Murdering Mr. Monti: A Merry Little Tale of Sex and Violence Read Online Free PDF

come.
    “Mr. Monti,” I said, “what, after all, do we mean by permanent? Even our greatest symbols of permanence are subject to change. In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble, and we all have to live with that reality. Even you, Mr. Monti.”
    “What’s your point, Mrs. Kovner?”
    “That Wally is gone. That as far as any of us, in any ultimate sense, knows, he is gone permanently. And that, until he stops being gone, your terms have—in fact—been met.”
    Mr. Monti rose from his chair, walked around his desk, and stood over me.
    “I want it in writing,” he said to me, bringing his face quite rudely close to mine. “No, I want it in blood.” He smiled a dangerous smile and lowered his voice. “Symbolically speaking, of course.”
    •  •  •
    Symbolically speaking is not, believe me, the kind of verbal expression that leaps to the lips of Joseph AugustusMonti. He learned it, I regret to admit, from me. He learned it one evening last January, in that delicate period after Wally and Josephine had announced their decision to marry but before they’d announced that Wally would not be converting. Mr. and Mrs. Monti had invited, us four Kovners to dine with them, their three daughters, and two sons-in-law at their extensive and expensive spread in McLean, Virginia. Also in attendance were a professor from Georgetown University (I never quite caught his name but he bore an eerie resemblance to the somnambulist in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari) and Father Pezzati, a cheerful, fat-cheeked, roly-poly priest. Wally had already met all the Montis, and all of us Kovners had already met Josephine, but this was the initial full-fledged family-to-family encounter, and I was eager for us to make a good first impression.
    I was therefore relieved that Jeff, a tawny Michael Douglas type (What can I tell you? I’ve got two gorgeous sons), was looking untypically virtuous in pinstripes, having eschewed his signature chartreuse suspenders and diamond-stud earring for the occasion. We had picked him up at his Watergate apartment, and on the way out to McLean he had expressed his interest in “doing a deal” with the widely diversified Mr. Monti.
    “The guy’s made a bundle,” Jeff informed us, “buying old rental properties real cheap, and then the neighborhood—whoosh—takes off, and he’s selling these suckers for five, six times his investment.” Jeff shook his head respectfully. “I don’t know where he gets his crystal ball, but I’d sure like to take a look in it sometimes.”
    “Yes, but you won’t get into all that tonight,” I gentlyasked and/or suggested, never quite sure where Jeff’s hustling heart might lead him.
    “Certainly not,” Jeff answered in a huffy there-she-goes-underestimating-me-again tone of voice. “I just intend to lay a little groundwork.”
    Wally, looking divine in his gray tweed social-worker jacket and Mel’s Lethal Weapon longish wavy hair, greeted everyone with hugs, kisses, and handshakes and his big, broad, utterly irresistible smile. Jeff laid some groundwork with his “honored to meet you, sir,” greeting to Mr. Monti, accompanied by a smile which, though not as sincere as Wally’s, can certainly warm up a room.
    Although the boys inherited their great bodies and strong, even features from their father, they definitely got their knock-’em-dead smiles from me. It’s not that Jake doesn’t have a perfectly pleasant one; it’s just that he often seems to be hoarding a portion of it for a more worthwhile occasion. Still, cautious smile, cautious blue suit, and all, he too, I thought, made a fine first impression. And, of course, I did my part as well, having enhanced my self-confidence with a trip to the hairdresser, where Lawrence of Elizabeth Arden clipped and colored my hair into a jaunty tangle of gold-streaked caramel curls.
    In the interests of rapprochement, I had chosen to wear something with papal overtones—a bright-red dress with a high