obscene.â
âYou donât believe in obscenity,â he said.
âNo,â I conceded, gracefully, âI donât suppose I do.â
âI think youâll adjust to us, Mr. Hart,â he said. I had no difficulty winkling the hidden meaning out of that one. That was the point heâd been trying to make. Was it worth it?
I realized something that hadnât been obvious in the gloom of early morning. Velasco Valerian was not a very clever man.
âIâll get along,â I assured him. âIâm pretty tolerant.â
He didnât say anything more. Heâd declared himself and his aims. He was on to a loser. I wasnât going to change. I wasnât going to twist myself into something that would fit his script for a futile revenge. I was going to do it my way. There was to be no alliance, no compromise. He owed me eighteen years, and he was going to get nothing in return for what he was giving me now.
I suspected, though, that the fight against Valerian might be as hard as the fight against Herrera.
The door opened and a girl came in. She stopped dead in surpriseâshe obviously hadnât expected to find Valerian here, and with company to boot. Her eyes went first to him, and then to me. She almost changed her mind and went away again, but not quite. After momentary hesitation she came in and took her place at table. Like the genie out of Aladdinâs lamp a waiter appeared. In a house like Valerianâs the walls donât need ears. Theyâre telepathic.
She ignored Curman as if he was part of the furniture. âDonât get up,â she said. To me.
I hadnât. Her tone suggested she wasnât serious.
âMr. Hart,â said Valerian, âthis is my granddaughter. Stella, this is Ryan Hart. Heâs a boxer.â
She looked at me, her eyes saying something to the effect that I didnât look like a boxer. The name obviously meant nothing to her. I sensed a gulf between Valerian and his heir. I looked back at her. She had to be Francoâs daughter. I hadnât known Franco had a daughter. My mind did some quick arithmetic. She looked sixteen but was presumably olderâunless Franco hadnât known he had a daughter either. She was slim and small, with straight hair and a face which hadnât yet grown to the potential of its features.
âDonât stare,â she said, flatly.
I looked away, at Valerian. He didnât say anything but I thought he was mildly amused.
The waiter put a plateful of joy in front of Miss Valerian. She didnât look joyful. Another waiter whispered something in the old manâs ear. How wonderfully, comically discreet, I thought.
âExcuse me,â said Valerian. He went out.
I let my eyes stray back to the girl. She was staring at me. She obviously had no sense of justice. One-way protocol. I glanced at Curman, but he was in a world of his own, thinking peacefully. He didnât get involved in family affairs.
âYou didnât waste much time,â she said, conversationally.
â I didnât waste much time?â
She shrugged. âEither way,â she said, âYouâre here.â She didnât sound as if she resented it, but she didnât sound as if she approved. The continuing saga of grandfatherâs boxers and their quest for the unholy grail probably left her cold. She must have lived all her life in the midst of it and she was at the time of life when you get disenchanted with whatever youâre in the middle of.
I tried to think of a question which retained some vestige of diplomacy, but couldnât. I began to hope that sheâd help me out. She did, after her fashion.
âYouâre too old,â she said.
âJust old enough,â I told her.
âYouâre supposed to be the angel of death,â she said. âYou donât look the part. No way.â Her tone was level, slightly mocking. I guessed sheâd
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