“Your friends at the moment. Your benefactors. One hundred thousand British pounds.”
“Who do we have to kill then?”
She patted his sleeve. “That’s better.”
Matthew waited.
“You’ll find out in London,” she said.
“I’m not even sure Maureen’ll make it to Dublin—”
“Oh, she will, love. She’s a resourceful girl. Like me.” Marie rubbed his sleeve. “A girl can get by if she has to. Men just crack up when it gets too hard but women don’t break, not very often. We can just bend and bend until men get tired of pushing and then we spring right back in their face.”
“You’re a fucking feminist.”
“Not at all, love. When’s Maureen due here?”
“She’ll try to get here by nightfall.”
Marie grinned at him. She put her hand on his shirt and pushed at his chest. “Would a feminist pay you with sex? Did you still want sex, love? As part of the deal? Sealed with a kiss?”
“You’re crazy, you know?”
“Maybe that’s right. What do you say, Matthew? Do you want to have sex with me now before your girl gets here? I won’t tell her if you won’t. Or maybe you’d like to tell her to show what a big man you are and that you weren’t scared by the little girl in Dublin at all.”
“I wouldn’t give you to my dog,” Matthew said.
And Marie laughed out loud at that so that several tables of people turned to stare at her. Her face went red with laughter and Matthew only gaped at her.
“It’s not your dog I want,” Marie finally said.
“That’s all you’re fit for—”
“You’re taking this so personal. I thought you were professional,” Marie said. She was still grinning but she took her hand away from his chest. “All right. I won’t violate you, love. Maybe you’re saving yourself for marriage.” She stood up. “Ten A.M. sharp, Twenty-one Dunhill Road.”
“You’ll have the money?”
“What money, love?”
“Twenty-five thousand up front,” he said.
She touched his shoulder and stared into his eyes. She was very close to him. She kissed him suddenly, with something like passion.
He wanted to struggle away from her but could not. She held the back of his head and pressed her lips into his. People stared and the barman frowned. When she was finished, she pulled back. Her grin was insatiable.
“That was Tuesday, love,” she growled in a low voice. “Tuesday was different. Now you’ll get paid when the job’s done. Tuesday I wouldn’t go to bed with you but today is different. I told you I’d pay you in sex but you turned me down.” She shrugged. “C’est la vie, love. London. Ten o’clock Sunday. And I wouldn’t want you to regret again, love. Next time might turn out to be serious.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said.
“Next time,” she said very softly.
He was angry and it showed in the set of his jaw.
“Next time, you might be on the floor of the urinal,” she said.
18
Dr. Krueger turned on the light in his study and saw Devereaux sitting in the winged leather chair.
“How did you get in here?”
“Sit down,” Devereaux said.
“I’m going to call the police.”
“Sit down,” Devereaux said.
“You can’t stop me,” Dr. Krueger said. He walked across the room to the telephone on the rosewood desk. The walls were lined with books and paintings. The town house above Rock Creek Park was old and cared for. He picked up the receiver and it took a moment for him to realize there was no dial tone. He put the receiver back on the cradle. Then he saw Devereaux’s gun.
“This is crude. What do you want? I knew you were a danger. To yourself and others. I told Mr. Hanley.”
“I’m only a danger to you, Dr. Krueger. Sit down.”
The thin man went around his desk and sat behind it. He carefully slid open the center drawer. The .32 silver-plated pistol was gone. He glanced up and saw that Devereaux was now pointing the gun at him. It was a very large, dark pistol and Dr. Krueger began to feel afraid for himself. He lived alone. He had treated Miss Macklin honorably, given her comfort and care, tried to ease her pain. He made his silent case to himself.
“What do you want?”
“You know.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Please help me,” Devereaux said.
“I can’t. You’re a sick man and you’re in no condition—”
“Pretty please.” Devereaux unsnapped the automatic’s safety. “Pretty please with sugar on top.”
“You’re crazy,” Dr. Krueger said.
“And you’re dead. Do you want to be?”
Quiet.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Write out an order for her release. Now. Into your hands. I’ll go with you to the sanitarium. Then you’ll drive us back to Washington. Then I’ll let you go about your business.”
“You’re kidnapping her.”
“Dr. Krueger. I want you to understand this so that you don’t make an eventual miscalculation that might harm you. I want to harm you, every instinct tells me to harm you, but it would be better if I didn’t. So you’re going to free Miss Macklin and then you’re going to forget this whole business.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“No. Not yet.”
Devereaux got up from the leather chair. He walked across the room to the rosewood desk. He stood over Dr. Krueger and placed the barrel of the pistol alongside the young man’s head, at the part in the long black hair.
He pulled the trigger.
The room exploded for a moment and Krueger made a convulsive move sideways and fell off the chair. The bullet was embedded in the floor. Devereaux bent and picked up the shell casing and put it in his pocket.
“My God, you are insane,” Dr. Krueger said.
“Perhaps,” Devereaux said. He stared at the man on the floor. “Perhaps it will help you to think so. In any case, that constitutes a threat. Think about it. While we drive out to the sanitarium.”
Slowly, Dr. Krueger got up on his knees and then on his feet.
“This is kidnapping,” he said again. “You’re going to harm that woman.”
“Krueger. You’re a drug dealer. I know what you are and you know what you are but you’ve fooled a lot of people. This is a nice house and you make good money. Go about your life. The world is full of people who want your drugs and your soft words. But there are two exceptions I want you to respect: me and Rita Macklin. Stay away from me and stay away from her.”
And he fired again, sending the bullet two inches from Krueger’s head. It became embedded in a book about phrenology.
Krueger trembled. The tic went from his head to his hands. He jerked his hands convulsively and his right eye began to twitch.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Dr. Krueger said. He had to do what the madman said. For now.
“No. I don’t think you understand. You’ll sign her release and you’ll drive us back to the District, but later, after a couple of whiskeys and after I’ve gone and all you have left is memory, you’re going to tell yourself that it wasn’t as bad as you thought and you’ll call the police and put them on me.”
“I won’t.”
“No. I think I can assure you you won’t, but not by anything I’ve done or said so far.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Not unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll have to be the judge of that.”
“Christ,” Krueger said.
Devereaux said nothing for a moment. Then: “We’ll take your car. You drive.”
“I should call them.”
“By all means.”
“You’ve cut the phone.”
Devereaux smiled and put the pistol in his pocket. The move gave him pain but he thought the physician could not see it in the half light. “That’s in the movies, Doctor. I pulled out the jack. Plug it back in and call the sanitarium and tell them to get her ready.”