Too Damn Rich (57 page)

She gave a start, twisted around, and looked
up. In the excitement of seeing Rudolph, she hadn't even noticed
the thin young man who lounged against the bed opposite Rudolph's.
Who was cleaning his clear-lacquered fingernails with a
penknife.

Do I know him? she asked herself. Should I?
He looks familiar, but ...

Unbending herself, she straightened and
frowned, trying to place him.

He was hard-faced and well-built, with a
russet complexion and beard-shadowed jaw. His features were almost
feral and his eyes looked dead, but his shiny black hair was very
much alive. No doubt he thought the retro-fifties pompadour made
him look like Elvis.

In truth, it made him look like a two-bit
hood.

Everything about him gave Zandra the willies.
Even his expensive sharkskin suit and shiny, pointy black
shoes.

"Shot 'im up good in the operatin' room, they
did," he said, pausing amid his manicure to nod at Rudolph. " 'E
ain't feelin' no pain, I can tell you that."

"Who are you?" she demanded, her forehead
creasing. She tilted her head. "Don't I know you from
somewhere?"

"I saw to it that your brother was brought
'ere," he said.

"Well, then you're a friend of his," she
assumed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? It's nice of
you to visit him, is all I can say. Frightfully dreary, these
places. Can use jollying up."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call meself a
friend, old girl," he said.

"Oh?" The "old girl" had done it; her frown
was deepening. "What are you, then?"

"You know. Acquaintances, like?" he said,
with a smirk. "Joe Leach's the name, an' burnin' pretty countesses
the game?" He winked lewdly, and the smirk turned into a mirthless,
stretched grin. " 'Member me now, countess?"

"You!" she gasped, the deafening memory
shrieking through her mind like a runaway train. Unconsciously, she
touched her left arm where, last October, he—this very monster!—had
burned it with his cigar! Her skin was still paler where the burn
had healed; always would be, too.

How could I possibly have forgotten him? she
thought. Did my mind try to bury that incident? No. It must be his
hair. Yes, that was it. He'd worn it much shorter then.

"Gave us the slip last October, you did." He
winked again, displaying crooked little National Health teeth.
"Din't you?"

"Go away!" she hissed shakily. "Leave this
place at once!"

"All in good time, countess."

He grabbed the curtain that was attached to
overhead tracks and walked around the bed, screening off the space
for privacy.

"First," he said, "we're gonna 'ave us a nice
little chat, right?"

"Wrong," she said quietly, something hard and
unfamiliar coming into her voice. "We have absolutely nothing to
discuss, Mr. Leach. Now, if you'll be so kind and just leave—"

He ignored her. "We can either 'ave our chat
'ere, or ..."

"Or what?"

"Or we can 'ave it nice and civilizedlike,
over dinner at the Ritz. Never been there with a real countess
before."

"Honestly," she declared, "I'd rather go
straight to hell before I'd dine with the likes of you."

"Yeah—" he winked again "—but would your
brother?"

She stared at him. "You wouldn't dare lay a
finger on him!"

" 'Ready did. Why you think 'e's 'ere?"

Joe Leach sauntered deliberately back around
the sickbed toward her. When they were face-to-face, he raised his
penknife so that the blade caught the light and flashed.

This is a hospital, she told herself, a place
of healing. Keep calm. He won't dare do anything. Not in here.

She held her breath and waited.

After a moment, he snapped the knife shut and
pocketed it. "You got more balls than your brother, I'll give you
that."

The relief she felt was almost
unbearable.

"Well, countess? A spot of dinner?"

Zandra raised her chin stubbornly and shook
her head. "Why don't you just say what you must and get it over
with?"

"Well, ain't we tough? Tryin' to make things
'ard fer us, that it? Well, best not blame me for what I gotta do.
It's all your fault, see?"

His gray slippery eyes winked obscenely
again, and he reached out and took Rudolph's right hand in his.

"Pinkie's first." He held Zandra's gaze. "But
what's another broken bone, right?"

"You're bluffing," she said weakly, feeling
all sick inside.

"Try me." He held her gaze. "Well? We goin'
to the Ritz?"

She wouldn't go with him—couldn't!—not after
what he'd done to her in October; not after what he'd done to
Rudolph!

"No," she whispered.

He did it then, his eyes watching her the
whole time. Bent the little finger all the way back until it
touched Rudolph's wrist.

Zandra winced when she heard the unmistakable
snap of the breaking bone. The sound went right through her, and
she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

On the bed, Rudolph barely moaned.

Thank God he's full of painkillers, she
thought. He probably doesn't feel a thing. At least, not yet, he
doesn't . . .

"His bleedin' index finger's next."

Joe Leach smiled cruelly, like a maladjusted
youngster pulling the wings off a fly.

Crepe soles squeaked on the linoleum, and Joe
Leach hesitated, then reluctantly let Rudolph's hand drop.

A nurse drew aside the curtain. "Mustn't
close these, luvs!" the matronly woman scolded reprovingly.

"Sister," Zandra said anxiously, "how is my
brother? Can you tell me anything? I just flew in from New
York—"

The nurse clucked her tongue sympathetically.
"Poor luv," she said, eyeing Rudolph and shaking her head. " 'Ad
two smashed kneecaps, 'e did."

Zandra went weak.

Kneecaps smashed by that smirking monster!
And he's just standing there, cool as day!

She glared at Joe Leach, felt revulsion and
loathing souring her throat. She wanted to launch herself at him,
claw at his eyes, rip out his throat.

" 'E was operated on this morning," the nurse
added, fluffing Rudolph's pillows.

A terrible fear twisted Zandra's insides.
"Will he ... " she began, and stopped to take a deep breath.
"Sister, he will walk again, won't he?"

"With therapy, the surgeons think 'e'll
recover quite nicely. Replaced both 'is kneecaps with plastic and
titanium, they did. But it'll be a few months before 'e's up and
about, luv."

It was all Zandra could do not to scream and
scream and never stop screaming.

"You all right, luv? You've suddenly gone all
palelike."

Zandra nodded. "Yes, I ... I'm fine,
thanks."

"If you're sure ..."

"I'm positive."

"Good." The nurse gestured to Joe Leach.
"This nice gentleman 'ere 'elped bring 'im in, you know. 'E was
there when the accident 'ap- pened, and 'asn't left 'is side since.
Renews your faith in the 'uman race, don't it?"

Zandra glanced at Joe Leach, who just stood
there, smiling like an altar boy. She felt like vomiting.

"Poor dear," the nurse continued, looking at
Rudolph. "Imagine, stepping between a parked car and a lorry, and
'aving the lorry back up on you!" She shook her head. "Gives me the
shivers, it do. 'Or- rible. 'Orrible!"

It's a lie! Zandra wanted to scream. A damned
lie!

"Doctor will be making his rounds at
half-past six," the nurse said. "You can talk to 'im then, luv. I'm
sure 'e'll be able to answer all your questions."

She moved off to attend to other
patients.

Joe Leach picked up Rudolph's hand again and
gave Zandra another stretched grin.

"Funny, innit? It don't even matter if the
curtain's open or drawn. I can break every bleedin' finger of 'is,
and 'e won't make a sound."

Zandra watched in horror as he took hold of
Rudolph's index finger.

"Well, countess? You still turnin' down my
dinner invitation?"

And he slowly began to bend Rudolph's finger
back.

Suddenly Zandra couldn't stand it any longer.
"For God's sake, stop it!" she whispered. "I'll have your bloody
dinner!"

Joe Leach let Rudolph's hand drop. "Now, why
did I 'ave the feelin' you'd see it my way? Well, come on, then.
I'm bleedin' 'ungry!"

Zandra followed him in disbelief.

How can he eat after what he's done? she
wondered. How can I?

The dining room of the Ritz is probably
London's most beautiful public room. All period armchairs, pink
tablecloths, and an abundance of gold leaf and crystal, its soaring
windows look out at Green Park.

They had an alcove table under one of the
murals of Ionic columns wrapped in garlands. That Joe Leach should
be sitting opposite her in this otherwise soothing setting was, to
Zandra, both discordant and obscene.

Despite his expensively tailored suit, he did
not fit in among this sleek, well-dressed crowd. Everything about
him shouted lack of breeding—his garish, purple-and-pumpkin striped
tie, his gauche manners, his piercing cockney voice. One look, and
it was obvious that eating fish and chips out of greasy newspapers
was more his style.

Not that he seems to notice or care, Zandra
thought.

"I always assumed reservations were necessary
here," she said.

"Sure they are." He grinned. "But not if you
go puttin' on the Ritz."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Slippin' the maitre d' a hundred quid."

"How much?" She stared across the table at
him. He's got to be crazy!

The unsettling thought occurred to her that
he probably was.

"What I want to know is," he said, "if 'e'll
give us a table fer a hundred quid, what d'you think 'ed do for two
hundred? Drop his undies in public?"

And he laughed so loud that heads turned.

Zandra wished the floor would open up and
swallow her. Please God, she prayed, don't let me run into anyone I
know.

Leach snapped his fingers to get a waiter's
attention. " 'Ey, guv! Bring us a good bottle of shampoo, and not
tomorrow!"

It was all Zandra could do not to get up and
leave.

"Figger out what you want to order?" Leach
asked her when a bottle of Taittinger Brut Reserve was popped and
poured.

"I'm really not hungry."

He ordered for her anyway. "We'll both 'ave
the marinaded salmon on the salad of ginger and lime," he said,
reading from the menu. "Then the rib roast with Yorkshire puddin'.
And sherry trifle for dessert."

Zandra didn't touch a bite. In fact, she
didn't even bother pushing the food around on the pink-and-white
plates.

"You're wastin' good money," he reproved,
talking with his mouth full.

She couldn't bear to watch him. He ate like a
pig, with his napkin appropriately tucked into his shirt
collar.

She'd never spent such a miserable dinner in
her life.

"Now that's better," Leach said, when he
finished both their desserts. He pushed his chair back. "Ain't
civilized to discuss business on an empty stomach, right?"

She was silent.

He burped noisily, fished a wooden toothpick
out of his pocket, and began to clean his teeth.

"Y'know, your brother's a right card 'e is,
owin' money and runnin' off like that. Caused my people a ton o'
grief."

"Why don't you just leave him alone?" she
said quietly.

"Maybe I'd like to. Maybe I'd like to do
lotsa nice things for a pretty bird like you." He winked again and
laughed. " 'Course, pity's I can't do that. 'E owes my people too
much."

"How much?"

"Let's see ... countin' interest, I'd say
it's up to about a flat million pounds."

Zandra was staring at him in shock. When she
spoke her voice was hoarse. "A million! You must be joking!"

He kept picking his teeth while he talked.
"Interest 'as a 'abit of pilin' up, you know."

She sat there, trying to digest the enormity
of the sum.

"Funny, innit? We'd never 'ave found 'im if
'e wasn't so bleedin' stewpid. 'E 'ad 'imself 'idden away where we
couldn't find 'im. But 'e just couldn't stay away from the tables.
It's 'is undoin', gamblin' is."

There was a long, drawn-out silence.

"Well, he's no use to you in hospital,"
Zandra said. "Not if you want the money. Did you give that any
thought?"

Leach grinned. "Seems 'e ain't much good
outta 'ospital either, eh?"

She didn't reply.

His gray eyes darkened. "Got to make an
example of 'im. Ain't got no other choice."

Zandra's face was ashen. "Of course you have
a choice."

He burped again. "Your brother's got
twenty-four 'ours to pay up. After that, it's 'is elbows.
Forty-eight 'ours after that, both 'is 'ands. 'Uman bones crunch
and snap as easy as chicken wings, but I guess you already learned
that, huh?"

"You're barbaric!" she whispered, her eyes
drilling into his.

He shrugged. "Don't matter what I am. What
matters is that 'e pays. Otherwise, when there's nothin' left to
break, 'e'll be floatin' in the bloody Thames."

Zandra felt a sudden panic. Oh, God, she
thought. This can't be real. It's a nightmare, and I'll wake up at
any moment.

Joe Leach grinned again. "Not a pretty sight,
floaters. Just ask any copper."

Zandra's expression hardened. "Speaking of
which, you so much as touch Rudolph again, and I'll go straight to
Scotland Yard. Do I make myself clear?"

Joe Leach's smile faded. "Coppers can't do
nothin'! See, your brother's too bleedin' scared to sing!"

"Maybe he is, but I'm not."

He leaned across the table. "Then go to the
bleedin' coppers. See if that'll do 'im any good. But I can tell
you this much." He stabbed a finger toward her. "You sing, and your
precious brother'll be a floater fer sure. And it'll be on your
conscience, birdy."