Beyond The Pale Part 5

"Just Bonaventure, Miss Urban. May I get you a beverage? I am having vodka, of course!" He laughed a booming laugh. With that, almost magically, the maid opened the door and set a tray down containing beautiful etched crystal gla.s.ses, bottles of mineral water, slices of lemon, and a decanter filled with a clear liquid that I a.s.sumed was the vodka. Like the jewel in a crown, a plate of small toasts encircling a mountain of black caviar occupied the center of the tray. Sour cream and red caviar also sat on delicate porcelain plates. The silverware was ornate and highly polished.

"Mineral water would be delightful." I said. The maid arranged a large gla.s.s of straight vodka and another of mineral water in front of Bonaventure. who sat at the head of the table. Then she poured me a gla.s.s of water, added a slice of lemon, and put it in front of me. She ignored the two bodyguards as if they did not exist. "Anything else, master?" she said.

He looked at me questioningly. I said, "This is fine."

"Good. That will be all, Tanya." And she silently exited the room.

The hair on the back of my neck fairly bristled. Every one of my animal senses was on hyperalert. The standing men smelled of blood, and I suspected they had killed recently. Their eyes glittered, their every movement was edgy, taut, and they both watched me as a stalking cat does a bird. Outwardly I made sure that I appeared delighted with my company. No sweat betrayed me, no smell of fear. Yet so great was my perception of danger that I had to fight the instinct to transform.

Gracefully, with the studied movements gained in the courts of kings, I turned toward Bonaventure and said, "Mr. Schneibel sends his regards."

"Ah, Herr Schneibel. I have heard he has not been well of late. How do you find him?" He took a long, smooth drink of vodka. The alcohol fumes were visible as they wafted upward from his gla.s.s.

Diplomatically I said, "He is as his age demands. But well, thank you. Sound and youthful in mind if not in body. A great gentleman."

"Let us drink to his health then." Bonaventure laughed again and took another long drink. He was drunk in the way a heavy drinker is drunk, saturated with alcohol in order to function. "And you. Miss Urban, have you worked for him long?" He reached out and piled a toast with caviar. He sucked it in noisily, piglike. Some dribbled out and down his chin. He dabbed at it with a pink damask napkin. He motioned at the plate to me.

"No, thank you," I said. "He uses my services when he needs them."

Ignoring my refusal, Bonaventure took a plate and scooped caviar on it. With his stubby fingers he added a few rounds of toast. He pushed it across the table toward me. "You must not refuse. It is the best. Extraordinary. A rare treat. I insist. And does your appointment with me mean he is willing at last to sell?"

I pulled the plate toward me. There was always a power play with men like this. I put a small amount of caviar on a toast and ate. The eggs popped in my mouth, tasting salty and complex. "Excellent. You were right to insist," I said carefully. "And yes, I have brought a portfolio of the works he thinks you wish to acquire."

"I would prefer to see his collection in person."

"Of course. But as you know, Mr. Schneibel rarely makes the pieces accessible to anyone other than museum curators and researchers, and then on a very limited basis. None of his pieces has ever gone on the open market."

"But he has sold some."

"Granted. And that is all I am at liberty to discuss with regard to that. His buyers are private and anonymous, as you know."

"Yes, Miss Urban. That is how I learned of Mr. Schneibel. I saw a large statue in the possession of an a.s.sociate. I was taken with it. It was far beyond anything I had, and my own collection is extensive. My a.s.sociate was reluctant to tell me where he had acquired it, but eventually he did. And eventually he sold it to me. I can be very persuasive, Miss Urban," he said in a smarmy way. He looked at me, drinking in every one of my features rudely, openly. I looked back, my gaze as unblinking as his, straight into his yellowish, demonic eyes. A look of something-recognition?-pa.s.sed over his face. My heart squeezed in my chest. I wondered what he saw in my eyes. I knew what I saw in his-something beast-like and inhuman, touched by a dark energy that seemed to originate in the depths of h.e.l.l. I knew right then that Bonaventure had embraced evil as his preferred dish and had swallowed it whole.

The caviar I had eaten suddenly left a bitter taste in my mouth. I took a sip of mineral water; then I pushed the folder of photographs over to Bonaventure. Time to cut to the chase. "Here are the items Mr. Schneibel would consider selling. You have until Monday to consider whether you are interested in any or all of them. Write your offer on the back of the photograph of any piece you wish to purchase. The amount, however, can be no lower than one million dollars-per item. Mr. Schneibel is not eager to sell, as you know. If you wish to be persuasive, please keep that in mind."

"I would prefer if Herr Schneibel would simply name his price."

"That is not his his preference, however," I said. preference, however," I said.

"I also want to see the collection before I bid. We are talking about a great deal of money, Miss Urban." He shuffled through the photos, pausing occasionally. "There are, what, fifteen photographs here?"

"Sixteen. And indeed, very few individuals can afford to purchase these items. You among few others know their true worth. Pieces like this simply do not exist elsewhere, not even in New Guinea, not for the past forty years. So this is Mr. Schneibel's offer. Take it or leave it. You can see the pieces after you purchase them."

"But that is unheard-of."

"Unheard-of, yes, yet it happens often," I said evenly. "That is how Mr. Schneibel does business. He guarantees that the pieces are authentic, genuine, and as seen in the photographs. You know his reputation in this field. Please don't insult him further."

A small flush had started up Bonaventure's neck. He was not used to someone else calling the shots or being in control. Especially not a woman.

Before he could answer there was an urgent tap at the door. Tanya's head popped in. "Master, excuse me, please, but there is a problem with-" And with that the door flung open and banged against the wall.

"I can speak for myself, Tanya." A pretty woman in a satin nightgown stood there holding a white cat. The long hair that cascaded down her back was yellow like ripe corn. She was thin to the point of fragility, and she would have been prettier but her mascara made ugly black smudges under her eyes, and her bright red lipstick ran in a crazy zigzag across her lips. She was also most obviously drunk. The cat looked at me, hissed, arched its spine, and bounded out of the woman's arms.

She screamed, "Princess!" The cat's claws left scratches on her arm. I couldn't help but notice the bright blood appearing on her milky skin. "Tanya! Get her!" The maid scrambled off in pursuit. Then the blonde turned back to Bonaventure. She was on the verge of hysteria. Her whole body was s.h.i.+vering, and her eyes were wild.

"Ohhh, I knew it! Always a woman! You don't love me. You've never loved me," she began sobbing.

I used this distraction to open my purse and extract my compact. I opened it and took a quick look in the mirror, and as I pretended to rearrange a few tendrils loosened from my chignon, I slipped another listening device into my hand.

Bonaventure had stood up quickly, reached the crying woman in a step, and put his arms around her as she collapsed against him. With more gentleness than I imagined him capable of, he said, "Hush, Catharine, you don't feel well, do you, darling? My pet, this is a business meeting. Just business." Despite his soft words, I could see he held her in a way she could not escape. He looked over at me. "Miss Urban, please excuse us. Would Monday at seven thirty be convenient, yes? Good, I'll see you then. Bockerie, come with me. Issa, show Miss Urban out." The black man gave me a final venomous look, left his post, and followed Bonaventure and the woman down the hall. There was a great arrogance and no fear in him. The other man, Issa, came and stood by my side like a prison guard as I closed the briefcase and stood up. I waited until Issa turned toward the door before picking up the briefcase and allowing my small purse to remain on the chair.

I had hopes of planting one more bug in the front hall near the phone. It was going to take both luck and superb acting to pull it off. Issa stayed close, invading my private s.p.a.ce as we walked through the apartment. With a coquettish smile, I said. "Have you been with Bonaventure long?"

"Long enough," he said.

"If he needs muscle, you certainly fill the job specs," I fairly simpered. Gag me with a spoon, as the Valley Girls once said.

He flexed a bicep, then, showing crooked teeth, he grinned at me. "I was a weightlifter. I was on the Olympic team for my country. Nineteen eighty-four."

"And your country is... let me guess... Bulgaria?"

"You are very smart. As smart as beautiful. Yes, Bulgaria." He was so pleased he strutted.

By that time we were in the vestibule near the front door. "I have traveled there. It's a lovely country."

At that moment the stolid Tanya rushed up with my coat. "Here," she said. Issa took it, and she scurried off without another word, perhaps still involved with the drama of Catharine. I stopped, and like a gentleman Issa helped me on with my coat. Now was the perfect time for me to look around and down, fabricating a look of confusion. "Oh, my purse! I left it on the chair, I think. I'll have to go back for it."

"No. I fetch. Just wait. Not long. I hurry." Issa lumbered away like a bear.

Alone in the vestibule I pretended to have a problem with my boot. I picked up one foot, wobbled, and felt for the wall to steady myself. My hand slid and brushed the ornate mirror above the table holding the phone. The bug was deposited. Perfect. I was awfully good, even if I say so myself. Finally my hand rested on the table as I still balanced on my leg and examined the heel of my other boot. Apparently satisfied, I put my foot down gingerly as if testing the heel, just as Issa returned with my purse.

"Thank you so so much," I gushed. He grinned, looking dumb and self-satisfied. My knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. He opened the door and leaned toward me, but I slipped through it before he could get too close. The tiny elevator was standing open and I quickly got in, making sure I gave Issa a cheery wave with one hand. Despite holding the briefcase, I managed to press the lobby b.u.t.ton with the other. I kept in character all the way down. I looked impatiently at my watch. Then I stared straight ahead, keeping a poker face. I'm sure cameras were everywhere, and I'm just as sure they detected nothing unusual about me. Nothing at all. much," I gushed. He grinned, looking dumb and self-satisfied. My knight in s.h.i.+ning armor. He opened the door and leaned toward me, but I slipped through it before he could get too close. The tiny elevator was standing open and I quickly got in, making sure I gave Issa a cheery wave with one hand. Despite holding the briefcase, I managed to press the lobby b.u.t.ton with the other. I kept in character all the way down. I looked impatiently at my watch. Then I stared straight ahead, keeping a poker face. I'm sure cameras were everywhere, and I'm just as sure they detected nothing unusual about me. Nothing at all.

Chapter 6.

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet.

-William Butler Yeats

Unwilling to walk more than necessary in four-inch heels, I asked the doorman to hail a taxi. The cabbie gave a snort of impatience when I told him to take me to the Metropolitan Museum. The few blocks made the fare hardly worth his time. Too bad. I would have tipped better if he'd been more gracious.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Darius. He answered on the first ring. "I'm on my way," I said.

"I will be waiting," he answered. "Ciao."

Now that I'd accomplished my mission without a flaw, adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and my heart beat a fast staccato. Adrenaline is every bit as addictive as heroin, and that's the truth. The rush is a tidal wave of excitement pus.h.i.+ng one up and over the top of feelings. And for me, such rampant pa.s.sions are dangerous. My mask may begin to slip and the hungers within me threaten to emerge. I had to calm down and get hold of my emotions before I was lost to a l.u.s.t for blood that made me reckless and uncaring about the consequences of a bite... until it was too late.

The cab pulled up in front of the museum. Spotlights blazed against the stone facade, making it look as grand as the Temple at Luxor or the Parthenon. Wide stone stairs swept majestically up to the tall fluted columns before the huge front doors. A few steps up from the sidewalk Darius stood, turned away from the street so that he didn't immediately see me. I gave a little gasp when I saw him. Gone were the jeans and leather. He looked elegant in a long topcoat and Italian loafers. A silk scarf hung around his neck. He was gorgeous with a capital G. Suddenly the building's grandeur seemed puny. I could see only Darius. The antic.i.p.ation of s.e.x mingled with the adrenaline, and along with my physical desire, dreams were awakening that I had suppressed long ago. If I were honest with myself, I would admit I wanted someone special to care about, and I wanted to be loved.

It didn't matter that I had just met Darius and that he was an enigma. I knew almost nothing about him, and what I did know might be lies. Yet the night we had spent together had been sweet and satisfying. It had brought my s.e.xuality into blossom after decades of dormancy. And in truth, Darius-mysterious, dangerous, intelligent, and driven-embodied all the men I had loved and lost. I didn't know who he was, but my heart knew who I wanted him to be. I threw some money at the cabbie and exited the taxi.

Darius turned and saw me, and his face shone. The rest of the world faded into gray as I filled up with joy. I don't remember walking the few steps to his side, but suddenly I was in his arms and he was kissing me. The aphrodisiac of adrenaline carried me away. I felt so good and exquisitely alive. His arms were strong around me; his lips were soft. Their touch against mine lit a Fourth of July sparkler in my brain, and glittering lights exploded all around me. When he broke the kiss, Darius looked into my eyes and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Now I am." I said.

"I want to hear all about your night. But first, have you eaten?"

"No."

"Are you hungry?"

Not for food, I suddenly realized. I'm hungry for blood I'm hungry for blood. I pushed the thought away. "Yes." I said.

"Good. We can go across the street to the Stanhope."

"Perfect." I said. The Stanhope Hotel's restaurant is excellent, and the clientele chic. I used to see John Kennedy Jr. there, before his unfortunate marriage and too early death. The Stanhope-staid, quiet, and tasteful-is my favorite New York hotel. Another favorite is the old Waldorf Astoria, whose excellent service never fails to live up to its reputation, unlike the Plaza, which is overrated and a tourist trap. However, as Darius took my hand and we crossed Fifth Avenue, the crisp, clear evening like cool water around us, I could have eaten sawdust and thought it a divine idea.

As Darius walked, he reminded me of his Chinese sign, the Tiger. Tall and lithe, he moved with catlike power, a hunter on the prowl. He conveyed authority, from the dignified black coat he wore to the way he looked other men square in the eye, with the att.i.tude that he was an alpha male, the leader of the pack. Not c.o.c.ky but self-a.s.sured, he was intimidating, conveying strength and command. Darius didn't so much enter a room as take it over.

Now, as we entered the hotel's dining room, the maitre d' hurried over, called him sir sir, took my coat, and seated us immediately. A waiter rushed to our table for our drink order. Darius ordered a single-malt Scotch. Near to losing control when I was stone cold sober, I stuck with mineral water. I avoided alcohol most of the time because I was afraid to lower my inhibitions. Tonight especially it was taking all my willpower to resist the thoughts tugging at me to drink blood. Giving rein to my vampire traits with Darius would at best ruin everything. At worst... I didn't want to consider the worst that might happen. I had vowed I would never go that route again.

Focusing on the soft ambience of the room, all candle glow and rich brocade, I settled into my seat and let myself feel warm and safe. Darius reached across the small table, took my hand, and rubbed his thumb across my knuckles in almost an absentminded way. His touch was like being brushed with an electric wire that sent small shocks up my arm. He smiled at me again before releasing my hand, and he seemed to be expecting me to say something. I guessed he was anxious for me to talk about what had happened with Bonaventure, yet I wasn't ready to jump into business. So I stayed silent, and so did he. The lack of conversation soon felt awkward and uncomfortable.

I was relieved when the drinks arrived and the waiter asked for our order. Impulsively I ordered a steak, hoping to take the edge off my growing taste for blood. I asked for it rare. Darius raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't eat meat," he said.

"Tonight's an exception," I said. "'I'm starving, and I think I need the B vitamins."

I was starving-for him. I craved his mouth, his voice, his hair. I wanted to lick his face and nibble on his shoulders. I wanted to bite him and suck him with a soul-deep hunger. To paraphrase the poet Neruda, I was pacing around, sniffing the twilight, hunting for his hot heart.

Darius, on the other hand, seemed focused on telling the waiter he wanted salmon, grilled, and steamed vegetables. I thought he was oblivious to my unvoiced longings, yet when he finally raised his eyes to look into mine his desire was naked there-for a second. Then a door slammed shut behind his gaze and he demanded, rather than asked, "Tell me about Bonaventure."

Anger flashed through me, along with the suspicion that I was unimportant to this man. In that moment I felt that the sweet words, the hot s.e.x, and now the elegant dinner were all just to b.u.t.ter me up and get information from me.

"Maybe I'd like to eat before we discuss business," I said, thoroughly p.i.s.sed off.

"Daphne," he said, and reached for my hand. "I was only thinking of you. Once we get that out of the way, you can relax, and we can just enjoy the rest of the night together."

"Oh, puh-lease," I answered. "I don't believe that. Don't make things worse by being phony."

"Women!" he said, and dropped my hand. He seemed to be struggling to control his temper. He took a long drink of Scotch and thought a moment. Then he looked at me and said carefully, "Daphne, I apologize. I really do. I thought it might be best to ask you some questions about what you saw and heard while everything was fresh in your mind. I thought-I really did-that dinner might be more appetizing with the subjects of terrorism, weapons, and related nastiness out of the way. But when would you you like to talk about Bonaventure?" like to talk about Bonaventure?"

I looked back at him and gave what he said some thought. I hated to concede he was right, but I did. "Since you put it that way, I can see your point. Okay, let's start over. What do you want to know? If I think I can tell you without compromising my mission, I will. But But it has to be a two-way street. You need to share information with me as well. Is that agreed?" it has to be a two-way street. You need to share information with me as well. Is that agreed?"

"I never thought it would be any other way," he said.

I wasn't sure I bought that, but I said, "Go ahead; what's your first question?"

"What was Bonaventure's mood and att.i.tude?"

"Drunk but in control."

"Who was with him?"

"Two bodyguards, one an African, the other Eastern European. Do you know who they are?" I said this slowly and deliberately. I wanted to see how much Darius was really willing to share.

Without hesitation, he answered. "The African is Sam Bockerie, also known as General Mosquito because he sucks the life out of his enemies. He's from Sierra Leone and is more than a bodyguard for Bonaventure. He's a middleman in the exchange of diamonds for weapons. He's dangerous, inhumanly vicious, without conscience."

"He disliked me on sight. Why?" I asked.

"I doubt if it was anything about you," Darius said. "Bockerie dislikes everyone on sight. He's like a mad beast that snarls at the wind. He's reputed to be magic, protected by charms and spells or even transformed by them into some sort of supernatural creature. Probably that's a rumor to scare others into doing what he asks. Even the mention of his name strikes fear in the jungles where they mine the blood diamonds of Africa. Watch your back around him."

I nodded. That description fit the man I saw. "And what do you know about the other bodyguard?"

"That sounds like Issa Mingo, a strongman who knows Bonaventure from Russia. They've been together for years. He's not as dumb as he looks."

"You could have fooled me," I said with a laugh.

"Well, he likes good-looking women, and he thinks of himself as a ladies' man," Darius said, his voice low and serious.

"I figured that much out all by myself," I commented.

"Well, don't get yourself in a position where he shows you what he likes about pretty women. He's as cruel as he is crude. Did you notice anyone else?"

"The only others I saw-and there could have been people in the apartment who remained unseen-were the maid-her name was Tanya-and a young woman, also drunk and in a bad state. Bonaventure called her Catharine."

Darius nodded. "She's Bonaventure's lover. By all accounts she's practically a prisoner. Did you notice any security?"

I shook my head. "I didn't see anything. I a.s.sume there is camera surveillance, but downstairs there's only the doorman to screen visitors. No guns were out in the open, but both bodyguards were carrying them, I'm sure. Why do you want to know?"

Darius didn't answer my question. Instead he asked, "When are you going back?"

"Monday. Same time as tonight," I said, and, feeling annoyed, I asked again. "Why do you want to know? Darius, don't play games because I'm not going to play along."

"I might need you to help me get in that night. Let me think about it," he said dismissively.

"No! Let me me think about it. Why should I help you get in? What are you planning? What do you know that I don't? I told you this has to be a mutual exchange, or it all stops here." think about it. Why should I help you get in? What are you planning? What do you know that I don't? I told you this has to be a mutual exchange, or it all stops here."