The Great California Game

CHAPTER TWELVE

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FREDO was mightily soured by the news that I had messages to carry for Nicko and couldn’t work today. He complained, whined, appealed to the skies as he opened the bar.

“I’ll stay, then. Can I phone Nicko?”

“No!” he screeched, going pasty white. “Ya wanna get me… ?”

Killed? I went my way.

New York’s bus system’s so orderly it’s incomprehensible. You simply buy a ride, and get a permit from the driver entitling you to another ride on any bus whose route crosses yours. Get it? It all stems from this methodical crisscross system of numbering streets. I was baffled by its predictability, finally got a taxi.

“Th’ain’t got this in England ’cos they dumb, man,” the driver sang, laughing. “Like, you live say 500 Fifth Avenue. Erase that zero, divide by two, okay? Add eighteen gives forty-three. You drops the fare 43rd Street and you’s home, man.”

“How marvellous,” I said through a headache.

“Sep you add thirty-five for Park Avenue.”

Fantastically enough he dropped me right at the door. Where the commissionaire only reluctantly put a message through to the Brandau residence. I was told ten o’clock.

That left me walking through lovely New York’s morning sunshine. I’d my Manhattan map, which showed these amazing streets. The shops were so varied, the traffic instant mayhem. I stopped just to look. The taller buildings caught sun against the blue. Even the deepest chasms were relieved by a distant sheet of sky, sometimes with an exhilarating stretch of waterway. A couple of times cars nearly ran me down—wrong side of the road, I remembered eventually. Manhattan was so wonderful it was a full hour before I caught myself wandering rather than aiming, called to mind Tye Dee’s chastisement and set about finding Mrs. van Cordlant’s address on Madison Avenue. The names thrilled me, from songs and films. I felt quite proud when I managed to say Madison without adding Avenue. A real New Yorker.

My letter got me into the lift. It flung upwards like a shuttle, casting me out at altitude into a plush ballroom which seemed to function as a corridor. You could have held a concert in it. I was frightened by an instant screech as a lady I half recognized wafted to greet me.

“It’s my lucky Libran!” She enveloped me. Perfume cut off my air supply. Something licked my face. I realized there were three of us in there, one a minute dog. “I’m so glad you could come, my dear. Chanel? Bring this gentleman his favourite drink this instant!”

“Yes, Mrs. van Cordlant!”

A maid in full fig—I didn’t say hello to Chanel—slicked the doors to and wheeled a tray of drink after us. The flat spread into the distance. Windows showed Central Park, a lake, the scaggy tops of edifices and expanses of lovely sky.

Mrs. van Cordlant dragged me to a settee and shoved me down. She’d not been this decisive when I’d given her a cent to get rid of her on board the Gina. Then, she’d seemed driven to distraction. Now she was practically on top of me. Enveloping breasts seemed everywhere. I struggled to breathe.

“Just tea, please.”

Chanel almost staggered with shock, but was a game girl and left us to it.

Mrs. van Cordlant eyed me eagerly. “How long have you been clairvoyant, my dear? Was it from birth?”

“Er, well —”

“I agree, Lovejoy! My astro-psychic—been with her years—had no notion! —until she was struck by lightning in South Carolina. Can you imagine?”

“Good heavens,” I said gravely, thinking she was a right nut. The bloody dog, a King Charles the size of a shrew, was trying to hump my foot. I tried to disengage without booting it into the Guggenheim.

She was eyeing me admiringly. I felt odd. Admiration hadn’t happened since I’d landed.

“Do you want repaying now, Lovejoy, or shall we take care of the business in hand first?”

“Repaying?” I brightened. Then I remembered I’d only given her a single cent. Repayment on that scale was out.

I rose, frostier than her commissionaire, and toe-flicked her hound aside.

“Mrs. van Cordlant,” I intoned. ”If you imply that I would demean myself by accepting repayment for the small service I did you, I’m afraid I must decline.”

“But I —” Her features were quite appalled.

I went all stern. “No, Mrs. van Cordlant. Thank you. But I gave you that coin in all good faith, knowing it would assist. Any compensation to me would instantly devalue your luck. I can’t accept money. The…” What were they? Star signs? “The forces of fortune are life, Mrs. van Cordlant. They can’t be bartered, like commodities.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Lovejoy. I’d no idea!”

“Please may I take my leave, Mrs. van Cordlant?”

“Oh, please. I —”

Melodie quickly mollified me enough to have me sitting down. We were frosty friends at opposite ends of the settee, a mere mile apart, while Melodie apologized repeatedly. I was aloof.

“You hear that, Chanel?” she told the maid with brimming eyes while I looked soulful. “Lovejoy here—a true clairvoyant, though he’s Libran—refused twenty thousand, so’s not to spoil the luck he gave me! Isn’t that just beautiful?”

Melodie choked, Chanel looked astonished. I almost fainted, and did a bit of choking on my own. I came to with my ears ringing disbelief.

“Lovejoy,” the silly old bat said, emotion brimming from her eyes. “You are the most sincere person I have ever met. Do you know what it’s like to be rich in New York?”

“No, Melodie,” I said with honesty. Or anywhere else.

Her voice sank to a whisper. Chanel left, looking back in disbelief. “It’s punishment, Lovejoy. Purgatory.”

“It is?” I tried more soulful, this time didn’t make it.

“It’s people, Lovejoy. Mercenary, grasping.”

Women are odd. I really mean that. A woman doesn’t know the effect she has on a man. Any woman affects every man with instant global tonnage every single time. But women all go out teaching each other it isn’t true, God knows why. They reach for doubt, where we blokes go for hope. This accounts for much of their behaviour. Here was Melodie, for instance, wanting some excuse to justify our evident valency, and finding approval for her desires in this mystic claptrap. I was glad, wanting desperately to get back to where that fortune had so briefly winked its golden eye.

Chanel safely out of the way, I took her hand forgivingly. “Don’t, Melodie. You’re distressing yourself. Distress isn’t the way of, er, those psychic influences. We can keep ourselves mindful of truth, and love.”

All that frigging gelt, my baser elements were sobbing. I could have been winging my way out on my own personal frigging jet.

She was filling up again. We were both awash. She raised my hand to her lips, gave it a sucking kiss. “Oh, Lovejoy. I knew we’d bond. No wonder Gina values you.”

“Please, Melodie.” I moved away, thinking what to say. In the grief of losing all that gelt, I’d forgotten this bird was a pal of the Nicko mob. “There’s something I have to say.”

“Yes, dear?” She came to stand with me, looking over the city. I put my arm round her waist.

“I have a psychic obligation to you, Melodie. It came to me right…” How the hell did psychic obligations come? “… out of the ether.” I grasped her hands. They were a mass of rings I could hardly get my fingers round. “I had to guide your actions, transfer my luck to you.”

“You did?” she breathed.

“Had to, love. But there’s a psychic condition.”

“What condition, Lovejoy?” She withdrew slightly, eyes narrowing. I recognized suspicion.

I gazed into her eyes, deeply sincere. “I want a promise, Melodie. Just your word that you’ll not breathe a word of our friendship. This psychic, er, thing is solely between us. Is that understood?”

Her expression cleared.“Oh, yes, Lovejoy!”

“Can Chanel be trusted?”

“Perfectly. Her family’s served mine for two generations.”

Two generations? That was only her and her dad. Didn’t she mean ten, twelve? I shelved the problem, bussed her, disengaged when she clung.

“Oh, Lovejoy.” She broke down, weeping. “I have a terrible confession. A moment ago, when you said you wanted something…”

“I know, love,” I soothed. “Don’t forget I am psychic. Mercenary considerations crossed your mind, didn’t they?”

She nodded, sniffing. The miniature hound started whimpering

“Never think of money between us.” I swallowed, almost blubbering myself at our profound emotional depths. Thoughts of all that money helped my sorrow along.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said.

“Then all’s forgiven.” I led her gently to the settee. “And you can tell me…” Brainwave! “… about how you carried it off, on the Gina.”

We held hands. I stayed her from ringing for Chanel to pour, bravely said I’d manage. It was a modern scrolled silver, rubbish but worth its weight in, well, silver. The porcelain was crappy modern stuff. Unbelievable.

“Oh, Lovejoy. It was marvellous!” Her eyes were shining now. There’s nothing voluble as a woman telling a triumph. ”I’d never felt so confident! It was your penny!”

Smiling, I corrected her gently. “Not the penny, love. The forces act through it.”

“That’s it!” she cried. “I felt the forces act through it. I slipped it under my third ring—you’ll know we’re all searched. I took quite a risk, Lovejoy.”

Her face was solemn now, serious.

“Risk?” I frowned. “Not with the force?”

“Oh, no! But I suddenly knew I should stake bullion profits. Out of the blue!” She was so thrilled. We were so close. “You know what I staked?” She tutted at herself. “Cool as you please! Two per cent! Can you believe it?” She gave a naughty-girl giggle.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’d have loved to’ve seen you, Melodie You have such natural grace.”

“Oh, d’you think so?” She fluffed her hair the way they do. “Their faces! Especially Charlie Sarpi’s. After the failure of the Japanese gold commemorative fakes from Europe, he thought his cartel was in the driving seat.”

“I was only sorry Kelly Palumba was unwell.”

“Such a shame, poor dear. Epsilon tried, but I swear that young man’s sometimes quite deranged. Really made a hash of poor Kelly’s stake. He simply knows nothing of property values. She’ll be so mad. He got in, though. Did all right with his silly TV stations.”

“Well, his home ground.” I spoke as if I knew what we were talking about.

“Sarpi didn’t even come close, darling,” she told me mistily. “Only the Commissioner. Jim Bethune’s always in at the finish of course these days. Antiques is a crazy world.”

She was telling me that? I hesitated. “You know, love, I feel as if I’ve known you in at least two previous incarnations.”

“Lovejoy, I feel it too. Deeply. We’ve known each other a lifetime. Is that silly?” She went shy.

“Of course it is.” You have to deny a woman’s suspicions to confirm they’re true, but gently. “If we’d been, well, lovers in a former incarnation, surely we’d probably… ?”

Confusion set in, especially when she agreed with me. I wasn’t too sure I wanted to associate with her, not without a single antique in the whole rotten dump. Sophie Brandau on the other hand said she’d got several.

“Will it last, Lovejoy?” We’d migrated to the middle of the vast settee. “For the Game itself, I mean.”

“No, Melodie. I’ll have to divine for you, explore the, er, ether. That way I’ll reinforce fortune.”

“You will?”

Gold rings clamped on my hands. “Melodie, Melodie,” I chided softly. “You think I’d desert you, now we’ve found each other after all this time?” For a moment I floundered. How long did reincarnation take? Was it like a frog shedding its skin, ten minutes flat? Or was it something to do with the Egyptians?

“I know it! Look what happened last time, darling! That horrible Monsignor O’Cody cleaned up. Seven massive Church debts rescinded. You know what that is in dollars, darling?”

“Yes,” I lied with gravity, sighing. ”Amazing.”

She snorted angrily. “I don’t want to seem a sore loser, Lovejoy. It cost me, like it did the others. Costs hurt.” She gave a thrilled moan. I recognized the woe-filled ecstasy of the gambler. You see it every day in auction houses the world over. “But I think O’Cody’s a nerve. His line bid one point nine per cent of total funds last fall, and lost. Know what? He tried all sorts of persuasion. Indulgences, the Faith, every whining excuse you can imagine —”

“I wasn’t here then, Melodie.”

“You should have been, Lovejoy! You know what he tried to do? Reschedule diocese loan flotations. Jim Bethune appealed to Nicko, got that stopped. I ask you!”

“Good heavens! Did things go that far?” I was completely lost now.

“They did! How could anybody look the De Beer hackers in the eye after that? Jim’d staked his usual three per cent auction levy. Kelly had some new theme park in the pot. And, I mean, diamonds are diamonds, Lovejoy!”

“True, Melodie. Long faces everywhere, I’ll bet!”

“And the rest! Of course, this time there’ll be none of that. Nicko’s had to get quite firm. That’s why I think Gina’s so worried about this manuscript business. Fell like a damp squib when Denzie staked it. I mean, he talked it up—the Second Coming! Worth quite a bit, I suppose, but nothing compared to, say, the Commissioner’s police hack.”

I sighed. “But you try telling them!”

“One default, that’s all it needs, darling. One default, and the whole house of cards falls apart.” She had her arm round me. Her eyes filled my view.

“And antiques, Melodie, er, love.”

“Of course! Jim Bethune could see his whole hack vanishing!” She was stroking my face. “You know, darling, I could easily —”

A distant buzzer sounded. The hound yelped, flew under the settee. Melodie moved away quickly, smoothing her hair. “Look at the time!” she said brightly.

I recognized all the signs of a returning husband. Time to go.

I raised Melodie’s hand to my lips with maximum sincerity, hoping I was doing it right. “Until the next time, love.”

She hurried me to the door. “When, darling? Quickly!”

“Tomorrow? Same time?”

“Yes! I’ve no visitors tomorrow. Take the stairs until the elevator’s gone.”

The lift whirred, on its way. As Melodie’s door closed, I ignored the stairs and scooted along the corridor, guessing doors. A faint clatter guided me. I can always sense the servants’ entrance, my natural habitat. Chanel was doing the coffee mystique as I ghosted in.

“Lovejoy!” Instantly down to whispers, with her woman’s instinct for subterfuge. ”What the —?”

“Shhh!” I made myself more frantic than I felt. ”It’s her husband!”

She laughed silently. “Dumb, Lovejoy. She ain’t got a husband, just four exes!”

Four divorces? Melodie wasn’t young, but her turnover rate seemed excessive. “Chanel. I had to see you.”

The kitchen had two closed-circuit monitors mounted above the inner door, and a small wall panel. One showed the downstairs foyer, the other the penthouse corridor.

“Me?” Her surprise melted slowly into a smile. “You outa your skull, Lovejoy? You passed up a fortune there.”

“When can I see you, love? I wanted to, er, date you on the Gina.” A faint buzzer sounded. She reflexively pressed an I’m-coming button. “She wants me back tomorrow.”

“Horny bitch,” she scolded angrily. “You watch her, Lovejoy. Come an hour earlier. My room’s down the hall.”

The consol showed the lift gate opening. Two men strolled into view, one lighting a cigarette. The doorbell buzzed, its proximity making me jump. Chanel gestured me to stay and quickly left to answer, smoothing her dress. I waited until the screen showed Denzie Brandau and Jim Bethune admitted, then slid out into the corridor. I fled, the one thing I used to be good at.

Outside, New York’d never have known I’d been up to no good with Mrs. van Cordlant. Everything seemed so normal. Traffic poured about. People tried to jump the red. Pedestrians survived by the skin of their teeth. Shops traded. A siren wailed the American song.

Hack? What stakes, exactly? Kelly had mentioned a game. What game was played by a Church? Police Commissioner? Silver bullion heiress? Property magnate? And on down the queue of wealth. Right down to the Brandaus with their miserable little stake of a supposed manuscript, supposedly now appearing after a century or so, in a manner as yet unidentified.

Thinking, shallow as ever, I posted off Bill’s card to Gina with a note saying it was the phone number I’d reported the night before.