Warren Murphy - Bottom Line

Dr. Elena Gladstone injected the fluid slowly, pulled the plunger back out to dilute the fluid with Lippincott's blood, then slowly injected the mixture back into his arm.

"There you are," she said as she withdrew the needle. "Good for another two weeks."

"You know, I just may outlive you," Lippincott said to the woman. He rolled down his sleeve, buttoned his cuff and put his jacket back on.

"Maybe," she said.

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He carefully buttoned all three buttons of his jacket. Elena Gladstone had nice breasts, he decided. Funny, he hadn't noticed before. And the swell of her hip and the long line of her thigh were something, well, they were something he could do something about. Without attempting to appear casual, he walked to his office door and locked it, once with the button lock, and twice by turning the key.

When he turned back, Dr. Gladstone was smiling at him and she had a wide lovely mouth of beautiful teeth and a warm smile, and a man could do something with a smile like that and she seemed to sense it. She knew what he was thinking because she began to open her rust colored blouse, but before she could, Elmer Lippincott Sr. sped his eighty-year-old body across the room to her, lifted her roughly in his strong arms, and carried her to the blue suede leather couch in his office.

Upstairs in Elmer Lippincott's bedroom, his wife Gloria stirred. She stretched languidly in her sleep, then slowly opened her eyes. She turned to her right, saw that her husband was not in bed, then checked the clock on the small marble table near her bed. She smiled and reached out her hand for a button on the table and pressed it.

Twenty seconds later, a tall dark-haired man with light green eyes entered the bedroom through a side door. He was wearing a tee shirt and blue slacks.

Gloria Lippincott looked at him with expectation.

"Lock the doors," she said.

He locked all the bedroom doors, and turned back to her.

"I want an examination, Doctor," she said.

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"That's why I'm here," said Dr. Jesse Beers with a broad smile.

"An internal," Gloria Lippincott said.

He nodded again.

"As I said. That's why I'm here." As he walked toward her, he began opening his trousers.

Back downstairs, Elmer Lippincott zipped up his trousers and put his jacket back on.

"So that's how young you feel," Dr. Elena Gladstone said. "Mmmmmmimn."

"Exactly," he said. "And I owe it all to clean living, good diet and . . ."

"And a healthy dose of erotic juices from the Lifeline Laboratory," the redhead said. She stood up from the blue couch and smoothed her skirt around her hips.

"I give my money away to every dipshit cause that anybody asks me to donate to," Lippincott said. "Your lab's the first one that ever did me any good."

"Our pleasure," she said.

The intercom buzzer rang on the phone on Lippincott's desk, and he walked quickly over to the receiver.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm thinking of you, dear," said Gloria Lippincott.

"And me of you," said Lippincott. "How do you

feel?"

"Fine," his wife said. She giggled slightly.

"What's so funny?" Lippincott asked.

"Dr. Beers. He's giving me an examination."

"Is everything all right?"

"Oh, it's fine. Just fine," Gloria said.

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"Swell," said Lippincott. "You be sure to do just what the doctor tells you."

"You can count on that," said Gloria. "Anything he says, I'll do."

"Good, and I'll see you in a little while for lunch."

"Bye, bye," Gloria said as she hung up.

Lippincott returned the phone to the desk.

"That Dr. Beers is a good fella," he told Elena Gladstone. "Always on the job."

"That's what we're paid for," Elena said, looking away from the old man with a smile. She finished buttoning her blouse.

There were guards at the beginning of the long private drive that led to Lippincott's sprawling West-chester estate and there were more guards at the big iron gates set into the twelve-foot high stone walls that bordered the grounds.

When they got close to the house, there were more guards prowling the perimeter of the main building, and inside the front door, there were two more guards.

One called by telephone to Elmer Lippincott's office and was told that Remo and Chiun were allowed to pass. The guard escorted them down the hallway, lined with original Picassos, Miros, and Seurats, with an occasional Cremonesi miniature gouache inserted for balance.

"These are ugly pictures," Chiun said.

"They're priceless works of art," the guard said.

Chiun tossed Remo a glance that said clearly that, at best, the guard was a person of no taste and discernment, and, at worst, might even be insane and therefore should be watched out for.

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"They're fine," Remo said. "Especially if you like people with three noses."

"In my village, we had a painter," Chiun said. "Oh, could he paint. When he painted a picture of a wave, it looked just like a wave. And when he painted a picture of a tree, it looked just like the tree. That is art. He got much better when I convinced him to stop wasting his time painting pictures of waves and trees and to do important subjects."

"How many paintings did he do of you, Chiun?"

Remo asked.

"Ninety-seven," said Chiun. "But who counts?

Would you like one?"

"No," said Remo.

"Perhaps this Mr. Lippincott will want to buy them. What did he pay for this junk?" He looked to

the guard.

"That Picasso there cost four hundred fifty thousand dollars," the guard said.

"I do not appreciate your humor," Chiun said.

"Four hundred and fifty thou," the guard said. "That's what it cost."

"Is this true, Remo?"

"Probably."

"For a picture of someone with a head like a pyramid?" said Chiun.

Remo shrugged.

"What should I offer my paintings to this Mr. Lippincott for, Remo?" asked Chiun. "He whispered. "Because to tell the truth, I am running out of space for them."

"Try to get a hundred dollars for the lot," Remo

said.

"That is insane," said Chiun.

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"Sure it is, but you know how these rich folks throw their money around," said Remo.

Elmer Lippincott was escorting Dr. Elena Gladstone to his office door, when the doorbell rang. "This'11 be the two security men from the government. I'll handle it." He leaned close to her ear, "And remember, you be careful." "I understand," she said. "Fine." He opened the door for her. Elena Gladstone stepped out into the hall. Her eyes met Remo's. His eyes were as dark as midnight caves and, involuntarily, she sipped in a puff of breath through open lips. She brushed up against him as she walked by and the smell of her hyacinth perfume filled his senses. She looked away and walked down the hall.

"Come on in," Lippincott told his visitors. Remo was looking down the hallway after Elena Gladstone. As she turned toward the front door, she glanced back at him and when she saw him watching her, she seemed embarrassed and turned her head resolutely away before walking off.

Remo followed Chiun into the office. The smell of the hyacinth perfume was still in his nostrils. "Nice looking lady," he told Lippincott. "She smells like a brewery," Chiun said. "My personal physician," Lippincott said. He nodded to the guard to return to his station and closed the office door.

"You haven't been sick, have you?" asked Remo. "No," Lippincott said with a small chuckle. "Just my regular checkup. Sit down. What can I do for you?"

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"There are ninety-seven paintings for sale," Chiun said. "All beautiful representations of the visage of the kindest, gentlest, most noble . . ."

"Chiun," interrupted Remo sharply. He lounged in the blue suede sofa, facing Lippincott's desk. The sofa seemed permeated with the scent of the perfume. Chiun stood by one of the windows of the room, looking at Lippincott, who sat smoothly behind his desk. Remo asked: