“Call me anything you like,” he said shortly. “Let’s not waste each other’s time. First give my card back, if you please, and then make no move until I have shown you what I have. If you are not interested, say so, and I will leave. But I warn you, Madame Sophia, when I go I do not intend to be interfered with by your hired hands.” His expression was concentrated menace.
She pierced him with her bright, tiny eyes and pushed the card to him across the table. One sleeve slid inches up her fat arm and he saw the pinpricks. At least she wouldn’t holler for the cops. “You are hard,” she whinnied approvingly. “I like a ruthless man. These others are — pah!” Disdain shivered through her body. “You have strength. Show me what else you have.” Her tone and her glance were so suggestive that she seemed to be talking of things other than the samples in his pocket.
He hid his feeling of revulsion and looked away from her at the two new customers coming in. They belonged in dark, dockside alleys, or at some Mau Mau campfire, mouthing horrible oaths and thrusting their clawed hands into living human entrails; or they belonged to the Hop Club and whatever organization collected degenerate beings and turned them into murderers.
Nick watched them find a table in the rear before pulling the first of the packets out of his pocket. At the same time he noticed several other men leaving their tables and shambling through the door beyond the skinny piano player.
He hunched his shoulders and leaned down over the table, shielding the packet from all eyes but hers. His hand bared it but did not let go. It was transparent plastic, filled with a white powder more sought after and carrying a higher price tag than gold dust, even though it had been cut and sliced and powdered by one soulless thief after another. She would never know this until she tried it — and he hadn’t brought it here for anyone to use.
“I have more of that,” he murmured. “Much more. Bigger packets, many of them, worth millions if I could reach the American market. But this is more convenient for me — especially if I can unload in quantity. Understand, I do not have to. I know of other markets. And I will go to them if you are not interested.”
“Let me open it,” she breathed.
“Here?” Nick hissed. “You must be mad. You must have an office or a back room we can use.”
Madame Sophia looked from him to the packet.
“Perhaps we can,” she cooed. “Perhaps. You had something else to show me?”
He slid the packet away from her grasping fingers and reached inside his jacket for the second of the two most vital items he had managed to secure during the day.
It was tube-shaped, more or less, and smaller than his hand, so that concealing it on its trip across the tabletop was easy. He opened his hand in front of her and her huge breasts drooped down to meet it.
He heard a tiny gasp coming from the elephantine frame.
“Where did you get this?” Her fat but dainty fingers pinched at the root and squeezed obscenely.
Nick shrugged. “What difference does it make, if you have a use for it?”
Her tiny mouth pursed. “There is not much use for only one.”
Nick clicked his tongue impatiently. “One! I told you these are samples. I have unlimited supplies.”
“That is most unlikely,” Madame Sophia said skeptically. “I know the source of these things, and I know that they grow only under very rare conditions. Your supplies cannot possibly be unlimited. You are lying.”
Nick filled his voice with impatience and contempt.
“You know the source! When it has only been discovered by my people within the last few weeks? Pah! I suppose you are referring to that dried-up vegetable patch in — what’s the place’s name? — that place in the Nyanga hills.”
“Duolo,” she said thoughtfully. “So. Dried-up vegetable patch. Hmm. Yes, I think we can come to terms. We will go to my rooms in the back.” She heaved and grunted her way up from the chair. Nick put the samples into his inside pockets and significantly patted a hidden holster. “No tricks, now,” he warned. “I don’t give up anything for nothing.”
“Why should you?” she mooed understandingly. “Come.”
It seemed to him that there was no sound in the room but the tinny tinkle of the piano and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. And it felt as though every eye in the room was boring into him.
Madame Sophia made a reassuring gesture to the brawny bouncer and waddled majestically through the inner door with Nick trailing in her wake. She led the way down a narrow passage barely large enough to let her through, grazing past several closed doors and one slightly open one. Nick paused behind her to light up one of his Casablanca cigarettes and dart a swift look in through the crack. What he saw and heard in that brief flash of time was worth his entire trip.
A bland-faced young man in a bright American shirt was talking into a radio transmitter. His face was the typical yellow-beige of China, and his voice was pure Chinese American. It was saying: “...success is ours if the President dies. Our cause goes well...”
Nick caught up silently with Madame Sophia and followed her into a room at the end of the passage.
She closed the door behind them.
“My office,” she said.
It was some office. It was furnished with an immense desk, immense chairs, and an immense bed.
“Sit, and let us talk.”
Nick chose a straight-backed chair and sat down. For some reason his cigarette tasted foul and there was an unaccountable queasiness at the pit of his stomach. He looked around for an ashtray and stubbed out the cigarette.
“I want it understood,” he said, “that I’m in this business because it’s business, and that’s all. I can supply as much as you need whenever you need it. There is of course a delivery charge that’s added to the sale price.” Nausea almost overwhelmed him and dizziness flooded his head.
“Ah, delivery charge,” murmured Madame fatly. “But you look a little pale. A drink, perhaps?”
A drink! Sweet Jesus, that was it! Never take a chance on a stranger in a place like this — never. A mickey, a quick frisk, then either truce or death.
“No, thanks,” he said. “That gin was poison. You’re right, I don’t feel good. Think I’ll get some fresh air.” He staggered to his feet.
Madame Sophia laid her fat little right hand on his arm and squeezed. “Why don’t you just he down until you feel better? Sleep a little. Rest.” She tugged at him suggestively, maneuvering him toward the bed. The old elephant had muscle hidden beneath that fat, he thought dazedly. Got to get out of here. Got to get out of here. They’ll see through disguise. Find weapons Wilhelmina Hugo Pierre see AXE tattoo take heroin and dump me.
He took a deep breath and shook her hand off.
“No,” he snarled. “You think I’m crazy? You’ll be sorry for this filthy trick.”
“Why, sweetie,” she cooed. “I don’t know what you mean by trick. Come, now, lie down on the bed.” Her strength seemed to be growing while his faded. It was hopeless; he had to go before he blanked out altogether.
He sank one fist into her great belly. She gave a belching gasp and clutched herself without falling. Christ! She was whale blubber and rhino hide and giant sandbag all rolled into one. One fat hand reached for an alarm button near the desk and the other scrabbled at his throat. The O-shaped mouth and pouter-pigeon chest were gathering for a scream. Nick drew back his failing right arm and slammed the hard side of his hand against that ugly mouth and up at the button nose. This time Madame grunted and staggered back, blood spurting from her nose. It seemed an eternity before she dropped, but drop she did. Nick planted one more vengeful blow in the vast abdomen and stumbled to the “office” door.