“Please … have a seat,” Maxine said to the slender, youthful Oriental as Stilman ushered him into the suite. “So nice of you to accept my invitation.”
The man’s face was impassive, but there was anger in his voice and movements.
“I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” he said, sinking into the offered chair.
Maxine raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Mr. Stilman,” she said, “didn’t you make it clear that I was extending an invitation to our guest?”
“I asked him nice,” the big man growled. “I didn’t lay a hand on him.”
“Well, no matter,” Maxine said. “As long as you’re here. We were just admiring the tattoos on your arms.”
The man glanced down quickly as if to assure himself that the decorations were still in place.
“I see,” he said.
“They’re very beautiful.” Maxine smiled. “Might I ask the circumstances under which you got them?”
The Oriental rose abruptly to his feet.
“They are a personal matter,” he hissed. “Not to be discussed with strangers.”
“Sit down, sir!”
Maxine’s voice cracked like a whip, and the man responded to the authority in her tone by quickly resuming his seat.
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we?” Maxine purred, leaning forward to cradle her chin in one hand. “Unless I’m mistaken, those tattoos mark you as a member of the Yakusa … something crudely referred to as the Japanese Mafia. If that is correct, I would be most curious as to what you’re doing on Lorelei and why you haven’t been by to pay your respects.”
For a moment, the man’s eyes widened with surprise, then they narrowed warily.