“Listen, let’s agree it’s nobody’s fault,” I said. “Give the barkeep your order, tell him to put a rush on it and while you change blouses, I’ll take the loud-mouthed woman her wine.”
“Are you sure? Miss Langford can be a real bitch at times.”
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. B said. “My associate is extremely adept at handling both wine and women.”
I gave Jennifer my coat to cover herself, she gave the barkeep her order, told me which wine was destined for Lily’s lips and ran off to change.
Two minutes later, I placed a slightly altered glass of Pinot Grigio in front of Lily, gave her friends their drinks and start to withdraw when Lily stops me by saying …
“What have you done to my wine?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “It’s straight from the bottle to the glass to your table.”
“Well, it tastes different. Slightly sweeter than usual. Are you sure this is Collio?”
“Yes ma’am. From the hillside vineyards of northeast Italy. This is a ninety-three vintage. You’re probably used to the ninety or ninety-one. They had a wetter than normal spring in ninety-three which might account for the added sweetness. It’s preferred by our more discerning customers, but I’d be glad to take it back if you’re not satisfied.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I was just commenting on the difference. Here, give it a try Mable. Tell me what you think.”
Lily passed her glass of poisoned wine to a table mate who took a sip, made an inane comment and then passed it to the next person. Once the entire table had a taste, Lily pronounced it acceptable, and I was dismissed.
“They all drank the wine?” Mrs. B asked as we walked to the tube station.
“Lily drank most of it, but the others had a sip or two.”
“How many drops of the poison did you use?”
“Doctor Bob recommended three to six per glass. I used seven, just in case.”
“Next time stick to the lower end of his recommendation. He always overdoses and, despite what he says, too much of the stuff can change the taste.”
“Should I have stopped them? I mean the other three didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, my young prince. In our line of work, we must think of the greater good. There will always be an element of collateral damage. No matter how hard we try, we can’t always protect the people who willingly socialize with our targets. Call it guilt by association or just plain bad luck. They put themselves in the line of fire. The mission always takes priority. You either pull the trigger or find another profession.”
“Yes ma’am. I understand.”
***
The following night, I escorted Mrs. B to the evening performance of “Shrew”. We purposely got seats in the balcony where it was impossible to be seen from the stage. An announcement was made just before the curtains parted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that Miss Lily Langford will not be with us this evening. The part of Katherine will be played by Amanda Zimmerman.”
I flinched when the entire audience groaned at the news. Amanda was in the first scene and had to hear their disappointment. There were a few boos when Amanda proudly walked on stage for her opening speech but, after just a few minutes, she had them. Her shrew was both funny and sexy. The audience laughed as she chastised her husband and cheered when she bared a breast showing him what “he wouldn’t be getting tonight.”
But my favorite part was just before the intermission … the scene where Petruchio, her husband, got so fed up with the shrew’s antics that he turned her over his knee. When he lifted her dress to give her a swat on a panty covered ass, he discovered that Amanda had left her undies in her dressing room. Not to be undone, the actor spanked her with the palm of his hand. And when Amanda said …
“Is that all thou hast?”
… he gave her naked bum another smack. And then another. And continued to redden her well-shaped bottom until the curtain closed to a standing, cheering audience.
During the second act, Amanda kept the audience spell bound as she gradually changed from the evil bitch of the west to a loving wife. She received a thunderous standing ovation at the end and was forced to make three curtain calls before the raucous crowd would leave.
Mrs. B didn’t like waiting in crowded lines. “Always leave yourself an out,” she reminded me. “By far the best place to stick a needle in an unsuspecting arm is in the crush of a crowd … be it a tube station, soccer match or leaving the theatre.”
We waited in our seats until the auditorium was nearly empty, reveling at how well Amanda performed, and didn’t make our way to the stairs until the last of the audience had already exited. Two rather large men, with the word “SECURITY” emblazoned on their jackets, blocked our escape.
“Excuse me sir. Please come with me,” one of them said in the no nonsense tone cops use.
“We were just leaving. Give us a minute and we’ll be out the door.”
“That will have to wait. I’ve been sent to collect you.”
“By whom?”
“This will be much easier if you just do what we ask,” the second man said.
Shit. They know I poisoned Lily.
My initial thought was to take out one of the guards and bet on the fact that I could outrun the other to the door. Once I was on the street, I would disappear into the crowd and count on the Company to get me out of the country. But Mrs. B was with me. As smart and beautiful as she was, I didn’t think she was going to outrun anybody in her three-inch heels. So, I let the two men escort me down the stairs, figuring I’d make my break when Mrs. B had time to get in the clear.
I fully expected a paddy wagon full of London Bobbies waiting for me in the main lobby, but it was nearly empty with most of the audience already out the door.
There must be some sort of jurisdictional agreement between the theatre security service and local cops. The security guys escort the suspect to the door where the real law enforcement guys take the criminal into custody.
We didn’t go out the front door. Which made sense. They wouldn’t want the theatre going public to know that there had been a murderer in their midst. The exchange would be better handled in a side alley or back parking lot … cuff me, throw me in the back of a cop car and whisk me off to jail where I would wait for my trial. I could already see the headlines.
“American arrested for poisoning stage star Lily Langford.”
As we walked backstage, I sized up my two captors. They were both large men. The one on my right appeared to have visited a gym sometime in the last few months while his compatriot apparently spent most of his free time in the pub. Most people would take out the couch potato and hope to outrun his stronger partner. But most people don’t know how to disable someone, no matter how strong or talented, with a single blow. My plan was to drop the macho man to his knees with a blow to the larynx and give the pub-dweller a heart attack as he tried to run me down.
My fist was clenched, my legs positioned, and I was just about to strike when my target suddenly stopped walking and knocked on a door.
“Who is it?” a voice asked.
“Security. We’ve got him.”