The Wager

3

“Darling,” Anita said. “Let me have the comics.”

Kek, still in pajamas and robe, his curly hair even more tousled than usual, was having his second cup of coffee in his favorite easy chair while reading the morning newspaper. He lowered it to glance across at Anita with patient good humor, wondering how he had ever been fortunate enough to have found a girl who looked like this in the morning. Actually, as he recalled, Anita had found him, which was even luckier for him.

“My sweet Anita,” he said. “How many times must I repeat it? The New York Times does not have comics.”

“Then why do you buy it?”

“To find out what is happening in this naughty world of ours,” Kek told her and turned a page.

Anita made a face. “You’d learn as much from the comics. Or more.” She was curled up on the sofa across from Kek, beautiful in a swirl of negligee, lighting her first cigarette of the day. She blew out the match and put it away. “Where do you think they got the idea of landing on the moon? From Bill Rogers.”

“Buck Rogers,” Kek said unconsciously, and turned another page.

“Buck— Bill—” Anita picked a fleck of tobacco from her lip, studied it incuriously a moment, and scraped it into the ashtray. “And wrist-radios—”

“Wrist-radios?” Nothing on that page of interest. Kek folded it over and started on the next.

“B. O. Plenty,” Anita said firmly. “Or Flat-Top. Dick Tracy wanted to catch them, and—”

“Dick Tracy wanted to catch an aircraft carrier?”

Anita suddenly smiled her usual gamine smile. “You’re not even listening to me! I know! You’re studying the ads.”

“Ads?”

As a matter of fact, Kek’s attention had just been caught by a certain advertisement, but he had no idea he was on the same wavelength as Anita. He had long since learned to be able to read his morning newspaper and still carry on a conversation of sorts with Anita without worrying too much about the particular subject.

“Fur ads,” Anita said, elaborating, and clapped her hands. The motion sent sparks flying. She slapped them out, put down her cigarette in the temporary interests of fire prevention, and clapped her hands again. This action completed, she picked up her cigarette and repeated her statement. “Fur ads,” she said firmly.

“Fur ads in summer?” Kek said absently, and read on into his own advertisement. It was extremely interesting. He had always suspected such a thing existed, but had never before had proof that it was so. If true, it had to be a godsend to smugglers—

“Of course fur ads in the summer, darling. That’s the proper time to buy furs. They’re much cheaper. And they’re an investment, too. You know how gold has been going, up and down? And you’re really not supposed to even own any. And the stock market?” Anita’s wrinkled nose gave the answer to that one. “No, furs are much better. It’s a wonderful place for you to put some of that ten thousand dollars.”

Kek was folding the particular page to isolate the advertisement that had struck his fancy. Amazing! If true, it was like giving smugglers a free pass. And it really seemed to be true, according to the paper before him. The timing would have to be right, of course... He drew the advertisement closer, studying the fine print, automatically answering Anita from much practice.

“Furs aren’t an investment, sweet. You’re thinking of diamonds...”

Anita considered this, then she nodded. “You’re probably right, darling. You usually are. Diamonds would be lovely.” She thought a moment. “We’ll put the ten thousand dollars into diamonds. Or maybe most of it into diamonds, and keep out just enough for one tiny little fur.”

“I still don’t think that furs—” The newspaper came down with a crash, or as much of a crash as newspapers can come down with. Kek frowned across the room. “What ten thousand dollars?”

Anita giggled.

“Your reaction time is getting worse, darling. Especially in the morning. I mean the ten thousand dollars you won from Max in your last game of blackjack at the club, last night.” She picked up her cigarette, smiled, and blew smoke in Kek’s direction.

Kek wrinkled his nose. Since he had stopped smoking, Anita’s excess of the habit was one of the few — in fact, the only — thing about her he would have wished to see changed. He fixed her with a glare intended to make her wilt, well aware that wilting was not one of Anita’s other habits.

“How did you find out about the ten thousand dollars?”

“I have my spies,” Anita told him archly.

“All of whom are named Max, I suppose.”

“Well, yes,” Anita admitted. “It makes it easier than having to remember separate names.” She held up a hand. “But don’t blame Max. He simply wanted me to know about the money so that if you spend it on another woman, I would leave you and he would leave his wife, and he and I would get married.” For a moment her jocularity was a trifle forced. “Which is more than you will do.”

Kek had no intention of being drawn into that trap. He could not picture himself being without Anita, but he could also not picture himself permitting Anita to permanently tie herself to a man who might, at any time, end up spending a goodly portion of his remaining years in jail. And Anita was just the type who would wait for him, plus trying to smuggle files and things into prison in cakes. And in one of her cakes, of course, one would need a saw to gain entrance. Kek bypassed her final words, nodding thoughtfully.

“It makes a lovely picture,” he said, “you and Max walking hand in hand into the sunset.”

“I think so.”

“Of course,” Kek pointed out, “Max would have to trot to keep up with you. He’s a bit short and fat for hand-in-hand walking.”

“That,” Anita said haughtily, “is muscle.”

“His shortness is muscle?”

Anita sniffed. “You know what I mean.”

“Anyway,” Kek said, finishing the discussion for all time, “Rose wouldn’t let him leave her.”

“Well,” Anita said logically, “that would be his problem. My problem would be, would you let me leave you?”

“I might,” Kek said, considering. “How much is Max offering?”

“You could have Rose.”

“Rose is fifty-eight and has three grandchildren.”

“You could probably have them, too,” Anita said, “and you know she’s a wonderful cook. She made Korean food last night, a new recipe for bulgoki. She called it steak, Japanese style. It was wonderful!”

“Man does not live by oriental food alone,” Kek observed, and then paused, reconsidering his words. “Well, anyway, not completely.”

“Kek—” Anita’s voice had lost its banter; she became serious.

“Yes?”

“Are you angry because Max told me about your bet last night?”

There was a moment’s hesitation; then Huuygens lowered his newspaper again.

“My sweet Anita,” he said seriously, “of course not. Max could no more help telling of my winning than he could help telling if I lost. His enjoyment is in the telling, I sometimes think, even more than it is in the playing.” He smiled. “Anyway, you would have known about it sooner or later. When we came to spend it.”

“Oh, good!” Anita said, and clapped her hands, this time being more careful of her cigarette. “Then you don’t really think furs are a bad investment?”

“Forget furs,” Kek said definitely. “And put off thoughts of diamonds.” He tapped the newspaper advertisement. “How would you like a little trip? A cruise?” His idea for getting the carving past United States Customs was forming ever more rapidly in his mind; he looked upon it, as the details unfolded almost by themselves, and found it good.

Anita squealed with delight. “A cruise! Wonderful! The Mediterranean, or the Aegean? We could stop in Paris and maybe even run over to Rouen and see my people—”

“The Caribbean,” Kek said quietly.

Anita’s hands, separated in preparation for clapping, stayed in position a moment and then dropped to her lap. She crushed out her cigarette; a frown caused her pretty nose to wrinkle. She shook her head.

“Kek, my darling, you’ve been so busy playing cards with Max that you’ve allowed a season or two to slip right by you. I must remind myself to buy you a calender.”

“Why?”

“Because, darling, this is July. July is a month when people do not go to the Caribbean. In July the islands are very hot. Temperatures have been known to rise to — well, I don’t have the exact number on the tip of my tongue, but I could look it up, if necessary.” She waved the entire foolish notion away. “No, darling, forget the Caribbean. We’ll go to Norway, if you’re ashamed to face my folks. We’ll cruise in the fiords, climb the mountains, go swimming in ice-cold water and get real tanned in the sun—”

Huuygens laughed.

“You forgot to say ‘midnight sun’. You should write some of the ads I’ve been wading through; you’re far more convincing than they are.” His smile retreated; he shook his head. “You make it sound most attractive, but I’m afraid it will still have to be the Caribbean.”

Anita looked at him a moment; then she settled herself more comfortably on the sofa, lit another cigarette, put the match aside, and smiled at Kek encouragingly.

“Tell me all about him, darling.”

“All about who?”

“You know — the man Max said you talked to for so long after your card game last night.”

Kek sighed and shook his head half-amusedly. “Max is a blabbermouth, isn’t he? Can’t I have any secrets?”

“Well,” Anita said, “Max drove me home, which is more than you did. And of course we weren’t going to just sit there mute, so we talked.”

“Couldn’t you have made love?”

“We talked about that, too, darling.”

“Or about how Rose and I will raise his three grandchildren?”

“You know better than that, darling; it would have depressed Max. You’ll make a terrible grandfather and teach them a great many naughty things. I feel very sorry for them.” Anita brushed ash from her cigarette. “Now, tell me all about the man.”

“Yes, dear.”

Kek grinned and leaned back in his deep chair, letting the newspaper slide to the floor, allowing his memory to recall the facts he had gleaned from his extensive reference library after he had returned from the club the night before. He had remembered quite a bit of the career of Victor Girard, but the library had augmented it in places. He frowned slightly as he marshaled his facts.

“Well, starting at the beginning,” he said slowly, “his name is Victor Eugène Armand Jean-Claude Girard, according to Who’s Who” — Anita’s eyebrows raised; Kek nodded and went on — “but you want to remember that he wrote the blurb himself, or one of his secretaries did. One of the nice thing about Who’s Who is that they let you invent all sorts of nice things about yourself, and then don’t work overtime to expose all your fibs. However — until about a year ago, Victor Eugène Etcetera was president of the Caribbean island republic of Ile Rocheux, one of the three or four remaining French-speaking islands of the Antilles. He thought he was president for life; and if he’d been less fleet of foot, I dare say it would have been.” He paused, frowning at Anita. “Certainly you must have heard of the man, sweet. He was in the news enough at the time.”

“Vaguely,” Anita said. “You know me and politics. Go on.”

“All right.” Kek reviewed his facts. “Girard is forty-eight years old, unmarried, about five-foot-seven, and is built like an oversized tree trunk. I doubt if M’sieu Girard carries as much muscular fat as your true love, Max, but it really doesn’t make much difference, since he carries along two very tough-looking bodyguards. He should also change his tailor, which has little to do with anything.”

Anita smiled. “It merely offends your sensibilities.”

“To a certain extent. He favors clashing colors in bad hues. In any event, he is undoubtedly a man of some connections, because to my knowledge it’s the first time anyone with two personal gunmen tagging along got unaccompanied guest privileges in the Quinleven.”

“Which offends your sensibilities even further,” Anita said shrewdly. “It bothers your sense of exclusiveness in your club. You’re becoming a snob, darling.”

“Where vicious ex-dictators are concerned? Who — incidentally — use perfume? Possibly,” Kek said, and grinned.

“Who do you think got him those privileges?” Anita asked curiously.

“I have no idea, and I wouldn’t know any more if I asked. The secretary would merely look at me with those fisheyes of his and wrinkle his nose, as if I should be ashamed for even having asked. The one thing I’m sure of, though,” Kek said, “is that it wasn’t Max.”

“Why?”

“Because he would have told you all about it on your ride home,” Kek said, and went back to his story. “Getting back to Victor Girard, though, he’s a lawyer by profession who was in the right place at the right time. The previous dictator was assassinated by an army officer who had ideas of taking over the government. Our Victor pointed out to the crowds how illegal it was for a colonel to kill a general, and when it was all over the colonel had joined the general, and Girard was president. The president-for-life bit came a few years later.”

“Was he one of the nasty dictators?”

Huuygens shrugged.

“He wasn’t one of the sweet ones, if there are any. His enemies had a habit of disappearing, and word is they didn’t go peacefully. But,” Kek went on thoughtfully, “when we see the wholesale carnage ordered without authority by some of the world’s freely elected officials, one has to wonder.”

“You don’t sound as if you liked him.”

“What’s to like?” Huuygens’ face hardened a bit. “When you’re around him, you can’t help but dislike him. Oh, he was polite enough; but you always know you’re speaking to a man who would as soon cut your throat as shake your hand if it suited his purpose. It has a tendency to reduce your liking for him. Still,” Kek said, “I don’t imagine my liking him or not liking him is going to interfere with his sleep.”

Anita looked at him through a haze of smoke.

“So what did he want from you? To smuggle him back to Ile Rocheux?” She crushed out her cigarette. “Incidentally, where is Ile Rocheux? I know I’ve heard of it, but you know me and my geography!”

“On a clear day you can see it from Barbados. It’s due west, between Barbados and St. Vincent.” Kek shook his head. “As for wanting me to smuggle him back, that’s the last thing he wants. I have a feeling they’re still waiting for him there with a strong rope and a high tree, or a thick wall and a lot of guns. No” — he smiled faintly at Anita — “it seems our Victor Eugène is a gambler. He made me a little wager. He bet me a lot of his money against an insignificant amount of mine, that I would not bring a certain small carving from Ile Rocheux through U.S. Customs and deliver it to him here in New York.”

Anita stared. “He bet you would not bring it in?”

“I shouldn’t be greatly surprised he expects to lose,” Kek said dryly. “In any event, that’s what I was doing while you and Max were exchanging confidences. My confidences, by the way.” He bent over, picked up the page with the ad, and came to his feet. “Well, I have to shower and get dressed. I want to check on tickets for our cruises.”

“Cruises? Plural?”

Kek smiled at her gently. “The way I feel about cruises,” he said softly, “is that if you’re going to do them, do them properly. Never stint. Take them in bunches, like bananas. Who knows? We may never get the chance — or the urge — to cruise again.”

Anita studied him shrewdly. “You have something in mind.”

“I do, indeed, sweet,” Kek said, and started for the hallway.

“Which you obviously want to keep to yourself. Well,” Anita said airily, “whatever it is, I don’t care. With ten thousand dollars you ought to be able to get the bridal suite. It’ll be like a second honeymoon. Except,” she added pensively, “we never had a first.”

Kek paused in the doorway to the hall. He looked a trifle embarrassed.

“Well, that poses a bit of a problem, sweet,” he said slowly. “You see, we’ll be having separate cabins.”

“Separate cabins?”

“That’s right.”

“But at least with a connecting door? Romantic!”

Kek rubbed a hand through his touseled hair. “Without a connecting door, I’m afraid. Actually, if I can arrange it, on separate decks and, if possible, on opposite sides of the ship.”

“You wouldn’t want me to stay home and just rent a rowboat in Central Park?” Anita asked with dangerous sweetness. “I certainly appreciate the way you invite people on cruises!” She stared at him a moment and then shook her head, her thick hair curling about her face. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m sure you have a good reason for it.” Suddenly she smiled her gamine grin. “How are you going to avoid me, though, if I pursue you on board with an eye on a flaming shipboard romance? Or is that also verboten?”

Kek considered. “Well,” he said, smiling, “that might be a possibility.”

“Thank you, sir. Anyway,” Anita said philosophically, “maybe it’s even better this way. You won’t be able to complain about my smoking in bed, or about my things hanging over the bathtub.” She frowned. “I’ll have to check my wardrobe to see what I’ve got to wear on a cruise where the temperatures are apt to melt my makeup. It’s a pity your M’sieu Victor Eugène Whatever didn’t want his whatever it is brought in during the winter. With my luck, Ile Rocheux will probably be the hottest, most humid of all the hot and humid islands.”

Kek had been on the point of walking out. Now he paused and looked back at Anita in surprise.

“Ile Rocheux?” he said. “Did I give you the impression that we would be taking a cruise to Ile Rocheux? I’m sorry, sweet. Plan on the other islands, but the one place, I promise, our cruise, singular or plural will not be going, is Ile Rocheux!”

He shuddered at the thought, and went in to take his bath.