Through the grillwork I could see a sunken living room the size of a tennis court. Except where covered by black tufted throw rugs, its matching black-and-white checkerboard floor mirrored a sparkling, heavy crystal chandelier overhead. The entire decor in the two rooms consisted of stark white and flat black contrasts highlighted by gold accents. Displays of Moorish swords, lances, mail, and armor lined the white walls, with handcarved ivory pieces and decorative brass pitchers containing fresh white flowers adorned oversized ebony end tables.
Two steps off the elevator my left wrist was seized and my right arm was trapped to my side by a viselike grip. Both hands were then pulled behind me, and my crossed wrists were painfully gripped in one giant hand which locked them together with finger-lengths to spare.
I had two quick impressions: over my shoulder a huge figure towering ten inches taller, and the overpowering odor of a musky, heavy-scented male cologne which resembled nothing so much as a whiff of lemon-essenced wine.
Talia stood impassively while a matching giant hand searched me roughly from neck to knees for weapons. The hand then made an additional search of each pocket, turning them out one by one. All my belongings clattered to the tile floor. "Nossing," a guttural voice announced.
I was released and thrust to one side. I nearly fell as I had my first look at the giant's flat-faced features and almond-shaped eyes which suggested Mongol blood. Black slacks disappeared under a white, knee-length, choke-collared Nehru jacket. The shoulders were wide enough to have caused the man difficulty in passing through any ordinary door.
"You said he had the envelope, my dear," another voice said pleasantly. It was high pitched, almost a tenor. The sound of it directed my attention to a thick-cushioned white sofa at the right side of the sunken living room. Seated upon it was a gross caricature of a man who looked as though he could surely match the bodyguard in weight but not dimensions. Pear-shaped, with narrow shoulders, broad hips, heavy thighs, and spindly legs, he looked like one of those inflated punching toys that always rocks back upright awaiting the next punch. Sparse, black hair looked as though individual strands had been glued to his pate, and a thin, waxed mustache diminished to tightly-twisted, needle-sharp ends.
This apparition had on a white-velvet smoking jacket with black satin lapels, and his pudgy fingers were encircled by numerous gold rings. Bulbous, froglike eyes were fixed steadily upon Talia.
"He does have it!" she cried out anxiously. "I saw it!"
"Perhaps you had better check out the sincerity of her statement, Abdel," the fat man said softly. The giant moved toward the girl, and I could see her turn pale.
"Get the hell away from her!" I said harshly. "Did you think I was stupid enough to walk in here with it?" The giant paused. "Or to let her know what I was doing?"
"Obviously not, as regards the first part, at least," the fat man said amiably. "You had better have him tell you where it is, Abdel."
The giant reversed his direction and started for me. I stooped swiftly, snatched the.38 from the loosely confining adhesive around my calf under my pants' leg, and showed it to Abdel. He kept right on coming.
I had no intentions of going through the meat grinder of those massive hands. "Left shoulder, Abdel," I said, and put a bullet into it. The sound of the.38 was just a flat crack in the tiled room. The giant tilted to one side but still advanced. "Right arm," I said, and blasted him in the fleshy part. He rocked to a halt, clutching at his arm as blood stained the sleeve of his Nehru jacket; then he started toward me again.
I lined up on his Adam's apple, but the fat man spoke sharply in a foreign tongue. The giant stopped, his little eyes smoldering. The fat man smiled at me benignly. "You have made your point, Mr. Drake."
"I ought to make it on you, too!" I said harshly. "I came here to talk business, and you go on the muscle!"
"The wise man doesn't buy what he can take," the fat man said smoothly. "Since your-ah-demonstration precluded that, we will now talk business." He shifted his attention to the ashen-faced Talia. "Take Abdel along with you into his bedroom and patch him up."
"I witnessed his shame," she whispered. "He will kill me."
"I think not." The fat man addressed the giant again in the same language as before. There was no change of expression on the stolid features, but Abdel left the room in Talia's wake. "He really deserved that anyway for such a clumsy, inefficient search," the fat man informed me.
"If he brings a gun in here, you're not going to appreciate it," I warned as I descended three steps to the right of the grillwork and entered the sunken living room. I took a chair across from his sofa, and I kept the.38 in my hand. Behind the sofa was a well-stocked bar, and to its left a partly opened door that disclosed a liquor storage closet.
The fat man was smiling. "I am Vizier Iskir Bayak, Mr. Drake," he said. "That was an impressive performance. Not that you concealed the weapon successfully, but that you used it instantaneously when the situation seemed to require it. I'm sure you're aware that the two don't always go hand in hand. Shall we talk about the envelope?"
I nodded. "If you're buying."
"What is your price?"
"Ten thousand dollars."
The frog-eyes didn't blink. "An exorbitant figure. It's a fortunate circumstance for you, however, that I cannot conclude an arrangement to which I'm committed without the contents of the envelope. Ten thousand dollars it is. When shall we make the transfer?"
"If he can walk, send Abdel and the ten thousand with me."
"He will walk."
The frog-eyes considered me. Over Bayak's shoulder, between the corner of the room and the liquor storage closet, I could see a picture whose edges seemed charred. Above it a portion of the ceiling appeared freshly plastered and painted. Brocaded white-gold window draperies seemed newer than elsewhere in the room. The area had the look of a recent fire.
"What is your attitude toward the police, Mr. Drake?" the high-pitched voice resumed. I gave him the ancient thumbs-down signal to signify rejection. "I would need to check that out, of course." The tone was thoughtful. "I'll be frank. The-ah-victim of the incident that brought you to Talia's assistance was an associate of mine. Merely a casual business contact whom I had known only for a short time, but his loss cripples an important plan of mine. He was a man of unusual talents, Mr. Drake, as you appear to be. Perhaps when the transfer of envelope and cash is completed, we might speak about a future arrangement?"
"I don't care for your way of doing business." And I wanted nothing to do with a dope shipment.
"You seem fully capable of protecting yourself against the exigencies of my impetuous nature." The fat man was smiling again. "A merger of our skills could well be of considerable mutual benefit. If we-"
He broke off as Talia and Abdel reentered the room. Beneath a fresh Nehru jacket, I could see lumpy bulges where Abdel's arm and shoulder had been bandaged. The double shock would have put the average man on his back, but the giant didn't even seem slowed down.
Bayak heaved himself awkwardly to his feet. He circled the sofa with short steps and went to the charred picture I'd noticed. "About-face, Mr. Drake," he said to me when he was standing in front of the picture. "Watch him, Abdel," he added when I complied.
Abdel and I watched each other, but I also watched the polished base of a lamp halfway between us. In its burnished surface I could see Bayak take hold of the bottom edge of the picture, raise it head high, then lower it and raise it again. The face of a safe-dial appeared behind the picture, and I knew at once what the fat man was doing.