” he asked
softly.

Saranda looked back at the paper, then at
him. “I have no idea.”

* * *

Lance paced his office that afternoon. He’d
sent a man to Pennsylvania to verify the flood for himself. He was
more certain than ever now that his brother was behind the strange
occurrences. Once and for all, he would have his proof.

Just as he was beginning to feel complacent,
his secretary handed him a telegram. As he read it, his face fell.
He crumpled the telegram, tossed it in the wastebasket, and looked
out his window over the busy street below. Somewhere out there his
brother was smirking at him. He knew Mace was behind it, but he
couldn’t for the life of him figure out how. Disappointment tasted
bitter on his tongue. Finally, he growled beneath his breath, “How
the bleedin’ hell did he
do
that?”

* * *

Saranda was ready and waiting in her Gypsy
garb when McLeod rapped frantically on the door. Stubbs opened it
with unhurried dignity.

“I must see Madame Zorina,” McLeod said
without preamble. The quaking of his voice gave testimony to his
panic. “It’s a matter of utmost urgency.”

Saranda came forth with the dog on the leash.
“Come,” she greeted him. “I have been expecting you.”

“My fortune’s all but gone,” Sander was
wailing. “Everything you predicted has happened. I’m ruined, I tell
you! You have to help me.”

“What can I possibly do to help? I told you
what you must do, but did you heed my counsel? No, you chose to
ignore it. I am not accustomed to dealing with the faithless. Why
do you ask my help, when you do what you want in spite of my
words?”

“I swear to you, just tell me what to do, and
I’ll do it.”

“What can I tell you that I haven’t already?
You must sell the newspaper. But why do I waste my time? It is
already too late.”

“No! It can’t be! Madame Zorina, you must
think of
something
. You told my father where to invest his
money. You gave him a specific amount and told him he’d triple his
investment in twenty days. It came to pass just as you said. You
could do the same for me. I have a little money left. Not much, but
if you’d help me—”

“How much will you receive for your
newspaper?”

“A hundred thousand dollars.”

“Very well, I will help you one last time.
You must sell the newspaper as planned. But first you must invest
just that amount in another venture. I will send an opportunity
your way, something that will not only restore your fortune but
will multiply it a hundred times and more. An incredible
opportunity that only you will see the sense of. Do you understand
me? Only you.”

“Yes, yes. I understand. But what is it? What
will it be?”

“I do not know yet. I know only that this
opportunity will present itself to you tomorrow at your office. You
must be vigilant and recognize it when it comes.”

“I will, yes. Thank you, Madame Zorina, I’m
sorry I ever doubted you.”

When he’d gone, Mace handed some papers to
Stubbs.

“Here are the stock certificates. Phony,
naturally. Have O’Toole go to McLeod’s office at the paper in the
morning. Tell him to report directly to me with the results.”

* * *

The next morning, Sander called his secretary
into his office. He was a thin, efficient man with hair as red as
McLeod’s and horn-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Forbes, who’s waiting to see
me?”

“The customary assortment of men wanting you
to invest in some project or other.”

McLeod looked interested. “These men who want
my investment, what are they selling?”

“Let me see. Office buildings, land in
Florida—oh, and two new ones. Man with a mine for sale. And another
with some stock certificates.”

“What kind of stock?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask.”

“What about this other fellow? What kind of
mine is it?”

“Some rare element, so he says. I wrote it
down.” He flipped through his notebook. “Here it is. Aphroneium.
I’ve never heard of it. He claims it’s going to be valuable. No one
really knows about it yet.”

“She said only I would recognize it...
Forbes, run down to the morgue. See what you can find.”