So we shifted position without breaking the contact. We were side by side now, facing each other. Our legs were crisscrossed to insure the continuance of the afterglow. Awareness crept in as we waited for our passion to rekindle.
“Listen!” April said. “I don’t hear that machinery humming any more.”
I listened. “You’re right. And it’s much warmer, too."
“Are you sure that isn’t just us? April giggled. The giggle had an effect deep inside her, and I felt myself clutched tightly for an instant. It was inspiring. “Mmmmm!” April giggled again in appreciation of my reaction.
“No,” I said’ when we’d subsided a little. “It isn’t just us. It’s really warming up in here.”
“You’re right.” April glanced around her. “Our friends don’t look quite so cold any more, either,” she observed, alluding to the naked corpses, “It must be awful to be dead,” she continued, “and not be able to--” She moved the lower part of her body in a small, tight, grinding circle to finish the sentence. “I’ve never had sex with a bunch of dead people watching before,” she reflected. “It sort of makes it more exciting, don’t you think?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” I admitted. But now that she’d brought it up, the truth was it gave me an eerie feeling, rather than an erotic one.
“It really is warm in here now.” April pulled away from me. “Don't worry.” She patted me intimately. “I’ll be back.” She swung her legs over the side of the slab, stood up, and stretched. Her body rippled with contentment. She really did look somewhat like an erotic cat as she moved sinuously across the floor. She paused over one of the naked corpses, a man, and looked down at it curiously. “Is that like that because of the cold?” She pointed.
“No. It’s rigor mortis. It’s because he’s dead.”
“Isn’t that strange? For a man, being dead is just like having sex. And that's sort of making life in a way, isn't it? It’s like the whole process—sex, life, death—is a circle. I don’t know why, but that really excites me." She pointed again. This time her outstretched fingers grazed the surface of what she was pointing at. “Make love to me again, Steve.” She didn’t move from where she was standing.
“Sure. Come here.”
She came. Then she bent over the slab so that her derriere protruded provocatively. “Let’s do it this way.” She wriggled.
I came up behind her, reached around, and cupped her swaying breasts in my hands. She reached behind her with one hand, found me, and guided me to the target.
Her derriere began spinning like a top. She was breathing so fast and so hard that I had difficulty holding onto her breasts. Her heart was going like a triphammer. Her first eruption of passion came quickly, but it was only one of a building series.
Finally I could contain myself no longer. I slammed into her so hard from behind that we rolled to the floor in a tangle as I held the long moment of climax to its peak before releasing my own passion. The two of us stayed on the floor for a moment, too exhausted to move.
We were still so caught up in the aftermath of our love-making that neither of us heard the door swing open. It wasn’t until I heard a low chuckle that my mind dived back into reality. And reality was a .38 pointing clown at me.
The face over the .38 belonged to Prince Juv Satir. The expression on the face didn’t match the chuckle any more than the gun did. It was the kind of expression a cat has just before it devours the mouse between its paws.
“How did you get here?” I asked, trying to adjust to his sudden presence, to the gun, to the look on his face.
“When you didn’t come out,” he told me, “I missed you. So I came inside to find you. It wasn’t easy. I must say that you Americans pick the damnedest places to make love."
“Why did you want to find him, anyway?” April asked, pulling a shroud around herself as she got to her feet.
“To kill him, of course.” The Prince said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Then that's what the gun is for,” April deduced.
“You have a keen, analytical mind which grasps situations quickly, my clear,” the Prince complimented her.
“But why should you want to kill him?” she persisted.
“Because he is so very determined to kill me. You might say it's a matter of self-defense.”
“Then you’re Ex-Lax!” I realized.
“Why do you pretend to be surprised, Stevkovsky?"
“Stevkovsky?” April was becoming more bewildered.
“Yes. This man isn't really Steve Victor,” the Prince explained. “He’s a Russian agent named Stevkovsky. He’s Victor's double. He’s the man who killed Louis Ching. Only he miscalculated. The one he really meant to kill was me.”
“Only I didn’t kill Louis Ching,” I corrected him. “Castor Oil or one of his men did that.”
“Castor Oil?” April wasn’t getting any clearer.
“It’s a code name for a Russian agent,” I told her. “Just as Ex-Lax is the Prince’s code name in the Russian espionage network.”
“Oh.” April’s expression said we were both nuts. “Well, now I understand everything.” She gathered her shroud about her and sidled toward the door. “You boys obviously have things you want to discuss,” she trilled. “So why don't I just get out of your way?”
“You’re not in our way.” Prince Juv Satir waved her back with the gun. “We wouldn’t think of parting with your company.”
“But what do you want with me?” April asked nervously.
“Unfortunately, you’ve been a witness to this little encounter. However, judging from the warm feelings you were displaying for Stevkovsky when I came in, perhaps you won't mind too much sharing his fate.”
“I mind,” April told him succinctly. “I mind very much.”
“That's too bad. But I'm afraid you have no choice.”
The Prince gestured for us to start moving. “That way, and take it slow.” He indicated the door.
When he was sure the hallway was empty, he prodded us toward another door at the end of it. When we went through it, he closed it carefully behind us and maneuvered us to where he wanted us to stand. The room was very sparsely furnished and I noticed that the area of the floor on which April and I were standing was formed out of some sort of metal. Looking closer, I deduced that it was some sort of hinged trapdoor.
“This is the crematory!" April’s voice was shaking. “We’re standing right over the incinerator.”
“Exactly.” The Prince smiled that mirthless smile “And this --” He patted at button or some sort of encased mechanism attached to the wall. “—this is the gadget that will—as the Americans say—really burn you up, Stevkovsky. When I push this down, you and your charming girl friend will really sizzle.” He chuckled.
“You really have a hot sense of humor,” I told him drily.
“I’ll see you in hell, Stevkovsky.” His thumb descended on the button and he started to press it down. The fiery holocaust of the crematory waited beneath our feet!
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS the hottest spot in which I’d ever found myself. The fact that April and I, both clutching our shrouds around ourselves, were dressed for the occasion didn’t really make the upcoming barbecue any more attractive. Even in such lovely company, I couldn't work up any enthusiasm over the prospect of ending up like an overdone potato at a weenie roast. Cremation isn’t really a sport to be recommended for the living.
The ideas were more feelings than thoughts. I had no time to formulate them in my mind. The thumb of Ex-Lax was on the button and the instant of switch-throwing was at hand. There was no time to stop my goose from being cooked, tail-feathers and all. The thumb descended, pressing the button down.
But not all the way! A shot rang out! The hand fell away from the switch! Prince Juv Satir, otherwise known’ as Ex-Lax, clutched at his belly and staggered forward to-ward April and myself. His mouth worked, but no words came from his lips. Two more shots sounded as he reeled toward us. One of them whizzed past my ear. That's when I realized that April and I were marked as targets too.