| Subject: Ice/9-10, revised |
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b/b
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Date Posted: 21:25:32 12/21/01 Fri
In reply to:
BonnieBoX
's message, "Ice on Fire" on 07:06:59 12/15/01 Sat
##
"I am going to move my hand. No sounds, or ..." He pushed the gun into my back again.
A case of lead poisoning for me. A terminal case. I nodded vigorously, felt the leather glove slip away from my mouth. The vise grip on my arm whipped me around so that I faced him. Emerald eyes glowed in the dark like a cat's: predatory, cagey, surprise quickly followed by controlled anger. Then just as quickly, a single blink erased all those emotions.
"You!" he murmured, surveying my disheveled hairnet, the trousers peeking from below my trench coat, my hat which had rolled on to the ground. His lips thinned. "What are you doing here? In that scandalous outfit!" He looked me over again, and the more he looked, the more plain his disdain grew. One corner of his mouth turned down. He gave me a little shake. "Answer me."
I didn't know which was worse: his disapproval or his gun. Both irritated me plenty. Of all the nerve! How dare he criticize my outfit? At least I wasn't the chump wearing a bowtie. My chin lifted. "I'm just following my curiosity."
"What kind of secretary are you?"
"Not a very good one. Only forty words a minute."
"Go home. This is no game."
"Believe me, I know it. Following Miss Lenoir is no picnic. Can that dame shop! I thought they were going to have to pry her out of Gumps with the crowbar. How many hats can one woman need? Now be a good boy, and go away. Before you ruin my stake out."
He muttered something in French I couldn't translate. At last, he whispered, "I am never a good boy."
Never?His words ruffled me as if he'd run his finger up and down my spine. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore their effects but failing miserably. "Hey, what about etiquette, huh? Ladies first and all that jazz. I'm here. Now just move along. Follow the rules."
"I don't follow rules," he growled at me, pressing closer. And those words - or the way he muscled in on me - were even worse than his first. "And I am not going away," he added.
I shoved back, trying to push him away with one hip, and then I stopped just as quickly when I realized my mistake. Any contact was bad. Real bad. I leaned away from him. "Okay, pal. Okay.Just don't crowd me. Don't get in my way."
"I will not get in your way ..."
"Well, hallelujah ..."
"... because youare leaving. Now."
"What? Not a chance. If I bust out now, I'll give us away. One of their sentries will see me. There's one east, one west."
Michael made a small sound of disgust. Keeping his gun trained on me, he finally released me. Then he extended one arm towards the alley entrance. A small oval mirror protruded from the cuff of his sleeve.
That looked interesting. I watched him survey the sidewalk on either side. "Hey, I have one of those too. Only mine has a telescoping handle. More compact. Easier to carry."
He ignored me. "There's a third man near the phone booth on the corner. Merde. Now I can't reach the fire escape." Michael looked at me almost accusingly, before he glanced away again, his eyes flickering as if he were reading a list of scenarios, assessing the risks, and deciding on a course of action.
"You don't need the fire escape. We can hear just fine where we are. I'll get my gizmo." I reached inside my lapel. His mouth tightened, aim adjusted. I froze. "All right, all right. Calm down. Don't get itchy. No wise tricks. Honest. I'm not going to damage you. I have five thousand bucks riding on your very good health. Got a gizmo that eavesdrops on people from far away, see? We could use it now. That is, if you'll let me get it without pumping me full of lead."
Michael gave a short business-like nod, lifting his gun to remind me. As if I needed a reminder. I pulled out the wallet-sized receiver, put the plug in my ear. "Uncle Walter stuck a miniaturized transmitter into Madeline Lenoir's hat. Like a wireless radio. Only smaller. The triode should work fine at this distance," I added confidently, wishing that the reception didn't crackle like lightning. So I exaggerated a little. Big deal. Krr. Krr. I turned down the volume, adjusted the tuning.
"Krrrr. Boat in soon...oon...oon." Contralto, faintly tinny. Must be Madeline, but without the fluttery feminine act she had pulled in our office. "... The Lido."
"Ah ... your import from Hong Kong. It better be authentic. You better not fail me this time...ime...ime." Must be the one called the Ice Man. His voice sounded cruelly sardonic, each word calculated to chill at sub-zero temperature. Chill and freeze somebody out.
"Of course ... Krrrr."
The sound was dropping. Had Madeline taken off the hat, perhaps walked away from the transmitter? I fiddled with the dial, stared at the window, trying to get a better clue, improve my pick up. Then long warm fingers brushed against my cheek, curved around my ear, and plucked the listening piece out of it. "Hey, pal. Give it over," I whispered, trying futilely to snatch it back.
No way. He was taller, his arms longer. Michael held it up to his ear, appearing to concentrate, listening hard. I jerked the wire, then tried shouldering him aside, but his grip was firm. He didn't budge. A goddam rock. This was hopeless. Since when was he running the show? He was ruining it all. I wanted to bean him but I couldn't afford to make that much noise.
Frustrated, I was reduced to watching like some dumb bunny. I hadn't been caught short like this in a long time, and I can't say I liked it much. Well, if I couldn't use my ears, at least I could use my peepers. Samuelle couldn't take that away from me. And so, I glanced up at the window, saw the shadows of Madeline and the Ice Man merge, then lower until I couldn't see them any more. A shadowy hand reached up. The draperies closed.
"What? What's happening? What are they saying?"
"Nothing."
"Come on, come on. Something must be happening right now. It's their big meet. They must be spilling something."
"They are not ... speaking right now." Michael seemed a little embarrassed as he handed the ear plug back to me. Then he took out his mirror and checked the streets again. "Guards still there."
"Sure's a lot of muscle. Was that the Ice Man? A big operator. High overhead."
Michael didn't reply. Grimly, he stepped back into the shadows, assumed a comfortable stance as if he was prepared to wait all night.
Fine. He was welcome to wait it out if that's what he wanted to do. As for me? Time to move on. Other fish to fry. I wasn't going to learn anything else with this stone mountain standing next to me, hovering, interfering, stealing my equipment. Just wait until he got our bill. Maybe he thought he was going to skim a little by doing some of his own footwork, but forget that. There was no way I was going to let that happen. I wasn't born yesterday. And after all tonight, I was going to charge him double for being such a pain in the keister. You bet, I was. Meanwhile, I wasn't going to hang out a moment longer than I had to. Not with this guy. Not the way he was bugging me.
I took out my hair net and bobby pins, leaned my head to one side and finger-combed my hair. Then I bent over and started rolling up my trousers until they were well above my knees.
"What are you doing?" hissed Michael, his eyes skimming over my pointed toe, calf, to above my knee where the thigh begins to verge. His regard felt like a touch in places where no one had ever touched me before. Even though my body heated, I snapped my trench coat shut, wanting to hide, feeling confused. Michael suddenly looked away, his larynx bobbing.
I took an extra pair of shoes out of my trench coat pocket. Then I leaned against the brick wall, exchanged my wingtips for a pair of low-heeled flats, stuffed the old shoes back into my coat. I bent over, picked up my hat, and dusted it off against my arm. Re-shaped the brim with more of a slant. Put it back on my head. "They may be expecting you. But would they expect a woman?
"Or a man and a woman together? We pretend we're a couple. Then we walk right past the guards and leave." Looking thoughtful, he took my hand and placed it on the crook of his elbow. Then he reached over, ran his fingers through my hair, mussing it up.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
"More realistic."
"What do you mean? You're tangling up my hair."
"You need to look ... like we made the most of our secret meeting place. Like you have been thoroughly kissed." He gave my hair one last twist as if he were tossing spaghetti.
"Okay, pal. That's it." I batted away his hand. "That's enough." Jeez. My hair must be one huge snarl. It was going to take a month to brush out this mess. "All right. Fair's fair." I reached up with my free hand and loosened his perfectly aligned silk tie, crumpled the crisp handkerchief in his front coat pocket as if we'd been pressed together real tight, enjoying our stolen clinch in the dark. "There."
Michael grunted. "Too far away. You are not a school girl going on a walk with her best friend." He jerked his elbow inwards and down so that I was pulled closer, practically hip to hip with him instead of loosely linked by our arms. His voice turned husky. "We must look ... more intimate. We are lovers."
"Pretending to be," I corrected.
"Of course. Just pretend."
Before we stepped out of the alley way into the street, I quickly glanced up at him. Could have sworn I saw him smile. But by the time we hit the sidewalk, his face smoothed once more.
##
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