Now, obviously, she was in a different pipeline — funneling Mafia recruits into the States. This was no small-time operation. If Louie's uncle and the others on the Commission could afford Su Lao Lin, it would be a multi-million dollar investment, well worth it, perhaps, if they could gain — or regain — the great power they had wielded in the major cities in another time.
Looking at Su Lao Lin, my abdominal muscles tightened involuntarily. The gray silk, diaphanous in the light of the standing lamp behind her, only enhanced the perfection of that tiny body: the boldly full little breasts, the minute waist accentuated by the suppleness of neatly rounded hips, the legs surprisingly long for such a tiny person, the calves slim and lithe as you find so often among the Cantonese.
Sensuality crackled like lightning between the two of us. What Communist China's No. 2 agent in the Mideast was doing tied into the American-Sicilian Mafia was a mystery, but it wasn't the only reason I wanted to get my hands on her.
I let the lust show in my eyes and I could see her recognize it. But she didn't acknowledge it. She probably saw that same lust in the eyes of a half-dozen men every day of her life.
"You're Nick Cartano?" Her voice was soft but businesslike, the Oriental slur of the hard consonants only barely detectable.
"Yes," I said, running fingers through my disheveled hair. I glared at the tall hood who had rousted me as I came through the door. He stood just to my left, about a foot behind me. He held Wilhelmina in his right hand, pointing it toward the floor.
She gestured negligently, her deep red lacquered nails flashing in the lamplight. "Excuse the inconvenience, please, but Harold feels he must check everyone, particularly people with your…" She hesitated.
"My reputation?"
Annoyance clouded her eyes. "Your lack of reputation. We haven't been able to find anyone who's ever heard of you, except Louie here."
I shrugged. "I guess that means I don't exist?"
She shifted slightly and the light from the window behind her poured between her legs, sharpening that exquisite silhouette. "It means either that you're a phony, or…"
That hesitation in mid-sentence seemed to be a habit.
"Or?"
"…or you are very good indeed." A ghost of a smile flirted across the slightly parted lips and I smiled back. She wanted me to be "very good indeed." She wanted me, period. I could feel it. The feeling was mutual, but we still had to play the game for a while.
"In my business, we don't advertise."
"Of course, but in my business we usually can get a line on most people who are in… shall we say… allied lines?"
I fingered the shining cigar tube in my shirt pocket.
She nodded. "I know, Louie told me. But…"
I didn't blame her. She had a reputation for not making mistakes and my only tangible evidence of a "shady past" were the eight ounces of heroin in the tube. That and the fact that Louie had obviously been making a pitch for me. But Louie was the nephew of the man who was most likely bankrolling most of Su Lao Lin's operation. In the end, that had to be the deciding factor. She wouldn't want to displease Popeye Franzini's nephew.
She wouldn't want to displease herself, either. I stared at her insolently. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She was getting the message, all right. I decided to take her off the hook.
I fished the pack of Galoise out of my pocket and tapped the open end against the side of my hand to bring out a cigarette. I tapped just a shade too hard and one popped out all the way and fell to the floor. I leaned over to pick it up.
Simultaneously, I bent my right knee and lashed straight back with my left leg. Behind me, Harold screamed as his kneecap crumbled under the hard rubber heel of my shoe, driven home with every ounce of power I could deliver.
I spun to my left, twisting into a sitting position. As Harold bent sharply forward, grasping for his shattered knee, I hooked two fingers of my right hand deep into the declivity under his chin, hooking them into the jawbone; I rolled back onto my shoulders, flipping him neatly.
It was like yanking a fish out of the water, throwing him forward and over me, so that he described a short arc in the air. Just before I lost my leverage, I jerked sharply downward and his face smashed into the floor with the full weight of his body behind it. You could almost hear the bones of his nose shatter.
Then he lay still. He was either dead from a broken neck or just unconscious from shock and the force of hitting the deck so hard.
I retrieved Wilhelmina and restored her to the shoulder holster where she belonged.
Only then did I smooth my hair back with one hand and look around.
Neither Louie nor the Chinese woman had moved, but the excitement had gotten to Su Lap Lin. I saw it in the slight flaring of her nostrils, the tautness of the vein running across the back of her hand, the flaring of intensity in her eyes. Some people are aroused to a high sexual fervor by physical violence. Su Lao Lin was breathing in short, quick gasps.
She motioned distastefully at what was left of Harold on the floor. "Remove him, please," she ordered Louie. She permitted herself a slight smile. "I think perhaps you're right, Louie. Your uncle could use a man like Mr. Cartano here, but I think you had better introduce him yourself. You had both better be ready to leave on the morning flight."
There was dismissal in her tone and Louie moved over to wrestle with Harold. Su Lao Lin turned to me. "Come into my office, please," she said coolly.
Her voice was controlled, but the overly modulated tone betrayed her. Excitement quivered on her lips. I wondered if Louie could sense it, too.
I followed her through the door into an efficiently equipped office — large modern desk with a businesslike swivel chair, a streamlined gray metal dictaphone, two straight metal chairs, a gray filing cabinet in one corner — a good place to work.
Su Lao Lin walked over to the desk, then turned and leaned back against the edge of it, facing me, her tiny fingers half-hooked over the edge of the desk top, her ankles crossed.
Lips parted over even teeth and a tiny tongue flicked out nervously, tempting.
I hooked the door with my foot and slammed it shut behind me.
Two long strides took me to her and a small groan escaped her lips as I crushed her to me, one hand under her chin, tilting it upward as my hungry mouth groped for hers. Her arms wound upward, curling around my neck as she thrust her body into mine.
I pinned her mouth with my tongue, probing, smashing. There was no subtlety. Su Lao Lin was incredibly small, but she was a wild woman, writhing, moaning, long nails ripping at my back, legs hooking around mine.
My fingers found the clasp on the high collar and unhooked it. The invisible zipper seemed to slide down of its own accord. I put both hands around her miniature waist and held her away from me, in midair. She broke reluctantly, fighting to keep her mouth clamped on mine.
I put her down on top of the desk. It was like handling delicate porcelain, but this porcelain could squirm.
I stepped back, pulling the gray silk dress away from her as I did. She sat still then, leaning back on her arms, her breasts heaving, the nipples outthrust, tiny feet flat on the desktop, her knees widespread. A rivulet of sweat ran down her belly.
She had been wearing nothing beneath the gray silk sheath. I stared, momentarily transfixed, savoring the alabaster beauty perched like a live objet d'art on the bare metal desktop. Slowly, unbidden, my fingers groped at my shirt buttons, fumbled at my shoes and socks, unhitched my belt.
I picked her up gently by the buttocks, balancing her like a cup on a saucer for a moment, and pulled her to me as I stood spraddle-legged before the desk. At the first penetration she gasped aloud, then scissored my waist with her legs so that she was riding on ray hips.