(4) The Woman in the Red Vinyl Raincoat

"What should I call you?" asked Giorgio Vicenti when the tall black-clad man had come in and Giorgio had closed the door to the walled garden. "It was not easy getting past the security measures, I hope," he added with a nervous laugh, his mustache angling rakishly.

The assassin said nothing for a long moment. Then, in a deep well-modulated voice: "Yes, that is true."

"Ah," said Giorgio. He gestured to a comfortable chair but the assassin feigned not to notice. This added to Giorgio's nervousness. He had expected to be a little nervous, but not so nervous that he had difficulty speaking over the hammering of his heart. "I don't suppose you would detail how you got past the sensors?"

"I admire the style of your glasses," remarked the assassin, looking at the bifocals that lay on a table nearby. "I should like to have a pair. As for getting past the sensors, that is a trade secret, Signor Vicenti. And you may call me Cruor."

"I see. Yes. Well, I won't ask if that is your real name, but if my Latin serves me correctly, the term 'cruor' means...blood."

The man nodded, "That is so," he said. He offered no other comments, but stood gazing at Giorgio in a way that made the shipping mogul cringe inside.

Giorgio could not think of any subjects to discuss other than the assassin's profession. His silver mustache quivered. "Were the three security guards a problem for you?" he asked, feeling foolish. He wished he had not insisted on this meeting. It seemed pointless to him now.

"Momentarily, yes," was the answer. It was spoken cavalierly, and this encouraged Giorgio to inquire: "You did not have to kill one of them, I trust?"

"I had to kill all of them."

Giorgio blanched. He could not help but believe what this man had said, though he looked for any sign of facetiousness. There were none. A horde of difficulties rose in his mind. "But...Mr Cruor... the authorities will certainly get involved. I had no idea--"

"Do not derange yourself, Signor Vicenti. The bodies will be removed tonight and disposed of. Your collection of ship miniatures will be reported missing. The authorities will be led to conclude that the guards performed an inside job and have fled. It is one of many contingency procedures Lucretia's Glove employs. We are expert. We have minions in the top investigative services of the countries in which we operate. You have paid for it. You will get your money's worth. But you should have taken Professor Rolgo's advice. Had you done so, this contingency would not have arose."

Giorgio had to agree. He could hardly bring himself to look at the tall man looming over him. 'I have seen him with my own eyes,' he thought, 'and that is enough.' But how to bow this man out gracefully? He recalled his new mistress, waiting in the study. Surely this man would understand.

"I have a young lady who," he began, "who, um, I have kept waiting, you see." He took a step toward the door, his hand reaching slowly, indicatively, for the knob. He was relieved to see the assassin's face, with its brutal handsomeness, smile knowingly.

"A mistress of the calibre you prefer should assist you in hiding your miniature ship collection," he said, "and do so expertly. We will have no further contact," he added sternly. "You don't want your curiosity to put too much of a strain on your quota of good luck."

"No, indeed," said Giorgio Vicenti sincerely, as his hand grasped the doorknob.

At seven-thirty Friday morning, the land-line phone rang in Room 202 of the Provincial. Sanguineus left off eating the cheese omelet at the table by the grimy window and answered the call. It was the Registrar, explaining that a beautiful female courier had a package for him, and should she be sent up to his room? He replied, "Send her up."

Sanguineus wore a pair of black khaki trousers, a grey pin-striped shirt, and a black sports coat. He had not brushed his hair or shaved. He bothered only to rinse his mouth with a strong mouthwash. When the knock on his door came, he took his time opening it. He was not disappointed.

"I have it," said Tanya, holding up the small brown package. "And I want it." She smiled up at him beguilingly.

"You already have glasses," Sanguineus said, inviting her in.

"You know what I mean," she said and walked in sassily, tossing the package on the unmade bed. "Anyway, I never wear my glasses in public, except to read fine print." She opened her pocket purse and extracted a herbal cigarette. "Am I putting the cart ahead of the horse?"

Sanguineus closed the door. "You know my policy. We have discussed it before."

"But I don't want to have to wait in line after you've completed your assignment. I bore so easily, waiting in line. Are you going to give me a light? Or revise your policy?"

"Neither," he said.

She shrugged and took a Zippo lighter from her purse that was inscribed with the RR logo of Rolls Royce, while Sanguineus went to the bed and opened the package.

"I can't imagine why you wanted a pair of Vicenti's glasses," Tanya said, turning to blow smoke at his profile. "I put up with him for two miserable hours last night. Pawing me and kissing me like a mudsucker. I certainly earned my pay from Universal Tools. But you don't appreciate it. Bastard."

"Answer this one question and I'll give you what you want."

Her eyes brightened. She took the glasses from his hand and reached back to set them on the lampstand. "Let's hear it."

"Why does Manzini always wear a red vinyl raincoat?"

"For luck," Tanya said. "She has that heavy dose of Italian Catholic superstition. She wears a Saint Christopher necklace also."

Sanguineus looked at her while his thoughts dwelt elsewhere. She waited for his mind to return to her, and while waiting she unzipped his pants and said, "Do it to me as if you want to kill me."

His dark eyes focused on her parted moist lips. "What makes you think I don't?" he said.