She was dressed in a long flowing green kimono that hid her body. But her face was beautiful and highlighted exotically with makeup. Her rich jet black hair was piled high on her head and was topped with a brilliant comb that seemed made out of precious stones. She came to me, and before she knelt, I could see that her feet were bare, small and beautifully formed. The toenails were painted dark red.
The lights seemed to become dimmer, and suddenly she was naked. Her body was a pure milky white, the breasts small but full. The nipples were startling light pink, as if they had been rouged. She bent over, took the comb out of her hair and shook her head. Long black tresses poured down endlessly over my body, covering it, and then she started kissing and licking my body, her head giving little determined shakes, the silky thick black hair whipping over my thighs. I lay back. Her mouth was warm, her tongue rough. When I tried to move, she pressed me back. When she was finished, she lay down beside me and put my head against her breast. At some time during the night I woke up and made love to her. She locked her legs behind mine and thrust fiercely as if it were a battle between our two sexual organs. It was a fierce fuck, and when we climaxed, she gave a thin scream and we fell off the mat. Then we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
The wall sliding back woke me up again. The room was filled with early-morning light. The girl was gone. But through the open wall, in the adjoining room, I saw Cully sitting on the huge brassbound suitcase. Though he was far away, I could see him smiling. “OK, Merlyn, rise and shine,” he said. “We’re flying to Hong Kong this morning.”
The suitcase was so heavy that I had to carry it out to the car, Cully couldn’t manage it. There was no chauffeur, Cully drove. When we got to the airport, he just left the car parked outside the terminal. I carried the suitcase inside, Cully walking ahead to clear a path and lead me to the baggage check-in desk. I was still groggy, and the huge case kept hitting me in the shins. At the check-in the stub was put on my ticket. I figured it didn’t make any difference, so I didn’t say anything when Cully didn’t notice.
We walked through the gate onto the field to the plane. But we didn’t board. Cully waited until a loaded baggage truck came around the terminal building. We could see our huge brassbound case sitting on top. We watched while the laborers loaded it into the belly of the plane. Then we boarded.
It was over four hours’ ride to Hong Kong. Cully was nervous and I beat him for another four thousand in gin. While we were playing I asked him some questions.
“You told me we were leaving tomorrow,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Cully said. “But Fummiro got the money ready sooner than I figured.”
I knew he was full of shit. “I loved that geisha party,” I said.
Cully grunted. He pretended to study his cards, but I knew his mind wasn’t on the game. “Fucking high school cunt teasing party,” he said. “That geisha stuff is bullshit, I'll take Vegas.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought it was charming. But I have to admit that little treat I got afterward was better.”
Cully forgot about his cards. “What treat?” he said.
I told him about the girls in the mansion. Cully grinned. “That was Fummiro. You lucky son of a bitch. And I was outrunning around all night.” He paused for a moment. “So you finally broke. I’ll bet that’s the first time you’ve been unfaithful to that broad you got in LA.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But what the hell, anything over three thousand miles away doesn’t count.”
When we landed in Hong Kong, Cully said, “You go on to the baggage area and wait for the case. I’ll stick by the plane until they unload. Then I’ll follow the luggage truck. That way no sneak thief can pinch it.”
I walked quickly through the terminal to the baggage carousel. The terminal was thronged, but the faces were different from those in Japan though still mostly Oriental. The carousel started to turn and I watched intently for the brass bound case to come down the chute. After ten minutes I wondered why Cully had not appeared. I glanced around, thankful that none of the people were wearing gauze masks; those things had spooked me. But I didn’t see anybody who looked dangerous.
Then the brassbound suitcase shot out of the chute. I grabbed it as it went by. It was still heavy. I checked it to make sure it had not been knifed open. As I did so, I noticed a tiny square name tag attached to the handle. It bore the legend “John Merlyn,” and under the name my home address and passport number. I finally knew why Cully asked me to come to Japan. If anybody went to jail, it would be me.
I sat on the case and about three minutes later Cully appeared. He beamed with satisfaction when he saw me. “Great,” he said. “I have a cab waiting. Let’s get to the bank.” And this time he picked up the case and without any trouble carried it out of the terminal.
The cab went down winding side streets thronged with people. I didn’t say anything. I owed Cully a big favor and now I’d evened him out. I felt hurt that he had deceived me and exposed me to such risk, but Gronevelt would have been proud of him. And out of the same tradition I decided not to tell Cully what I knew. He must have anticipated I would find out. He’d have a story ready.
The cab stopped in front of a ramshackle building on a main street. The window had gold lettering which read “Futaba International Bank.” On both sides of the door were two uniformed men with submachine guns.
“Tough town, this Hong Kong,” Cully said, nodding at the guards. He carried the case into the bank himself.
Inside, Cully went down the hail and knocked on a door, and then we went in. A small Eurasian with a beard beamed at Cully and shook his hand. Cully introduced me, but the name was a strange combination of syllables. Then the Eurasian led us farther down the hail into a huge room with a long conference table. Cully threw the case on the table and unlocked it. I have to admit the sight was impressive. It was filled with crisp Japanese currency, black print on gray-blue paper.
The Eurasian picked up a phone and barked out some orders in, I guess, Chinese. A few minutes later the room was filled with bank clerks. Fifteen of them, all in those black shiny suits. They pounced on the suitcase. It took all of them over three hours to count and tabulate the money, recount it and check it again. Then the Eurasian took us back into his office and made out a sheaf of papers, which he signed, stamped with official seals and then handed over to Cully. Cully looked the papers over and put them in his pocket. The packet of documents was the “little” receipt.
Finally we were standing in the sunlit street outside the bank. Cully was tremendously excited. “We’ve done it,” he said. “We’re home free.”
I shook my head. “How could you take such a risk?” I said. “It’s a crazy way to handle so much money.”
Cully smiled at me. “What the hell kind of business do you think it is running a Vegas casino? It’s all risk. I’ve got a risky job. And on this I had a big percentage going with me.”
When we got into a cab, Cully instructed the driver to take us to the airport. “Jesus,” I said, “we go halfway across the world and I don’t even get to eat a meal in Hong Kong?”
“Let’s not press our luck,” Cully said. “Somebody may think we still have the money. Let’s just get the hell home.”
On the long plane ride back to the States, Cully got very lucky and won back seven of the ten grand he owed me. He would have won it all back if I hadn’t quit. “Come on,” he said. “Give me a chance to get even. Be fair.”