Game of Cages

More footsteps came toward us.

I offered her the skillet, and her eyes lit up. She took it gratefully. I put my finger to my lips and slipped back into the pantry.

Catherine had taken up a position behind the door. I left the door open just enough to peek out at Regina.

I heard people rush into the room. Regina raised the skillet over her head. “Don’t come any closer!”

“It is all right, ma’am,” I heard a woman say. “There is no need to be violent.” I liked the careful way she pronounced every word.

Regina glared. “What have you done with Armand?”

“Not a thing, ma’am, I assure you,” Well-Spoken Woman answered.

“Madam,” a man’s voice said. “May I approach this man? I fear he might be dead.” He had a Russian accent.

“I hope he is dead.” Regina still held the skillet high, but she was getting tired. A hiking boot and a gray pant leg entered my field of vision, but I didn’t widen the opening to get a better look. “I hope he’s as dead as a … as a …” She sighed and let the skillet fall against her shoulder. It was late and she was tired. “He always did things to hurt me.”

“I’m sorry for that, ma’am,” Well-Spoken said. “And who are you, if I may ask?”

Regina straightened up. “This is my house.”

Someone else rushed in with the clicking footsteps of high heels. “Aunt Reggie, what have you done?” another woman asked. She had a high, harried voice and a slight southern drawl.

“I stood up for myself,” the old woman said harshly.

“Oh, God, is he dead?”

“No,” the man said. “He is unconscious and possibly has a broken jaw. He should be taken to a hospital.”

“The two-hour grace period has not yet ended,” Well-Spoken said.

A woman stepped into view and took the skillet from Regina without kindness or cruelty. She was nearly thirty, with an orange tanning-booth tan. She wore a green suit with touches of gold at the lapels and cuffs. Something about her put me off. “She’s right,” she said. She was the one with the drawl. “It’ll be another half hour before anyone can leave. We have to give Mr. Yin’s truck the head start we promised.”

They don’t know. They don’t know that, just a mile away, the truck was on its side and the predator was on the loose.

The gray pant leg and shoe moved out of my field of vision. “And if he dies?” Mr. Accent asked.

“Then his family will sue us.” The niece turned to Regina. “Aunt Reggie, let’s get back to your room. Please. I don’t have time for this right now.”

“What about Armand?” Regina asked as she let herself be led away. “What do all these people have to do with Armand? I want to see him! Why won’t you let me see him?”

Her voice receded, and a man I hadn’t heard before said something in a language I couldn’t identify. His voice was harsh and low.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Well-Spoken said. “But I agree. The old woman can also identify us to the police.”

The harsh voice spoke again. Was it German? The woman answered in the same language.

The Russian man cleared his throat. “I do not like the idea of killing a sick old woman. If it is necessary, of course I will do it, but she is very like my own grandmother. Why would we need to kill anyone? There is nothing illegal here.”

The harsh voice answered with a short remark.

“I agree.” Well-Spoken was still cool and relaxed. “It is one thing for us to know what was sold here, but the woman could raise an outcry, especially if she regained part of her fortune. I would hate to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

The harsh voice again. Well-Spoken answered him: “Perhaps not, but they could harm us.”

“We would also prefer not to attract the wrong kind of attention,” the Russian said. “But I still do not like the idea of murder.”

“Security has been inadequate from the moment we arrived,” she said, ignoring the man’s comment. “For instance, there is also the problem of Mr. Kripke.”

“Yes,” the Russian said. “He and the group he represents are not discreet.”

The German man spoke. The woman sighed and answered: “I’m afraid I must say the same. Unfortunately, I must leave soon to meet Mr. Yin. Neither of us can linger long enough to take care of him.” I wished one of them would step into my line of sight, narrow as it was. I wanted a good look at anyone who talked that casually about murder.

The Russian sighed. “We will do it. No one will find the body. But in exchange, we spare the old woman. This is America—no one will listen to her.”

“Acceptable,” Well-Spoken said. A pale man in a long scarlet ski jacket arrived. He was as tall and crook- necked as a stork. I figured him for one of Horace’s Fellows. He lifted the nurse’s legs. Unseen hands helped him carry the man away.

Then a man stepped into my view. He wore heavy canvas pants with a leather jacket. His hair was blond and wispy and his skin pale. He had the face of a man who’d taken a lot of beatings and the expression of one who’d given out even more.