Nothing to Lose But My Life (8 page)

With a car at my disposal, I felt more free. I liked the idea of being mobile now that circumstances had changed. Things could pile up so that I might have to cut and run at any moment. I wasn’t rock-headed enough to think I could buck everyone at once. If matters got too tough, I’d duck for a while and return when the air was calmer.

I headed the nose of the Lincoln south, turned off the highway at the foot of the Hill, and started climbing. A quarter of the way up was the turn-off, the road on the left going to Nikke’s, that on the right continuing upward to the crest.

About halfway to the top was the sprawled, ugly mansion that housed Colonel Hoop. Although I would see him at nine, I also wanted to get in a few private licks. I parked openly under the porte-cochere and went up to the door. My ring brought a long-faced butler.

I said, “Tell Colonel Hoop that Lowry Curtis would like to see him on business.”

His nose went up a notch. “Colonel Hoop is engaged, sir.”

I looked at my watch. Sevenish, I said, “I can wait if he won’t be too long.”

“Colonel Hoop went into his study some while ago, sir. He asked that he not be disturbed.”

I could have argued about it but something told me that I wouldn’t get far with Chief Long Face. I returned to the car and started off. At the foot of the driveway there was a nice wide space cleared in the pines and cypress that cut Hoop and a number of other Hill residents from the gazes of the vulgar who might be passing on the roads below. I parked in the space and walked back.

This time I wasn’t so open about it. A long time had passed since my last visit here but I still knew my way around. I followed a dimly remembered pathway through the woods and came out at the side of the house where a beautifully manicured lawn sloped away from French windows. One set was lighted and I made my way through darkness, walking silently on the spongy turf. As I approached the lighted windows, I swung to one side, muddled my way through a flower bed as carefully as I could, and came up against the wall of the house.

The sill of the windows was on a level with my shoulder. I found a spot where drawn draperies had parted slightly, and peered in. It was the Colonel’s study. A small fire burned in a grate at one end of the room. There was a portable bar by the doors opposite, and by the windows where I was stood a desk twice the size of Hoop. It was neatly piled with papers. There was no one sitting at it. In fact, for a moment I thought the room was empty, but soon someone moved toward the fireplace and into my line of vision.

It was Tanya Mace, looking both regal and exotic in another sheathe-style dress, this one white. Her blond hair was just enough out of place to look good on her. She had a half consumed drink in her hand. She was obviously talking to someone, her full, senuous mouth twisted in anger. Stopping before the fireplace, she turned to face whoever it was that I could not see and began to speak rapidly.

She stopped and gulped at her drink and started to talk again. Then she gave a shrug and half turned away. She was definitely a beautiful woman and angered she was something to watch.

I continued to wait, hoping to see whoever it was she was arguing with. Finally a man moved toward the bar and into the range of my vision. It wasn’t, as I had expected, the Colonel at all. It was Charles Conklin, looking sleekly pink and composed. He made himself a whiskey and splash and then turned toward Tanya Mace. He was obviously not angry. I could almost hear the smooth way in whatever he was saying came out. Conklin had a knack for soothing ruffled feelings. That was one reason for his success as a bond salesman.

But tonight his knack didn’t seem to be working, not on Tanya at least. She shook her head and anger came up, coloring her cheeks and twisting her mouth. She said something, very quick, very brief.

Conklin stepped up to her and with no change of expression reached out and slapped her across the mouth with the back of his hand. This was a side of him I had never seen. It was not the kind of thing I expected from him. Nor was Tanya’s reaction what I expected of her. Although I had known her only a short while, I had already formed definite opinions about her temperament, and my ideas certainly didn’t include what came next.

Her eyes wide, she put one hand to her mouth, stepped away from Conklin, and began to cry. He looked at her and now there was obvious contempt on his features. Without a word, he turned and started walking away.

Tanya stopped crying, reached up to the mantel and took down a carved wooden statuette. She made two long strides and brought the butt of the statuette neatly and skilfully down behind Conklin’s ear. That, I felt, was more like what I expected of the lady.

Conklin was in the process of walking when she hit him and he kept on for one more step. Then he plunged forward, his drink going off to one side. He lit with his face in the carpet and lay quite still.

Returning the statuette to the mantel, Tanya went back to Conklin, drew up her skirt so that she could crouch, and ran a hand underneath his body. I thought at first she was trying to find out whether or not she had killed him, but apparently that was no concern to her. She came up with a gun in her hand, looked it over carefully, ejected a clip which she made disappear somewhere about her person, and replaced the gun. She acted as if she knew how to handle it. She fished again and this time there was a wallet in her hand.

Still crouched, she opened the wallet and leafed through all the compartments. She finally drew out something that was obviously not money, replaced the wallet as she had the gun, and rose. Then, returning to the fireplace, she lifted a picture from the wall at one side of the mantel, worked on a safe that was revealed, and swung open the door. She put whatever it was she had taken from Conklin in the safe and started to shut the door.

Conklin chose that moment to groan and stir. Tanya swung the door shut, stabbed at the dial with a fingertip, and hastily replaced the picture. She was at Conklin’s side, a water carafe in her hand, when he managed to sit up. Solicitously, she took out his breast pocket handkerchief, wet it, and began to swab his face. He took it for a moment and then thrust her away. He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and as she must have expected, drew out his gun.

I didn’t know what it was all about but I was rooting for Tanya. I gave a silent cheer for her having had the sense to empty the gun. Because Conklin looked ugly. I had never known such ugliness could come out of a mild, pink man like Charles Conklin. But then I would never have suspected him capable of slapping a lady, either.

Tanya looked at the gun, said something, turned and walked to the door and out of the room. Conklin stood hesitant a minute, checked the gun, thrust it savagely into his pocket, and stalked after her. I continued to stand where I was, staring now into an empty room.

From the direction of the garages on the far side of the house, came the sound of a powerful motor starting, then another. In a moment two cars went barreling down the driveway, both of them revved up painfully. I decided that this was as good a time as any, although I would have preferred the Colonel to be a witness to what I was about to do. Had I known it, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d waited just a few more moments.

I tried the French windows. It took only a slight pressure from the thin steel picklock I carried to spring the catch, and I was hoisting myself inside. I moved as quietly as I could, thinking of Chief Long Face. The room was now definitely empty. If Hoop was in conference here, he was playing invisible man.

I made straight for the fireplace and the safe. As I had hoped, Tanya’s desperation flick of the knob had locked nothing. The door swung open for me as I removed the picture. I reached in, took out a small manila envelope that lay on top of a metal box and then the box itself. There was nothing else inside.

I put the envelope in my pocket. It could wait. The box was what I wanted, what I had intended Hoop to hand over to me. It was locked and I took it to the desk and started looking for the key. It was absurdly easy to find, lying under a false bottom in the center desk drawer. I lifted the lid.

Always, I knew, Hoop had kept large sums of money about. In the old days it had been potential getaway money. Now that he was respectable, I was willing to bet, it was from force of habit. There was nearly a hundred thousand dollars in used hundreds, fifties, and twenties on top of twice that much in negotiable securities. This was more than just getaway money; it was a reserve fortune.

I counted out exactly fifty thousand, one hundred dollars and replaced the remainder. Before shutting the box, I wrote a brief note:

This is to acknowledge receipt of $50,100 (fifty thousand, one hundred dollars) which pays in full your cash debt to me, including interest for a period of five years and four months
.

I dated and signed it, using the name Malcolm Lowry, put it on top of the money, locked the box, replaced it in the safe, and returned the key to the desk drawer. That done, I went out as I had come in. Chief Long Face apparently took his orders seriously. I was not disturbed.

I was back at the motel and in my room by eight o’clock. It was then that I remembered the envelope I had taken from the safe. Fishing it out of my pocket, I examined it. It was the kind that photographers use to mail three-by-two identification photographs in, only there was no printing on the face. The flap was folded down but not sealed. Lifting it, I reached in and drew out what I had expected to find—photographs. There were two, glossy, very clear, obviously the work of someone who knew how to handle a camera.

I looked at them for quite a while. I’m not given to enjoying pornographic photos—and especially did I dislike these. They were both of Tanya. In one she was bent over the body of a man. He was sprawled on his back and there was a knife in his chest. Tanya had one hand about the knife. Her clothing was torn, her hair mussed, and I could see a bruise on one cheekbone. Despite her appearance, she looked terrific. It looked as though she had been in a fight and had had her clothing nearly ripped from her. She was wearing a peasant skirt and blouse. The skirt was ripped to the point where it was little more than a waistband and a few shreds, and the blouse was one puffed sleeve and a rag about her neck. It must have been warm weather because she had nothing else on. She had a small but clearly defined mole on the swell of her left breast.

The other picture was similar, only in this one she lay across the body in a faint and the amount of clothing remaining to her wouldn’t have covered a good-sized wart. Tanya was beautiful but the pictures were ugly, salacious—and damning

I put them away, took them to the safe and added them to the envelopes there that contained my dossiers and reserve funds and had the works returned to the safe. Then I went into the coffee shop and had a leisurely meal, foregoing dessert and coffee since I expected Sofia Conklin to provide that. Then I went to my room and changed into evening dress. I couldn’t help wondering if Conklin and Tanya would be at the party too.

• • •

It was three minutes to nine as I turned into the winding drive of the Proctor-Conklin estate. It was the kind of place I had been accustomed to visiting five years before—a house that cost a hundred thousand in the depression, a sweep of lawn all the way down to the seawall behind which was a private beach, boathouse and pier, a four-car garage at the rear of the house with servants’ quarters above. Like Hoop’s, the belt of timber that marked the edge of the Hill ran along one side down to the water.

A man in livery met me at the door, heard my name, took my hat and coat, and ushered me into the drawing room. It was a huge barn of a room with a massive fireplace at the far end. Two divans faced one another from opposite sides of the fireplace and one person was seated on each divan. There was no one else in the room—just Sofia and Enid.

They both rose and we met halfway in the room. Sofia arrived first and extended her hand. “I’m early?” I asked.

“The others have been delayed,” she assured me. “You remember my sister Enid?”

I bowed. Enid’s opaque eyes stared at me. Her mouth quirked as if she might break into a giggle. Sofia saved me from a possible awkward moment by steering us toward the fireplace. I took a position with my back to the fire and for the first time had a good, uninterrupted look at Sofia Conklin.

She was as she had always been, only more so. She was the woman of the future, with all the primitive bred out of her. She was a superb gem, cut by a Dutch craftsman, and far less warm.

She excused herself and went off somewhere. Enid watched her go and then looked at me. “Well, what do you think of the rest of the family?”

“The same as before. She’s the finest in modern American manufacture.”

I wanted to know how Enid felt about her sister. She laughed gleefully, genuinely pleased. Then she stopped. “But she does impress you, doesn’t she, Lowry?”

“Very much.” I didn’t say how.

“Yes, Sis is very impressive. Do you want her, Lowry? I might be able to arrange it.”

She was obviously being childishly malicious. If either of the women was top dog, it was Sofia. Enid had admitted as much in regard to money. I must have shown my skepticism, for she said, “I can too!”

“Don’t bother,” I told her. “She’s too automatic. You press a button that says social evening and she creates one. You press a button that says sex and she handles that—I suppose. No thanks.”

Enid’s delight in this kind of chitchat was carrying her away. She giggled some more. “If you find that button, let Charles know where it is, will you?”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Don’t tell me …”

She seemed to realize what she had been saying and there was enough “pride in being a Proctor” drilled into her for her to regret it. “Please,” she said. “I was just trying to be funny.”

Sofia came back, stopping any further interest I might want to display in the subject.

The party threatened to take a prattfall. Tanya came in about nine-thirty, was reintroduced to me and sat quietly. She still wore the white gown and now she looked perfectly groomed. But there was no vivacity in her; somewhere along the line her energy had drained out. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened since her precipitous flight from Hoop’s.