Hot Ice

breath and reminded herself he was already into her for over seven thousand dollars. It wouldn’t pay to forget it. “All right.” But she bought the lamba, telling herself it was simply a souvenir.
    By noon they were waiting for the train, both of them carrying knapsacks carefully packed with food and gear. He was restless, impatient to begin. He’d risked his life and gambled his future on the small bulge of papers taped to his chest. He’d always played the odds, but this time, he held the bank. By summer, he’d be dripping in money, lying on some hot foreign beach sipping rum while some dark-haired, sloe-eyed woman rubbed oil over his shoulder. He’d have enough money to insure that Dimitri would never find him, and if he wanted to hustle, he’d hustle for pleasure, not for his living.
    “Here it comes.” Feeling a fresh surge of excitement, Doug turned to Whitney. With the shawl draped over her shoulders, she was carefully writing in her notepad. She looked cool and calm, while his shirt was already beginning to stick to his shoulder blades. “Will you quit scrawling in that thing?” he demanded, taking her arm. “You’re worse than the goddamn IRS.”
    “Just adding on the price of your train ticket, partner.”
    “Jesus. When we get what we’re after, you’ll be knee-deep in gold and you’re worried about a few francs.”
    “Funny how they add up, isn’t it?” With a smile, she dropped the pad back in her purse. “Next stop. Tamatave.”
    A car purred to a halt just as Doug stepped onto the train behind Whitney.
    “There they are.” Jaw set, Remo reached beneath his jacket until his palm fit over the butt of his gun. The fingers of his other hand brushed over the bandage on his face. He had a personal score to settle with Lord now. It was going to be a pleasure. A small hand with the pinky only a stub closed with steely strength on his arm. The cuff was still white, studded this time with hammered gold ovals. The delicate hand, somehow elegant despite the deformity, made the muscles in Remo’s arm quiver.
    “You’ve let him outwit you before.” The voice was quiet and very smooth. A poet’s voice.
    “This time he’s a dead man.”
    There was a pleasant chuckle followed by a stream of expensive French tobacco. Remo didn’t relax or offer any excuses. Dimitri’s moods could be deceiving and Remo had heard him laugh before. He’d heard him give that same mild, pleasant laugh as he’d seared the bottom of a victim’s feet with blue flame from a monogrammed cigarette lighter. Remo didn’t move his arm, nor did he open his mouth.
    “Lord’s been a dead man since he stole from me.” Something vile slipped into Dimitri’s voice. It wasn’t anger, but more power, cool and dispassionate. A snake doesn’t always spew venom in fury. “Get my property back, then kill him however you please. Bring me his ears.”
    Remo gestured for the man in the back seat to get out and purchase tickets. “And the woman?”
    There was another stream of tobacco smoke as Dimitri thought it through. He’d learned years before that decisions made rashly leave a jagged trail. He preferred the smooth and the clean. “A lovely woman and clever enough to sever Butrain’s jugular. Damage her as little as possible and bring her back. I’d like to talk with her.”
    Satisfied, he sat back, idly watching the train through the smoke glass of the car window. It amused and satisfied him to smell the powdery scent of fear drifting from his employees. Fear, after all, was the most elegant of weapons. He gestured once with his mutilated hand. “A tedious business,” he said when Remo closed the car door. His sigh was delicate while he touched a scented silk handkerchief to his nose. The smell of dust and animal annoyed him. “Drive back to the hotel,” he instructed the silent man at the wheel. “I want a sauna and a massage.”
    Whitney positioned herself next to a window and prepared to watch Madagascar roll by. As he had off and on since the previous day, Doug had his face buried in a guidebook.
    “There are at least thirty-nine species of lemur in Madagascar and more than eight hundred species of butterflies.”
    “Fascinating. I had no idea you were so interested in fauna.”
    He looked over the top of the book. “All the snakes are harmless,” he added. “Little things like that are important to me when I’m sleeping in a tent. I always like to know something about the territory. Like the