Never Say No To A Killer

when I think what it must have cost!”

It had cost damn near as much as the Lincoln, but it was worth it, every penny. I said, “From now on we don't consider price tags, we don't even look at them. Now how about some wine?”

“... All right.”

She kept posing, turning, staring at herself in the mirror. Strangely, she hadn't smiled, not once. From the time she opened the package she had registered a good many emotions, but she hadn't smiled. She had wrapped the coat around her, tightly, hugged herself in it, almost as though she were trying to lose herself in the sheer luxury of it. There was a bright ecstasy in her eyes as she burrowed deeper and deeper into the incredible softness of the fur, and for a moment I imagined that she was trying to hide, that she was receding into the soft, secure folds of fur.

I had learned some things about Pat Kelso, and I understood a little of what she must have felt at that moment. At one time the Kelsos had had everything. They were an old family, and very proud, but unfortunately the ability to make money had not grown with their great pride. Pat's father had been forced into bankruptcy, and later, suicide. It must have been quite a comedown for this girl of beauty and breeding. And I could appreciate how she must have felt, smothering herself in a four thousand dollar Paris coat, returning to the past for a moment, in that symbol of lost glory.

I understood. I was pleased.

I had found her Achilles heel, as I had found Dorris Venci's. Now I knew to what frequency Pat Kelso vibrated, and I could control her as surely as an audio oscillator could control the wave form in an amplifier.

Yes sir, I thought, in this world a man must be audacious. With audacity and brains, there's nothing a man can not do.

Nothing!

“This is absolutely the most beautiful coat I ever saw!” she said.

“If you can tear yourself away from that mirror for a minute we'll get on with the serious business of tasting the wine.”

“What wine can possibly be as important as this beautiful coat!”

“This wine. I went to a lot of trouble finding it, and there are damn few bottles left in the world.”

She glanced around as I broke the wires on the neck and very gently began nudging the cork back and forth to loosen it. When it came out with the familiar pop, she said, “Oh. Champagne.”

“My dear lady, it's more than Champagne, much more than that. It's a life blood, it's the very last of the truly great Ambonnay's.”

Age had robbed the wine of nothing, which is more of a rarity than the casual wine sipper might think. It hit the bottom of the glass with plenty of life, it's wonderful bouquet as delicate as moonlight. I handed a half filled tulip glass to Pat and she sipped, still trying to sneak glances at the mirror.

“Ummm. Good.”

“Good!” I was actually becoming impatient with her. “If you were anybody else,” I said, “anybody else in the world, and I had just handed you a glass of this nectar and you had taken a distracted sip and mumbled 'ummm, good' do you know what I would do?”

“That's a bit involved, but what would you do?”

“I would throw you the hell out of my apartment.”

“But only if I were anybody else in the world?”

“Yes.”

“Then I needn't worry.” And she smiled, strangely. But it was the first smile of the day and my impatience dissolved. “Okay,” I grinned, “the wine is ummm, good, and if you'd like to swig it from the neck of the bottle, that's all right with me. This is no day to get bogged down in a lousy bottle of wine.”

I was in a rosy mood again. There's nothing like a really significant conquest to put spice and zest in this business of living.

I said, “How about some food? I'll put a plate together for you and you can get it in front of the mirror.”

She laughed softly. “Thank you just the same. But a girl simply doesn't fall heir to a coat like this every day of her life. I'm much too excited for food... do you mind?”

“Not at all. This is my day not to mind anything, this is my day to indulge in sweetness and light, even if it chokes me. But I do get hungry once in a while. It's the peasant in me, no doubt.”

She laughed again, and it was a fine sound. Nodding at the table, she said, “Please don't let me stop you.”

“From this day forward nothing will ever stop me.”

I helped myself to the iced shrimp and Russian dressing. Then some white meat topped with a thin slice of ham; and finally some hot sweetbreads. Pat simply couldn't stay away from that mirror.

I laughed and she looked around.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing. Not a thing in the world!”

“You're awfully satisfied with yourself today, aren't you?”

“I sure am,” I said. “It's been a wonderful day, and it's only beginning.” When I finished eating I went into the kitchen and iced down another bottle of wine. She had finally torn herself away from the mirror.

“Don't you want to tell me about it, this wonderful day of yours?”

“Some other time,” I said, “but not today.” I refilled the glasses from the new bottle and she sat beside me on the couch. Every so often when I was near her it would hit me, and it hit me now... I looked at her and felt my insides go to buttermilk. Great God, I thought, she's beautiful.

She sat there looking at me, very seriously now; then suddenly she surprised me by smiling. “What is it?” I said.

“It just occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about you. I don't even know what you are called—is it William, or Will, or Bill....”

“It's Roy,” I said without thinking, forgetting for a moment that Dorris Venci had changed my name for me. Then I remembered and said, “It's what my mother used to call me.

“Roy,” she smiled. “Roy, and your name is William O'Connor. Well, I suppose that's consistent enough, for you.”

“The explanation would bore you,” I said.

“But what about you?” she said, almost absently, as though she wasn't really interested at all but considered it polite to ask. “You must have a history of some kind, a background, a past. Or would that bore me, too?”

“Probably,” I said. “I started with an empty belly and a high intelligence quotient, and now I don't have the empty belly.”

She smiled, faintly. “Isn't that over simplifying it just a bit?”

“This is a pretty simple world when you get right down to it. When I was a kid I learned to grab fast when we were lucky enough to have food on the table. It took me several years to realize that everyone was grabbing for something, always, and the only trick in getting what you wanted was in grabbing just a little faster than the others.”

“And that is the rule you live by?”

“That is my rule.”

I guess she knew it was going to happen, from the way I was staring at her. After all, you don't give a girl a coat like the one I had given her just because you liked the way she set her hair. I made a grab for her but she already had her guard up and had pushed herself down to the other end of the couch. She tried to get up but I grabbed again and this time I got her.

I was amazed at the strength in those smooth, firm arms of hers. She didn't make a sound; there was no hint of panic in her eyes, but I had a hell of a time pulling her down with me just the same. But I did it, finally. I got her shoulders pinned against the back of the couch, I threw my weight against her and got both her arms in my hands and she was completely helpless. She knew she was helpless and stopped the fight.

She looked at me with perfect calm. “... Now what?” she said.

“See something you want, grab it. I told you that was my rule.”

“... I see. All right, you've grabbed, now where do you go from here? Really, I'm curious about this rule of