Scandalous Behavior

57

At Windward Hall, a wrap party for the film was held, as other guests began arriving for a double wedding. Peter and Hattie would take their vows, standing next to Ben and Tessa, his English girlfriend.

The redecoration of Curtis House had been completed by Susan’s crews, working two shifts a day, and staff had been hired or imported from other Arrington hotels to man the place. It would be a good trial run for the new country house hotel.

Windward Hall rooms were occupied by members of the wedding party, and they filled out the cast and crew of the film for the wrap festivities.

—

Al got off an airplane in Rio after a night flight, and a car awaited him at the curb, driven by a man who handed him a briefcase. Al gave him the address of the apartment house, then opened the briefcase and examined its contents. The drive took a little less than an hour. On the way, Al phoned Calhoun.

“Yes?”

“It’s Al. I’ll be there shortly. Please let the reception people know.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you. Did you bring me something?”

“Everything,” Al said. He hung up and took a plastic envelope from his bag, containing a thick mustache, a bottle of glue, and a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses with Al’s prescription. He applied the mustache, put on the glasses, and examined the result in the rear-seat vanity mirror. Better than good enough, he thought.

Peter stood on a chair and made a slightly tipsy speech to his people, and champagne glasses were raised by all.

The car pulled up half a block short of Calhoun’s building; Al got out and strode into the lobby carrying the briefcase. “Dr. Calhoun is expecting me,” he said to the man at the desk without slowing down. No one stopped him as he got onto the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse.

Al got off the elevator to find Calhoun and his wife waiting for him in the foyer, next to a table holding a large flower arrangement. He hadn’t counted on the wife, but what the hell?

“Al,” Calhoun said, spreading his hands in welcome. “What have you brought me? And hey, I like the mustache.”

Al shook the man’s hand, then set the briefcase on the table and opened it. He took out the silenced pistol and, in one motion, pointed it at Calhoun’s forehead and squeezed off a round. The wife was too shocked to move, and before she could speak, Al shot her in the same manner. He put the pistol back into the briefcase and turned to walk out. On second thought, he set the case back on the table and removed the pistol. Calhoun had not come here empty-handed, he figured. He walked quickly from room to room. No servants, that was good. And then, in the master bedroom, he found the rolling suitcase. He set it on the bed and unzipped it, then fell back as if struck. He had never seen so much cash in one place.

Al didn’t bother to count it. He zipped it shut, then returned to the foyer, put the gun back into the case, and pressed the button for the elevator. It had not moved, so he stepped aboard and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator fell as if the cable had broken, then, seconds later, opened into the lobby. Al strode across the space, looking neither to his left nor to his right, and left the building, carrying the briefcase and towing the suitcase. The car was still where he had left it no more than ten minutes before, and he got into the rear seat and set his luggage beside him. “Back to the airport. Departure terminal,” he said to the driver while checking his watch. Two hours before his return flight.

Al opened the briefcase and wiped down every part of the pistol and the case, then he partly unzipped the suitcase and removed two small stacks of the hundred-dollar bills inside. As they rolled to a stop at the airport Al handed the driver a stack of bills. “For your trouble,” he said, then he got out, leaving the briefcase on the backseat, and, declining a porter’s help, he strode into the airport. As he waited in line at security he checked out the help there and picked his man. Late fifties, portly, tired-looking.

When his turn came he approached the man and showed him the stack of bills in his palm. “No X-ray, okay?” He slipped the stack into the man’s hands.

“Arms out,” the man said. He thumbed off the switch on the wand he held and made a show of moving around Al’s body with the disabled wand. “Go ahead,” the man said, winking.

Al didn’t think the money would violate any laws, but he was glad he hadn’t taken the chance. He pocketed the mustache, cleared immigration, walked to the first-class lounge, took a seat, and ordered a big breakfast. When his flight was called he was among the first aboard and quickly stowed his carry-on in the compartment across the aisle, where he could see it. He accepted a mimosa and settled in for the flight.

As Al’s airplane took off a maid entered the Calhoun penthouse with her passkey, saw the two corpses on the floor in a large pool of mingled blood, and fainted. Her colleague found her a moment later and called the front desk, her hand trembling as she dialed the number.

Stone got to bed late, a little drunk, and felt the spot next to him for Susan. She wasn’t there.