Money for Nothing (20 page)

1:57
. A faint scratching at the door. Robbie trying to fit the key into the lock. Josh rose to cross toward the door, which opened before he got there, letting in light-spill from the hallway and the silhouette of Robbie. "Ssshh," Josh whispered. "Come in," he whispered. "Close the
door"
he whispered, afraid the light would draw the undrugged Tina to consciousness.

Robbie obeyed everything, whispering, "What's up?"

"I didn't get to give her the pills."

"Oh, boy. I've got everything ready, I've got guys from the cast to help carry, I've got a van. Is she asleep?"

"Yes, but not drugged. And she's in there with the uniforms. That's the closet they're in."

"Maybe we could tip—"

The living room lights flared on, blinding everybody. Josh, squinting like mad, hand up to his forehead like the lookout searching for land, turned to the inner doorway to see Tina standing there, in a long translucent violet nightgown, draped in more or less strategic folds. Her hand was still on the light-switch, her eyes blinked around blearily. "Something woke me," she said.

"And am I glad it did," Robbie said, advancing toward her, beaming like a lighthouse. "You must be Tina Pausto."

Josh, in panic, had been desperately trying to think of a story to tell, but it would not have included Robbie saying, "You must be Tina Pausto." He stared, at Robbie's cheerful self-confidence, at Tina's growing confusion, and all he could do was hope against hope that Robbie knew what he was about.

Tina frowned. "You know me?" Her expression might become dangerous.

"Well, I recognize you from old Nimrin's description, years ago," Robbie said, digging the hole ever deeper.

Now the expression she leveled on him
was
dangerous. "Ellois Nimrin?"

"What other is there?" Robbie took a stance. "Poppycock!" he announced. "I don't want another word out of you. I know what I know and that's what I know."

"But that was perfect," Tina said, with a sudden happy smile, and Josh realized what Robbie had just done was a dead-on Ellois Nimrin imitation.

"I can do Andrei Levrin, too," Robbie told her, "but let's not make ourselves sad." To Tina's laugh of girlish glee, he said, "I am Mitchell Robbie. I hope I will be Mitch to you, and I hope you will be Tina."

"I'm sure we shall be," she said, and permitted him to take her hand and bow his head over it. She looked pleased, then surprised, and looked at her hand doubtfully when he straightened. "But you—"

"The original air kiss," he told her. "In the old days, when that was a more common greeting, the gentleman would actually kiss his own thumb, rather than permit his lips to touch her flesh, unless he knew her considerably better than you and I know one another. So far."

"So far," she said, with a flirtatious nod. She was a foot taller than him, but she almost managed to appear as though she were looking up at him. So I finally get to see a courtesan at work, Josh realized.

"But I had no idea you two knew each other," she said.

"Oh, sure," Robbie said. "Old Nimrin recruited us together, years ago." With a guileless smile at Josh, he said, "Down at Uncle Ray's, wasn't it?"

"Right," Josh said.

Now she was blinking in confusion at the living room. "But it's so late," she said, "and you are—"

"I'm going to help Josh with the move from Fire Island tomorrow," Robbie said, "so I'm here to discuss it I'm in a play downtown, you may have heard of us, so I couldn't get here till after the show. I know I should be sorry I disturbed your rest, but in fact I'm not."

"I'm not going to Fire Island," Josh told him. "The plans are changed."

Surprised, he lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"And I am not really resting," she said, sounding fretful now that she was reminded. "It always happens, when I go to bed too early. When I go to
sleep
too early. I wake up in the middle of the night,
so
restless. If only I had a sleeping draught."

Josh opened his mouth, but Robbie got there first. "I'm sure Josh has some sleeping pills. Haven't you, Josh?"

Josh was still in his clothing, the twist of aluminum foil with the sleeping pills still in his pants pocket. "Sure," he said. "In the bathroom. Wait here, Tina, chat with Mitch, I'll get you a couple and a glass of water."

He raced into the bathroom, paused to gaze in wonder at the rictus-faced maniac in the mirror there, undressed the sleeping pills, filled a glass with water, and hurried back to the living room, where Tina was saying, "It's rather too bad, really, that I wasn't assigned to you, rather than— Oh, there you are, Josh."

"And here are the pills. And I heard that."

She took them, swallowed them with water, and said, "Thank you. But you must admit, Josh, for me, you are not that… stimulating."

"I know," Josh said. "Sorry."

"We have world enough and time, lady," Robbie assured her. "Come see the show tomorrow night, I'll leave passes at the box office." Pointing to Josh, he said, "Bring your wooden Indian."

She laughed. "What a delightful idea. But I must not waste these pills."

"No," Josh agreed.

"Good night to you both," she said, and departed, with the waterglass.

Josh walked to the door with Robbie. "I couldn't believe that," he whispered. "Jesus, you took a chance."

"Not really." Then, "I don't care about your past, darling," he whispered. "It's your future that interests me." With a grin and a wink at Josh, he whispered, "A week or two of your future, anyway. See you in half an hour."

TINA SNORED. JOSH COULD ONLY assume she didn't snore as a general rule — it would be a negative quality in a femme fatale — but that it was a side effect of the sleeping pills. Nevertheless, he felt embarrassed for her, and guilty for himself, having brought four men into the bedroom to listen to Tina saw wood.

The three new ones were Robbie's castmates in the play, introduced in whispers in the dark living room as Nicola, Petkoff, and Bluntschli, which made them sound more like Levrin's friends than Robbie's. But then Petkoff whispered, "Mitch, I'm not Petkoff now," and whispered to Josh, "I'm Tom, that's Dick, and that's Harry."

"No jokes," Harry/Bluntschli whispered.

Robbie whispered, "That's why I told him your character names, but whatever you want. Let's do it."

So they went into the bedroom, where Tina snored in long grumbling rollers, and Josh opened the closet door. No room in Manhattan is ever entirely dark, the halo over the city seeping in everywhere, so they had no trouble finding the uniforms. They took it all, hats and boots as well, filling their arms and shoulders, all four staggering with the weight of it when they left the room. Josh closed the door behind them, then hurried ahead to open the hall door.

On his way out, Robbie whispered, "Come to the show tomorrow night. Be sure to bring Tina."

"What part am I supposed to be playing?" Josh asked him. "Pander?"

Robbie was amused by that. "Certainly not. You are the Nurse, the good Nurse. See you tomorrow."

Nearly three o'clock, and he still wasn't asleep, though he was now stretched on his substitute bed on the floor. Removing the uniforms from this apartment had almost seemed like a lark ahead of time, until it was done. Only now did he really stop to think how dangerous it was.

It was true that Tina was unlikely to find the uniforms missing. Since the closet had been so full of Josh and Eve's clothing, plus the uniforms, she was using the smaller closet in Jeremy's room, plus the small suitcase in there that had so upset Eve. Still, Levrin had wanted to look at them tonight, and who knew who else might want to see those props before showtime?

Josh remembered the pose of outraged innocence Robbie expected him to perform when the discovery was eventually made, and the more he thought about it, the more sure he was he wouldn't be able to bring it off.
Robbie
could do it, that was the sort of thing he did all his life anyway, but Josh was not a great pretender.

Levrin and his goons, Josh knew, wouldn't even have to actually torture him to make him tell the truth. All Hugo would have to do was turn those little mean eyes in Josh's direction, and Josh would spill every bean he had. He'd spray like a fountain. Then they would squeeze him like a pimple, race down to Good Rep, squeeze Robbie like a pimple, get their uniforms back, and be off to Yankee Stadium.

With a side trip to punish Eve and Jeremy.

But what else could they have done, he and Robbie? What else could they do? I'm going out there a scared little boy, Josh told himself, and I have no idea what I'll be when I come back. If I come back. But I had to try it, didn't I?

2:56
. It had been
2:56
an awfully long time, hadn't it? Was the clock stuck? It shouldn't be—

2:57
. Well, all right, but when am I going to get some sleep?
2:57. 2:57. 2:57. 9:23
. What was that?

"Rouse
up
, sleepyhead!" called the cheerful voice of the well-rested Tina. "It's a new day!"

THE NEW DAY WAS THE worst day of Josh's life. Friday, and he'd originally expected to be on his way to Fire Island, to spend a weekend with his family, packing and fretting, with Eve to lend him support. Instead of which, he was alone in the apartment in New York, just fretting. No distractions. No support.

Would Premier Mihommed-Sinn's arrival in the city today get live coverage from any of the local stations? No; not the stations he could get without cable, anyway.

After a glum breakfast, he went out to get the
Times
, and at least the
Times
knew the Premier was to arrive today. Some background was given in the piece, though not the gypsy curse, and a rundown on tomorrow's events at Yankee Stadium, in which Premier Mihommed-Sinn and his Olympic sprinter, Drogdrd Ozak, while important, were far from the only principals. A number of worthy athletes from around the world were being honored, all of this in connection, apparently, with some important gathering at the United Nations. Notable names would be present at the stadium to receive awards, to present awards, or merely to stand around being important. Of honor guards there would be several, of ceremonies many, but of slaughter? None was mentioned.

A little before eleven, Tina appeared, in a fitted short white dress and amazingly tall red heels, so that now she had to stoop to get through doorways. Over her shoulder and bouncing on her hip was a shiny red bag that matched the shoes… and, come to notice, her lipstick. She seemed energized, happy, charged-up, particularly in contrast to Josh's condition of funk.

"My dear," she announced, "I must be leaving New York in just a very short while. Before I go, I must stop in at one or two shops. Are we to attend this theater tonight?"

"I guess so."

"I shall buy something to wear. Off-Broadway, is it not?"

"Very off-Broadway."

"I shall be found," she told him, "in better stores everywhere." And off she sailed, leaving Josh more morose than ever.

Afterward, he could never remember how he got through that Friday, alone in the apartment, not knowing if he was going to be responsible for mass murder, not knowing if he was going to be tortured and murdered himself for betraying Andrei Levrin's cause, whatever it was, not knowing what would happen to Eve and Jeremy over this horrible weekend.

He sat through it, he got through it. He knew enough not to look at the clock, but he couldn't keep from thinking about all those checks. United States Agent. How could he have kept them? If United States Agent were truly impossible to reach, how could he have risked taking their money?

It all seemed so stupid now. He'd never needed the money that badly, not even at the beginning. It had just been easier to take it, that's all. Easier for him, easier for Mitchell Robbie, easier for poor Robert Van Bark.

Three others had not taken the money, not cashed the checks. What moral fiber did they have that Josh lacked? Or what wisdom? What was it inside
their
heads that had told them, "Don't go there, don't have anything to do with that," that was not in
his
head? Was he a moral weakling? Was he simply a fool?

Never in his life had he felt such self-doubt, nor ever had he had such leisure to nurse it.

Black Friday.

WHEN TINA SWEPT BACK IN, at about five-thirty, she was as radiant and invigorated as ever, though now burdened with any number of bright shopping bags. She dropped them on the coffee table in front of the lumpish Josh and on the sofa next to him, surrounding him with intimations of a more gladsome world. The names he could see on the shopping bags were Ferragamo, Prada, Bergdorf-Goodman, Henri Bendel. Femme fatality must pay well.

She stood, long and lean in her snug white dress, one hand on one cocked hip, and studied him, half in concern and half in mock-concern. "But my dear," she said, "why such a long face?"

"Because I'm sorry I got into this," he told her, too low to care anymore what any of these people thought of him.

"Oh, my poor dear," she said, and sat in the chair beyond the coffee table, the better to consider his case. "It's because of your Eve, isn't it?"

"That's part of it."

"I know," she told him. "There were many discussions about that action. There was a fear — I must tell you,
I
expressed it — a fear that it would harm your morale."

"Looks like you were right."

"But security remained paramount. That Andrei," she said, as though he were just some naughty child, "he does not explain himself well, and he does not give consideration to other people's feelings."

That was a big enough surprise to make Josh look at her more closely. Other people's feelings? These assassins, these
spies
, agents, whatever to call them, did any of them
ever
consider other people's feelings, except as tools to manipulate?

And what was Tina Pausto doing now? Cooling him down, keeping him calm enough to go on being useful to the scheme. But it didn't matter if he knew that. She was very good at her fakery, as of course she would be, and it was succeeding. He could see through her, and yet the simulation of fellow-feeling worked just as well as the real thing. He found himself responding, wanting to be soothed. He said, "I don't see why they had to do it. Why not let Eve and Jeremy stay where they were? Come back on Sunday, when it's all over."