Remo nodded. This was going to be too easy. «And in marriage, it gets most fundamental of all,» he said.
«Crap.»
«What?»
«Crap,» Cynthia said casually. «Marriage is crap.»
«Don't you want to get married?»
«What for?»
«For fundamental experience.»
«It only clouds the issue.»
«But your father. Don't you want to make your father happy?»
«Why didn't you mention my mother?» Cynthia asked, her voice suddenly becoming cold.
Whatever you say, say it fast. Throw her off. Make it wild. Remo shot the words out: «Because I don't believe she exists. If she did, she'd have to be a woman. And there's only one woman in the world. You. I love you.» Remo grabbed her hands before she could release nervous energy with them.
It was a risky ploy, but it worked. A flush seized her face, she stared down at the table. «It's rather sudden, isn't it?» She looked around the room as though the world had agents monitoring her love life. «I don't know what to say.»
«Say 'Let's go for a walk'!»
Her voice was barely audible. «Let's go for a walk.»
Remo released her hands. The walk proved profitable. Cynthia talked. She couldn't stop talking and always the conversation returned to her father, his occupation and his apartment.
«I don't know what he does with the stocks but he certainly makes a lot of money,» she said as they passed a jewelry shop on Walnut Street. «You don't care about money, Remo. That's what I like about you.»
«But your father's the one who deserves praise. It must be an awful temptation when you've got a lot of money to play playboy.»
«Not Daddy. He sits in that apartment. It's as if he's afraid to go out in a cruel and vicious world.»
Remo nodded. The air had a faint smell of burned coffee grounds. The chill of late autumn cut through his jacket. The noon sun gave out light but no heat.
Down the block a man stared in another window. He was tall and heavily built. He had passed Remo and Cynthia twice since they had left the hotel.
«Come,» Remo said, tugging at Cynthia's hand. «Let's walk this way.» Four blocks later, Remo knew Cynthia rarely lived at home, that the walls of the apartment were very smooth, that she never knew her mother, and that dear daddy was just too tender and kind to the servants. Remo also knew they were being tailed.
They walked and talked. They lingered beside trees, they sat on rocks and talked about life and love. When it was dark and unbearably cold, they returned to Remo's room in the hotel.
«What would you like for supper?» Remo asked.
Cynthia toyed with the dials of the television set, then made herself comfortable on a lounge chair. «Steak. Rare. And beer.»
«Right,» Remo said, picking up the white phone. As he called room service, Cynthia looked about the room which was furnished in Twentieth Century Characterless. Just enough loud colors to break the hospital atmosphere, but not enough to be striking. It was a room designed by a committee for the average man to live in.
Remo mumbled the order to room service and watched Cynthia draw her knees up to her chin. She would have to do something about her scraggly hair.
As soon as Remo put down the phone, it rang almost as if returning the receiver triggered the bell. Remo shrugged and smiled at Cynthia. She smiled back.
«They're probably out of steak,» he said. He picked up the receiver. A low voice at the other end said: «Mr. Cabell?»
«Yes,» Remo said. He tried to visualize the face that belonged to the telephone voice. It was probably the character who was tailing them. Did Felton keep a guard on his daughter?
«Mr. Cabell. This is very important. Could you come down to the lobby immediately?»
«No,» Remo said. He'd see how far this caller would go-
«It's about your money.»
«What money?»
«When you paid your bill at the bar yesterday, you apparently dropped $200. This is the manager. I have it in the office.»
«I'll settle in the morning.»
«I'd rather we settle it now. We don't like to take responsibility.»
«The manager, you say?»
Remo knew he was tactically pinned. He was in a room with enemies outside. They knew where to get him. Maybe MacCleary was right about no place to lay your head. In any case, he was no longer attacking with surprise. Two days on the job and he had blown his major advantage.
He noticed his hand was wet on the receiver. He was perspiring. He breathed deeply, drawing oxygen down deep into his abdomen. Well, here he was. Now or never. Number one for CURE. He rubbed the flat of his palm against his trouser leg. An exhilaration came over his body.
«Okay. I'll be right down.»
He hung up and went to the closet and took out a suitcase. Folded inside it was the coat he had worn the day before. He moved his hand down the lining of the left sleeve until he felt a long thin metallic object. Carefully blocking Cynthia's view, he removed it and slipped it into a small slit in his belt. Sodium pentathol. If pressure points failed to unlimber speech, this would succeed.
«I'll have to go out for a few minutes,» he said. «It's a contact for a story.»
«Oh,» Cynthia said showing annoyance. «It must be a wonderful contact. It must be the greatest story of your life to go running out of here like this.»
«It is, my dear, it is.» Remo kissed her but she backed away angrily. «I'll be right back,» he said.
«I may not be here when you come back.»
Remo shrugged and opened the door. «That's life.»
«Go to hell,» she said. «If you're not back when I finish dinner, I'm leaving.»
Remo blew her a kiss and shut the door. As it clicked, a blinding flash of light spun through his brain and the green carpeting of the foyer came up to meet him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
He came to in the back seat of a darkened car. The man who had been tailing him that afternoon sat on his left cradling a revolver in his right hand. He wore a sharp hat well suited for a salesman. It almost shielded a face well suited for a German butcher.
A thin man in front with a homburg was smiling. Then there was the thick neck of the driver. They were obviously parked in the suburbs. Remo noticed trees but no lights from nearby houses.
Remo shook his head, not so much to clear it but to notify his captors he was awake.
«Aha,» said the man in the homburg. «Our guest is awake. Mr. Cabell, you don't know how terribly sorry we are that you suffered that accident back in the hotel. But you know how slippery hotel floors are. Feeling better?»
Remo pretended almost total disability.
The man in the homburg went on. «We will not tell you why we brought you here. We will just explain a few facts.» He brought a cigarette to his lips. He had no weapon in his right hand.
«We have kidnapped you, Mr. Cabell. We could all go to the electric chair for this, correct?»
Remo blinked.
«And if we were to kill you, we could get no worse punishment. But do we want to kill you?»
Remo was motionless.
«No,» the man answered his own question. «We do not wish to kill you. Not necessarily. What we want is to give you $2,000.»
The light from the man's cigarette illuminated his smiling face. «Will you take it?»
Remo spoke. «Since you insist and since you've gone to so much trouble, what could I do but accept?»
«Good,» said the man under the homburg. «We want you to spend it back in Los Angeles where you came from.»
He lifted his left hand-no weapon there, either-and put out the cigarette. «We want you to go back to Los Angeles immediately,» he said. His voice was suddenly harsh.