strange fear. Two yards from the bus stop, she saw a huge poster of herself. The incongruity made her gasp, but the image calmed her, comforted her.
She took out her map, and looked for the direction to Keller-man's hotel. She hesitated, checked the dwarf's scrawled note, and headed down a dimly lit street to a small bed and breakfast establishment that could hardly be described as a hotel.
It was almost ten when Ruda walked into the dingy reception. There was no one around; she then turned to what looked like a guest register, scrawled all over with memos and messages. "T. Kellerman" was listed in Room 40. She waited another minute before heading to the elevator. On the fourth floor, she stood outside Kellerman's room listening to the sound of a television, the volume turned up loud. She tapped and waited, tapped louder, then the door inched open.
"They should have called from reception," he said petulantly as he opened the door wider. He was in his shirt, tie loosened, and he was wearing suspenders, wide, red suspenders. Ruda closed the door and looked around the small room, dominated by the TV set.
"Jesus, Tommy, what made you choose this dump?"
"It's cheap, nobody asks questions, and nobody's likely to come looking for me, that answer enough?"
"Yeah, I suppose so, but I'm surprised you haven't had a brick thrown through the window, or found a turd in your bed!"
"Got scared, did you?"
Ruda shrugged, then after a moment: "More like sickened."
She put her large leather bag on the edge of the bed. As she turned, Kellerman suddenly clasped her tightly around the thighs, and buried his head in her crotch. She didn't resist.
"Still working the same foreplay game, are we?" she asked sarcastically.
He chuckled, and stepped back. "Lemme tell you, that's turned on more women then I can count, they love it, hot breath steaming through their panties. Just a taste of what is to come, because when I ease the skirt down, really get into it, no woman can resist me, not when I've got my tongue working overtime."
Ruda laughed and unbuttoned her coat, tossing it over her bag.
"You disgusting little parasite, I thought you'd have grown up by now, but then I suppose it's tough—not ever growing, I mean."
Kellerman hitched up his trousers and crossed to the mini bar. "Want a miniature drinkie? From your own miniature lover?"
He peered at the rows of bottles in the fridge and chose a vodka for himself.
"I won't have anything."
"Suit yourself," Kellerman said as he opened some tonic and found a glass. His stubby hands could reach only halfway around the tumbler.
Ruda sat on the bed watching him as he fixed his drink, dragged a chair from the small desk by the fridge, moved it closer to the bed, then waddled back to get his glass, handing it to her as he gripped the chair by the arms to haul himself into it.
Sitting, his feet hung just over the edge of the chair, small child's feet encased in red socks to match his suspenders, his scuffed shoes on the floor.
"Cheers!"
Kellerman drank almost half the contents of the glass, burped, and wrinkled his nose.
"So! You came. I was half expecting you not to turn up."
Ruda opened her bag and took out her cigarettes. Kellerman delved into his pockets for a lighter.
"Did you go to the cashier?" he asked, looking at the large leather bag.
"Yes."
He flashed a cheeky grin. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. The license, all our papers, are in that drawer over there. They still look good…guy was an artist!"
Kellerman eased himself off the chair. "You may not believe this, but I don't like asking for the money."
Ruda laughed. "Asking? Blackmailing is the word I would use."
"You have to do what you have to do. I'm flat broke, and in debt to two guys in the U.S. It's been tough for me ever since you left."
Ruda smiled. "It was tough before I left. I'm surprised they employed you in Paris. Those folks worked hard for their dough. Way I heard it you were blacklisted, you'd steal
She took out her map, and looked for the direction to Keller-man's hotel. She hesitated, checked the dwarf's scrawled note, and headed down a dimly lit street to a small bed and breakfast establishment that could hardly be described as a hotel.
It was almost ten when Ruda walked into the dingy reception. There was no one around; she then turned to what looked like a guest register, scrawled all over with memos and messages. "T. Kellerman" was listed in Room 40. She waited another minute before heading to the elevator. On the fourth floor, she stood outside Kellerman's room listening to the sound of a television, the volume turned up loud. She tapped and waited, tapped louder, then the door inched open.
"They should have called from reception," he said petulantly as he opened the door wider. He was in his shirt, tie loosened, and he was wearing suspenders, wide, red suspenders. Ruda closed the door and looked around the small room, dominated by the TV set.
"Jesus, Tommy, what made you choose this dump?"
"It's cheap, nobody asks questions, and nobody's likely to come looking for me, that answer enough?"
"Yeah, I suppose so, but I'm surprised you haven't had a brick thrown through the window, or found a turd in your bed!"
"Got scared, did you?"
Ruda shrugged, then after a moment: "More like sickened."
She put her large leather bag on the edge of the bed. As she turned, Kellerman suddenly clasped her tightly around the thighs, and buried his head in her crotch. She didn't resist.
"Still working the same foreplay game, are we?" she asked sarcastically.
He chuckled, and stepped back. "Lemme tell you, that's turned on more women then I can count, they love it, hot breath steaming through their panties. Just a taste of what is to come, because when I ease the skirt down, really get into it, no woman can resist me, not when I've got my tongue working overtime."
Ruda laughed and unbuttoned her coat, tossing it over her bag.
"You disgusting little parasite, I thought you'd have grown up by now, but then I suppose it's tough—not ever growing, I mean."
Kellerman hitched up his trousers and crossed to the mini bar. "Want a miniature drinkie? From your own miniature lover?"
He peered at the rows of bottles in the fridge and chose a vodka for himself.
"I won't have anything."
"Suit yourself," Kellerman said as he opened some tonic and found a glass. His stubby hands could reach only halfway around the tumbler.
Ruda sat on the bed watching him as he fixed his drink, dragged a chair from the small desk by the fridge, moved it closer to the bed, then waddled back to get his glass, handing it to her as he gripped the chair by the arms to haul himself into it.
Sitting, his feet hung just over the edge of the chair, small child's feet encased in red socks to match his suspenders, his scuffed shoes on the floor.
"Cheers!"
Kellerman drank almost half the contents of the glass, burped, and wrinkled his nose.
"So! You came. I was half expecting you not to turn up."
Ruda opened her bag and took out her cigarettes. Kellerman delved into his pockets for a lighter.
"Did you go to the cashier?" he asked, looking at the large leather bag.
"Yes."
He flashed a cheeky grin. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other. The license, all our papers, are in that drawer over there. They still look good…guy was an artist!"
Kellerman eased himself off the chair. "You may not believe this, but I don't like asking for the money."
Ruda laughed. "Asking? Blackmailing is the word I would use."
"You have to do what you have to do. I'm flat broke, and in debt to two guys in the U.S. It's been tough for me ever since you left."
Ruda smiled. "It was tough before I left. I'm surprised they employed you in Paris. Those folks worked hard for their dough. Way I heard it you were blacklisted, you'd steal
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