Read Online The Mordida Man by Ross Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

glowing orange cheese spread that somehow looked radioactive and no one had touched. Dunjee glanced around, but could spot no one who looked very important. Not even slightly important. He mixed himself a free whisky and water and settled down to wait.
    Sixty-two minutes later the messenger from Grimes arrived. The messenger was a tall woman, either approaching thirty or just past it. Even in the rain she had worn large round dark glasses, but removed them as soon as she entered the lounge. Dunjee was mildly relieved to see her put them away in her purse instead of shoving them up on top of her short blond hair that had been turned dark and damp by the rain.
    The woman paused to glance around the lounge. She quickly rejected several other waiting male passengers, settled on Dunjee, studied him briefly, and then made her way toward him. Dunjee liked the way she walked.
    When the woman reached Dunjee, she stopped and for several moments stood staring at him calmly, almost quizzically. “He said you were a bit cockeyed,” she said. “It’s rather nice. I’m Delft Csider. That’s spelled with a Cs.”
    â€œDelft?”
    â€œMy eyes.”
    Dunjee saw that they were indeed blue, perhaps even delft blue. They went with her pale smooth skin and her high-cheek-boned face that seemed to have more than just a touch of Slav in it. For some reason, he found himself wondering how many languages she spoke.
    â€œYou were the one on the phone, right?” Dunjee said as he rose.
    â€œRight.”
    He indicated the large fat manila envelope that her left hand clutched against her damp oyster-white raincoat. There was no ring on the hand. “That for me?” he said.
    She nodded and with her right hand dug deeply into the leather purse that hung from her shoulder. She took out a folded sheet of paper.
    â€œYou’ll have to sign for it.”
    â€œSign?”
    â€œYou know—your name.”
    Dunjee smiled. “You bet.”
    He took a ball-point pen from his pocket and without even reading what was on the sheet of paper wrote something on it. Then he handed it back to her.
    â€œFelix Krull,” she read. “That’s rather funny.”
    â€œNot as funny as asking me to sign for it.”
    She shrugged and handed him the fat manila envelope. “He said I should try.”
    Dunjee tapped the envelope. “Would you like a drink while I check what’s inside?”
    â€œI would, rather.”
    He nodded toward the free-drink dispenser. “Help yourself.”
    As Dunjee turned to leave, her hand touched him lightly on the sleeve. “What’ll you do if it’s not all there?”
    â€œIt’ll be there.”
    â€œThen why check it?”
    â€œBecause if I don’t now, I may wish that I had later, which would be too late.”
    â€œThat’s a complicated attitude.”
    â€œIt’s a complicated world.”
    Dunjee left, found a men’s room, and inside a stall opened the manila envelope. It contained fifty thousand dollars in rubber-band-bound packets of fifty- and hundred-dollar bills. There was also a note typed on a small square of flimsy paper. The note said, “I’ll call you around noon.” It was unsigned.
    Dunjee crumpled the note and dropped it into the toilet. He then went back into the lounge, mixed himself a second drink, and joined Delft Csider, who sat in a corner, well away from everyone else, leafing through a tattered copy of Country Life.
    She looked up at him as he sat down. “All there?”
    â€œAll there. Anyone else in on this mess?”
    â€œNo. Just he and I.”
    â€œAnd you’re what?”
    â€œThe backup.”
    â€œWhy you—in particular, I mean?”
    â€œI have the languages, should it come to that.”
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œSix.”
    â€œI’ll guess: French, German, Spanish, Italian and”—he paused—”Hungarian.”
    She