The Great California Game

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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THE Benidormo had slipped into almost total decay. The desk man had crumpled into dust the instant his telly cooled. The phone was layered in rime. I once saw a sea village flooded on the spring tide. This foyer looked like the aftermath without marine life stirring beneath the tatty carpet. Nobody about. For reassurance I went back to peer into the street, shivered, went upstairs to my room wondering if the world had vanished without me. Eerily, a western saga was shooting off to no Zole. For once I was glad to hear a rhythmic pounding from Magda’s room.

Ten minutes, then the bloke left. Magda’s abuse was crisper than before, more desperate in a way I found hideous. She followed him along the corridor yelling invective. His growled reply was inaudible. I gave her a few moments’ grace, tapped on the door. It flung open.

“Who the sheet… ? Lovejoy! You’re…”

“Here,” I said. “Hello, Magda.”

Her hair was embattled, her face marked. Derelict is as derelict does, where a woman’s appearance is concerned. I used to think women were barmy, forever at mirrors with paints. I now admit they’re infallibly right about make-up. In fact I’d go so far as to say that cosmetics are essential, the thicker and gaudier the better. You can’t have too much, though women of course think the opposite, being wrong again.

She looked ninety, haggard, death on sticks.

“In yours, Lovejoy. Not here.”

She doused the telly, did that swish of hair and sat on the edge of the bed. The lazy hotel swine hadn’t made it. How many nights had it been since I’d last slept there?

“He beat you up?”

“A couple since.” She had a sort of defiance, as if she expected me to whale into her too. Odd, because I’m never really narked with people, not often.

“How are you managing, Magda?”

“Not as good as you, Lovejoy. Fancy suiting, handmade shoes. Your lady’s a spender.”

“How’s Zole?”

“Okay. He brung good two days.”

“Stolen stuff?”

Magda lit a cigarette. She was spoiling for a fight. Her clothes were ragbag, shoes on the welts and soiled. When a woman’s lipstick gets ragged at the edges, it’s all up.

“Lovejoy, you stupid fucka, listen up. That set’s here as a signal, see? Zole brings his loot when it’s off, stays away when it’s on. I’m getting rubbed off the street out there. Girls team up when hooker bookers move in.” She was trembling, smoking in drags, pluming the blue aside from a twisted mouth. “You’re just too stupid, okay?” She dabbed at her hair, surrendered.

One thing I’m bad at is knowing what to say when a bird weeps. I wish we’d been taught things like this at school, instead of calcium chloride and the Corn Laws.

“When you didn’t come back, Lovejoy, I thought they’d…”

Done for me? I had money to give her, but not straight off. I’m not as dim as all that.

“I need your help, Magda.”

She looked up at me from the bed, disbelieving. “Help? Shag’s all I do.”

“I may be going somewhere.” I paused too long. “Okay? I need somebody I can trust.”

“Lovejoy. I got something to tell you —”

I shoved her down when she tried to stand. Give me a battered bone-weary prostitute, I’m as tough as they.

“I know about the phone calls to Tye, how much you were paid.”

She was baffled. “Whyn’t you beat me?”

“I have people for that now, love. They’re better at it.” Not much of a joke, but she calmed with a non-smile. I didn’t quite know how far to risk the little I knew. There’s that Arabian saying, isn’t there: doubt your friend, sleep with your enemy.

“If I’ve guessed right, I’ll be travelling out of New York, several places, in a hurry.”

“Somebody after you?”

“No. But I’ll need somebody around,” The surprised understanding in her eyes made me speed through a denial. “Not a bird wanted on voyage. I need somebody close by to do the occasional job, keep contact, be at certain places.”

“You want me? What about —?”

“Take Zole. I’ll pay you, and fares.”

She was casting about the space just as Fat Jim Bethune had.

“Outa N’York? I never been…”

“You’ll need clothes, Magda.” I’m always wary about telling women things about their gear. “Though your frock’s pretty, er, smart, love, it might, er…”

“I’m in fuckin rags, Lovejoy.” She ran a finger across her cheek against wetness. “Is this up real, Lovejoy?”

I pulled out a small wad. Bethune’s money, until I’d given harsh orders to the accountant.

“Dress Zole reasonable, nothing way out. And don’t take any lip from him. He’s coming. I’ll need him for a couple of specific theft jobs. Okay?”

She looked. “How d’you know I’ll not blow the money?”

“I trust you. Don’t show yourselves in your new stuff, or somebody’ll guess. Be here every even hour from midday tomorrow, twelve o’clock, two o’clock. Understand? Ready to go.”

“Lovejoy, I’m scared.” She still hadn’t put the money away, but her pocket was torn and she’d left her handbag in her room. “I’m not… so good at reliable.”

She was scared? I nearly did clout her one when she said that. I drew slow breath. “Magda. This is your frigging country, not mine. You’ve got to look after me, okay? You just remember I’m the one who’s got to be looked after, not selfish cows like you.”

She appraised me, nodding slowly. Age was slowly fading into youth. A glim of a smile nearly showed.

“You’re right about that, Lovejoy. Deedy.”

Different woman, same opinion. “First job’s to collect something from the airport.” I passed her a piece of paper with a flight number. In the safety of Zole’s absence I’d dared a phone call to Easy Boyson, who’d been going mad. It’s a stiff envelope. You’ll have to pay out of that money. Bring it with you.”

We said a number of okays, some doubtful. She headed for a mirror. I left then.

THE cocktail party I was made to attend could have been better placed. I mean, New York’s galleries and museums are famous. Think how superb a splash in some prestigious museum would be, with antiques and paintings all around so you needn’t see people swallowing oysters and stabbing each other. Instead, you could respond to the melodious chimes of a Wedgwood jasper, a Blake drawing, see the brilliant leaves tumble on a Sisley canvas.

But it was a posh hotel. We swigged, noshed the groaning buffet and everybody talked. The people were all there from the boat, including Moira, Commissioner Kilmer, Denzie and Sophie—the former paying little attention to Moira except when their looks accidentally lingered. Good old Melodie van Cordlant was there, meaningful with glances and arm squeezes. Jennie was with everyone, curt except with Nicko on whom she fawned. Orly clung to Gina, talking loudly and occupying her every moment. Berto Gordino, lawyer of this parish, came with Kelly Palumba, for whom Epsilon the showbiz magnate competed in shrill tones. Kelly looked a million quid. Long might it last, I thought. Monsignor O’Cody was last to come. Jim Bethune was at the far end of the room, now in his Sunday best, being spoken to by Tye Dee in an undertone. Hey ho, I thought with sympathy.

“Canapés, sir?”

“Ta, Chanel. Home team playing today, eh?”

I was the only one eating. All the rest were swilling at other troughs.

Chanel checked we weren’t overheard, said, “Always is the home team, Lovejoy. You gotta believe it.”

Mr Granger called out that all guests were invited through into the conference salon, where drinks would be available. I complained that I’d only just started, but there was a concerted rush for the double doors. I grabbed a load of rolls, cheese, some slabs of egg-looking thing, while Blanche hurriedly loaded up more for me. No pasties, and biscuits are New York’s lack—mind you, they’d only have tons of cinnamon in. I was last into the long room.

Places were marked, as for a wedding reception. Kelly had started giggling, was being shushed by Epsilon and Berto Gordino. I found my name card between those of Orly and Gina.

Nicko appeared, with Jennie, took the position of authority.

“Jim Bethune sends his apologies, friends.” He had one small piece of paper before him, served up by Jennie. “Lovejoy’s taking his place from now on.”

“Is that legit, Nicko?” Denzie Brandau asked easily, smiling round the table. “First I heard of it.”

“It is, Denzie,” Nicko seemed oblivious of the sudden silence. “Any questions?”

“Where exactly does Lovejoy take over from Jim?” Charlie Sarpi asked. I wondered how he managed his moustache. Sophie prevented herself from giving him the bent eye just in time. Gina was watching her across the phony mahogany.

“Right away, Charlie. Every level.”

“Look, Nicko.” Denzie did that politician’s shift to indicate exasperation. It consists of obliquely arranging his trunk, plonking a hand firmly on the table, arm outstretched, and crossing his legs. “Who is this Lovejoy? I mean, where’s the beef?”

“Lovejoy’ll double the antiques stake, Denzie. There’s the beef.”

A ripple of interest ran round the table. Monsignor O’Cody peered down at me, specs gleaming.

“How’ll he do that, Nicko?” Commissioner Kilmer barked. It was honestly that, a sharp yap, grossly out of keeping with his tall bulk. I don’t know what he’d been like as a young bobby, but even ageing as he was he put the fear of God in me.

The silence meant me. I was eating my grub, which I’d made into rolls. I can’t resist anything in bread. I hurried the mouthful, swallowed.

“Lovejoy?” Nicko said.

“No, thanks.”

The silence now meant ???

“What the hell’s that mean, Nicko?”

“Stay calm, J.J.” Nicko let me swallow, come up for air. “Lovejoy. You must bring in double what Jim Bethune did. Do you know how much that is?”

“Yes, Nicko.”

His hands opened expressively. He was so patient, but getting quieter. Any minute those dark lasers he used for eyes might actually swivel onto me and sear the inside of my skull. I didn’t want that.

“Are your methods so secret they can’t be divulged?”

“Nicko.” I shoved my tray away, showing my sincerity. “I’m out of my depth here. Oh, I’ll get the gelt.”

Nicko’s gaze charred nearer, less than a yard from my right shoulder. Even Gina leant away. “With help?”

“Yes. I’ll need two helpers, full time.” Before anybody could cut in, I started my spiel. “See, I don’t know who’s on our side, Nicko. I know you are. And Gina. And I think Jennie. But these other ladies and gentlemen I don’t even know. I don’t know what the stake is to be—everything I cull from antiques? And for what?” I tried to spread my hands like Nicko but it didn’t work and I felt a prat so put them away. “This Game, Nicko. Tell me who’s got a right to know, and I’ll come clean about my methods, every detail.”

“The Game in Manhattan is finished, Lovejoy.” Nicko looked at Jennie, got an imperceptible assent. “On the Gina. Remember?”

“I was behind the bar, Nicko.”

“He’s stupid,” Commissioner J.J. Kilmer barked.

Nicko nearly smiled, leant forward. “Let’s hope you’re not this stupid about old furniture, Lovejoy. The Game. We’re the players, Lovejoy. At first, we play against each other here in Manhattan. The stakes are based on personal… wealth.” Now he did smile. I wished he hadn’t. “It’s up to each player to raise his or her stake. Nobody is allowed to default. The stakes can come from anywhere.”

“Tell him,” Jennie put in. It sounded a question but wasn’t.

“If a player were to bring personal cash, Lovejoy, we’d be limited to however much he or she could withdraw from a bank account, right? So we accept promissory notes. Then the sum waged can be relatively huge.”

Jennie took over. “Very damaging, Lovejoy, in a city where any major withdrawal is noticed by Manhattan’s wallet watchers.” She held the pause, waited for my nod.

“And you can bet next year’s takings?”

Jennie smiled. “You got it, Lovejoy. If the bet’s mega dollar, and based on certain illegal practices —”

“Not that word, please,” from Berto Gordino in anguish. “From selected activities, Lovejoy.”

Once a lawyer, I thought.

“— Why, it’s easy to handle. Suppose a Police Commissioner were to bet fifty per cent of the police hack and lost, okay? He’d simply raise his hack. That’s the stake.”

I looked round the table. Bullion prices would be lifted fractionally to provide the losing margin if Melodie lost. Hadn’t she said something about Monsignor O’Cody fiddling the diocesan funds? Politics was Denzie Brandau’s wager—presumably he peddled influence in the time-honoured way, for a price. Charlie Sarpi was a drugs man, Kelly Palumba the real-estate queen, Epsilon the showbiz hacker…

“If the game’s over, what’re we all here for?”

“Because you lost, Lovejoy.”

“I what?”

Nicko smiled. His eyes were miles off now, thank God. “Everybody here pays their losses into the kitty. That kitty’s the stake when we get to LA. For the California Game.”

“Thus getting a share in the New York wager.” Jennie was dying to spiel out a load of figures. I could tell.

“Which I shall bet for us all in —”

“— In the California Game,” I said. “All New York? One bet?”

“He makes it sound unfair,” J.J. said, inventing the wheel with his first-ever try at irony. People chuckled.

Melodie intervened, dear thing. “You see, Lovejoy, we gamble to see who wins here. In New York, see? In Florida, why, they’re doing the same thing. Then there’s four bets come from the Mid-West, six from California, one from Washington…”

“The Game itself’s held yearly, Lovejoy. Each bet’s the product of sectored interests.” Nicko shrugged. “It’s up to each to get the best possible finance behind them. The bigger the stake, the bigger the win.

“What’s the Game? Cards? Roulette?”

Nicko chuckled, hailstones on tin. “The entire loot of the nation, Lovejoy.”

“For twelve months,” Jennie amended. “Shared among us, in proportion as stated. The Game on the Gina was to decide who plays in LA and the total stake.”

I drew breath to ask my one remaining question, but Orly was already sniggering. “Except you, Lovejoy,” he said. “You’re the one here with no share. Yet.”

“Methods, Lovejoy?” Nicko could afford to look all cool. He’d won megamillions. Except now he had to gamble it for higher stakes still.

“I said double Bethune’s stake,” I reminded him calmly. “I meant quadruple.”

He tilted his head Jennie’s way as if interrogatingly. “It’s in ten days, Lovejoy. Nobody could possibly hack so many millions from antiques in so few days.”

“Anybody lend me an aeroplane, please?” I asked, rising. “And I’ll need a bank account — paying-in purposes only.”

“A moment, Lovejoy,” Gina said, but I twisted my hand free.

“I can hear them clearing away the grub out there. I’m starving.” I gave a bright smile down the lines of faces. “Can I get anybody anything… ?”

I just caught Blanche and Chanel wheeling the last trayfuls out, thoughtless cows. They only laughed when I ballocked them about it. You’d think women’d learn, wouldn’t you? It’s a wonder that I’m so patient. I warned them that one day I’d lose my temper altogether, but they only laughed all the more. It’s no good trying to tell women off. They’re like infants, only laugh and think you’re daft.

Somebody inside had come to a decision by the time I returned with my tray. Nicko promised a private jet, two goons, a secretary, and licence to travel.

Nobody mentioned chains, but they’d be there, they’d be there.