Sullivan's sting

27

A new discount drugstore had opened on Federal Highway and had quickly become a mecca for every hustler in Broward County. All because the owner was using peel-off price labels on his merchandise and wasn't yet aware of how he was being taken.

David Rathbone stopped by to stroll through the crowded aisles. He selected Halston cologne for himself and Chanel dusting powder for Rita. He casually switched the price labels with those from a cheap aftershave and an even cheaper face powder, and brought his purchases to the desk where a harried clerk was trying to cope. She rang up the sale without question, and Rathbone carried his bargains out to the Bentley, reflecting on the credo of con men everywhere: "Do unto others before others do unto you."

He drove to the office of the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund, north of Atlantic Boulevard. He parked and carefully removed the incorrect price label from the box of Chanel dusting powder. Then he entered the office. Rita was listening to a transistor radio, sandaled feet on her desk. He leaned to kiss her cheek.

"Hi, boss," she said. "What's going on?"

"A present for you," he said, handing her the powder. "Just for the fun of it."

"Thanks a mil," she said, sniffing at the box. "Hey, this stuff is expensive."

"Only the best for you," he said, touching her cheek. "We travel first class."

"Oh? Are we going to travel?"

"Maybe," he said. "Someday. Any excitement around here?"

"Oh sure," she said. "A real hectic morning. The stationery store delivered the letterheads and business cards."

"Let me take a look."

She showed him the five boxes of business cards bearing the name, address, and phone number of the Fund, plus the names of the Palace gang in elegant script.

"No titles," Rita pointed out. "Are you president, or what?"

"We're all equal partners," he said. "No titles. I like these letterheads and envelopes. Very impressive. Listen, I have a little work to do here, and then I've got to go visit a client."

"Yeah? Man or woman?"

"A widow lady named Birdie Winslow. Every now and then she gets antsy about her investments, and I have to hold her hand."

"Make sure that's all you hold. Honey, I'm bored. This is a real nothing job."

"Hang around until I'm finished, then turn on the answering machine, lock up, and go get some sun. It's a super day."

He went into the inner office and closed the door. Rita took a single business card from each of the five boxes and slipped them into the top desk drawer. Then she fished an emery board from her shoulder bag and went to work on her nails.

David came out of the inner office in less than twenty minutes.

"That was quick," she said.

"I've had my fun, and now I'm done. Maybe I'll take those business cards along with me. If we see the gang for drinks tonight, I'll hand them out. They'll get a kick out of them."

"You guys are like kids with a new toy. Are we eating at home tonight?"

He thought a moment. "Why don't we have dinner at the Palace? Then we can have drinks later in the Lounge."

"The Palace? I've never eaten there. How's the food?"

He flipped a palm back and forth. "So-so. They have a double veal chop that's edible. But I don't eat there very often. It's the kind of restaurant that never throws out unused butter, half-eaten rolls, or unfinished steaks. They recycle everything."

"Isn't that illegal?"

He laughed. "Come on," he said, "you know better than that. So they make beef bourguignonne out of leftover steak. Who's to know?"

"I'm not sure I want to eat there," she said.

"Don't tell me you're a straight arrow," he said. "If you found a wallet on the street with a hundred bucks in it and the owner's phone number, would you return it to him?"

"Probably not. I'd keep the money and drop the wallet in a mailbox."

"So would I. So would anyone with an ounce of sense. If the owner is dumb enough to lose his wallet, he's got to pay for his stupidity. Would you steal a towel from a hotel?"

"I might."

"Not me. It's not a class act."

"What's boosting a hotel towel got to do with eating other people's garbage at the Palace?"

"I'm just proving to you that everyone cuts corners. I wouldn't swipe a hotel towel, but I'd clip a mooch for every cent he's got. I enjoy outwitting suckers, but I'd never bash one over the head in a dark alley. I have my standards."

"I guess you do at that."

"Just remember the Golden Rule: He who has the gold, rules. See you later, honey."

She watched him drive away, then went into the inner office. She had to admit they hadn't stinted on the furnishings: new steel desks and file cabinets, leather-covered chairs and Simbari prints on the freshly painted walls.

There was nothing in the unlocked desk except a few scratch pads and pencils. She wondered what "work" David had been doing in there. Then she saw three pieces of crumpled paper in the shiny brass wastebas-ket. She scooped them out, went back to her own desk, and examined them. They seemed to be three lists of words, five on each list:

1. Machines, melons, mousetraps, mittens, mangoes.

2. Chairs, computers, cherries, corkscrews, catalogs.

3. Hammers, hubcaps, honey dews, heels, hats.

Three of the items had little checkmarks next to them:

melons, chairs, and hammers.

She phoned Tony Harker.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"In the office. David was here for a while but he's gone now. I'm taking off in a few minutes. I'm going to hit the beach and tan my buns."

"That I'd like to see," Tony said. "Anything going on?"

"Nada. Except they delivered the business cards and letterheads. I lifted one card from each box and figured I'd mail them to you."

"Good idea. Is there one for Frank Little?"

"Yep."

"Bingo. That ties him up with the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund-whatever that is. Now we know they're all in on it."

"Something else," Rita said, and told Harker about the crumpled pieces of paper she had found in the wastebasket. She read the three lists to him.

"Mean anything to you?" she asked.

"Not a thing. Just a collection of nouns."

"Three words have little checkmarks next to them: melons, chairs, and hammers."

"It still means nothing to me," Harker said.

"Maybe I'll mail the lists to you along with the business cards. You might be able to make sense out of them if you see them."

"No," Tony said quickly, "don't do that. Rathbone might come back looking for them. Make copies of them as exactly as possible. Mail me the copies. Then crumple up the original lists and toss them back in his wastebasket."

"You don't miss a trick, do you?"

"I miss yow," he said in a low voice. Then: "Did Rathbone say where he was going?"

"To visit a client. A widow named Birdie Winslow.

That's the first time he's mentioned the name of one of his mooches."

"I'm making a note of it. Is her first name spelled with a y or ieV"

"Beats me. He just said Birdie Winslow."

"Okay. I'll try to get some skinny on her. Anything else?"

"Nope."

"Then go toast your tush."

"Hey, I like that," she said. "I really do think you're beginning to lighten up. My therapy is working."

"Thank you, nurse," he said. "What would I do without you?"

She smiled and hung up. But a moment later she had forgotten about Tony; she was thinking about David, wondering if he really was going to see a client or if he had another bimbo on the side and was planning a matinee. As he had said, everyone cuts corners, and she couldn't believe fidelity was one of his virtues.

She was right; David didn't visit Birdie Winslow. But an assignation with another woman was not on his agenda. Instead, he met with Termite Tommy in the parking lot of the Grand Palace.

The two men sat in the Bentley and cut up the proceeds from the dissolving check scam.

"Gross was 27K plus," Rathbone said. "The pusher drew two thousand as I told you. That leaves 25K plus in the kitty."

"Manna," Tommy said. "How do you want to split?"

David turned sideways to stare at him. "Thirds," he said, "You, me, and the printer."

"You crazy?" Tommy cried. "I thought we were going to stiff the Kraut."

Rathbone put a soft hand on the other man's arm. "Don't you trust me, Tommy?" he asked.

"Remember that old sign in saloons. 'In God We Trust. All others pay cash.' "

"There'll be more cash than you can count if you go along with me on this. First of all, the Treasury check went through without a hitch. But Tommy, how many times can we pull that dodge? We'd have to find a different pusher for every operation, and you know as well as I do that the more people you let in on the action, that's how much your risk increases. There's a better way of using that queer paper. And giving the printer a third will tickle his greed."

"Yeah? What's on your mind?"

"Persuade the German to use the paper for making fake twenties and fifties."

"He'll never go for it," Tommy said. "That's what put him behind bars the last time."

"No, it wasn't," David said. "What put him behind bars was that the feds caught him selling and grabbed the queer. But if he prints on self-destruct paper, where's the evidence?"

"The feds won't have any evidence, but the customer won't have any money either. They'll have paid for a bag of confetti. It'll shred away before they have a chance to push it. Then they'll come looking for us."

"Just listen a minute, will you? The German prints up the fake bills on that freaky paper. But we don't try to sell the bills for the reason you just said. Instead, you and I open bank accounts with phony ID and make cash deposits. It's credited to our accounts. Then who cares if the cash dissolves three days later? The bank takes the loss. And we withdraw clean money whenever we want."

Termite Tommy looked at him. "Nice try, David, but how much cash can we deposit before the banks get suspicious?"

"They're not going to ask questions if we keep each deposit under ten grand. And what if they do? We can always say we sold our car for cash. We each open maybe a dozen accounts so all the queer doesn't go to one bank."

"I don't like it."

"Tommy, my scam will have two big advantages. First of all, it cuts out the need to use pushers. There's a saving right there. Second of all, we'll be getting face value for the queer. How much was the German making before he was nabbed? Twenty percent? Thirty?"

"About that."

"There you are! We do it my way and we make twenty on a twenty and fifty on a fifty."

Tommy was silent. He had turned his head away and was staring out the window.

"Now what's bothering you?" David asked.

"It means I'd have to become a pusher," the other man said in a low voice. "I'm not sure I've got the balls for it. Ten years ago I'd have jumped at the chance. But that time I did in stir did something to me, David. I never want to go back in there again. Never!"

"All right, Tommy," Rathbone said, "I can understand that. Look, you brought me this deal; it's only right that I pay my way. I'll do all the pushing. I'll open accounts in a dozen banks. You get the cash to me as quickly as you can. I'll stick it in the banks as fast as I can, while the money is still fresh. I'll take all the risk."

"You'll really do that, David?" "Of course I will. Because that's how positive I am that this thing is going to work."

"I'm not sure I can talk the German into printing bills again."

"Why don't you let me meet him? I'll convince him that this is the way to go.^'

"And we split three ways? On the face value?"

"Absolutely."

"Yeah," Tommy said, "maybe that's the way to handle it. I'll go back to Lakeland and set it up. Then I'll give you a call, and you drive over. Now what about the payoff on the fake Treasury check?"

"I'll bring it to you and the German when I come to Lakeland."

Termite Tommy nodded and got out of the Bentley. "I'll be in touch," he said. "Goodbye, David."

Rathbone lifted a hand in farewell. Then, watching the other man walk back to his battered pickup, he said softly, "Goodbye, Tommy."