I strode down the street, treading on air. Torpedo was a competent hit man for the purpose. And with the
promised bonus he would be as eager as a snake after a rabbit.
The thought of not only killing but degrading the corpse of the Countess Krak pleased me immensely.
It was just exactly what she deserved. And I knew it was the only way anyone but Heller could touch that pure and noble body. Touch her that way alive and you'd be dead!
There were some things to do and to arrange. I'd have to get her pattern of moving around so I could set it up when she was alone. I had to get a rifle, preferably with explosive bullets.
I had my hit man. And what a hit man! A necrophile!
COUNTESS KRAK, YOU'LL BE NOT ONLY DEAD BUT THOROUGHLY DEFILED.
After all my unlucky vicissitudes, things were suddenly beginning to run my way.
I no more than got home and got the viewers on than I beheld good fortune staring at me with its evil grin. A map of Florida!
It was spread out on the floor of Heller's office and Izzy and Heller were going over it with Krak looking on.
"Now, are you sure you secured the property?" said Heller.
"Miles and miles of Everglades," said Izzy. "Nothing but the purest swamp. Over your head in muck the
way Florida real estate usually is. Knee-deep in alligators. Nothing living there but Florida crackers, and they're not wide awake enough to count." He showed Heller on the map. It was a large area toward the south of the state, way inland from the sea. The map said swamp, swamp, nothing but swamp.
Izzy was hauling out some deeds. "It's a former retirement estate but the alligators ate the old folks they sold it to. Then the CIA bought it as part of a training program for a secret army to invade Jamaica but they got defeated by some small boys with slingshots on the beach, so they sold it, according to the records search, to the Saint Petersburg Grimes, who used it for a place to hide out their reporters when people wanted to shoot them. But the people were so successful that the area was not much used. Then the Grimes went bankrupt and I bought it mud-cheap with fifteen leftover reporters thrown in, including a woman reporter named Betty Horseheinie."
"A woman?" said the Countess Krak.
"Yes," said Izzy. "And she was a problem, too. The alligators tried to eat her and got so sick the conservation-ists raised hell. We sent her to an insane asylum near Miami but she drove the patients so crazy we got a permit from the government and disposed of her as contaminated waste. She's miles deep in the continental trench now, but they do say all the fish are dying there. However, she's not around."
"Good," said the Countess Krak.
"We had a little trouble with the state government," continued Izzy. "The name of the corporation we are using is 'Beautiful Clear Blue Skies For Everyone, Inc.' and they thought it might be a religion. For some reason
they want only criminals in the state, and anybody trying to do good drives them up the palm trees in horror. But we pointed out that 'blue sky' is also a criminal term for worthless stock and that fooled them. They welcomed us with open arms. But the thing I'm worried about is the Indians."
"Indians?" said the Countess.
"Wild savages," said Izzy. "Every time I go to the movies I can hardly sit through it when they show Indians. They torture and burn and make the most awful sounds. Look right there: a Seminole Indian Reservation! I looked it up and they only signed a treaty of peace a few decades ago and I don't think it will hold. They eat dogs, you know. And they might eat trappers and frontiersmen, too, from the way they look. That's why you won't find me going outside New York City: at least we bought this island fair and square for a bucket of beads. So you take some beads with you, Mr. Jet, in case those Seminoles dispute your title."
"Bang-Bang," said Heller, "add a bucket of beads to my luggage, will you?"
I hadn't seen Bang-Bang before because nobody had looked at him. He was sitting at the bar pouring Scotch into a saucer for the cat. "Got it, Jet. I'll add a few bombs as well."
"So much for the land. Have you called all the contractors?" said Heller.
"They'll meet you at Ochokeechokee. It's the remains of a town and there may even be a hotel there. They're all hot onto it. They got their logistics worked out and all their estimates are firmed. But, Mr. Jet, don't you think a billion dollars is an awful lot to spend on just clean air? And why for a bunch of Florida crackers?"
"It's necessary, Izzy. The pollution in the atmosphere will heat this planet up in time. I'm putting in the spores production plant in the Florida area because it's hot and will save fuel. The spores will rise into the trade winds, hit the stratosphere and circulate to both hemispheres. The spores will convert noxious gases into oxygen and it will take an awful lot of them. I'm sorry if you think it is unprofitable."
"Oh, no, Mr. Jet," said Izzy. "I certainly would never dream of criticizing you. You wound me to think so. Besides, I maybe forgot to tell you, but when you said you were using mud electrical-breakdown for fuel, I enlarged the power plant a little bit and contracted the excess to the City of Miami Power Company for a quarter of a billion dollars a year: they use an awful lot of air conditioning there. Here's the contracts. I forgot to mention it."
"Well, I'm glad we're going to show a profit," said Heller.
"No, no, that's not where the profit comes from," said Izzy. "That just retires the project off the books in four years. The profit comes from this other corporation. I'm sorry if I forgot to mention it. I reactivated the original retirement estates corporation and we'll have a campaign to 'retire on your own alligator farm.' They were selling like hot cakes even before we got the place subdivided."
Bang-Bang spoke up. "The deal is, they feed the tourists to the alligators and sell the alligator hides made up as purses, belts and shoes to the tourists. Perfect perpetual motion machine."
Izzy said, reprovingly, "That's not true."
"That's what you told me," said Bang-Bang self-righteously.
"Don't listen to him, Mr. Jet," said Izzy. "I was just trying to sell him one of the farms, and what does truth have to do with salesmanship? Actually we make our profit out of constructing posh retirement houses out of the mud we dig from the scenic canals we're going to make to raise the alligators in. So don't you worry about the cost, Mr. Jet. You worry about those Indians."
"All right," said Heller, getting up off the floor. "Now you, Missy," he said to the Countess Krak, "have you got your clothes together? Sun helmets and bikinis and things?"
"What?" said Izzy. "You're not taking Miss Joy! Mr. Jet, there's alligators, Indians, mud-oy! A beautiful creature like Miss Joy in a horrible place like that? Forgive me, Mr. Jet, but I think you haven't thought this through. Florida just plain isn't civilized enough."
"I'm not going," said the Countess Krak.
"What?" said Heller, aghast.
"Much as I don't want to be apart from you," said Krak, "we're in a hurry to finish everything up and I have other things to do."
"Such as?" said Heller.
Her smile was enigmatic. "I want to pick an item up that I haven't found. It's going to take a lot of search."
"Oh, shopping," said Heller. "Well, I'll admit that I certainly didn't look kindly at the idea of you in all that mud and up to your knees in alligators. I won't be gone too long. Just to get everything staked out and the contractors started. I'll miss you. But I can see your point. It's all right."
He was frowning a bit. Suddenly Heller turned to Bang-Bang. "Listen, Bang-Bang, and listen good. You keep an eye on her. You make sure she's safe at all times!"