Blood on the Mink by Silverberg Robert

Author:Silverberg, Robert [Silverberg, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Inc Clients
Published: 2012-04-03T04:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Monday.

My seventh day in Philadelphia.

The big day.

It started off slowly. I didn’t want to leave the hotel, for a couple of reasons. The major reason was that I wasn’t keen on exposing myself unnecessarily to a possible eradication attempt by Klaus. The minor reason was that I was still hoping Elena Szekely would try to contact me, and I wanted to be available when and if she did.

I had a leisurely breakfast in the hotel coffee shop and leafed through the morning papers. There was a big spread on the gang stuff, of course. A front-page picture three columns wide showed the taxicab on fire, hoses playing on it frantically, and a body sprawled next to it. The murder of Carol Champlain got a lesser spread, with a photo of her on one of the inside pages. And, of course, there were statements from the police commissioner and the mayor about how drastic steps would be taken to cut short this unprecedented crime wave before any more law-abiding citizens were jeopardized, etc., etc.

After breakfast I phoned Washington, collect. I spoke briefly to my man there, telling him that things were approaching their climax.

“Good,” he said. “We can’t hold Lowney much longer without all kinds of complications. He’s been howling for a lawyer all week.”

“Let him howl,” I said. “What does he think this is, a democracy?”

“When do you think you’ll be finished down there?”

“By dawn tomorrow,” I told him. “One way or another—I’ll be finished here.”

I must have used up four hundred cigarettes that day, waiting for the minutes to tick past. By mid-afternoon my fingers were stained with nicotine and my throat felt like it had been left out in the Arizona sun for a few days. But there was nothing that I could do except smoke. And pace. And wait.

No word from Elena Szekely. I wrote her off. The caper tonight would have to be carried out despite not hearing from her.

I didn’t hear from anybody. Not Chavez, not Klaus, not anyone. I was the forgotten man of Philadelphia. After the hectic pace of the first few days of this assignment, today was a drag.

At half past five the telephone rang. I was at the other end of the room, staring out the window at the garage across the street. I crossed the room in three big bounds and grabbed up the receiver, hoping it was Elena Szekely calling.

“Hello?”

The Penn Plaza switchboard operator said, “Mr. Lowney? I have a call for you from New York.”

“All right,” I said.

“Go ahead, New York,” the operator chirruped.

There was a pause. Then Litwhiler’s deep, commanding voice said, “Everything set for tonight, Lowney?”

“As set as can be.”

“We’re all ready too. We’re going to leave New York at half past twelve tonight.”

“How many of you?”

“Ten, including me. Two cars. You think that’ll be enough?”

“Plenty,” I said.

“Okay. Where do we meet you?”

“At the Penn Plaza,” I said. “Just like we arranged the other day. Phone me from the lobby and I’ll come right down.”

“Okay. We’ll be there around quarter to three,” Litwhiler said.

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