Chicago Max
by Gary Inbinder
Chapter 14: Milady
part 2
Regardless of his misgivings, Max liked what he saw. He came as close as he could without bumping into her. “Good afternoon, ma’am, or should I say milady? You’re my first countess, so please pardon my ignorance.”
She laughed, a light pleasant laugh without a hint of mockery. “Let’s drop the formalities. My name’s Cora, and I’d be pleased if you called me by my first name. Like you, I was born here in Chicago. My father is Carl Huber. I guess you’ve heard of him?”
Max smiled; of course he knew Carl Huber and the name jogged his memory about the daughter’s title. Huber was one of the packing town barons; his daughter Cora had been sent abroad to wed new Chicago money to an old English aristocratic name. She was the toast of the London season; the society types figured her beauty and millions would gain her a duke or a marquis at least, but in the end, she settled for a charming, playboy earl. “Everyone in America who eats beef and pork knows of Carl Huber, Cora. And if you don’t mind, you may call me Max.”
“OK, Max. Now that we’ve broken the ice, I could use a drink. How about you?”
“Thanks, Cora. After that ride, I could use a stiff one.”
Two crystal decanters filled with amber liquor along with two glasses were set on a tray resting on the coffee table. Cora asked, “Whiskey or cognac?”
“Whiskey neat; a double, if you don’t mind.”
Cora threw Max a smile that connected below the belt. “A man after my own heart.” She poured two doubles and handed him a glass. “I think you’ll like this. It’s from the late earl’s private stock.”
Max checked the color against the light and sniffed the whiskey. He guessed this would be his second experience with premium scotch. He had also sized up his hostess. Max figured this gorgeous rich dame wanted to play. He grinned accordingly and said, “Here’s mud in your eye.”
She echoed the toast, “Mud in yours,” and knocked back half the glass.
Max did the same. He remarked, “This is good stuff. I’ve had something like it once before: twenty-year old product of Scotland. The late earl had good taste.” His reference to the late earl’s “taste” was meant to include his taste in women.
“You’re very perceptive, Max. I take it this is not your usual drink?”
Max looked straight into her sparkling eyes. “No, ma’am. The standard shot of rye’s more my style. But I know a good thing when I see it and can taste it, too.”
His emphasis on “taste” was not lost on the countess. “I admire a man who appreciates the finer things,” she said. Of course, she was the finest thing at hand.
Max nodded his agreement and glanced at the furnishings, including bronze female nude statues set on pedestals and several Impressionist paintings decorating the walls. “Swell place you got here, Cora.”
She scanned the environs with a critical squint. “Do you think so? This place was a wedding present from my father. It’s all right, I guess.” She set her drink down on the coffee table and eased back on the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk business?”
Max started for a chair on the other side of the table.
“Not all the way over there, Max. We don’t want to shout at each other.” She patted the seat cushion next to her and said, “Over here, by me,” as though she were calling her lap dog.
This girl is firing on all cylinders, he thought. What does she want? He sat next to her, finished his whiskey and set the glass down next to hers.
“You made quite an impression on Oliver,” she said. Her voice was just above a whisper, as heady and seductive as her Parisian fragrance.
“Yeah, I guess knocking the guy on his butt would make an impression, of sorts.”
Cora laughed and placed her right hand on his knee. “You’re a card, Max. Just like your reputation.” The sapphire eyes glowed like fire and ice; they turned directly on Max. “I picked the right man. You take what you want without being asked, don’t you, Mr. Hawk?”
Max put his hands on her shoulders, leaned over and pressed his mouth against her lips. Far from resisting, she guided him, her body communicating what she wanted. He followed her lead while conscious of the fact that she controlled the situation. This went on for a few minutes until Max’s fingers began undoing the hooks on the back of her gown.
“Not now, darling,” she whispered. “We need to talk business first.”
Max pulled back from her and succumbed to the disappointment of a premature detumescence. “All right, Cora. What’s the job?”
She turned her back to him. “Will you please do me up, first?”
“Sure,” he said, and redid the hooks. Then he sat back and waited for her reply.
She fussed with her hair and dress for a moment before asking, “Would you like another drink?”
“No thanks. Let’s get down to business.”
“All right, Max. First, I apologize for subjecting you to Oliver’s test. It was his idea, and you passed with flying colors. People are rarely what they seem to be. You have quite a reputation, but such things are often puffed up. The job I’m about to offer you requires skill, iron nerves, and above all, discretion. Are you interested?”
Max smirked and shook his head. “If I wasn’t interested I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re so direct. I like that. I know we’re going to be great friends. Are you sure you don’t want another drink?”
His smile froze on his face. Another minute of this and I’m gonna smack her. “No thanks, ma’am. Let’s cut to Hecuba, OK?”
Cora laughed. “That’s a theatrical term, in reference to Hamlet. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Anyway, yes, we’ll cut to Hecuba. A couple of weeks ago, this house was burgled. It was partly an inside job. A maid, who has since disappeared, tipped off her accomplices and helped them gain entry to the house. They knew what they wanted and exactly where to find it. About a week ago, I received a note demanding ten-thousand dollars for the stolen items. The exchange is to be made tomorrow morning at one o’clock at a specified location.”
“Have you reported this to the police?”
She frowned, and he could not tell if it was to emphasize the seriousness of the situation or to express her disdain for the police. It might have been both. “No, I have not. The items taken could be a source of great embarrassment. I’d be willing to meet the thieves’ demands provided the whole matter could be kept quiet. But...” She stopped and stared at him without speaking.
“But what, Cora?” he asked with more than a hint of impatience.
Her voice hardened, the blue eyes narrowed and grew chilly. “I hate giving in to blackmail. It goes against the grain. In short, I want to recover my property without paying a cent for it. What’s more I want the thieves punished severely.”
“I see. So if I understand the situation, you want me to get back your goods, take care of the burglars, save you the expense of blackmail and keep the whole thing quiet. Is that the deal?”
The warm smile and soft tone returned with surprising alacrity. “Yes, Max. That’s the gist of it. Do you accept?”
“Uh, we need to go over a few details, first. Like what is it I’m supposed to recover, what’s the layout, what sort of crooks am I going to be dealing with and what are you willing to pay for my services?”
“I already said you seem to be a man who appreciates the finer things. The stolen items are what I would call objets d’art.”
“Are these objets d’art insured?”
“No, Max, they are not insured.”
“The items must be worth a lot if the thieves are asking ten grand. Any reason why you didn’t insure them?”
The countess stared at him with a well-rehearsed poker face. “I’d rather not say.”
“I see. So these valuable art objects aren’t insured and you don’t want to call in the cops. So what’s the deal. Are they hot?”
She affected shock. “Hot? Do you mean to say... are you implying—?”
“Yeah, Cora. I’m asking if the stuff the burglars took from you was stolen from someone else. It’s a fair question. The items are obviously valuable, yet you didn’t insure them, and you don’t want the police involved in the recovery. I’m a licensed private investigator and a former police detective. I’m not a crook. I operate within the law, according to certain professional standards.”
She shifted emotional gears smoothly from affected shock to self-righteous indignation. “I assure you, Mr. Niemand, that I am the rightful owner of the artwork in question.”
“All right, ma’am. I’ll take your word for it. Now, what about the layout, the plan? You have a note from the burglars?”
Encouraged by his apparent expression of trust, she said, “I have the note. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, please.”
She got up and walked to a bookshelf on the other side of the room, removed a few books and opened a panel, revealing a safe. She turned the dial, opened the lock, reached in and grabbed an envelope. Then she returned to the sofa, sat and handed the envelope to Max. He opened it, read the note and then set it down on the coffee table.
“They used letters cut from a newspaper and pasted them to the writing paper. A commonly used trick to avoid handwriting identification. The note itself is specific. They — I’m assuming more than one person is involved — want the ten grand delivered to them at one a.m. tomorrow at 35th and Racine. Do you know where that is?”
“I have an idea, though I’ve never been there.”
Max smiled. “If you had been there, you’d never forget it. That’s Bubbly Creek. The slaughterhouse effluent pours into the river: blood, animal waste and stuff that isn’t fit to put in a can. There’s a thick slime on the water, so thick that the rats scamper across it. The gas bubbles come up from the decomposing refuse that settles on the bottom. A hot cigarette butt tossed into that mess could set off an explosion that would rock the yards.”
“How ghastly. Why do you think the thieves chose it?”
“Because of its ghastliness. Under most circumstances, cops won’t go near the place, not to mention any other human unless forced to go there for some very good — or extremely bad — reason. Most times, all you’ll meet there at one in the morning are the rats and the roaches. And it’s a swell place to dump a body or two.”
“They expect Oliver to come with the money. Do you think they might be planning an ambush?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
She smiled and her hand brushed against his. “Well, if that is the case, you are the right man for the job, aren’t you?”
Max pulled away his hand and shook his head. “Cora, there’s a fine line between having guts and being stupid or downright suicidal. Ollie seems devoted to you, so let him take the risk. I’m afraid I’m going to decline your offer of employment. You owe me nothing for my time, and I’ll keep our meeting confidential.”
“Oh... oh, but you can’t do that. Don’t you want to know how much I’m prepared to pay for your services before you decide?”
“You can’t offer enough to get me to walk into a trap. What’s more I have serious reservations about your idea of ‘severely punishing’ the burglars. That sounds like you want me to be their judge, jury and executioner. I don’t operate that way.”
She grabbed his hand firmly and held on out of desperation. There were signs of confusion on her face and in her voice because she was not accustomed to hearing a man say no. “Forgive me, Max. I don’t want you to take any unwarranted risks or compromise your scruples.” The sapphire eyes grew moist and impossible to resist.
He did not let go of her hand; he raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. Then he spoke calmly, reassuringly. “All right, Cora. Let’s say I negotiate with these birds. I think I can recover your property for considerably less than ten grand. I’ve dealt with plenty of thieves and blackmailers. I know their game. What would you say to that?”
“How much less?”
“A lot less. Let’s say three grand.”
“But what if they don’t take your deal?”
Max grinned confidently. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll take it and like it.”
Her red lips parted revealing a row of even white teeth; she drew close enough to press her firmly corseted bosom against his chest. Cora whispered, “But what if they become violent? What would you do then?”
“I guess I’d have to punish them... severely. In self-defense, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed breathlessly as though the thought of the thieves’ “punishment” excited her.
Cora closed her eyes and turned her face up toward his. His mouth met hers; his fingers went to the back of her dress and undid the hooks. This time, she did not stop him.
Copyright © 2015 by Gary Inbinder
