LARA WENT IN first. I watched her through the cluttered window display. She wandered idly in the flickering light. Graynge was not in sight. As I entered, I turned the sign on the door around so it said, Closed. Quietly I slid the bolt on the top of the door across t lock it. I took what I needed from my backpack and left it by the door.
Clara had unbuttoned her dress. It was open down to the bottom of her breasts. Graynge was still out of my sight, but I could see where he was by the way that Clara turned. She was playing with him, giving him views of herself from different angles.
Pulling back the raincoat with her knuckles against her hip, she showed her milky-white thighs. Below the inspiring shortness of her thin dress and rising from the tough swagger of the pirate boots, they would have raised a fallen telephone pole.
Prowling in the light of oil lamps among the dark rugs and brass antiques, she took care to pose, turn, and even twirl to make sure she had his attention. And not a glance in my direction. She was good.
She went into the hidden part of the store. I moved swiftly down the aisle after her, leaving a small bag along below each of the oil lamps on the way. Some on furniture, some on rugs. Only one on the floor. That was good.
My plan was to seize him fast and finish him with a narrow dagger. Preferably between his ribs from behind. The dagger was up my sleeve, ready. In a khaki jacket he sat in a captain’s chair with his thighs spread.
Amber light dappled him from the heavy chandelier above the chair. When he turned the chair I saw his face. Immediately I knew where I’d seen his fancy mustache before. The surprise of recognizing him took me off guard.
“You were in a village in the Pashtun hills.” I said, “About eighteen months ago. You had on dark shades and a headscarf, over a camouflage jacket. I saw you take tea with the village elders.”
He gave me what I guess he meant as a modest smile. His eyes narrowed. “I have connections around that area. I take business to them. I buy rugs. Antiques.” He waved his arm to indicate the heavy brass chandelier above his head, lit with oil lamps. The wall beside him was decked with crescent-bladed daggers, elaborate curved swords, and long rifles.
“What else do you bring back?”
He shrugged, “Teas. Honey. Anything that can make some money for the villagers and the tribespeople in the hills. It’s a hard life up there.”
Anger rose inside me. “What about poppies, do you bring back any of those? Or the sap? Do you bring opium or heroine, rolled up in the centers of your rugs?”
He stood as he spread his fingers and lifted his hands. “Okay, okay. I think I’ve heard enough from you. Time to go. I’m closing the store now.” He stood in front of me with his arms stretched out.
I said, “Or any little girls? Have you helped out the villagers by buying their children? Did you find them new homes in massage parlors in Virginia and the midwest?”
I should have kept calm. It was one thing to know who he was. The advantage of surprise was lost now. Now I risked losing my temper. That would be dangerous. An unguarded instinct flicked my eyes to Clara,
He saw it and his face unzipped an evil grin. “Oh, the two of you are a little raiding party.” He laughed as he reached back to Clara.
Graynge was swift and smooth, producing an old Mauser 9mm machine pistol. It looked like it was very well serviced. He pointed the long blue-black barrel at my eye. His other hand clamped on Clara’s throat. Her eyes widened and her face reddened as she tried to pull back. His thumb was on her larynx.
I hit the wrist of his gun hand and grabbed his elbow to crack his arm. He was strong. It didn’t give. Holding the elbow, I shoved harder on the gun. His eyes gleamed in amusement. The dagger was wider than I would have liked for the job, but I slammed it straight through his eye socket. The six-inch blade slid all the way in without difficulty.
He convulsed as I twisted and waggled the blade. I grabbed the gun hand and held on hard. All four of his limbs shook wildly. Clara clutched at his arm. His grip on her throat tightened. A chain and cable were tethered to the wall. I reached over and released them from the hook and the heavy brass chandelier dropped on top of his jerking body.
Clara was bent down by the chair. His hand still clutched her neck. I slid the dagger out of his eye socket and jabbed it in the wrist. Reaching over as he finally let go, I grabbed her and pulled her to me.
She gasped. Her breath grated as she moaned. I held her close. Smoothed her hair, “Are you alright?”
With a faint smile, she nodded. “Mmm,” was all she was able to say.
I held her close for a precious moment.
“We need to get gone,” I told her, “or we’ll be caught in the fire.”
She frowned, “There isn’t a fire.”
“Not yet.” I pushed her toward the exit. “The door is bolted at the top,” I told her.
Several of the oil lamps around the chandelier leaked onto the floor. I put a couple more small bags along the streams of oil. Then I broke three more of the bags of lamp oil over the jerking body, trapped under the chandelier. I was ready to ignite the fuel if I had to, but it caught light without my help.
It would have been neater to wait until his pulse stopped. We didn’t have time. Every second we were there put us more in danger. There was no option but to trust that Graynge was dead enough not to be coming back.
I hefted my backpack and turned the sign on the door back to ‘Open. ’ Then I hurried out and urged Clara up the stone steps. Following her up, oh, those legs and that ass.
One short drive from here and I would peel open and pierce the most luscious virgin alive. Then I was going to pound her until my name woke the dead.
As my eyes drew level to the sidewalk, a blue sedan was pulling up in front of the steps. The door flew open.
I called, “Clara!” But she could see him already. And it was too late.