Insatiable Appetites

50

Elton Hills repeated his earlier instructions to Manolo, then entered the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown on the arm of Bruce Willard, his eyes flitting from face to face as they passed through the lobby and into the restaurant.

Bruce had requested a quiet table, and they got one near the hallway that contained the restrooms.

Elton sat quietly and sipped a bourbon while Bruce ordered for him. Before leaving Evan’s house, the old man had removed his .45 caliber general officer’s pistol, a battlefield souvenir from his demolished command post in Korea, from his pocket, emptied it, then cleaned every accessible part of it, including the individual cartridges. He then reloaded it, worked the action, and let the hammer down to a half-cock, then he wrapped it in his handkerchief and returned it to his coat pocket.

“Well, Elton,” Bruce said, interrupting his reverie, “what do you think of the Four Seasons?”

“It’s very modern, isn’t it?” Elton replied. “Of course, given my absence from the scene for so long, almost everything looks modern. Georgetown looks much the same as when last I saw it, except that it’s cleaner, and the trim on the buildings is more freshly painted. It looks much like the way I keep my house.”

“I think that’s a good assessment,” Bruce said. He handed Elton the book he had prepared of his home’s furnishings. “I thought you might like to have this.”

Elton removed the brown paper wrapping and leafed through the book. “This is quite lovely,” he said. “It makes me look at my home afresh.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Bruce, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Please do, Elton.”

“I made a new will this morning. I’ve come to have a fatherly feeling for you, and I would have made you a substantial bequest, had not Evan already done so.”

“That’s quite all right, Elton. I would have expected nothing.”

“I didn’t say I left you nothing. I know that, since I don’t have an heir, the substance of my estate will go to my family foundation.”

“Yes?”

“However, the sale of my possessions is within my gift, and I have appointed you as my agent to conduct the sale of my furniture, silver, art, library, and personal effects, by whatever means you deem advisable, at a commission of forty percent.”

“That’s extraordinarily generous of you, Elton.”

“Not really. It costs me nothing and my estate only what it would cost for an agent if I didn’t know you. I did this because I think you might guide my things into the hands of sympathetic owners.”

“I will endeavor to do that, Elton.”

“There, I feel better now. There is some satisfaction in having prepared for my death. I’m not the sort to leave loose strings dangling.”

“I understand how you feel,” Bruce said. “I, myself, try to be prepared for that at all times, though I’m fairly young by today’s standards and very healthy.”

Manolo suddenly appeared at tableside, apologized for the intrusion, and whispered something into Elton’s ear. Elton’s eyes widened a bit, but he gave no other outward sign of anything out of the ordinary. Elton thanked him, Manolo left, and Elton said, “Manolo wanted me to know that he found a parking place near the door, so we won’t have to hunt for him when we leave.”

“That was very thoughtful of him.”

“Bruce, will you excuse me for a moment? I’d like to wash my hands before dinner.”

“Of course.”

Elton went down the hallway toward the men’s room; it was quiet until a waiter opened the kitchen door, then it was noisy, until the door closed again. He noticed that the door was covered in tufted leather. He walked into the men’s room and saw that the inside of the door and the walls were covered in the same tufted leather; it was dead quiet in the room. Then he heard the sound of toilet paper unrolling and noticed that the door of the last stall was closed. He took the pistol, still wrapped in his handkerchief, from his coat pocket and rapped on the stall door.

“There’s a free one next door,” a voice responded, sounding irritated.

“I believe you dropped something of value out here,” Elton said. “If you’ll unlatch the door, I’ll hand it to you.”

There was a cranky noise from behind the door, then it opened to reveal Creed Harker standing there, holding up his trousers with one hand. “What the hell?” he said.

Elton pushed him, and he fell backward onto the toilet seat. Elton pointed the pistol at him. “Hands on your head,” he said.

Harker looked terrified, but he put his hands on his head.

Elton reached out and pinched Harker’s nostrils. When he opened his mouth to breathe, Elton cocked the pistol, inserted its barrel into the open mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Harker’s brains exploded against the wall behind him, and he slumped to one side. Elton took Harker’s hand and wrapped it around the pistol, then let it fall to the floor. Elton backed out of the stall, pulled the door shut, and with a small penknife from his pocket, he lowered the inside latch into place. He washed his hands thoroughly and made sure that none of Creed Harker had stuck to him, then he turned and walked out of the men’s room, folding the handkerchief and slipping it into his pocket. He doubted if the noise of the pistol had made it past the tufted walls. A moment later he sat down across from Bruce.

“Dinner will be here in a moment,” Bruce said.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Elton replied, smiling.

Bruce wondered why he suddenly looked so happy.

They were well into their main course when a man came running from the men’s room, looking for someone. He disappeared in the direction of the front desk.

Elton looked at his wristwatch; some twenty minutes had passed since he had left the men’s room. He reckoned there had been other visitors who had taken no notice of the last stall.

A couple of minutes later, a pair of uniformed police officers appeared outside the dining room; they were followed by plainclothes types and, eventually, by men with a stretcher. An out-of-order sign appeared at the entrance to the hallway.

“Looks as though something has happened in the men’s room,” Bruce said.

“Oh?”

A man wearing a badge on his belt approached their table. “Excuse me, gentlemen, can you tell me if you saw anyone go into the men’s room recently?”

“My back is to the men’s room,” Elton said politely.

Bruce looked at Elton, then at the police officer. “No, I didn’t,” he replied. The officer moved on to the next table, then he came back. “Excuse me, sir, but someone at another table says that you went into the men’s room.”

“Well, that isn’t what you asked me, is it?” Elton said irritably. “I went in there, perhaps half an hour ago, urinated, washed my hands, and came back to my table.”

“Is that so?” the detective asked Bruce.

“It is. Did something happen in the men’s room?”

“Someone needed medical attention.”

“I saw no one else when I was in there,” Elton said. “I hope that’s helpful.”

The officer thanked them, then left the table, apparently satisfied.

Later, on the way out of the hotel, Elton dropped his soiled handkerchief into a trash bin, then got into the waiting Bentley.

“If you don’t mind, Elton, I’ll walk,” Bruce said. “It’s a nice evening, and I like to window-shop on the way home from here, to see what the competition is offering.”

“Of course,” Elton said. “I’ll be going home first thing in the morning, but I’ll be in touch.”

The two men shook hands, and the Bentley drove away.

As Bruce started to walk away, the police detective who had spoken to them earlier appeared at his side. “Excuse me,” he said. “Can you give me the name of the gentleman who was dining with you?”

“His name is Elton,” Bruce replied.

The man wrote down the name in a notebook. “Do you think he might have noticed that something might have been amiss in the men’s room?”

“Well, he certainly has his wits about him, but he’s in his late eighties, and somewhat reclusive. I doubt if he’s been in a public men’s room for the past thirty years.”

“Thank you,” the man said, and went away.

Bruce wondered why he had not asked for his name and why he had given the policeman only Elton’s first name.