”GOOD MORNING, MISS FRAYNE. I was hoping you would show up.”
“What’s going on?”
Mr. Gilmore was the one who answered.
“Mr. Kaufmann believes we have a significant amount of money in our safe. He wants the combination so he can help himself. We have not yet agreed on the barter. He says if I give him the combination, he will let me go unharmed. As long as I promise to give him enough time to leave before I notify the police. I am disinclined to trust him. I have also told him that there is no money in the safe. That we keep a few dollars for petty expenses, but no substantial money.”
“Bullshit,” burst out Kaufmann. “He’s a Jew. Of course he’s got money stashed away.”
I answered with a composure I didn’t exactly feel.
“No, he doesn’t. It’s exactly what he says.”
“Why won’t he give me the combination, then?”
Mr. Gilmore sighed. “I told you I don’t have it.”
Kaufmann waved the gun at me. “You do, then?”
I looked at Mr. Gilmore. I knew he could get into the safe if he wanted to. Clearly, he didn’t. What the hell was I going to do?
Kaufmann let me off the hook. “Let’s put it this way. If I get the money, I shall leave you both in peace. You will promise not to give the alarm for at least three hours, so I can get out of town. If there is no money in that safe, then I will assume that the Jew here has lied. And I will be forced to take measures.”
“What sort of measures?”
“Shall we say some cleansing will be in order?”
Mr. Gilmore tried to turn around, but he couldn’t. “I keep telling you I am not a Jew.”
“That doesn’t matter one way or the other, really. I know you have money because my wife told me.”
“What?”
“She said you were slipping her money on the quiet. She was saving it up so she could leave me.”
Kaufmann came over to the chair and stood behind Mr. Gilmore. He pressed the gun hard behind his ear. His left arm was still pressed against his chest, but his wound didn’t seem to be impeding him much.
“Why were you giving a respectable Gentile woman money, Jew-boy?”
I interceded.
“He wasn’t giving your wife money. Somebody else was.”
Kaufmann stared at me. “Who?”
At this point I saw no reason to hold back. I actually felt weirdly calm, and my thinking processes were clear. Thank God for survival instinct. There wasn’t a chance Kaufmann was going to let us go. Keep him talking, I thought. Wait for my opportunity. Just don’t let him shoot Mr. Gilmore.
“One of the men at the Paradise Café. An Irishman named Conal Pierce. He and your wife knew each other years ago.”
That did give him something to think about for a moment. Perhaps he’d already suspected it. Into that tiny gap of distraction, I pressed forward.
“I tell you what, Mr. Kaufmann. Mr. Gilmore does not indeed have the combination to the safe, but I do. I swear to you there is no money in there. We have about five dollars in my desk, which you can take.”
He sneered. “You must think I’m some kind of pinhead. First of all you will give me that five, then you will open the safe. If there is no money inside, then I will start using the Jew here for target practice until he tells me where he’s hiding it.” Suddenly he slapped his free hand on his forehead. “No. Wait. Better still, I’ll use you for a target. I’ll wager that when you scream, he will speak.”
“These offices aren’t soundproof,” interjected Mr. Gil-more. “Somebody will hear you.”
Kaufmann waved the gun in the air. “You notice this little extra barrel here.” There was what appeared to be a metal extension on the end of the gun barrel. “Lovely little invention.” He stroked it in a repulsively suggestive way. “It’s called a silencer. A sound suppressor. All anybody would hear is a sort of thump, as if you’ve dropped a box on the floor. Nobody will come to investigate until it’s too late.”
I kept thinking, Play for time. Play for time.
Kaufmann again pressed the gun against Mr. Gilmore’s temple. It obviously hurt.
“Let’s do the safe first.” He smirked at me. “I can tell you’re one of those women who think they have balls. In fact, I’m almost tempted to get you to take off your clothes so we can check it out. Balls or no balls.” He jabbed at Mr. Gilmore. “His wife thought she had balls. She didn’t. She tried to get away like the weak bitch she really was.”
“You were the one who attacked her?” It was more of a statement than a question. Neither Mr. Gilmore nor I was surprised.
“That’s right, Jew. It was me. Like I said, good thing she died. No more breeding of Jews.” Again the smirk. “You got my letters, I presume?”
Mr. Gilmore, with an almost superhuman effort, struggled to get his arms free. Kaufmann gave him a vicious blow across his head.
The major problem was that the desk was between me and Mr. Gilmore, and Kaufmann was standing behind him and the chair he was tied to. There was nothing I could use as a weapon that I’d get to in time.
Kaufmann snapped at me. “You. Miss Smarty-pants. Open the safe. Now.”
“I haven’t memorized the combination. It’s in my desk.”
“Okay. There’s no hurry.” He shifted the gun in my direc-tion. He leered at me in a way that I still shudder about. “It’s hot in here. Why don’t you take off your clothes?”
I wish I could tell you I was suddenly seized with superhuman strength. That I leaped over the desk and socked the bastard on the jaw. What happened wasn’t quite as satisfying, but it worked.
I fainted.
At least, I pretended to faint.
It was a huge risk that tormented me for months after and added to my store of nightmares. Kaufmann could have shot Mr. Gilmore on the spot. He could have shot me. I was relying on his obvious contempt for women.
I had contrived to fall so that I wasn’t completely visible from where he was.
I groaned. “Help me. I’ll do what you say.”
As I dropped into my swoon I rolled on to my back and pulled my arms up underneath me. My legs were bent at the knees. I moaned again. As I hoped, Kaufmann came around the desk. I didn’t move. I had to pretend to close my eyes. I sensed rather than saw that he was bending down to look closer.
I shoved myself up, fast and hard, catching him under the chin with my head. There was an intensely satisfying clunk as his lower teeth met his upper teeth. His head jerked back. Before he could do anything, I grabbed his wrist and pulled it downward, snapping his lower arm across my knee the way you do with a piece of kindling. I heard the lovely sound of a bone crunching. He yelled. So did I. The gun went off, the bullet plowing into the floor. He was right about the silencer, but there was a noise.
It was of course an uneven contest, even with these victories. In spite of his injury, he didn’t drop the gun. He was a powerful man, and he was enraged. He staggered away from me. Even filled with desperation and fury as I was, I didn’t stand a chance.
However, at that moment God intervened.
God was in the form of Hilliard Taylor.
I hadn’t locked the door. Good instincts on my part. Hilliard burst in, immediately took in what was happening, and before Kaufmann had a chance to say, “We’re just having a friendly discussion,” Hill twisted the gun out of his hand and shoved him to the floor. I did my part by kicking Kaufmann hard in the place he seemed so focussed on. He wasn’t getting up in a hurry.