“My sweet Anita,” he said. “How many times must I repeat it? The New York Times does not have comics.”
“Then why do you buy it?”
“To find out what is happening in this naughty world of ours,” Kek told her and turned a page.
Anita made a face. “You’d learn as much from the comics. Or more.” She was curled up on the sofa across from Kek, beautiful in a swirl of negligee, lighting her first cigarette of the day. She blew out the match and put it away. “Where do you think they got the idea of landing on the moon? From Bill Rogers.”
“Buck Rogers,” Kek said unconsciously, and turned another page.
“Buck— Bill—” Anita picked a fleck of tobacco from her lip, studied it incuriously a moment, and scraped it into the ashtray. “And wrist-radios—”
“Wrist-radios?” Nothing on that page of interest. Kek folded it over and started on the next.
“B. O. Plenty,” Anita said firmly. “Or Flat-Top. Dick Tracy wanted to catch them, and—”
“Dick Tracy wanted to catch an aircraft carrier?”
Anita suddenly smiled her usual gamine smile. “You’re not even listening to me! I know! You’re studying the ads.”
“Ads?”
As a matter of fact, Kek’s attention had just been caught by a certain advertisement, but he had no idea he was on the same wavelength as Anita. He had long since learned to be able to read his morning newspaper and still carry on a conversation of sorts with Anita without worrying too much about the particular subject.
“Fur ads,” Anita said, elaborating, and clapped her hands. The motion sent sparks flying. She slapped them out, put down her cigarette in the temporary interests of fire prevention, and clapped her hands again. This action completed, she picked up her cigarette and repeated her statement. “Fur ads,” she said firmly.
“Fur ads in summer?” Kek said absently, and read on into his own advertisement. It was extremely interesting. He had always suspected such a thing existed, but had never before had proof that it was so. If true, it had to be a godsend to smugglers—
“Of course fur ads in the summer, darling. That’s the proper time to buy furs. They’re much cheaper. And they’re an investment, too. You know how gold has been going, up and down? And you’re really not supposed to even own any. And the stock market?” Anita’s wrinkled nose gave the answer to that one. “No, furs are much better. It’s a wonderful place for you to put some of that ten thousand dollars.”
Kek was folding the particular page to isolate the advertisement that had struck his fancy. Amazing! If true, it was like giving smugglers a free pass. And it really seemed to be true, according to the paper before him. The timing would have to be right, of course... He drew the advertisement closer, studying the fine print, automatically answering Anita from much practice.
“Furs aren’t an investment, sweet. You’re thinking of diamonds...”
Anita considered this, then she nodded. “You’re probably right, darling. You usually are. Diamonds would be lovely.” She thought a moment. “We’ll put the ten thousand dollars into diamonds. Or maybe most of it into diamonds, and keep out just enough for one tiny little fur.”
“I still don’t think that furs—” The newspaper came down with a crash, or as much of a crash as newspapers can come down with. Kek frowned across the room. “What ten thousand dollars?”
Anita giggled.
“Your reaction time is getting worse, darling. Especially in the morning. I mean the ten thousand dollars you won from Max in your last game of blackjack at the club, last night.” She picked up her cigarette, smiled, and blew smoke in Kek’s direction.
Kek wrinkled his nose. Since he had stopped smoking, Anita’s excess of the habit was one of the few — in fact, the only — thing about her he would have wished to see changed. He fixed her with a glare intended to make her wilt, well aware that wilting was not one of Anita’s other habits.
“How did you find out about the ten thousand dollars?”
“I have my spies,” Anita told him archly.
“All of whom are named Max, I suppose.”
“Well, yes,” Anita admitted. “It makes it easier than having to remember separate names.” She held up a hand. “But don’t blame Max. He simply wanted me to know about the money so that if you spend it on another woman, I would leave you and he would leave his wife, and he and I would get married.” For a moment her jocularity was a trifle forced. “Which is more than you will do.”
Kek had no intention of being drawn into that trap. He could not picture himself being without Anita, but he could also not picture himself permitting Anita to permanently tie herself to a man who might, at any time, end up spending a goodly portion of his remaining years in jail. And Anita was just the type who would wait for him, plus trying to smuggle files and things into prison in cakes. And in one of her cakes, of course, one would need a saw to gain entrance. Kek bypassed her final words, nodding thoughtfully.
“It makes a lovely picture,” he said, “you and Max walking hand in hand into the sunset.”
“I think so.”
“Of course,” Kek pointed out, “Max would have to trot to keep up with you. He’s a bit short and fat for hand-in-hand walking.”
“That,” Anita said haughtily, “is muscle.”
“His shortness is muscle?”
Anita sniffed. “You know what I mean.”
“Anyway,” Kek said, finishing the discussion for all time, “Rose wouldn’t let him leave her.”
“Well,” Anita said logically, “that would be his problem. My problem would be, would you let me leave you?”
“I might,” Kek said, considering. “How much is Max offering?”
“You could have Rose.”
“Rose is fifty-eight and has three grandchildren.”
“You could probably have them, too,” Anita said, “and you know she’s a wonderful cook. She made Korean food last night, a new recipe for bulgoki. She called it steak, Japanese style. It was wonderful!”
“Man does not live by oriental food alone,” Kek observed, and then paused, reconsidering his words. “Well, anyway, not completely.”
“Kek—” Anita’s voice had lost its banter; she became serious.
“Yes?”
“Are you angry because Max told me about your bet last night?”
There was a moment’s hesitation; then Huuygens lowered his newspaper again.
“My sweet Anita,” he said seriously, “of course not. Max could no more help telling of my winning than he could help telling if I lost. His enjoyment is in the telling, I sometimes think, even more than it is in the playing.” He smiled. “Anyway, you would have known about it sooner or later. When we came to spend it.”
“Oh, good!” Anita said, and clapped her hands, this time being more careful of her cigarette. “Then you don’t really think furs are a bad investment?”
“Forget furs,” Kek said definitely. “And put off thoughts of diamonds.” He tapped the newspaper advertisement. “How would you like a little trip? A cruise?” His idea for getting the carving past United States Customs was forming ever more rapidly in his mind; he looked upon it, as the details unfolded almost by themselves, and found it good.
Anita squealed with delight. “A cruise! Wonderful! The Mediterranean, or the Aegean? We could stop in Paris and maybe even run over to Rouen and see my people—”
“The Caribbean,” Kek said quietly.
Anita’s hands, separated in preparation for clapping, stayed in position a moment and then dropped to her lap. She crushed out her cigarette; a frown caused her pretty nose to wrinkle. She shook her head.