In the last episode of Special Delivery, Rocky went to the white, modern building built on the side of a mountain that was introduced to him as the mansion of Frank Weller. But when Rocky saw a man and woman inside in their robes, he began to wonder if he had been tricked. The following takes place early in the morning at the front steps of the mansion:
The woman in the robe mouthed the words “Who is that?” at the man. He looked straight at me and shook his head, but even from this distance I could tell he was lying. This was the right house, all right, and this was the right man. He was Frank Weller, the man who sent a fat little gunman my way just because his wife decided to use me for one of her little games. It didn't matter who she was. All I had to do was look at their matching robes to know where everyone stood. I grinned at him and knocked lightly on the door three times.
Frank patted the shoulders of his lady-friend reassuringly and climbed the stairs. As he ascended, he tugged the sides of his robe to make sure they were closed. His lazy eyes glanced at me and turned away almost immediately. The door opened. Frank was tall, a few inches taller than me. A puff of smoke from his cigarette escaped his lips as he looked down and said, “What do you want? It's very early.”
“Rollo's in the car, Mr. Weller,” I replied. “He was at my place at three in the morning. Let's call it even.”
“You're Stone,” he stated.
“That's the name on my subscription to Mug's World Quarterly.”
His upper lip got stiff and his hands slipped behind his back. He rocked back and forth as if he knew some deep, dark secret about me. “Perhaps,” he intoned, “you would like to see my wife, I suppose. She's out of town.”
“I gathered.” I stepped in out of the rain and glanced down the stairs, where I could just see the eyes of his companion staring up at me. “You're not going to introduce us, are you?”
Weller shook his head, no. “Jessica and I have an understanding about such things. I provide the money. She asks no questions. I, on the other hand, can ask all the questions I like. For instance, just who do you think you are?”
I stood at the top of the stairs. “I think I'm a man and she's a woman and she was tired of you bringing strays home. But seeing as she had a ring on her finger I stayed away.”
Apparently I said something funny. Frank reared back and let fly with a series of gasps and grunts that I could barely recognize as laughter. He actually went so far as to slap his knees. I glanced down at his companion. She wasn't laughing, either. She leered at me, probably due to the fact that I had just compared her to a stray cat in her presence. “You think I sent Rollo to you because of my wife?” he sputtered.
When he got a hold of himself, he reached out and grabbed me around the shoulder, heartily, like we were lodge brothers or something. He carried me down the steps that way, slapping my back, until we made it down to the next level. Along the way I made sure my gun could be released at a moment's notice.
I remembered the way the room had looked a few days earlier: three statues sat at attention before the couch, as if they were going somewhere. One, the nude Venus, ended up in my apartment. The other two were gone. The white couch was in the same spot, and Frank's dame had settled down in it to have a smoke. She wore white heels with no stockings and as she crossed her legs the shoe began to slip off and dangle in the air. The curtains were drawn, so I couldn't see the courtyard and the pool area through the windows. And something new added to the scene: a large glass case along the far wall, and inside of it, the statue I had spent the last few days retrieving. The Black Thumb.
“You see, Mr. Stone,” Weller said to me once I noticed his new display, “I didn't send Rollo to your apartment because of any petty jealousy. As you rightly pointed out, how could I be jealous?” He winked at his latest conquest. She returned the favor and disappeared behind a magazine. “No, I really could care less. But you see, I'm a businessman. And when I do business, I like to think that I'm a man of my word. So, when I buy an item, I'm good for the amount. And when I sell an item, I deliver it. You get me?”
He found a helpful ash tray on the coffee table and put his cigarette out in it. “The Hoffmans got their package,” I pointed out, “and they got something they didn't count on in return.”
Weller grabbed me by the tie and pulled me in. My hand was ready on the gun. “I'm not talking about the Hoffmans, whoever they are. A delegation from China put half a million dollars on the table and somehow, they didn't receive delivery. I come home and find this.” He raised a hand to the statue. “And when I questioned Jessica about it, she tells me I should talk to you.”
“If I knew you gave it to the Nationalists, I wouldn't have taken it back from them. Maybe you should have told me about that little deal when I was on the phone with you.”
His eyes shifted and his hand tightened around my tie. “I didn't sell it to the Nationalists,” he growled under his breath.
Will the statue be sold to the Communists? And how can Rocky prevent it from happening? Find out next week in The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
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