The Ninth Gate
CORSO: Balkan. He wants me to research it.
BERNIE: Balkan owns a ‘Nine Gates’?
CORSO: Recently acquired from the late lamented Andrew Telfer.
BERNIE: Trust Balkan. What does he need you for? I don’t suppose he plans to sell it.
CORSO: He wants me to compare it with the other two surviving copies in Portugal and France. I’m off to Europe.
BERNIE: Compare it?
CORSO: Yeah. Only one of the three is authentic, he says.
BERNIE: Well, this one looks genuine enough. Must be worth a million. Jesus! Take good care of it.
CORSO: That’s why I’m here. I need you to stash it for me. I’m starting to see things.
BERNIE stares at him.
BERNIE: Like what?
CORSO: Uninvited visitors, unfamiliar faces. I don’t trust anyone, not even Balkan. (reflects for a moment) Come to think of it, I don’t even trust you.
BERNIE registers a mixture of affection and cynicism.
BERNIE: That’s mean, buddy. You know I’d never screw you without a damn good reason: money, women, business. Anything else, you can relax.
CORSO taps the book with his forefinger.
CORSO: You’ll answer for this with your balls, Bernie.
BERNIE (still engrossed): Sure, man, sure. You can castrate me personally.
CORSO: I’ll pick it up on my way to the airport.
BERNIE: No problem.
He continues to pore over the book, turns another page, reads aloud:
BERNIE (cont.): ‘Virtue lies vanquished’, huh? These engravings are terrific.
CORSO (leans over his shoulder): Or horrific, whichever.
BERNIE nods absently. He smiles to himself with an air of enchantment.
BERNIE (cont.): Beautiful, just beautiful-
Visible through the bookstore’s semi-basement windows, the legs of PASSERSBY accelerate as they scurry past: it has started to rain. A pair of MAN’S LEGS in dark slacks come to a halt. The butt of a small cigar falls to the sidewalk, the LEGS walk on. Two WHITE SNEAKERS come into view. They step on the butt and extinguish it.
24. CORSO’S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
CORSO is in the bedroom, packing some articles of clothing and toiletries in a small Samsonlte suitcase lying open on the bed.
The doorbell rings. Fractionally startled, CORSO straightens up, dumps a handful of socks on the bed and goes out into the lobby. He peers through the spyhole: LIANA TELFER is standing outside.
CORSO pauses for a moment, thinking hard, then opens the door.
LIANA: May I come in?
CORSO, rather bemused, steps aside and ushers her in.
CORSO: This way.
He shows her Into the living room. LIANA starts to unbutton her coat.
CORSO (cont.): Allow me.
He helps her off with her coat and drapes it neatly over a chair. She’s dressed to kill In a black, lowcut cocktail gown.
LIANA: Thank you.
CORSO: Sit down, won’t you?
LIANA sinks gracefully onto the sofa, taking in the decor of his bachelor apartment as she does so.
LIANA: I’ve come to talk business.
CORSO: Great. Everyone’s talking business to me lately.
LIANA takes a slim gold cigarette case from her purse, extracts a black Russian, and lights it with a gold Dupont. Meantime:
LIANA: Yesterday, when you came to see me about that book, I was too surprised to react as I should have done. I mean, it really was one of Andrew’s favorites.
CORSO: So you said.
LIANA: I’d like to get it back.
CORSO: That could be a problem.
LIANA: Not necessarily. it all depends.
CORSO: On what?
LIANA: On you.
CORSO stares at her, absorbing the lines of her figure, the slim legs sheathed in sheer, black silk stockings.
CORSO: I don’t understand, Mrs. Telfer. The book isn’t mine to dispose of.
She sits back, showing off her superb legs to even better advantage.
LIANA: You work for money, I take it?
CORSO: What else?
LIANA: I have a great deal of money.
CORSO: I’m happy for you.
LIANA: You could stage a theft. I’m sure your client is well insured.
CORSO: I’m a professional, ma’am.
LIANA: You’re a professional mercenary. Mercenaries work for the highest bidder.
CORSO: I make a living.
LIANA (huskily): I could throw in a bonus.
CORSO: This has happened before someplace.
LIANA: I know. In the movies.
CORSO: And she had an automatic in her stocking top.
CORSO watches, mesmerized, as she slowly, very slowly, slides her skirt up her thighs to reveal the creamy flesh between her stocking tops and black lace garter belt.
LIANA: No automatic.
Just as slowly, she smooths her skirt down over her thighs.
CORSO swallows hard. He rises and goes to his drinks corner, a shelf with an array of bottles and glasses on it. Over his shoulder:
CORSO: Want one?
LIANA: Why not?
CORSO splashes some Scotch into two tumblers and carries them over to her.
LIANA sits motionless for an instant, looking up at him. Then, very slowly, she stubs out her cigarette, extends the same hand, and fondles his crotch.
CORSO, with the tumblers encumbering both his hands, can only stand there like a bird hypnotized by a snake. His Adam’s apple bobs some more.
Holding his gaze, LIANA withdraws her hand and rises. They’re only inches apart now. She takes one of the tumblers and clinks it against CORSO’S, then drains it. CORSO, in a kind of trance, does likewise.
Very deliberately, LIANA relieves him of his glass and puts it down on the table with hers. Then, cupping his face between her hands, she proceeds to eat him alive.
CORSO responds. Re pulls up her skirt, she reaches for his zipper and yanks at it. He bears her backward and downward onto the sofa. Their bodies coalesce into a heaving mass. The gown slips down over
LIANA’s left shoulder, revealing a small tattoo in the shape of a snake devouring its own tail.
25. CORSO’S APARTMENT INT/NIGHT
ON LIANA’s hand reaching across the floor for Corso’s canvas bag. it gropes in the bag, then inverts it, spilling the contents: a couple of packs of Luckies, a notebook, an envelope full of bills, a Swiss Army knife, an expert’s magnifying glass, some pencils, etc.
We discover CORSO and LIANA on the floor, their clothing dishevelled. CORSO is lying back, still panting and sweating from his exertions, LIANA is sitting up.
LIANA: Well, where is it?
CORSO Where’s what?
LIANA Don’t fuck with me, Corso.
CORSO: I thought that’s what we were doing.
LIANA’s eyes narrow. Then, with an animal cry, she goes for his face with her nails and teeth.
CORSO turns his head away just in time and scrambles to his feet, pulling up his trousers. LIANA, beside herself with fury, flies at him with both hands extended like claws.
He manages to grab her wrists and immobilize them, so she sinks her teeth in his chest.
With an agonized yell, CORSO releases her wrists, clasps his chest and staggers back – hardly a dignified proceeding, because he’s hobbled by the trousers that have slumped around his ankles.
LIANA looks around wildly for a weapon of some kind, catches sight of the Scotch bottle and seizes it by the neck.
CORSO, one hand holding his trousers at half mast, the other raised in supplication, comes shuffling toward her.
CORSO: Hey, look, be reasonable-
