I Come to Kill You

13

Skeets unlocked the door for him.

“Pay no attention if she yells,” Shayne said. “I may have to knock her around.”

The hoodlum’s tongue came out. “Man, if you need any help…”

“I can take care of it, thanks.”

After letting Shayne in, Skeets locked up again.

Sarah hurried out of the little kitchen, stopping short when she saw Shayne.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “Mike. Where have you been?”

“Around and around.”

He took her by the arms and tried to kiss her. She turned her head so his lips grazed her cheek.

“I’m scared, Mike, really and truly scared. These people are creepy. What are they going to do with us? I keep going back and forth, it’s my fault, it’s your fault, it’s nobody’s fault…”

“It’s all mine,” he said, dropping onto the sofa. “I’ve been in jams before, but never one like this. I can’t figure anything out. I couldn’t tell you my own phone number.”

“Mike, I saw you go out in a boat. I thought you were going to leave me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She shook her fists at him. “What’s happened to you? You used to be able to take care of yourself. What happened to all that?”

“It seems to be gone,” he said heavily. “I keep thinking the cards have to start coming my way, but it’s one bust after another. I’m about to give up.” He mumbled, “I really am sorry.”

“For which one of us?”

“Don’t chew at me, Sarah. If I can sort things out, I know I can think of something we can bargain with.”

“What do they want with you, Mike?”

“I wish I knew.” He pressed his fingertips against his forehead over one eye. “I’ve got this lousy headache. Baby, if you want to help, come here a minute.”

She gave him a quick look before deciding there could be no connection with the similar service she had performed for Siracusa. She came around behind him, and he felt her cool fingertips.

“The dark, mean-looking one,” she said after a moment. “Siracusa? Did he say anything to you?”

“He’s been muttering to De Blasio, I don’t know about what. Right there, that’s the place. Like that. Yeah.”

He let her go on kneading his forehead for a few moments.

“They got me out of some bad trouble at the casino last night. I don’t know what got into me, outside of a couple of fifths of cognac. I used to think I was able to hold my liquor. I wish they’d tell me what they want and get it over with… You’ve got a great touch. You could go into the business.”

He drew one of her hands down and kissed the palm.

“Mike, talk to me.”

He turned his head and bit her breast through her dress. Then he came up on his knees on the sofa, his arms around her.

“Baby, get undressed.”

“Mike, I couldn’t. Not now. I’m too jittery.”

But he insisted, using his mouth and hands. When he had his mouth on hers and their tongues were together, he brought her down slowly until, with a twisting adjustment, they were lying side by side.

The gun in his belt hurt her, and he put it on the floor. She continued to object, using her shoulders and knees.

“Contribute something,” he said.

She sighed. “Oh, well.”

Switching completely around, she began to help. He pulled at a zipper. She forced herself out of his grasp and shrugged off her dress. They assisted each other, fumbling with fastenings and beginning to laugh a little. She was beginning to seem excited. They had been together enough so he knew some of the things she liked. Her eyes closed, and she murmured her appreciation.

Presently he whispered, “Roll over. Nice for a change.”

She complied readily. With his free hand he felt in his jacket pocket, on the floor beside him, took one of the hypodermic ampules out of the flat package, and flicked off the cardboard guard with his thumb.

She was rolling her head back and forth, her face against the pillow.

“Mike, you bastard, where are you? Put it in me.”

He activated the plunger, filling the syringe, and hit her with the needle. His thumb came down.

She didn’t notice the small sting. Then she twisted so she could touch him, and the needle pulled. He withdrew it quickly. She came up on an elbow and stared at him through her tangled hair.

“What did you do to me?”

“Just gave you a small injection, baby; don’t worry about it. It’s a big thing with the college kids, like amyl nitrate.”

“Mike—”

“Everybody says it gives you a real bang. Lie down. I wanted to surprise you. You were almost there.”

“What was it?” she demanded. “Damn you, what was it?”

“I forget what they call it. After it’s over, you’re supposed to tell me you never felt anything like it, and do it again soon. That’s the shtick. The marvels of chemistry.”

She came up on her knees to face him. “You’re lying.”

He grinned at her. “If you don’t relax, you lose the effect.”

She snatched up the needle from where he had dropped it, and pumped a drop of fluid into her palm.

“I don’t know why you don’t trust me,” Shayne said. “I just wanted to find out if it’s as good as they say.”

“Is it heroin?”

“You know better than that. With heroin you go look for a vein.”

“Mike, tell me. It’s important! You’re trying to knock me out.”

“I’m not that quirked. I like my women conscious, and taking part.”

“Stop it! Stop talking that way! How fast does it work?”

“If you fight it, it may not work at all.”

She shook back her hair, and taking him by the arms, she said urgently, “This turns everything around! You’ve been faking all this, haven’t you? The money you borrowed — the drinking and fighting — my God, Mike!” She made a distracted gesture. “Watch out for Siracusa. I told him the robbery last night was phony. I said you’re working for Jo Meister.”

“Take your time,” Shayne said. “You’ve got a few minutes. Why did you do that?”

She ran her hand through her hair. “To buy my way in! That was one hell of a performance you put on. I didn’t really believe it till I heard what you did to Tim Rourke.”

“I just broke his jaw. He’ll recover.”

“Mike, can I take anything to counteract it? We ought to be making plans…”

“It wears off in four or five hours. Keep talking. What the hell did you expect to accomplish by throwing me to Siracusa?”

“Mike, there’s a sauna. The steam…”

She pulled him into the bathroom. Words tumbled out.

“I was Sherman Meister’s girl, we were going to get married as soon as he swung the divorce. Mike, I’m the one who persuaded him to go after the Mafia. That was all me, I made him do it! I wrote the editorials; it never occurred to me there was any danger…”

She pulled him into the steam. They remained standing, in a partial embrace.

“It was my fault he was killed! Then nobody did anything about it. The police were bought off, they’ve been taking payoffs for years. There was hardly an investigation.”

Their bodies were already very wet. The steam was now so heavy they couldn’t see each other. He let her tell it without interruptions.

“I had a horrible time, three horrible months. I loved him, and it was my fault. I had a tape of one of my editorials, and I kept playing it. This sickening stuff about how one individual can make a difference. Stand up and be counted. One with God is a majority. Incredibly naïve! But I was the one who wrote it. And finally I decided, damn it, I had to stand up and be counted!”

Her head swayed in against him. Her words were running together.

“I heard you owed money to a loan shark. You couldn’t pay it back. I thought you could be a kind of passport for me. You were in contact with them. I could get to meet Larry Zito, go to bed with him. Shake me. Hurt me, Mike. Keep me awake. Be careful with Siracusa.”

“He’s dead.”

She swayed away. “Did you kill him?”

“I had something to do with it. Don’t stop talking.”

“Kept trying to meet you. Finally, at the airport. One determined individual, make a difference. Get inside. Watch and listen. Sleep with everybody if I had to. Remember Mercedes — be ready to do anything.” She giggled sleepily. “And you did that, with the two of us, to convince them… I wondered and wondered. And then you beat up Rourke. Your best friend. Decided to sell you, make them think I’m on their side, said you’re working for dear Jo, you’d turned into such a slob, who cares…”

“Sarah.”

She was asleep. He pulled her out of the sauna and into the shower, where he turned on the cold water. The icy stream snapped her awake in his arms.

“So wrong,” she said. “Thought you were really… I told him you’re faking. Nicola…”

“What about Nicola?”

“Carl’s wife.”

Her eyelids came down, and she began to slide. Shayne pulled her erect, turning her face into the cold water, but the drug had taken a firm grip, and he could see she wasn’t coming back.

He turned off the water and lifted her out. Someone was knocking. Shayne put the girl on the floor, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went out dripping.

The bolt was thrown, and Skeets looked in. “The Don sent you some things.”

“Put them on the chair.”

Skeets looked curiously toward the bedroom. “How’s everything coming?”

“Not bad.”

“You’re sure you don’t need somebody to hang on to her while you…”

“She’s cooperating.”

“Hey, that’s good.”

He retreated.

Shayne returned to the bathroom, closed the toilet, and sat the unconscious girl on it while he toweled her hair. She kept slipping away. When she was reasonably dry, he carried her to the bedroom, opened the bed, and put her in it. She was sleeping peacefully, a slight smile on her lips. He patted her buttock, where he had sunk the hypodermic, and covered her.

Still dripping, he turned on water for coffee, and then used the shaving equipment Skeets had brought him, and dressed.