That is, I tried to use the knife to separate them, but I could find no crack into which to insert the edge. Well, it was a heavy blade. I got a smaller knife with a finer edge from a drawer, and tried again, without success. Then I got a ten-power magnifier and studied the coin carefully. I tossed it on the table and listened to the sound it made.
I sat there for a while. The pup, who'd finished eating, came up and licked my hand in a worried way, sensing trouble. I scratched his ears, and buckled the collar back around his neck.
I said, "Hank, old pal, this is getting strictly ridiculous. Three contacts so far, and only one has gone the way it was supposed to-and some guys were waiting for me with guns when I came back from that one. Well, I've got to see a customer about some homicides she ordered and I delivered. Be good."
I took the stairs to the deck above, and walked forward to where the super-deluxe staterooms were, the ones whose occupants didn't have to go down the hall to use the plumbing. I knocked on the door that had the right number on it. Libby's voice told me to come in. When I entered, she was sitting in front of a mirror, brushing her hair. She didn't turn her head.
"You're late," she said.
"Go to hell," I said. "I waited twenty minutes for you this evening; you can wait three minutes for me." I looked around. "The trouble with love on shipboard is those damn berths. You have the choice of falling out of the upper or cracking your head in the lower."
The cabin wasn't much bigger than the camper I'd just left, but the ceiling was higher and the arrangements were different. The furnishings consisted mainly of the stacked berths and a built-in dresser with a little stool, upon which Libby sat. She was wearing a scrap of ruffled black lace-. a little more than a chemise, a little less than a nightie- just enough to decorate the property without spoiling the view. There was a half-full glass at her elbow. She took a drink from it, and went on brushing her hair, which didn't seem long enough or tangled enough to require so much attention.
"Well, take off your shoes or something," she said, still without looking at me. "Don't just stand there."
I said, "You make everything so romantic, sweetheart. There was something said about cash, as an alternative. Under the circumstances, I think the subject is worthy of consideration. What are you offering?"
The hairbrush stopped moving. Deep in the ship below us, powerful machinery vibrated steadily. After a very long moment of silence Libby said very quietly: "You can't do that to me, darling. Not now."
"Cut it out," I said. "Let's skip the clichйs. You're not a nymphomaniac. You're not hurting for a man; obviously not for this one. You're not going to go into a frenzy of frustration if nothing happens between us tonight. So let's talk business. I don't know the going rate, but I think three grand a head should be about right. That's nine thousand you owe me. Cash. No checks. You can make the financial arrangements in Anchorage, I'm sure. When we get there. I'll trust you that far."
She swung around on the stool to look at me. "You bastard," she said softly.
I shrugged. "That's between mom and pop, and they're not here."
"What are you trying to prove? Was I rude to you, is that it? Didn't I receive you properly? Did I hurt your damn little feelings? What did you expect, throbbing love and panting passion?" After a moment, she said, "You didn't find me repulsive in Seattle, darling."
"Maybe that's because you weren't repulsive in Seattle."
"But I am here?"
"Let's just say I'm not in the mood, and you don't seem to be, either. Anyway, I don't really like playing dirty games with sex; and the way we've been tonight, it's not worth nine grand of my money. For that I can get a willing woman and have change left over."
"Your money!"
"It's mine. I earned it. And don't you forget it."
"Get out of here!" she breathed. "Get out of here before I kill you!"
"Nine grand," I said. "In Anchorage. Cash."
I got out of there, checked my watch again as a matter of habit, and went upstairs to the snack bar and got two cups of black coffee from the vending machine that dispensed all the requisite beverages: coffee without, coffee with, coffee with double, hot chocolate. I carried my purchases below and managed to avoid the pup's eager greeting long enough to set the cups safely on the dinette table.
"Sorry, Prince Hannibal," I said. "You're going to have to sleep up forward tonight and leave the camper for us humans."
I arranged his pad on the floor of the cab and made sure he was curled up on it comfortably before I closed the door. Sixty-odd pounds of Labrador with insomnia, I'd learned, can make a half-ton truck sway on its heavy-duty springs like a small boat on a high sea. I got back into the camper and sat down to wait. It didn't take long. Thirteen and a half minutes from the time I'd left her stateroom, Libby was knocking on the camper door, asking to be let in. I took the.357 Magnum out of my belt and opened the door.
"What's that for?" she asked, acting shocked by the sight of the weapon.
"Just a precaution. Come inside and close the door behind you," I said, keeping her covered. I looked at her closely when she'd obeyed. She was wearing a belted trench coat, the kind without which no TV spy, male or female, could stay in business. Her feet were stuck into the same low yellow-brown suede shoes she'd been wearing all day. "Take it off," I said, gesturing toward the coat.
She hesitated, and shrugged. "Why not?"
"And pass it over carefully."
"Yes, Mr. Nystrom, sir."
Underneath the coat, she was dressed-if you want to take liberties with the word-as I'd seen her last, in a brief cascade of black lace ruffles suspended from two black satin ribbons over the shoulders. I checked the coat and found nothing.
"Lift it," I said.
"Yes, sir." She grasped the lacy hem of her garment daintily and raised it a few inches.
"All the way."
After a moment, she shrugged and obeyed, revealing nothing-that is, no weapons, in the strictest sense of the term. Letting the black stuff fall once more, she said, "Now what's this all about, darling?"
I said. "You have a short memory. Your last words upstairs concerned killing me."
She laughed again. "You weren't supposed to take me seriously!"
"Killing is something I always take seriously," I said. "If you didn't come to murder me, why are you here?"
"Silly," she said. "I came to apologize. I acted like a snotty bitch, Matt. I'm sorry. Can we… can we start over and try it again?"
I grinned and drew a long breath and put the gun away. "All right, sweetheart," I said. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now sit down and drink your coffee before it gets cold and tell me who you really are."
20
WE FACED EACH OTHER ACROSS the little formica-covered dinette table. Libby started to raise her paper cup to her lips, checked herself, and looked down at it, frowning. She turned her gaze on me.
"You knew I'd come?"
"Two chances out of three; enough to gamble a cup of coffee on." I grinned. "Strictly a grandstand play, of course."
She didn't smile, but watched me steadily. "How did you figure it, Matt?"
"Say you were exactly what you'd been claiming to be: Miss Elizabeth Richbitch Meredith, a spoiled, willful society lady who got involved with some nasty commies for kicks, but later saw the light for one reason or another and changed sides to join us good guys. In that case, what would you do if an unappreciative jerk refused to accept your priceless favors as sufficient reward for his services and asked for cold cash instead? Well, there was a chance that you'd just scratch the cad off your social list; but there was also a chance, considering your parting words, that you'd come after him with a gun."
"That's one chance out of two that I'd come," she said. "What's the third possibility?"