Vulture is a Patient Bird

He had been living now with Toni for some three weeks, spending his remaining capital but not finding any lucrative employment. Now, with no prospects, he was getting slightly anxious. Toni, however, thought it all a huge joke.

"Why worry, you big gorgeous animal?" she had demanded the previous evening, jumping on to his lap and nibbling his ear. "I have all the money in the world! Let's make hectic love!"

Garry finished his half-cold coffee, grimaced and then went to the window to stare down at the slow-moving traffic and at the stream of men and women, sheltering under umbrellas, hurrying to work.

He heard a sound at the front door: letters being dropped into the box.

Toni received many letters each morning from gibbering young men who adored her, but Garry hoped there just might be a letter for him. He collected fifteen letters from the box, flicked through them quickly and found one for himself. The deckled edge, handmade paper of the envelope was impressive. He ripped it open and extracted a sheet of paper.

The Royal Towers Hotel

London. W. I.

Would Mr. Garry Edwards please call at the above address on February 11th at 11.30 hrs. and ask for Mr. Armo Shalik. (Ref. Daily Telegraph. Box. S.1012).

Well, yes, Garry thought, he would certainly call on Mr Armo Shalik. With a name like that and with such an address there had tobe a smell of money.

He took the letter into the small bedroom.

Toni was sleeping heavily. She lay on her stomach, her shortie nightdress nicked up, her long, lovely legs spread wide.

Garry sat on the edge of the bed and admired her. She really was delightfully beautiful. He lifted his hand and smacked her sharply on her bare rump. She squirmed, closed her legs, blinked and looked over her shoulder at him. He smacked her again and she hurriedly spun around and sat up.

"That's assault!" she declared. "Where are my pants?"

He found them for her at the end of the bed and offered them. She regarded him, smiling.

"Do I need them?"

"I shouldn't have thought so," Garry said with a grin. "I've had a letter. Could you turn your indecent mind to business for a moment?"

She looked questioningly at him.

"What's cooking?"

He told her about the advertisement in the Daily Telegraph, that he had answered it, and now he had a reply. He gave her the letter.

"The Royal Towers! The newest and the best! What a lovely name! Armo Shalik! I smell bags and bags of gold and diamonds." She tossed the letter into the air and threw her arms around Garry's neck.

Around 11.00 hours. Garry detached himself from Toni's clutch, took a shower and then dressed in a blue blazer and dark-blue Daks. He surveyed himself in the mirror.

"A little dark under the eyes," he said, straightening his tie. But that is to be expected. Still, I think I look healthy, handsome andhandmade . . . what do you think, you beautiful doll?

Completely naked, Toni was sitting in the armchair, sipping coffee. She regarded him affectionately.

"You look absolutely gorgeous."

Garry picked her out of the armchair and fondled her. Having kissed her, he dumped her back in the chair and left the apartment.

At exactly 11.30 hrs. he approached the hall porter of the Royal Towers Hotel and asked for Mr. Armo Shalik.

The hall porter surveyed him with that blank expression all hall porters wear when they neither approve nor disapprove. He called a number, spoke quietly, then replaced the receiver.

"Tenth floor, sir. Suite 27."

Garry was whisked up by the express lift to the tenth floor. He was conducted by the lift-man to the door of Suite 27. He was obviously too important and too fragile to knock on the door. The lift-man did this service, bowed and retired.

The smell of money, as far as Garry was concerned, was now over-powering.

He entered a small distinguished room where a girl sat behind a desk on which stood three telephones, an I.B.M. golf ball typewriter, an intercom and a tape-recorder.

The girl puzzled Garry because although she had a nice figure, was dressed in a stylish black frock, was beautifully groomed, her hair immaculate, she was nothing to him but a sexless photograph of a woman long since dead. Her blank face, her immaculately plucked eyebrows, her pale lipstick merely emphasized her lack of charm: a robot that made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Mr. Edwards?

Even her voice was metallic: a tape-recording badly reproduced.

"That's me," Garry said, and because he never liked to be

defeated by any woman, he gave her his charming smile.

It had no effect. The girl touched a button, paused, then said, "Mr. Edwards is here, sir."

A green light flashed up on the intercom. Obviously, Mr. Shalik didn't care to waste his breath. He preferred to press buttons than to talk.

The girl got up, walked gracefully to a far door, opened it and stood aside.