Memories of Midnight

There were storms raging in him over which he had no control, a cold center deep within him with no warm memories to dissolve it. They had begun a year ago with his act of revenge against Noelle. He had thought that that had ended it, that the past was buried. It had never occurred to him that there might be repercussions until, unexpectedly, Catherine Alexander had come back into his life. That had necessitated the removal of Frederick Stavros and Napoleon Chotas. They had played a deadly game against him, and he had won. But what surprised Constantin Demiris was how much he had enjoyed the risk, the cutting edge of excitement. Business was fascinating, but it paled compared to the game of life and death. I'm a murderer, Demiris thought. No - not a murderer. An executioner. And instead of being appalled by it, he found it exhilarating.



Constantin Demiris received a weekly report on Catherine Alexander's activities. So far, everything was working out perfectly. Her social activities were confined to the people she worked with. According to Evelyn, Catherine occasionally went out with Kirk Reynolds. But since Reynolds worked for Demiris, that presented no problem. The poor girl must be desperate, Demiris thought. Reynolds was boring. He could talk about nothing but the law. But that was all to the good. The more desperate Catherine was for companionship, the easier it would be for him. I owe Reynolds a vote of thanks.



Catherine was seeing Kirk Reynolds regularly, and she found herself drawn to him more and more. He was not handsome, but he was certainly attractive. I learned my lesson about handsome with Larry, Catherine thought wryly. The old expression is true: Handsome is as handsome does. Kirk Reynolds was thoughtful and reliable. He's someone I can count on, Catherine thought. I don't feel any great burning spark, but I probably never will again. Larry took care of that. I'm mature enough now to settle for a man I respect, who respects me as a companion, someone with whom I can share a nice, sane life without being worried about being thrown off mountaintops, or being buried in dark caves.



They went to the theater to see The Lady's Not for Burning by Christopher Fry, and, on another evening, September Tide with Gertrude Lawrence. They went to nightclubs. The orchestras all seemed to be playing the "The Third Man Theme" and "La Vie En Rose."



"I'm going to St. Moritz next week," Kirk Reynolds told Catherine. "Have you thought about it?"



Catherine had given it a great deal of thought. She was sure that Kirk Reynolds was in love with her. And I love him, Catherine thought. But loving and being in love are two different things, aren't they? Or am I just being a dumb romantic? What am I looking for - another Larry? - someone who'll sweep me off my feet, fall in love with another woman, and try to kill me? Kirk Reynolds would make a wonderful husband. Why am I hesitating?



That night Catherine and Kirk dined at the Mira-belle, and when they were having dessert, Kirk said, "Catherine, in case you don't know, I'm in love with you. I want to marry you."



She felt a sudden panic. "Kirk..." And she was not sure what she was going to say. My next words, Catherine thought, are going to change my life. It would be so simple to say yes. What's holding me back? Is it the fear of the past? Am I going to live my whole life being afraid? I can't let that happen.



"Cathy..."



"Kirk - Why don't we go to St. Moritz together?"



Kirk's face lit up. "Does that mean...?"



"We'll see. Once you see me ski you probably won't want to marry me."



Kirk laughed. "Nothing in the world could keep me from wanting to marry you. You've made me one very happy fellow. We'll go up on November fifth - Guy Fawkes Day."



"What is Guy Fawkes Day?"



"It's a fascinating story. King James had a strict anti-Catholic policy, so a group of prominent Roman Catholics plotted to overthrow the government. A soldier named Guy Fawkes was brought over from Spain to lead the plot. He arranged for a ton of gunpowder, in thirty-six barrels, to be hidden in the basement of the House of Lords. But on the morning that they were to blow up the House of Lords, one of the conspirators told on them and they were all caught. Guy Fawkes was tortured, but he wouldn't talk. All the men were executed. Now, every year in England, the day of the discovery of the plot is celebrated by bonfires and fireworks, and small boys make effigies of 'Guys.'"



Catherine shook her head. "That's a pretty grim holiday."



He smiled at her and said quietly, "I promise you that ours won't be grim."



The night before they were to leave, Catherine washed her hair, packed and unpacked twice, and felt sick with excitement. She had known only two men carnally in her life, William Fraser and her husband. Do they still use words like 'carnally'? Catherine wondered. My God, I hope I remember how. They say it's like riding a bicycle; once you do it, you never forget. Maybe he's going to be disappointed in me in bed. Maybe I'm going to be disappointed in me in bed. Maybe I should just stop worrying about it and go to sleep.



"Mr. Demiris?"



"Yes."



"Catherine Alexander left this morning for St. Moritz."



There was a silence. "St. Moritz?"



"Yes, sir."



"Did she go alone?"



"No, sir. She went with Kirk Reynolds."



This time the silence was longer. "Thank you, Evelyn."



Kirk Reynolds! It was impossible. What could she see in him? I waited too long. I should have moved more quickly. I'll have to do something about this. I can't let her - His secretary buzzed.



"Mr. Demiris, there's a Mr. Anthony Rizzoli here to see you. He does not have an appointment and..."



"Then why are you bothering me?" Demiris asked. He snapped down the intercom.



It buzzed again. "I'm sorry to disturb you. Mr. Rizzoli says he has a message for you from Mr. Lambrou. He says it's very important."



A message? Strange. Why wouldn't his brother-in-law deliver his own message? "Send him in."



"Yes, sir."



Tony Rizzoli was ushered into Constantin Demiris's office. He looked around the office appreciatively. It was even more lavish than the offices of Spyros Lambrou. "Nice of you to see me, Mr. Demiris."



"You have two minutes."



"Spyros sent me. He thought you and I should have a talk."



"Really? And what do we have to talk about?"



"Do you mind if I sit down?"



"I don't think you'll be staying that long."



Tony Rizzoli settled himself in a chair facing Demiris. "I have a manufacturing plant, Mr. Demiris. I ship things to various parts of the world."



"I see. And you want to charter one of my ships."



"Exactly."



"Why did Spyros send you to me? Why don't you charter one of his ships? He happens to have two of them idle at the moment."



Tony Rizzoli shrugged. "I guess he doesn't like what I ship."



"I don't understand. What is it you ship?"



"Drugs," Tony Rizzoli said delicately. "Heroin."



Constantin Demiris was staring at him in disbelief. "And you expect me to...? Get out of here, before I call the police."



Rizzoli nodded toward the phone. "Go right ahead."



He watched Demiris reach for the phone. "I'd like to speak to them too. I'd like to tell them all about that trial of Noelle Page and Larry Douglas."



Constantin Demiris froze. "What are you talking about?"



"I'm talking about two people executed for the murder of a woman who's still alive."



Constantin Demiris's face had gone white.



"Do you think maybe the police would be interested in that story, Mr. Demiris? If they aren't, maybe the press would be, huh? I can see the headlines now, can't you? Can I call you Costa? Spyros told me all your friends call you Costa, and I think you and I are going to be good friends. Do you know why? Because good friends don't rat on each other. We'll keep that little stunt you pulled our secret, shall we?"



Constantin Demiris was sitting rigid in his chair. When he spoke his voice was hoarse. "What is it you want?"



"I told you. I want to charter one of your ships - and, you and I being such good friends, I don't think you would want to charge me for the charter, would you? Let's say it's a favor traded for a favor."



Demiris took a deep breath. "I can't let you do this. If it ever got out that I allowed drugs to be smuggled on one of my ships, I could lose my whole fleet."



"But it's not going to get out, is it? In my business, I don't advertise. We're going to do this very quietly."



Constantin Demiris's expression hardened. "You're making a big mistake. You can't blackmail me. Do you know who I am?"



"Yeah. You're my new partner. You and I are going to be doing business together for a long time, Costa baby, because if you say no, I go right to the police and the newspapers and spill the whole story. And there goes your reputation and your fucking empire, right down the drain."



There was a long, painful silence.



"How - how did my brother-in-law find out?"



Rizzoli grinned. "That's not important. What's important is that I've got you by the balls. If I squeeze, you're a eunuch. You'll be singing soprano for the rest of your life, and you'll be singing it in a prison cell." Tony Rizzoli looked at his watch. "My goodness, my two minutes are up." He rose to his feet. "I'm giving you sixty seconds to decide whether I walk out of here as your partner - or I just walk out."



Constantin Demiris suddenly looked ten years older. His face was drained of color. He had no illusions about what would happen if the true story of the trial came out. The press would eat him alive. He would be portrayed as a monster, a murderer. They might even open an investigation into the deaths of Stavros and Chotas.



"Your sixty seconds are up."



Constantin Demiris nodded slowly. "All right," he whispered, "all right."



Tony Rizzoli beamed down at him. "You're smart."



Constantin Demiris slowly rose to his feet. "I'll let you get away with it this once," he said. "I don't want to know how you do it, or when. I'll put one of your men aboard one of my ships. That's as far as I'll go."



"It's a deal," Tony Rizzoli said. He thought, Maybe you're not so smart. You smuggle one load of heroin and you're hooked, Costa baby. There's no way I will ever let you go. Aloud, he repeated, "Sure, it's a deal."



On the way back to the hotel, Tony Rizzoli was exultant. Jackpot. The narcs would never dream of touching Constantin Demiris's fleet. Christ, from now on I can load up every ship of his that sails out of here. The money will roll in. Horse and antiques - sorry, Victor, he laughed aloud - antiquities.



Rizzoli went to a public telephone booth on Stadiou Avenue and made two calls. The first was to Pete Lucca in Palermo.



"You can get your two gorillas out of here, Pete, and put them back in the zoo where they belong. The stuff's ready to move. It's going by ship."



"Are you sure the package is safe?"



Rizzoli laughed. "It's safer than the Bank of England. I'll tell you about it when I see you. And I have more good news. From now on we're going to be able to make a shipment every week."



"That's wonderful, Tony. I always knew I could count on you."



The hell you did, you bastard.



The second call was to Spyros Lambrou. "It went fine. Your brother-in-law and I are going into business together."



"Congratulations. I'm delighted to hear it, Mr. Rizzoli."



When Spyros Lambrou replaced the receiver, he smiled. The narcotics squad will be too.



Constantin Demiris stayed in his office past midnight, sitting at his desk, contemplating his new problem. He had avenged himself against Noelle Page, and now she was returning from the grave to haunt him. He reached inside a desk drawer and took out a framed photograph of Noelle. Hello, bitch. God, she was beautiful! So you think you're going to destroy me. Well, we'll see. We'll see.