“I can imagine it. What I can't imagine is why,” Novak re- marked. “But I suppose you will enlighten me. In your own good time.”
“As an investment, of course. There are any number of possible buyers, but I wanted to offer it to you first, of course. I am well aware of the strength of the feelings you had for the young lady.”
Novak was silent for a long moment. “Have you gone completely insane?” he inquired, in a conversational tone.
“Not at all. I just thought you would like to be advised before the gun disappears forever into some anonymous private collection. It's your decision, of course, but you should be aware that the pistol is linked to another object which I am sure will be of even greater interest to you. And to your father, incidentally.”
“Which is?”
“A videotape,” Victor said softly.
“Yes?” Novak prompted him impatiently. “Spit it out.”
Victor closed his eyes, calling up the images. He began to speak in a low, dreamy voice. “She peers through the peephole, and is displeased to see who is behind it. She tells him to go, but her visitor is undeterred. He unlocks the door himself and pushes in, shoving her to the floor. Her long black hair is wet. She is wearing a silk robe. White. He tears it off. She is naked beneath it. Everything in the room is white, even the bouquet of tulips on the credenza beneath the mirror. She sees the thing he pulls out of his coat... and begins to scream.”
He paused. Novak said nothing. He went on.
“Her lover comes out of the bedroom, naked, holding a Walther PPK which he clearly does not know how to use. The mystery guest pulls a strange little pistol out of his pocket, points it and shoots, directly in the man's face. He clutches his throat, falls against the wall and slides to the floor still alive and unmarked to serve later as a scapegoat. The mystery guest turns back to the young woman, who is struggling to her feet.” He paused. “Need I go on?”
“How?” Novak hissed.
“It doesn't matter how” Victor chided him. “What matters is that several copies of that tape exist, in various places, with instructions as to how to dispose of them should I meet an untimely end. Not that I doubt your friendship, Kurt.”
“So you were the anonymous caller who ruined my perfect revenge.” Novak's voice was poisonously soft. “I wanted that man behind bars for life, Victor. For daring to touch her.”
“Even I suffer from occasional attacks of altruism,” Victor murmured. “It seemed a bit excessive to throw Ralph Kinnear to the wolves, as well.”
“Do you know who you are dealing with, Victor? Do you really dare to play with me?”
“The last time you misbehaved, your father was adamant that you keep a low profile from now on, no?” Victor asked. “His organization is having image problems as it is. To have his wayward son implicated in the grisly murder of a famous supermodel would be sure to distress him. Imagine the media furor. The mind boggles.”
Novak was silent for a moment. “How much do you want for the tapes?”
“Don't be banal, Kurt. This isn't about money. The tapes are not for sale. They will remain in my private collection. Forever.”
In the charged silence that followed, he felt something working in his system like a drug, the triumphant rush of a well-executed maneuver in a game of power. There was no videotape, nor had there ever been. He had to be careful with his phrasing when he used information that he had gathered from a dream; chronology was often sacrificed for the sake of colorful symbolism. Over the years he had learned to compensate for this variable.
“What do you want, Victor?” Novak's control was back, his voice as neutral as if he were asking what kind of brandy Victor would like.
“I want to resume my privileged place in your business circles, Kurt. I ask only that you cover my expenses. If you want the pistol, of course. Five million should be sufficient. And of course, the matter will remain between us.”
“You are crazier than I am.” There was grudging admiration in Novak's voice. “I will set up a meeting for you with my representative.”
“I went to a great deal of trouble to procure this item for you, Kurt,” Victor said softly. “I would like to meet with you personally.”
Thus entering into that select circle of people who had seen Novak's new face. The next step in the game. He waited, breathless.
“Do you, really, Victor?” Novak asked slowly. “You realize that what happened ten months ago cost me a fortune. I was forced to remove myself from circulation, to reconstruct my face. I have no interest in doing business with people with such inadequate security. If this blows up like last time, I will destroy you.”
“Understood,” Victor murmured, smiling up at the moon. His good mood was utterly restored. Nothing like a death threat from a deranged megalomaniac to chase away nagging ennui.
“By the way, I've been meaning to ask you. That lovely creature you have installed in the house on Templeton Street. I've been admiring her. She's different from your usual style.”
An unpleasant shock tingled through Victor’s body. “What about her?” he asked lightly.
“You're not the only one who minds his friends' business. I'm looking at photographs as we speak. She has that luminous, unspoiled air. Exquisite, but if I were you, I would increase her clothing allowance.”
“She's thirty-three, Kurt,” Victor said, advancing Raine’s age by five years. “You like them when they still have that teenaged glow.”
Thirty-three, hmm? Odd. She looks ten years younger”
“Thirty-three,” Victor said firmly.
“She’s fucking another man behind your back, you know,” Kurt said, with relish.
“Indeed?”
“This very night, my friend. Less than an hour ago. She looks like an angel, but she's a dirty little slut like all the rest. In the backseat of a sports utility vehicle, right out on the street. Her brawny young stud puts it to her quite roughly, my sources report. And she was very noisy in her appreciation. Keep that in mind the next time you visit her, and maybe she won't have to look elsewhere for her satisfaction”
“How kind of you to pass that along.”
Novak could surely scent his dismay, like the cunning beast that he was. Of all possible scenarios, this was one he had not foreseen: that Novak would take an interest in his niece. Most unwelcome.
“Of course, if you would like for her to realize the error of her ways, I would be delighted to instruct her,” Novak offered softly. “You know that is my very particular specialty.”
“And deny myself the pleasure?” Victor let out a short laugh. “No, thank you, Kurt. I will deal with the situation personally”
“If you change your mind, let me know. You're more squeamish than I about such things, but we can establish the parameters in advance, if you like. There won't be a mark on her lovely body, but I guarantee you, the young lady will never defy you again.”
A sickening image of Belinda Corazon's blood-spattered white carpet flashed through Victor's mind. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
“You know how well I'm willing to pay for my amusements, Victor,” Kurt added. “This would be worth a great deal to me. I might even be persuaded to part with that derringer that you so admired in San Diego last year. The murder weapon in the famous John F. Higgins murder-suicide in 1889, remember? I paid two hundred thousand, though it was worth twice the price. Think about it. And as to that other little matter... you'll hear from me soon.”
The phone clicked. The line went dead. Victor laid the phone down, shocked to feel the physiological signs of fear in his body. Cold sweat, tremors, abdominal discomfort, all of it. He had almost forgotten the feeling, it had been so long.
He had not been afraid for someone else for longer than he could remember. It alarmed him to realize that he actually cared about the girl. It was one thing to toy with Novak himself. He was a disappointed, bitter old man, bored with his life and his wealth, with nothing to lose.
It was quite another to expose his niece to Novak's poisonous regard Well and good to speak of toughening and tempering, but she was by no means ready to take on such a malicious opponent.
