Ruby Red Death

Ten

Hernando’s occupied the basement of a condo high-rise overlooking the ocean. It came with a canopy over the sidewalk and a doorman who resembled a solemn bear in a heavy coat with brass buttons.

He bowed Carter into a small gilt-and-red-velvet lobby. There was a leather-padded door leading to the inside of the restaurant.

Carter was surprised to find the place was large and comfortably appointed. There were round white tables scattered around the room, and the chairs were upholstered in the same red velvet as the lobby. The subdued lighting came from recessed ceiling fixtures. Taken as a whole, the room seemed rather French and was somehow soothing.

The maître d’ was instantly at Carter’s side. “Table for one?”

“I’m with a party. My name is Huzel.”

“Of course, this way.”

Carter followed him toward a rear booth. It was occupied by an enormous man in a white suit and a voluptuous brunette with a pouty mouth in a bland face.

“Ah, Huzel, welcome!” For his size the man was quick on his feet. His handshake was limp with a sweaty palm.

Again Carter relaxed. Obviously the man had never met Fabian Huzel face to face. “Bourlein.”

The same guttural laugh Carter had heard on the phone. “I thought you would know it was me. Allow me to introduce my secretary, Nanette.”

The woman rolled her eyes up and cased Carter. She seemed to like what she saw. A little life came into her face.

“Bonjour.”

“Mademoiselle,” Carter said with a slight bow, and the two men took their seats.

“A drink, senhor?”

“A double scotch, neat,” Carter said, and the maître d’ glided away.

“It is good to meet you at last,” Bourlein said, spreading pate thickly on a chunk of bread.

Carter’s drink came and he sipped it, watching the jowly man over the rim of the glass. “Is it?”

“Of course. I admire good competition, and you and I are the best.”

“What about Verna Rashkin?”

Bourlein dismissed the name with a wave of his hand. “A ruthless amateur. The woman uses her sex instead of finesse and good business practices.”

“She paid a visit to my room,” Carter said.

“I expected she would,” the fat man chuckled. “It is her way. Did she try and seduce you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“None of your business.”

“Then you didn’t succumb. Good.”

The brunette asked to be excused; her makeup needed tending. Bourlein let her out of the booth and resumed his seat.

“I suppose the bitch wanted to make a deal with you?”

“She did,” Carter said, noting out of the corner of his eye that Nanette had made a detour past the powder room to a bank of pay phones. “Probably the same deal you’re about to offer me.”

“Astute,” the big man said, and smiled slyly. “Of course, my deal is much better.”

“Oh?” Carter lit a cigarette. The brunette finished her call and disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“I calculate the resale on Bolivar’s gems at somewhere around sixty million. It will take time, a great deal of time.”

“True.”

“I propose to give you five million now, this very night. A tidy profit for your trip, and you don’t even have to be involved.”

Carter seemed to think it over seriously. The brunette returned. Carter tried to read her eyes, but there was nothing there.

“What if you are still outbid by Rashkin?” he said.

The smile was oily and cocksure. “I won’t be. I happen to know that the bitch has been able to raise financing for only half the deal.”

“So,” Carter mused, “that’s why she came to me.”

“Of course. What do you say?”

“No deal,” Carter replied, sliding from the booth. “I already have buyers. No matter what you bid, Bourlein, I can do better.”

The jowly jaw set and the dark eyes became stones. “I don’t like to lose, Huzel.”

“Tough shit,” Carter growled. “Thanks for the drink. I think I’ll have dinner at my hotel. I’d rather eat alone.”

Carter turned and left the restaurant. There were no cabs on the street. A block to his left, he saw the black sedan. His two watchdogs had picked him up again when he left the hotel.

Then he spotted the second sedan, just like the first, with two men slouching in the front seat.

He chuckled to himself.

Bolivar was watching them all.

There was a larger, more heavily traveled avenue below, nearer the beach. Carter crossed the street and walked down two flights of narrow stone steps.

He was almost to the bottom when he heard footsteps, one man, behind him. He quickened his descent. Two more were waiting, both breathing heavily. They must have run down from the street above to intercept him.

The two figures moved closer, became faces, bodies, young faces that were hard, young bodies that moved with easy litheness.

“We want your money, senhor,” one of them hissed.

“Give us trouble and it will be rougher,” said the other.

Carter backed against the pipe railing, curling his fingers around it. Behind him, the footsteps stopped.

Carter took a roll of bills from his pocket and tossed it onto the concrete walk. “That’s all I have.”

That stopped them for an instant. The two in front of him looked at each other in a quizzical way, then the leader bent down. He put the bills in his pocket and moved forward again.

“I think maybe you got more,” he snarled.

There was a small parking area for the beach. Carter left the rail and moved to one of the cars. The one on the steps came all the way down, and all three of them advanced.

Carter was against the car now, his back to the fender. He heard the flat slap of a sap being hit against the palm of a hand, and his eyes found the weapon in the hand of the third one of the trio. The other two wore gloves on their right hands. The lead one grinned with obscene anticipation and moved forward, the other two following.

Carter waited, gauging, measuring, letting split seconds tick off, and then he exploded into action.

Using the fender of the car as a lever, he kicked out with both feet, twisting his body at the same time. The blow caught the first one full in the abdomen, and Carter heard his gasp of pain as he doubled over, went down on one knee. The other two rushed forward, expecting him to stand and swing back. Instead, he lifted himself against the fender and flung himself backward across the hood of the car. He heard the two crash against the fender as he reached the opposite side of the hood.

“Get him, dammit!” one snarled viciously. “Kill the bastard!”

Carter slipped from the hood to the ground, landing on his feet as the pair came around the front. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the third one starting to pull himself to his feet on the other side. The two others slowed, then started toward him again, and he caught the dull glint of metal in the first one’s hand. He backed, and they continued forward.

He had toyed with the idea of carrying the Beretta, and then at the last minute had left it hidden in his room.

He regretted it now.

One of them had a short length of pipe. The leader had his sap. To Carter’s surprise, it was the third one who came at him with his bare hands.

Carter didn’t wait for him to swing. He stepped forward and hit him just below the ribs. It was like shoving his fist into a concrete wall. Then it was his turn. Before Carter could get out of the way, he caught one high on the cheek. It felt as if he’d been hit by a two-by-four. Part of his face went numb, and there was a warm trickle down his cheek as he fell backward to the ground.

He looked up and saw a foot swinging at him. He rolled to one side, grabbed the foot, and heaved as hard as he could. For a brief moment he towered above Carter, tottering on his feet. Then he went down like an axed tree. His breath whistled as it was forced from his lungs.

But then the other two came on like a pair of trucks. The sap caught Carter high on the shoulder. The end of the pipe went into his gut. He rolled and came up swinging. He dropped one with a kick to the groin, but the other two were in close and working him over.

It was then he knew that they weren’t trying to kill him. They were too precise. Their intent was to cripple him, and they were doing a good job of it.

He was sinking to his knees, when the blows suddenly stopped. He got one eye open and saw the reason.

Chunky and the young one, Carter’s watchers, were methodically pistol-whipping all three of his assailants. It was over in seconds and the young one came over and helped Carter to his feet.

“Are you all right, Senhor Huzel?”

“Sore, a little bloody, but I’ll live.”

“The beach is very dangerous at night,” he replied. “Many muggers.”

“I don’t think so,” Carter grunted. “You work for Bolivar?”

“Sim,” the man said. “We are told to watch over you.”

“So watch me,” Carter hissed, and staggered forward to where the leader lay prone in front of a car. He rolled the youth over and went through his pockets.

He located the wad of bills he had tossed on the ground, and a second wad, even thicker. He shoved all the bills into his own pocket and stood.

“Bourlein still in the restaurant?”

The young man shook his head. “He and his woman left just after you.”

“Is he at the Leme?”

“Sim.”

“Give me a ride back to the hotel,” Carter said, already heading for the stairs.

Carter skirted the lobby and signaled the bell captain to follow him toward the elevators.

“You need a doctor, senhor?”

“No. I need a bucket of ice and Senhor Ravel Bourlein’s room number, pronto.” He gave the man a bill and pushed the button for his floor.

In his room he repaired his face and examined the body bruises. The skin was already turning purple, but nothing was broken.

There was a rap on the door and he let the bellman in. “Bourlein?”

“He is in a suite, Twelve-twelve.”

Carter gave him another hefty tip and shoved him out the door. He built a scotch and drank it while he changed clothes. Then he slipped the Beretta into his belt and took the elevator to the twelfth floor.

“Who is it?”

“Bell captain, senhor,” Carter said, in a high voice. “You have a cable.”

The door opened a crack and Carter shouldered it wide. He gave Bourlein two good shots in the middle of his flab and then a hard one behind the ear on his way down.

He kicked the door shut, locked it, and dragged the fat man by his ankles into the suite.

The woman, Nanette, stood naked except for a pair of bikini panties, her mouth round in a silent scream.

“Not a sound,” Carter growled. “Get some ice and a wet towel.”

She nodded dumbly, eyes bulging, and moved into the small kitchen area.

“Move it!” Carter barked. “I’m in a hurry.”

The woman had gotten her breath and a little nerve back. “What the hell do you want?”

“A little talk with him... bring the stuff.”

She returned, her vast bosoms jiggling and swaying. She tried a hesitant smile, but one look at Carter’s face and she cut the act and thrust the ice and the wet towel at him.

“Over here,” Carter said.

To her astonishment, Carter gathered a fistful of Bourlein’s shirtfront and jerked him to a sitting position, then lifted him into a chair. He motioned her around the chair.

“Rub the back of his neck with the ice.”

“Let me get some clothes on,” she whimpered.

Carter looked at her, stepped forward, and slapped her. She went sideways, airborne. Her vision dimmed with stars behind her eyes. She felt herself jerked upright by her hair, held there by the aching, stinging strain on her scalp until her wobbly knees found strength and she stood. Just as she got her wind, the throbbing pain along the left side of her face began occupying her mind. She tried twisting away and the grip in her hair tightened. Carter slapped her again, and she shrieked.

“No, no!” she cried.

“Good,” Carter said. “I don’t like it either.” He turned loose his grip wound in her long dark hair and shoved. She stumbled across the room and fell in Bourlein’s lap.

“Up!” he hissed, and she shot to her feet. “Use that ice on the back of his neck.”

She squealed and sprawled as she reached for the ice, got it, and scrambled to her feet. She tilted Bourlein’s head forward and began rubbing his neck with the ice.

Carter went to work on his face with the towel, back and forth, one side, then the other. Bourlein began moving, then moaning. Finally he cried out and jerked upright.

“What the—” he gasped.

Carter’s face was inches from his. “Three bad local lads tried to bust my head tonight,” he hissed.

“I don’t know anything about it...”

“You ass. You tried to make a deal. I didn’t dance. So you tried to put me in a hospital so I couldn’t be there to make a bid.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I don’t think so,” Carter said. “You had big boobs here call the lads from the restaurant and give them my description. There was no deal. You just wanted to get me out of the way.”

“No, I swear...”

“Bullshit.” Carter looked up at the trembling woman. “Right?”

She gulped and then nodded, once.

Carter dropped the towel, drew the Beretta, and crammed the barrel between Bourlein’s fat lips, shattering teeth. The man reared back and the woman squealed. Carter shot her a look, and she quieted instantly.

“You hear me, Bourlein? Blink your eyes if you do,” he growled.

Bourlein blinked. He tried leaning forward, making gagging sounds.

“Swallow it,” Carter commanded. “Swallow it all, you bastard.” He rammed the gun barrel hard, feeling the high, ribbed front sight rip the roof of Bourlein’s mouth, rammed until the trigger guard rested against his fat lips, inches of cold steel gun barrel gagging him, choking him, his eyes bulging.

The woman kept making tiny mewling sounds, like those of a kitten in pain.

“Let me give you your itinerary for the next few hours, fat man. You’re going to call the desk and have them get you a car. Then you’re going to check out and you’re going to drive to São Paolo. Bolivar’s watchdogs will follow you. They won’t know what’s going on, and by the time they figure it out you and Nanny here will be on the first flight. You got that? I don’t give a shit where the flight goes, just so it’s out of the country and you’re on it. Nod if you understand.”

Bourlein didn’t move. He just stared pure hate at Carter from his beady eyes.

The Killmaster cocked the Beretta. “So long, fat man.”

The head started nodding.

Carter wiped the barrel on Bourlein’s shirt, stuck the gun back in his belt, and headed for the door, where he paused.

“If I see you at Rancho Corinto, Bourlein, I’ll kill you.”

He took the elevator to the fourth floor and knocked on 417. He heard the padding of bare feet and then Verna Rashkin’s sleepy voice.

“Who is it?”

“Fabian Huzel. Open up.”

The door opened and Carter slid inside. She backed away and he kicked it closed. Her hair was tousled and she wore only a sheer black nightgown, low in front, that stopped at midthigh. Under the black garment’s gauzy transparency, her smooth pink-and-whiteness gleamed and shimmered as she moved. The black material rustled around her, more like a dark mist than a cover, heightening her nakedness rather than concealing it. But in the end her flesh glowed with blinding incandescence.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“You made a proposition a little while ago. Is it still on?”

Suddenly she was bright-eyed and alert. “It is.”

“Then you’ve got a deal,” Carter said.

“You won’t regret it. I’ll bet Bourlein’s bid as soon as we get to Rancho Corinto.”

“From Nanette?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Carter said. “I guessed. You’d never get to Bourlein. It had to be his whore.”

She shrugged. “Nanette’s tired of him, and I offered her a good retirement plan.”

“I upped your offer,” Carter said. “Bourlein won’t be bidding. It’s all ours.”

She couldn’t conceal her surprise. “How did you do that?”

“Proper conversation,” Carter said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“The rest of your offer.”

Her lips parted showing sharp, white teeth. “All night,” she whispered. “I’m going to make love to you all night.”

Her hands slid down her thighs, to the hem of the nightie just above her knees. Still moving slowly, she raised it, revealing her long, slender legs inch by quivering inch. When it was at a point just below the juncture of her legs, she swayed her body around so that her back was to him. The nightie inched up higher and now he could see the firm, high globes of her buttocks. Her rhythmical movement quickened. The muscles of her derrière rippled and the flesh began to jump with a sort of erotic frenzy.

Then she quickly pulled the garment over her head, flipped it away, and turned to face him.

He let his eyes roam over her body, at the firmness and the maturity of her breasts, the sweeping curve of her hips. She seemed to delight in feeling his eyes on her, for she lifted her long hair with the tips of her fingers and turned around slowly, displaying herself.

“Well?” she murmured.

“Nice,” Carter said, “damn nice. See you in the morning.”

“What?” she cried.

“Just wanted to see if your word was good,” he said over his shoulder as he let himself out. “’Night.”