A Letter from Paradise, Part 6

    6. The Party

    You know what happens next. Things change. As our arms, still in perfect
synch, raised the lighters toward each other's cigarette, I watched Laurie's
hair come truly alive and tie itself into an elaborate and lovely coiffure.
Her casual sweater outfit developed a plunging neckline, her arms uncovered.
Her slacks molded themselves into the lower half of her strapless green
evening gown. Jewelry grew at her neck and wrists. Her cigarette jumped from
her lips, separated from them now by an ebony holder. I had to alter the
trajectory of the lighter to reach the new location of her cigarette. Her
bulky purse contracted, becoming a golden cigarette case on a chain.

    My outfit thickened and blackened. A bow-tie wrapped itself around my
neck, tying itself into a perfect bow. Glad I didn't have to do that myself, I
thought. A cummerbund cinched my waist, spats and cufflinks materialized. My
Nikes shrank, smoothed, became glossy black. We were ready for a formal
affair.

    Bright lights sprang on above us. Chandeliers, six of them. The walls
withdrew, became intricately carved wood, covered in gold leaf. Paintings hung
from the wall.

    To our left, a sweeping staircase led to a room-encircling balcony. To the
right, tables and chairs, white linens on the tables. A portable bar, tended
by a man in white tie and tails. Other couples, men alone, all in formal
dress, scattered about over the immense room. The sound of murmured
conversation, began, a concert grand piano behind us started to play.
Something by a Strauss. A waltz. We stood on a dance floor. The lighters
reached our cigarettes as one. The lighters closed.

    Click/click.

    "My, you look lovely tonight, my dear," I said. Somehow, I felt different.
Suave. Self-assured. Ready for anything. I also felt something hard in my left
armpit, under the jacket. I had a hunch what it was.

    Holder clenched in her teeth, Laurie stepped forward into my arms and we
began to box-step around the dance floor. "As do you, dear Mr. Higgenbotham."
Smoke poured from her nostrils as we danced.

    Higgenbotham? But it sounded right. I was Higgenbotham. But who was he?

    My hand slid down the back of her dress to her waist, and I found there
what I expected. A hard protuberance, well concealed, that was not a usual
accessory for a lady attending a formal affair. And, I noted a small Velcro
seam to give her fast access to it.

    We were armed.

    I had fired rifles occasionally, but never a handgun. However, as I
thought about it, I now vaguely remembered practicing long hours with the one
I wore under my jacket. It was compact, light, and held a clip with eight
nine-millimeter shells. A round was chambered and I had two extra clips in a
jacket pocket. I could use this gun with some skill.

    My newly educated fingers told me Laurie was packing a snub-nosed, .32
caliber, six shot revolver. In her cigarette case would be (in addition to
cigarettes) another six bullets, loose. A slightly predatory gleam in her
lovely eyes told me she'd noticed my probing, knew what I knew. I wasn't sure
I liked that look on her, but then again...

    We were armed AND dangerous! The James Bond theme played in my head.

    I sobered quickly, realizing it would be all to easy to get caught up in
this fantasy of intrigue and gunplay. These weapons could kill, and so, I
presumed, could others' weapons kill us. I began to perspire again.

    Showing no sign of my nervousness (I hoped), I swept Laurie gracefully
across the floor (had I ever waltzed before? I don't think so!) and to a table
remote from possible listeners.

    I sat heavily on a plush chair and breathed a loud sigh. Laurie sat beside
me, removed her cigarette from its holder, took a massive (even for her)
double-pump, and exhaled all around, as if to hide us from unfriendly eyes.

    A waiter glided past, dropping off two flutes of champagne. Mine was gone
in two quick swallows, and my nerves steadied, a little.

    "Better watch that, dear," Laurie said. "remember our mission..."

    "Keep your voice down!" I stage-whispered. "And don't start with that spy
shit..." I realized I was being much harsher than I needed to, and shut up. I
couldn't help it, though. I was imagining the real-life, highly-professional
equivalents of my favorite movie villains. The would mark us on sight, I knew.
We were less than amateurs, and a little hand-gun training was nothing.
Everything we said, every move we made, would give us away. Even now, they
were probably moving into position for two silenced shots which would end this
little charade, and us. Any second now...

    I clamped down hard on my rising panic. However bad our position might be,
that would only make it worse.

    "Look, I'm sorry, Laurie, or whatever your name is here tonight. I was
losing it. I'm a little better now."

    "It's okay, Gra...Mr. Higgenbotham. I was on the edge, too, and maybe in
the other direction..." Her words gave me pause. How much did I really know
about her? Damn little. But I knew this: if it came to it, I'd stop a bullet
to protect her. In a second.

    "And," she continued, "I'm still Laurie Banning. Nobody important. Just
your escort I think." I smiled to show her she would never be "just an escort"
to me. She winked and took a puff, blowing smoke coquettishly around us, and I
responded despite my fear.

    "Maybe you should put your cigarette back in the holder, to stay in
character," I said. "Or is it really a blow-gun or something?"

    "Just a holder, I'm afraid, "she said, stubbing out her cigarette and
inserting a fresh one in the holder. She posed demurely as I fished out my
conventional lighter and lit her.

    As she took her first puff, I withdrew two items that had been in my
pocket with the lighter. She scootched her chair around so she could see too.
Her exhaled smoke cascaded over my shoulder and bathed the items I held.

    One was a US Diplomatic Passport containing my picture. It identified me
as Harding J. Higgenbotham, Second Assistant to the Third Deputy
Undersecretary of State, will full privileges in all allied nations of the US.

    Some title, I thought. I wonder what this job pays? And how, in God's
name, did they manage to find a name even worse than my own? Somewhere,
somewhen, someone was having quite a chuckle at my expense.

    The second was a engraved invitation. It read: "To Harding J. Higgenbotham
and Guest, the Honor of your Presence is Requested at the United States of
America Embassy to the Republic of France, in Paris, France, at 8 PM on
Saturday, July 2, 1981, for a Reception honoring the Nobel Laureate
microbiologist and physician, Dr. Jean Etienne Dricot. Black Tie. RSVP,
Regrets Only."

    "Dricot!" Laurie said, smoke from her latest puff bathing my face as I
turned to face her. "he's the one that discovered...no, WILL discover in 1983,
the blocking agent against the AIDS virus!"

    "That would put a dent in smoking's popularity," I observed.

    "Not to mention sex," Laurie added, blowing smoke at my crotch. "Remember
that? It's a pleasure, too..."

    "How could I forget?"

    Just then, the crowd grew silent, and applause rippled across the room. A
man, distinguished, gray-haired, was descending the stairs. Dr. Dricot, I
presumed.

    "If he won't invent the AIDS block until '83, what did he win the Nobel
for?" I asked Laurie.

    "He developed a cure for lung cancer," was the answer.

    "Oh, " I mused. "Is that all?"

    "No. That same year, he developed a vaccine against three forms of African
Hemorraghic Fever."

    Jesus! And someone wanted to KILL this man? Well, at least they had waited
until after he got his Nobel Prize...

    Dricot had reached the bottom of the steps, and a throng gathered to greet
him. I stood up, wondering how in hell we could spot any potential assassins,
and what we would do if we did. Could I shoot a man in cold blood? Could
Laurie?

    For good old 007, just meeting the eyes of a killer was all he needed to
clue him in. That, and the dramatic music that began when their eyes met. I
doubted the piano player here would be so obliging.

    I took a more careful look around the ballroom. This was, of course, still
the heavy-smoking world. Most everyone in the room was smoking, and despite
the high ceiling smoke was heavy in the air. Even Dricot was holding the
biggest cigar I'd ever seen, laughing and talking to the people nearby. In
French, naturally. But interestingly, I could understand every word.

    Of course, a diplomat would be fluent in French. I wondered if Laurie
could understand as well. Probably she could, and all the other languages in
the world, too. She always understood more than I did.

    A long-haired, oriental beauty caught my arm, extended a long cigarette in
a longer holder, and asked for a light. I obliged, being careful to use my
"normal" lighter. She drew lingeringly, and exhaled smoke at me just as I
exhaled my own. Laurie, moving to my side, added her own voluminous
contribution to the sudden cloud.

    Laurie and the oriental woman didn't blink, although the smoke curled
thick as molasses around our heads. My eyes stung a little, and I wondered
again at these people's tolerance to heavy ambient smoke.

    Then I noticed the bald man. Cue the piano player!

    He was leaning against the wall, about 20 feet past Dricot. He was dabbing
at his eyes with a wet handkerchief, blinking furiously.

    He couldn't handle the smoke!

    A cigarette with a long ash burned between his fingers. I watched to see
if he would take a puff. I counted 30 seconds. Nothing. The long ash fell.
Twenty more seconds. He dropped the smoke to the polished floor and ground it
beneath his heel. No puffing. He was a ringer! He didn't belong here!

    I nudged Laurie, who was deep in conversation with our new oriental
friend, Mitsumi. Smoke was rising from the pair of them like an active
volcano. Laurie excused herself, and turned to me. I pointed out Baldy, and
told her what I'd noticed. She nodded.

    We moved across the room causally, with no apparent destination, until we
were close by the bald man. He was middle-aged, wore thick glasses, and looked
none too firm in the gut. Not my image of the professional assassin. I wasn't
about to underestimate him, though.

    Laurie and I were engaged in small talk, ignoring the man completely.
Until, that is, he started to move in Dricot's direction. I stepped behind
him, drawing my pistol, and pressed it into the small of his back.

    What can you say at a time like this that won't sound like a cliché? I
couldn't come up with a damn thing, so I settled for some old standbys.

    "That's far enough. Don't move, and keep your hands where I can see them."
I tried to surreptitiously pat him down. I didn't find anything, but declined
to rest easy.

    "Follow my lead and don't make a sound." I resisted adding, "Or I'll fill
you full of lead."

    Slowly, trying to keep the gun out of sight, I maneuvered Baldy toward a
side door that stood open nearby. Once through the door, we turned right and
walked down a corridor, out of sight of the main room. I ordered Baldy to put
his hands an his head. He complied passively.

    Laurie was right behind me. I would have felt better if she had stayed in
the ballroom, but then she wouldn't be Laurie. As we passed from sight of the
party, I heard the sound of Velcro tearing open. Baldy had two guns on him
now.

    The corridor dead-ended, and I had Baldy turn and stand with his back
against the cul-de-sac, hands still firmly on pate.

    "Now, I want to know who and what..." That's as far as I got, guys.
Something hard smashed into the back of my head and light bloomed somewhere
behind my eyeballs. I dropped my pistol and sank to my knees, trying to avoid
taking a sudden nap.

    I was vaguely aware of Baldy zipping by me, back up the corridor, back
toward Dricot. I shut my eyes to stop the spinning world, and slowly got to my
feet. When I opened my eyes, I saw Laurie standing where Baldy had been a
moment before, facing me. She still had her revolver out, pointing at my
midsection.

    "L-laurie," I said cleverly, "What happened? Owwww....did you forget who
the bad guy was?" But this was serious. Laurie's face was twisted, tears
flowing. The gun in her hand shook badly.

    "Grant, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you. But I can't let
you stop him. I'm on his side."

    "Laurie, I...why..." I suppose I could have said something cooler, like
"So what now, doll-face? You gonna plug me?" but I was far from cool. I
thought this must be a delusion caused by my little bump on the head. This
betrayal was unthinkable, impossible. It hurt too much to be real.

    Sorry, no delusion. "Grant, I've lied to you about many things." She was
not getting any calmer. "But this is what's important. My mother is not living
in Dallas. She's dead. Of lung cancer, in 1993."

    "But you said it could be cured..."

    "Grant, you don't know all the rules! There are worlds beyond worlds, all
the same, all different, all real. None of us start or end in the same place.
When my mother died, I blamed a lot of people. People like Natalia. People
like you. I joined the Alliance of God. Natalia's enemies. Your enemies."

    "The Alliance...?" I'd have to stop with these clever quips. You won't
believe I really said them.

    "Grant, I've been with them a long time, in a sense. I've been so many
places, so many times, and done so many things..." The tears started again. "I
even had a child once. A daughter. I don't know where, when, or with who.
Grant, I can't even remember her face! I've sacrificed...I've been loyal..."

    This wasn't getting any less dangerous. Or less painful. "But why...with
these fanatics..."

    "They are fanatics, but they understand...the purifying power of pain.
It's what makes us human Grant. It's all that makes us human! What I went
through...caring for my mother. You'll never know. She died for pleasure. She
died because of you!"

    There was something new in her eyes now. Hatred. Hatred for me. I wished
she'd shoot and end the misery.

    "Laurie...I love you." Last chance. It was the truth.

    "I loved you too, Grant. I'm so sorry."

    She was sorry. But she fired anyway.

    The shot was deafening in the closed hallway. I flinched, knowing you
can't duck a bullet. The shot went a little high, though. I felt it flash past
my shoulder, and saw a tiny wisp of smoke rise from where its passage had
singed the fabric.

    Behind me there was a male grunt, and a thump! like a sack full of mail
hitting the floor. I turned. Baldy was laid out behind me. The bullet had
punched through his right lens and eye and blown out the back of his head.
Smoke wouldn't be bothering him again.

    In his right hand was the wickedest knife I had ever seen. It looked like
some kind of ceremonial dagger.

    My first idiotic thought was that this was the most gruesome make-up job
I'd ever seen. Still on that movie kick. Then I caught the smell.

    Jesus god, what a stench! His bladder and bowels had let go, and mixed
with the gore it was quite an effect. I vomited.

    When I turned, Laurie was on her knees, face in hands, and weeping in
earnest now. Her revolver lay on the floor. I went to her.

    "Baby, you saved my life..."

    "Get away from me!" She looked up. The anger and hatred were still there,
intensified. "Do you think I'm proud of that? I justcouldn't...I've betrayed
everyone now. I am nothing. I have nowhere to go. Get out!"

    I jumped back. This was too much to take. "I'm not leaving, Laurie. Not
without you."

    "Oh, you fool, get out! Get out while you still can!" this was delivered
with some conviction.

    I knew I was licked. I turned away, took a step. Two steps. Three. It was
like trying to walk away from a black hole. I was being sucked backwards.

    But she loved me! She said so!

    Had loved, she said. Had.

    Another step. It was little easier now, but I was dead inside. My head was
killing me. I almost hoped she'd shoot me in the back.

    I was almost back to the party when I heard a shuffling behind me. I
glanced back to see Laurie pluck something from the dead man's jacket. A
small, white cylinder. A cigarette? No. It was too short and wide, and glinted
metallically in the overhead lights. She was paying no attention to me. I
walked on and reentered the embassy ballroom.

    The party was breaking up; most people had left. It occurred to me then to
wonder why I wasn't up to my ass in armed guards, being led off to the
Bastille or wherever. Nothing seemed to have registered on anyone except me,
Laurie, and Baldy.

    I noticed some lights on in a room opening onto the balcony level, and
thought about Dricot. Had Baldy gotten to him while I talked to Laurie?

    And if not, perhaps the wise doctor would have some answers for me.

    I doubted it. No reason he would know about magic lighters and
time-traveling assassins. He would think I was crazy and probably sic the
Gendarmes on me.

    I climbed the stairs anyway, and looked in the lighted room. There was
Dricot, back to the door, cigar in mouth, removing his tuxedo jacket. Alive
and well. Hip hip hooray.

    He turned and saw me. "Allo, M'sieu. I don't believe we have met." He
sounded relaxed, friendly.

    "Dr. Dricot, my name is Grant...," just Grant. But I didn't get that far.

    There was another loud boom. Another bullet whizzed past my shoulder. I
saw Dricot clutch at his right arm. There was blood on the wall behind him,
blood on his white dress shirt.

    Laurie was behind me, revolver in hand, but it now lay limply at her side.
Her face was ashen pale. Her eyes were haunted, sad, empty.

    "I am not redeemed..." she said. It sounded like an admission of ultimate,
final, failure.

    Dricot stared at us, wide eyed. Through his shock and pain he managed,
"Who...why..." He sounded a lot like me a few minutes ago.

    I moved to Laurie, tried to hold her, but she was rigid and unyielding.

    "Laurie, let's go, let's leave, now!" I was reaching for cigarettes and
lighter, the special one.

    "No." Her voice was hollow as an ancient tree stump. "There is no place
for me there. I give it to you. All that was mine. I am no one."

    "Laurie, please!" I was shouting now. I slipped the gun from her right
hand. In the state she was in she'd be shooting herself next. She didn't
resist, didn't even seem to notice.

    I saw Dricot calmly wrapping a strip of cloth around his wounded arm. He
made no move to summon help.

    Laurie had something in her left hand, and was now raising it. It was the
white metal cylinder I has seen earlier. It appeared to have a spray top. She
was moving it toward her mouth.

    "Laurie, NO!" I leaped at her, but too late. Always too late.

    "Don't follow," her lifeless voice said, and she opened her mouth. There
followed a brief Hissssst sound.

    Laurie vanished, blown out like a candle. A gentle whump! followed as air
rushed to fill the Laurie-shaped vacuum left behind. Nature abhors a vacuum.
The vacuum in me, though, would take a little longer to fill.

    I sailed through the place where she had been standing and crashed to the
floor. My head rung with agony. I felt no inclination to move.

    Some indefinite time later, I felt Dricot's hand on my shoulder. He helped
me to stand up.

    "I do not pretend to understand what I have seen this night, " he said.
"But it is my belief that I should thank you."

    "Don't thank me, " I said. "I did nothing."

    "But I am not thinking so. Can I help you in some way?"

    "Just keep doing what you do." I said. That's why we...why I was here.

    Without waiting for a reply, I pulled out a cigarette and the magic Zippo.
Would this work? I wondered. Or do I have to light someone else's...

    Click.

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