Stiletto (18 page)

The tach needle stood at 26,000 r.p.m., it checked out with the speedometer. The temperature gauge was normal, the oil pressure gauge was even, the generator and the battery were at normal discharge. She straightened up. They could go a million miles in this car if they wanted to.

They turned the corner and came upon two other contestants. Cesare looked at her. “Can we have a little fun before we quit?” he shouted over the motor.

She glanced at the mileage indicator. They were about sixty miles from the starting point. She nodded.

Cesare grinned and hit the accelerator. He cut in behind the two cars. They were blocking his way through. He inched up until he was practically riding their rear bumpers.

She looked at him. His lips were drawn back across his teeth in a savage grin. Beneath the goggles his eyes seemed to shine with an unholy joy. The cars in front of him began to go into a curve.

He laughed aloud and picked up more speed. She looked down at the speedometer. They were doing one hundred and twenty now and the needle was climbing. She felt the drag on her body as the big Ferrari tore into the curve. She looked ahead nervously. If the cars in front didn’t split now, they would all be dead. Before the thought had gone from her mind, the Ferrari had crept between the two cars. They had split.

Deliberately, Cesare sawed the Ferrari back and forth across the road. She could see the other drivers cursing and fighting to stay on the road. Then they came into the straightaway and now the Ferrari was a few feet ahead of them. Cesare laughed aloud again and opened the car up. The speedometer jumped to one-fifty and the Ferrari left the two cars behind them.

She looked back at them and laughed. Now she knew what Esteban had meant back in the garage. Here was a race that Cardinali knew he wasn’t even going to finish and still he drove the same way he always did. But he could drive. Esteban was right. If he really wanted to he could be the best in the business.

She felt his hand come down on her own and she turned around. Unconsciously, she had moved closer to him in the excitement. He lifted her hand from the seat and moved it on to his thigh. She looked up at him. He turned his head and met her gaze, a mocking smile on his lips.

She could feel the heat coming up from his leg into her hand and running into her body. For a moment she was wild at what he could do to her, how he could make her feel. She dug her fingers into the muscles of his thigh, feeling her nails go through his clothing into his flesh. She wanted him to feel pain, to hurt and push her hand away.

He only laughed aloud at her. She felt a pulse begin to throb in the palm of her hand. Angrily she raked her nails back along his leg and took away her hand. She moved away from him. She closed her eyes at the sudden pain that came up inside her when she lost contact with his warmth. She shook her head to clear it. What was the matter with her anyway? There was no percentage in it. Did she always have to try to be a loser?

***

She looked down at the mileage indicator. They were a hundred miles from the starting point. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Begin slowing down. We better let those cars behind us go by.”

Cesare nodded. The big Ferrari began to lose speed. They were down to sixty miles per hour and it felt as if they were standing still. Within a few minutes the two cars they had passed went by with much hooting of their horns.

He shook his head. “The party’s over,” he said.

“It never really began,” she replied, her eye on the mileage indicator.

The one-fifteen was creeping up on the dial. He seemed to be paying no attention to it. She looked at him. Sixty miles an hour was still too fast to be going if even a small bomb was going to blow up your generator but if he thought she was going to chicken, he was crazy.

The one-fifteen locked in the dial. He laughed and hit the accelerator. The big car began to leap forward. At the same moment, there was a faint explosion under the hood. The car shuddered and the motor stopped. They began to weave crazily on the road.

She could see the muscles on his forearms ridge as he fought to hold the wheel steady while he pumped the brake a little at a time to bring the speed down. At last they were rolling slowly. She let her breath out slowly. “Now that you’ve had your fun, Mr. Cardinali,” she said sarcastically, “I guess it’s safe to pull off the road now.”

“Okay,” he said. He turned the wheel toward the shoulder of the road. He smiled at her.

“Look out!” she yelled, seeing it first. “A ditch!”

Cesare spun the wheel sharply but it was too late. The two wheels on the right side of the car caught the ditch. Slowly the heavy car settled in the sandy earth and rolled over on its top.

Cesare slid out from under the car. He got to his feet and pulled off his helmet. Faint wisps of smoke began to come up from the engine. He turned back to the car. “Luke! Are you all right?”

Her voice came faintly from beneath the other side of the car. “I’m okay.”

He ran around the car and knelt beside it. He peered under the car. She had her hands on the back of the seat and was squirming around, trying to get out.

“What are you waiting for?” he yelled. “Come on out. There are fifty gallons of gasoline back in the tank!”

She stopped squirming and stared at him balefully. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do? A snake dance?” she snapped, beginning to wriggle again. Suddenly she began to laugh. “My coveralls are caught on something.”

He threw himself to the ground beneath her. “Why didn’t you say so?” he grinned. He put his hands under the coveralls and ripped them open. Then she felt his arms under her shoulders. “Kick your shoes off,” he commanded.

Automatically she did as he told her. She felt herself slide forward, out of the coveralls onto the ground beside him. She was still laughing.

He looked at her, a faint smile beginning to twitch the corners of his mouth. “Well, you said it was safe.”

“Show-off!” she retorted.

“Who is showing off now?” he asked, his eyes glancing down at her.

The laughter faded from her lips. She was suddenly aware of her near nudity. The thin brassiere and panties didn’t serve to cover very much. “I’ll get my coveralls,” she said, turning to reach for them.

His hand fell on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground. She lay there motionless feeling the warmth in his hand, staring up at him. She felt his other hand move and free one breast from her brassiere. She looked down at herself then back up at him, oddly aroused at the sight of her white flesh against his darkly tanned hand.

“Stop it,” she said in a low voice, the fever beginning to work inside her. This time she wasn’t going to be easy.

His eyes were glowing. She felt as if she were under a microscope, as if he could read every hidden thought, knew every emotion inside her. “You don’t want me to stop,” he said.

She felt his strong fingers suddenly crush her breast and the pain tore her from her lethargy. “I’ll make you stop!” she screamed, thrusting her hands inside his open shirt, her body writhing wildly. “I’ll tear your flesh into ribbons!”

But when her fingers felt the soft cool touch of his skin, the fever rose and took possession of her body and the strength drained from her limbs. She thrust her hands deeper into his shirt and closed her eyes. His arm held her away.

She opened her eyes, feeling the tears come to them. It was no use. She couldn’t change, she would never change. “Let me touch you, let me worship you,” she begged.

And when, after a while, he took her, she knew she had been right from the moment she first saw him. Never had there been a man like him before that could fit and fill every hidden corner of her mind and body.

She closed her eyes and began to run softly through the forest toward the mountain. She knew the animal was there somewhere, his black and yellow stripes, stalking her in the brush. She was scrambling frantically up the mountain now, her heart pounding, her breath like a rasping fire inside her lungs. Then she was on the peak with the whole world spinning round below her, this time when the animal sprang she was ready for him. Locked in an embrace of death, they tumbled together, over and over down the face of the mountain.

She moaned softly. “Tiger, tiger tiger!”

***

Cesare kicked open the door of the shack. “There is no one here,” he said.

She walked into the shack and he followed her. “What do we do now?” he asked.

“We wait,” she said succinctly.

There were a few battered chairs and a table in the shack. He pulled one of the chairs toward her. She sat down. He lit two cigarettes and held one toward her. She took it without speaking.

“You are very silent,” he said.

She blew the smoke from her lungs, its acrid taste somehow cleansing. “What is there to say?” she asked. “You made your point.”

“Was that all there was to it?” he asked.

She stared at him. “What difference does it make? It won’t happen again.”

“Are you always that sure of everything? How do you know what will happen tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I’ll have enough money to buy a Ferrari,” she said almost bitterly. “And we’ll never see each other again.”

“Is that all it meant to you?” He laughed shortly. “An automobile? A Ferrari can do many things but it cannot love you.”

“You speak of love?” she said cynically. “You forget I know about you. To how many women have you spoken of love? Ten, twenty, a hundred? More?”

His eyes were veiled. “A man may live in many places and still not call them home.”

The sound of an automobile came from outside the shack. Luke got up from her chair and walked past him to the door. She turned and looked back at him. Her face was set and tense. “It’s over,” she said with finality. “I said I was never going to be a loser again.”

“You changed your mind back there, under the automobile,” he said softly.

“I was paid for what I did,” she said harshly. “I was told to keep you here.” She swung open the door.

Two men stood there, the guns in their hands pointed at Cesare.

She looked back at him over her shoulder. “See what I mean?” she asked, stepping carefully behind them and out into the sunlight. “We did not come to praise Cesare,” she said.

The door closed behind them, cutting off the sunlight. They stood there, staring at Cesare.

“Where’s Matteo?” he asked.

Allie smiled. “He couldn’t come. He sent us.”

Cesare felt his muscles tense. His lips were suddenly dry. He wet them with his tongue. It didn’t make sense to him. Any of it. Matteo had nothing to gain by his death. None of them. “It must be a mistake,” he said.

Allie shook his head. “It’s no mistake.” He stepped forward, motioning with the gun. “Turn around and face the wall and put your hands on it. Over your head. Real slow.”

Cesare looked at him, then slowly did as he was told. He felt Allie’s hand check him down. “There is no gun,” he said.

“I ain’t lookin’ for a gun,” Allie said quickly.

The stiletto felt cold against Cesare’s arm over his head. “You won’t find the knife either,” he said. “I don’t need it to drive a car.”

Allie stepped back. “I guess not,” he admitted. “Well, you don’t need it anymore.”

The gunman looked at him. “Hit him now, Allie?” He began to raise his gun.

Allie stopped him with a gesture. “No. I got my own plans. This guy gets something special.”

Cesare looked back over his shoulder. Allie was taking something out of his pocket. He saw Cesare watching him and grinned. “Know what this is, baby?” he asked, holding it in the air.

Cesare didn’t answer. He knew.

“It’s an ice pick,” Allie was still grinning. “It ain’t got a fancy name like that pig sticker you use but it does a job. Big Dutch could have told you that.” Quickly he reversed the gun in his hand and swiped it viciously across the back of Cesare’s head.

His mind reeling, Cesare went to his knees, his fingers trying to hold onto the wall. He heard Allie’s harsh voice.

“Turn around, ya’ bastard! I want ya’ to see what’s comin’!”

Slowly he turned around. He shook his head, his vision beginning to clear. He stared up at Allie.

Allie was smiling. He dropped the gun into his pocket and transferred the ice pick to his right hand. He put his face very close to Cesare. “Yuh’re gonna get this right in the gizzard!” he snarled.

Cesare watched him raise the ice pick. He threw himself desperately to the side as the ice pick came slashing down. The pick went into the rotten wood of the wall behind him and stuck there. He swung his hand in a vicious judo chop at Allie’s throat.

Without waiting the result of the blow he flung himself across the room at the gunman. The gun flew from the man’s hand as they sprawled to the floor. From the corner of his eye, Cesare saw Allie pick up the gun. He rolled over, clasping the gunman to him as a shield, just as Allie began to fire.

The man’s body jerked with the impact of the bullets. He squirmed for a moment, trying to loosen himself then went limp in Cesare’s grasp. He began to fall to the floor and Cesare tried to scramble for the door.

Allie laughed. “No, ya don’t, ya bastard!” He squeezed the trigger.

There was a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. He swore and threw the gun at Cesare. He turned, grabbing for the ice pick. He pulled it from the wall and turned just in time to see Cesare moving toward him slowly, the stiletto gleaming in his hand.

He held the ice pick out in front of him as he began to move along the wall. He remembered the gun he had dropped into his pocket. A smile began to come to his lips as he surreptitiously dropped his hand to get it. All he needed was a moment of time.

***

She sat in the front seat of the car behind the wheel absolutely motionless. Her hands gripped the wheel so hard that her knuckles were white and her eyes were focused on some distant point in space beyond the windshield. It wasn’t until she felt the point of the stiletto touch her throat that she turned her head and saw him.

He leaned toward her, his lips drawn back in an animal-like snarl across his tense face. His blue eyes shone with a yellow light in the sun.