WATCHING CHIN WITH A director’s eye, Bernhardt could only admire the other man’s expertise. Even the smallest nuance enhanced the image of the inscrutable Oriental villain. The eyes, the hands, the body language, the voice—everything worked. The phone call had taken ninety seconds, no more. During the entire time, sitting behind the elaborately carved ebony table that served as his desk, Chin’s black eyes, utterly without expression, had never left Bernhardt’s face. Now, with elaborate delicacy, Chin replaced his phone in its cradle. As, still, his eyes were inexorably locked with Bernhardt’s.
When he finally spoke, Chin’s voice was very soft and precise, projecting the icy self-control that had never deserted him: “Before I decide what to do, I must know whether Charlie Ricca is free-lancing, as opposed to acting on orders from the Mafia.”
“I can’t—” Bernhardt felt his throat close, forcing him to begin again: “I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that there’s a car outside with three men in it. They’ll take you to your home. That’s where you give them the jewels.”
As if he accepted the statement, Chin nodded thoughtfully, almost dreamily. Then his gaze sharpened, focused on Bernhardt.
“I could, of course, kill you. Or I could hold you hostage, as I did the two young women. The only difference being—” Benignly, Chin smiled. “The only difference being that, secretly, I would have agonized if I’d had to order the women maimed.”
Bernhardt made no response.
“You’re a brave man, Mr. Bernhardt, to come here like this.” Gravely, Chin nodded approval. “Yes—very brave. Or else very foolhardy.”
“I’ve always thought that bravery and foolhardiness are two sides of the same coin.”
“That’s bravery in the heat of battle. Doing this—coming here like this—that was done after careful calculation.” A meaningful pause. Then: “In cold blood, one might say.”
“To be honest, I didn’t have much choice.” Hearing himself say it, Bernhardt was bemused by his own words. Why was he confiding in this suave, smooth-talking sadist who was dressed in a double-breasted suit and spoke like an imitation Harvard graduate?
“How is it that you don’t have a choice?”
“I took Mafia money to help Louise get those jewels.” And, having said it, he could only continue: “The Mafia doesn’t forget. I’ve learned that.”
“I do not forget, either. You understand?”
Once more, Bernhardt remained silent.
“I feel a little sorry for you, Mr. Bernhardt. From now on, wherever you go, there could be someone following, with orders to kill you.”
“Orders from you?”
Chin only smiled. Then he rose to his feet behind the desk. He went to a framed Chinese landscape hinged to the wall. From a small wall safe he took a black silk pouch secured by a golden cord—surely the jewels. He closed the safe, twirled the dial, swung the landscape back in place. Holding the pouch in the palm of his right hand, Chin gestured to a steel door set in the wall behind his desk. “That door leads to the alley. I would have no difficulty leaving by that route. Four of my men in two cars would enter the alley. They would be heavily armed. When they were ready, I would take these”—he bounced the jewels in his hand—“and leave. No one would be able to stop me, least of all Charlie Ricca.”
Also standing, Bernhardt nodded. “I believe you could.”
“I’d kill you, of course, before I left.”
Bernhardt felt the center of himself fall away. But, as if the sensation were stage fright, those last desolate moments before the actor steps onto the stage, he felt himself retreating into a let’s-pretend persona: the cold, controlled investigator, in command. Saying quietly: “If you kill me, you’ve still got to deal with Ricca. And the law, too.” He looked meaningfully at his watch. The time was eleven-twenty. Ricca’s deadline was eleven-thirty.
“You’d better decide,” he said. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Chin smiled, then spoke reflectively: “When I turned thirty, I decided it was time to marry and have a family. As you doubtless know, my business interests include bringing people from Hong Kong.” The small smile widened slightly. “Call it the import business, if you like. One aspect of the business is women—very young, very beautiful young women. Therefore, when I decided to marry, it was natural that I would choose one of these women. Her name is Gah Bou, which means Little Fawn. She bore me two children, a boy and a girl. I’m very fond of these children. If Ricca should harm Gah Bou, I could bear it. But if those children were harmed, all because of a bag of jewels—” Still smiling slightly, perhaps wistfully, he looked down at the silk pouch. Then, to Bernhardt: “I’m ready. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”