And that reminded him. He hoped that the photographer who had been at the crash site would remember to send the photograph he had promised. He would have it blown up and put next to the exhibit. That would be a neat touch. Showmanship. That’s what life is all about. Showmanship.
He could not wait to return to Hungary and start to fulfill his grandiose dream.
When he arrived home and unwrapped the handkerchief, he noticed that the hand had shriveled. But when Bushfekete rinsed off the dirt, amazingly, it regained its original firmness.
Bushfekete had hidden the hand safely away and had ordered an impressive glass case with a special humidifier built for it. When he was through exhibiting it in his carnival, he planned to travel with it all over Europe. All over the world. He would set up exhibits in museums. He would have private showings for scientists; perhaps, even for heads of state. And he would charge them all. There was no end to the fabulous fortune that lay ahead.
He had told no one about his good luck, not even his sweetheart, Marika, the sexy little dancer who worked with cobras and puff adders, two of the most dangerous ophidians. Of course, their poison sacs had been removed, but the audience did not know that because Bushfekete also kept a cobra with its poison sac intact. He displayed the snake free of charge to the public, which watched it kill rats. It wasn’t surprising that people got a thrill out of watching the beautiful Marika let her pet snakes slither across her sensuous, half-naked body. Two or three nights a week, Marika came into Laslo Bushfekete’s tent and crawled across his body, her tongue flicking in and out like her pets. They had made love the night before, and Bushfekete was still exhausted from Marika’s incredible gymnastics. His reminiscences were interrupted by a visitor.
“Mr. Bushfekete?”
“You’re talking to him. What can I do for you?”
“I understand you were in Switzerland last week.”
Bushfekete was instantly wary. Did someone see me pick up the hand? “What—what about it?”
“You went on a bus tour last Sunday?”
Bushfekete said cautiously, “Yes.”
Robert Bellamy relaxed. It was finally over. This was the last witness. He had taken on an impossible assignment, and he had done a good job. A damned good job, if I say so myself. “We have no idea where they are. Or who they are.” And he had found them all. He felt as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was free now. Free to return home and to begin a new life.
“What about my trip, mister?”
“It’s not important,” Robert Bellamy assured him. And it wasn’t, not any longer. “I was interested in your fellow passengers, Mr. Bushfekete, but now I think I have all the information I need, so—”
“Oh, hell, I can tell you all about them,” Laslo Bushfekete said. “There was an Italian priest from Orvieto, Italy; a German—I think he was a chemistry professor from Munich; some Russian girl who worked in the library in Kiev; a rancher from Waco, Texas; a Canadian banker from the Territories; and some lobbyist named Parker from Washington, D.C.”
My God, Robert thought. If I had gotten to him first, I could have saved a lot of time. The man is amazing. He recalled them all. “You have quite a memory,” Robert said.
“Yeah.” Bushfekete smiled. “Oh, and there was that other woman.”
“The Russian woman.”
“No, no, the other woman. The tall, thin one who was dressed in white.”
Robert thought for a moment. None of the others had mentioned a second woman. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“No, I’m not.” Bushfekete was insistent. “There were two women there.”
Robert made a mental count. It simply did not add up. “There couldn’t have been.”
Bushfekete was insulted. “When that photographer fellow took the pictures of all of us in front of that UFO, she was standing right next to me. She was a real beauty.” He paused. “The funny part is I don’t recall seeing her on the bus. She was probably in the back somewhere. I remember she seemed kind of pale. I was a little worried about her.”