Crooked Hearts (39 page)

“Rely on your greed, in other words?”

“Now you’re catching on.”

The Godfather pressed his fingertips together; it was impossible to tell from his face what he was thinking. Finally he looked up. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Haiss.”

In the startled pause, Doc looked at Reuben, who nodded. Doc finished his beer chaser, shoved his chair back, got up, and walked out. Immediately Wing lifted his hand, and one of his henchmen hurried over to the table. Wing gave him a quiet order in Chinese; the henchman bowed and left.

He’d been told to follow Doc, Grace assumed. They’d figured Wing would want to investigate Doc’s background and credibility. She only hoped that following him was all the henchman planned to do, and that Doc would stay in character on Balance Street while he did it.

“Well?” prodded Reuben, drumming his fingers to indicate he was getting impatient. “That’s our offer. What’s your answer?”

This was the moment. Trying not to squirm, Grace looked expectantly at Wing. The widening smile on his suave face wasn’t reassuring.

“My answer is no.”

She sensed rather than felt the tension draining out of Reuben’s body. “No?” he repeated, struggling with disbelief.

“No. No, I’m afraid not. You see, I would have to have something else besides your word, Mr. Smith, to insure your good faith.”

Hope surged back. “Such as?”

“I would have to have …” His voice mellowed; he said it like a prayer. “I would have to have … Augustine.”

19

Men, like musical instruments, seem made to be played upon.

—C. N. Bovee

R
EUBEN LAUGHED.

Grace held up one weak finger. When the waiter came, she said, “Whiskey, no water,” in a numb voice.

“Is it so very shocking?” the Godfather asked her gently, leaning in. “My deep regard cannot have esscaped you, Augustine.”

“Deep regard? That’s what you call drugging and stripping her, and then making her smoke dope? Listen, you perverted son of a—”

Grace put her hand over Reuben’s clenched fist and squeezed it. “Now, Algernon, don’t lose your temper. We’ve said we were willing to let bygones be bygones.” He looked incredulous, and she sent him a message with her eyes that said,
Let’s hear what he’s got in mind.
One of Henry’s maxims was, “If you cut off a sucker’s rope supply, he won’t be able to hang himself.”

Enchanted, Wing leaned closer. She leaned back. He got a grip on himself and turned businesslike again. “The situation is simple. You want much money from me in exchange for nothing—”

“Not nothing,” Reuben started to interject, but Wing waved him to silence.

“It is customary in your country as well as in mine for the party asking for money to offer something in return. Collateral, you call it.”

“And you want Gus as
collateral?”

“Why not? All I know of you, Mr. Smith, is that you are a charlatan who once tried to steal from me. Of your sister, I know a little more. I know that she, too, is a thief, but this does not matter to me. What matters is that she is my desstiny.”

Reuben slouched against the wall. “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?” He jerked a cigar out of his pocket, lit it, and blew smoke at the ceiling.

“It is true. She is the golden one, for whom my life and my loins were fated.”

“Your what?”

“It will be, Mr. Smith,” he said serenely. “It is the way of the Tao.”

“It is, huh? Well, tell me this, Mark: what would you do with my sister if you had her?” He was taking her silent advice, doling rope out to the sucker, but Grace didn’t care much for the question.

Wing turned his black eyes on her, and his look was so full of smug, fiendish proprietariness that she shivered. But even he seemed to appreciate the indelicacy of a full disclosure of his unwholesome plans, because he merely said, “I would enjoy her.”

“Yeah, but under what circumstances? Would you set her up as a concubine? Sell her into white slavery? Visit her occasionally in a downtown hotel? What exactly are your intentions?”

Wing brought his fist down on the table with a thundering smack, making them jump. “You insult me, sir,” he said, red-faced, “and you insult and degrade my bride-to-be. Augustine would not be my slave or my misstress, she would be my wife!”

They stared at him.

“My helpmeet, my beloved, the mother of my sons.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Strong sons, many, many strong sons, who would say prayers, perform sacrifices, make obeisance. The journey to Nirvana would be unimpeded. Yesss.”

Grace sent Reuben a look, and his expression confirmed her opinion. What they had here was a certifiable fruitcake.

The horrible tenderness came over him again. “Augustine, my dearest, I would give thee everything—everything. My empress, my queen, no one in my household would be above thee. Rich clothing, priceless jewels, servants at your beck and—”

“Money?”

Wing paused with his mouth open.

“Money?” she repeated more sharply.

“Yes, yes, money, as well as—”

“How much?”

“As much as you want! And all the—”

“In an account of my own? My name on it and nobody else’s?” She wanted to see how far he would go-

After a little hesitation, he said, “Yes, all right.”

“A hundred thousand dollars,” she said recklessly. “In a private account.”

He grinned from ear to ear, enjoying himself, anticipating a happy ending. “Of course,” he agreed readily.

“Hold on a second,” Reuben put in, playing along. “What about me?”

Wing’s grin disappeared. “What about you?”

“What about our deal?”

“If Augustine consents to be my bride, then you and I and the doctor will form a partnership, Mr. Smith. Soon, p’raps tomorrow, Dr. Haiss will pay a visit to the customs office and arrange for the transfer of the merchandise to the warehouse you have been so eager to secure. My Chief Swordsman will, of course, accompany him at all times, first to the bank and then to the customs house. There will never be an opportunity for the doctor to be alone with my money; therefore, thoughts of absconding with it would be futile and, I musst tell you, very, very dangerous.”

Grace dropped her head. Well, that was that. It was over. In the back of her mind she’d known all along he was too smart for this trick, that he’d never hand over a fortune in cash to an untrustworthy stranger, then deliberately turn his back long enough for the stranger to get away. A “mental thimble trick,” indeed. How could they have been so stupid?

“Where does my cut come in?” Reuben asked dejectedly. He knew it was over, too.

“You and Dr. Haiss will be paid ten percent of the wholesale cost of the goods, and not until they have been safely delivered into my cusstody.”

“Nine thousand dollars? The hell you say.” He was arguing by rote now; he had no intention, she knew—she assumed; she
hoped
—of actually going into the opium business with the Godfather. “We want five percent of the retail,” he snapped, “and that’s not negotiable. Assuming you mark the stuff up about five hundred percent, that comes to roughly twenty-seven thousand bucks.”

Wing looked ready to explode. “Very well,” he grated, “I agree to your extortionist terms. You have much audacity, Mr. Ssmith. You bring nothing to this enterprice except a drunken abortionist. You risk nothing, you offer no investment capital of your own, yet you truly believe twenty-seven thoussand dollars is just compensation—”

“You’ve got it wrong, Mark, I am giving something up. What do you call Gus here? My only sister, my helpmeet, my—”

“And you would sell her to me for money,” Wing cut in, “like a slave!”

“You’d buy her like one.”

“You are a filthy swine. Augustine is worth a hundred of you!”

“Oh, yeah? You’re lower than a snake’s belly. Gus wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.”

The argument degenerated into name-calling; Grace wondered when they’d challenge each other to see who could pee farther. An idea had begun to germinate in the back of her mind; she stopped listening to the bickering so the idea could grow. It was a lovely, outrageous idea that made the original opium deal seem like a bucket-shop bunco. An idea Henry would be proud of.

Touching Wing was repellent to her. She made herself do it anyway, a fingertip on his bony wrist, and he closed his mouth in the middle of calling Reuben a pig-catcher demon. Reuben retaliated by labeling him a
shmuck,
whatever that was; she had to silence him with a pinch on his forearm. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Excuse me, may I say something?”

The Godfather crossed his hands over his heart and bowed from the waist. “Of coursss,” he whispered.

“What?” Reuben said rudely, rubbing his arm.

She turned her back on him and batted her eyelashes at Wing. “You haven’t heard my answer yet—assuming what you said before was a marriage proposal?”

“Most sincerely. Most fervently!”

She put her hand in her lap before he could reach for it. “In that case, I accept.”

“What?” Reuben screeched.

“I’m tired of rackets, Algie, I want to settle down. It’s been fun, but this fast life is wearing thin. I deserve better, and Mark here is making me an offer I’d be silly to refuse.” The silent opening and closing of Reuben’s mouth reminded her of a carp. She slid her hand over to his thigh and pressed it, hoping he’d get the message:
shut up and trust me.
“I want it all this time, though, not just a piece of it. Here’s the deal, Mark, and it’s all or nothing. I want a hundred thousand up front, in an account with my name on it.”

“I have agreed to this,” he said joyfully.

“And I want a Catholic ceremony.”

“Ah. Well. This is difficult.” He looked sad.

She looked shocked. “But this is America—you weren’t going to ask me to give up my religion, were you?”

“Nooo,” he said uncertainly. “No, of course not.”

“Okay, then. And I want a big church wedding, lots of flowers, bridesmaids and attendants, the whole—”

“Ah, my dear,” he said gently, shaking his head, “already it is time for a compromice. I will agree to a Catholic ceremony—but in my home, not in a church—if you will agree to a traditional Chinese wedding immediately afterward.”

Even better. It was hard not to conceal her elation. “But I’ve always wanted a church wedding,” she wheedled, for effect.

“I’m so sorry. That I cannot allow.”

She pushed her bottom lip out. “Oh, all right. But can it be a big wedding?”

He looked ready to cry. “I am afraid not. No guests at all, my dear, because of the circumstances. But”—he brightened—“afterward, I have no objection to a large, festive reception. Would you like that?”

Reuben snorted in disgust.

“We’ll see,” she pouted.
Holy saints, it was perfect, perfect, perfect.
She could feel Reuben’s nerves jumping; he was biting back a hundred curses and questions while he struggled to take her wordless, one-handed advice.

“So,” said Wing, all business again. “Let us conclude our terms. An account will be opened for you, my dear, in the amount you specified earlier”—he was too delicate to mention the actual vulgar figure—“but it will not be in the name of Augustine Smith.”

“But—”

“It will be in the name of Mrs. Mark Wing.”

She sat back, exhaling silently. This son of a bitch wasn’t stupid—but she already knew that. No matter; it made things harder, but not impossible.

“As soon as the goods are transferred into my cusstody, you and I will exchange sacred vows, my darling. After the ceremony, Mr. Smith, you and Dr. Haiss will be paid your exorbitant commission. Assuming all goes well, we’ll continue to do bissness, but I’m afraid I must insisst that you and Augustine not meet again.”

“But—but she’s my sister!”

“Ah, well,” Grace sighed philosophically. “A woman’s first duty is to her husband.”

“And one last little thing.” Wing’s casual tone alerted her to more danger. “Thanks to your excellent advance planning, these bissness matters can probably be concluded within two or three days—by Friday, shall we say?” They nodded warily. “Such a short time. For its duration, I feel the need to secure another small piece of collateral. Call it insurance.”

“What now?” Reuben asked, suspicious.

Wing smiled. Grace was beginning to dread his smiles. “You.”

“No.” It came out of her mouth involuntarily; a reflex.

“Me?” said Reuben.

“You will come with me when I leave in a few moments, and remain an honored guest in my home until the wedding. After the ceremony, you’ll take your leave, a richer and p’raps even a wicer man.”

“Why?” Grace demanded, hard-eyed, letting her guard fall. “You’re holding all the cards already, why do you need him?”

“Insurance,” he repeated. “A gessture of good faith. Please don’t take it amiss, but I do not trust your brother, dearest Augustine. I want him where I can see him, until it’s too late for him to attempt any of his foolish tricks. Well?” he said to Reuben. “Do you agree?”

“I’d like to speak to Gus alone.”

Wing narrowed his eyes evilly. Obviously the idea rankled. Grace didn’t think for a second he really believed Reuben was her brother. His urbanity deserted him for a moment, and she caught a quick, unnerving glimpse of his madness. “Very well,” he whispered. “For a minute. Be quick.” He stood up and walked over to the door, where Tom Fun and the other hatchet man were still waiting.

“Grace, what in the—”

“Shh, we haven’t got much time! I don’t want you to go with him, but I don’t know what to say to get you out of it!”

“What the hell are you doing? What’s this about a wedding? Why did you—”

“Reuben, shut
up,”
she hissed. “And quit looking like a disgruntled lover. Try to look brotherly.”

“To hell with that, just tell me the plan.”

“I haven’t got a plan.”

“You—”

“Not a
whole
plan. Trust me.” She sat back, smiling for Wing’s benefit. “Don’t worry, though, it’s all going to work out.”

“I’m worried.”

“Listen to me, Henry used to
do
a priest, it was one of his specialties. He’ll ‘marry’ Romeo and me, and then …”