You're Dead Without Money

Eight

The following morning, Elliot joined Joey and Cindy for breakfast. Vin was still in bed. Both Joey and Cindy were intensely curious about what had happened the previous night and Elliot told them.

‘I feel pretty certain Radnitz is our man,’ he concluded, ‘but before I approach him I must find out just why the C.I.A. are interested in these stamps. To get the C.I.A. after us would be serious.’ He looked over at Cindy. ‘Can you remember who signed the circular letter you found with the stamps?’

‘Lee Humphrey,’ Cindy told him. ‘It was a rubber stamp signature.’

‘Right. You and I are going to Miami this morning. Well take the Alfa. If you drive, the chances are no one will spot me.’

‘Why Miami, Don?’

‘I’m calling Washington and it could be traced,’ Elliot said. ‘When dealing with the C.I.A. you can’t be too careful. I’ll call from a hotel.’

All this worried Joey, but he said nothing. At least, he told himself, Elliot seemed to know what he was doing.

Soon after 10.00, Elliot and Cindy left the bungalow. Joey had been told not to tell Vin where they were going. It wasn’t until 10.30 that Vin made his appearance.

Vin had spent most of the night thinking. If Elliot was to be believed, he (Vin) now knew the name of the buyer and where to contact him. He also knew the stamps were in a safe deposit box in a bank. He was sure both Cindy and Joey knew in which bank.

He came into the living room to find Joey preparing to go out. He paused, looking suspiciously at him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get lunch.’ Joey was a little fearful of Vin. Gone were the days when he could relax with him. ‘Anything I can get you?’

‘Where are the other two?’

‘They’ve gone out. Do you fancy a steak for lunch?’

‘Gone out?’ Vin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where have they gone?’

‘Taking a day off on the beach,’ Joey said and started towards the door.

Vin caught hold of his arm and swung him around. The vicious expression on his face scared Joey.

‘Don’t feed me that crap!’ he snarled. ‘Where have they gone?’

‘They said to the beach and they wouldn’t be back for lunch,’ Joey said feebly. His lying wouldn’t have convinced a child.

Vin pointed to a chair.

‘Sit down!’

‘Not now, Vin. I’ve got to buy the lunch,’ Joey said desperately. ‘I’m late as it is.’

‘Sit down!’ Vin repeated and there was a look in his eyes that turned Joey’s legs weak. He sat down.

‘Where are the stamps, Joey?’

Joey licked his dry lips.

‘I don’t know. Don handled them. He didn’t tell me.’

‘You’d better know, Joey,’ Vin said viciously. ‘Where are they?’

‘All I know is they’re in a bank,’ Joey said, flinching at the expression on Vin’s face.

‘What bank?’

‘He didn’t tell me.’

‘Listen, you stupid old creep, Elliot didn’t take the stamps to the bank. He’s too scared to show his face on main street. Either you or Cindy took them,’ Vin snarled. ‘You think I’m a dope? Now, listen, I want those stamps and I’m going to have them. I’m going to show you something.’ He took from his pocket a small blue bottle with a rubber stopper. ‘Know what this is?’

Joey eyed the bottle the way a snake eyes a mongoose.

‘No...’

‘I’ll tell you,’ Vin said. ‘It’s sulphuric acid.’ Joey wasn’t to know the bottle contained harmless eye drops. He stared at the bottle, his eyes growing round. ‘You’re going to give me those stamps,’ Vin went on. ‘You’re going to the bank right away and you’re going to bring them back here. I’ve had all I’m going to take from you three jerks. I want the stamps or Cindy will lose her looks. Don’t kid yourself, Joey. Neither you nor Elliot can protect her. Okay, maybe for a few days, but you can’t live with her all the time and sooner or later I’ll catch up with her. One flick of my wrist and she gets this little lot in her face. Have you ever seen acid burns?’

Joey felt a cold sickness creep over him. He stared at Vin, his heart beating so fast he felt suffocated.

‘I’m not bluffing, Joey. Get the stamps. I won’t tell you a second time.’

‘You... you wouldn’t do that to Cindy,’ Joey said huskily.

‘Get the stamps. I’ll wait here. I’ll give you two hours. If in two hours you’re not back, I’m leaving, but I’ll be around. I promise you one thing, if you don’t bring the stamps back, Cindy gets it within a week or so. That’s a promise! Now, get off!’

Suddenly Joey felt a wave of relief run through him. When Vin had the stamps, he would leave the bungalow and they would be rid of him. Not only rid of him, but the operation would be abortive. He didn’t want all this money. He had never wanted to take such a risk. He would explain to Cindy just why he had handed over the stamps and she would understand. With any luck, they would get rid of Elliot too and would then be able to settle down once again to their old life. It was a good life, Joey told himself. Maybe in a few years’ time, Cindy would find a decent man and they would get married. All right... she had said she was in love with Elliot, but once Elliot was off the scene, she would forget him.

‘I’m going,’ Joey said. ‘I’ll get the stamps. You just wait here.’

With an almost jaunty step, he left the bungalow.

Through the window, Vin watched him go. Joey’s sudden change of attitude baffled him.

‘The old goat’s nutty,’ he thought. ‘Goddamn it! He looks almost happy!’

Shrugging, he crossed the room and picked up the telephone book. He found the number of the Belvedere hotel and dialed it.

‘Put me through to Mr. Radnitz,’ he said when the receptionist came on the line.

There was a delay, then Holtz, who took all incoming calls, said, ‘Mr. Herman Radnitz’s secretary.’

‘Give me Mr. Radnitz,’ Vin said.

‘Who is calling?’

‘Never mind. I’ve got business with him.’

‘Please state your business in writing,’ Holtz said and hung up.

For a long moment, his face red with fury, Vin stared at the telephone, then he dialled the hotel again.

Again Holtz came on the line.

‘I want to talk to Radnitz!’ Vin snarled. ‘Tell him it’s to do with stamps.’

At the other end Holtz stiffened to attention.

‘Your name?’

‘Get stuffed, you goddamn dummy!’ Vin bawled. ‘Tell him!’

‘Hold on.’ Getting to his feet, Holtz went quickly out on to the terrace.

Radnitz was having a late cup of coffee.

‘There’s a man on the line who wants to talk to you, sir,’ Holtz said. ‘He won’t give his name but he says it is to do with stamps.’

Radnitz put down his cup.

‘Put him through and trace the call,’ he said.

A moment later, Vin heard a guttural voice say, ‘This is Radnitz. Who are you?’

‘Never mind.’ Vin was sweating with excitement. A Big Shot like Radnitz wouldn’t have come on the line unless he was the guy who wanted the stamps. This meant Elliot had guessed right. ‘Are you interested in eight Russian stamps?’

There was a pause, then Radnitz said, ‘Yes, I am interested.’

Vin paused. He wasn’t sure how to play this.

‘I said I was interested,’ Radnitz said sharply as he heard nothing but a quiet humming over the line. ‘Have you got them?’

‘I’ve got them.’ Vin wiped the sweat from his face. ‘What they worth to you?’

‘We are talking over an open line,’ Radnitz said smoothly. ‘I suggest you come and see me. Come right away.’

Vin suddenly relaxed. So this rich, powerful punk was that eager, he thought.

‘I’ll call back. I’m busy right now. Maybe I can fit you in sometime tonight,’ he said and he hung up.

Leaning on the table, staring at the telephone, he felt a surge of power. A million dollars! Maybe he could squeeze a million and a half out of this punk! So he called the President by his first name! So he was the biggest wheeler-dealer in the world! Well, Vin thought, I’ll show him! If he wants these stamps so goddamn bad, then he’ll sweat for them.

Holtz came across the terrace to where Radnitz was sitting, staring out to sea.

‘The call was from the Seagull bungalow, sir.’

‘It would be this man Pinna?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you Lessing’s report for this morning?’

‘Yes, sir. Elliot and Miss Luck left the bungalow at 10.00. They are being followed. Luck left at 10.45. He is also being followed.’

Radnitz nodded.

‘Keep me informed,’ he said and waved Holtz away.

At the Excelsior hotel, Elliot shut himself in an air-conditioned telephone booth and waited for his connection to C.I.A. headquarters, Washington.

Through the glass panel he could see Cindy sitting across the lounge, looking anxiously at him. He waved to her as he was connected. He asked to speak to Mr. Lee Humphrey. He went through the usual rigmarole of talking to an undersecretary, then to a secretary, then finally Humphrey came on the line himself.

‘Mr. Humphrey, I wish to remain anonymous,’ Elliot said. ‘I understand your organization is interested in eight Russian stamps.’

There was no hesitation in Humphrey’s booming voice as he said, ‘That is correct. If you have any information regarding these stamps, it is your duty to the State to give that information right here and now.’

Elliot grimaced.

‘My duty to the State? Would you expand on that?’

‘The State wants these stamps. Every philatelist in the country has been notified to this effect. There is a penalty of three years’ imprisonment and a thirty thousand dollar fine if anyone holding these stamps does not send them immediately to me.’

‘Can you tell me, Mr. Humphrey, just why these stamps are so important to the State?’

‘I can’t tell you that. Have you the stamps?’

‘It would make a difference if I knew,’ Elliot said. ‘If you will be frank with me and tell me just why these stamps are so important I will answer your question.’

‘I can’t tell you over an open line. If you have these stamps or know where they are or have any information it is your duty to go to the nearest C.I.A. office and either deliver the stamps or give information.’

‘You keep talking about duty, Mr. Humphrey. I’ve been offered a million dollars for these stamps. Is the State making an offer?’

‘That we can discuss. So you have them?’

‘I’ll call you back later,’ Elliot said, aware that he had talked long enough on this telephone. He hung up. Taking out his handkerchief, he carefully wiped the receiver, then the door handle of the booth. Satisfied he had got rid of any fingerprints, he walked over to where Cindy was sitting.

She could see by the expression oil his face he was worried.

‘What is it, Don?’

He told her of the conversation he had had with Humphrey and as she listened, her eyes grew round.

‘Duty to the State?’ She put her hand on his. ‘What does that mean?’

‘The C.I.A. aren’t dramatic,’ Elliot said. ‘It seems to me well have to give them the stamps. The last thing we want is to get the C.I.A. after us.’

‘Let’s go home, get the stamps and send them,’ Cindy said. ‘What do you think they can mean... duty to the State?’

Elliot gave her a little nudge as two big men, quietly dressed, came swiftly into the hotel lounge. One of them went to the girl who was in control of the switchboard, spoke to her, then went to the booth where Elliot had made his call.

‘The C.I.A.,’ Elliot said. ‘Just take it easy. I want to see what they do.’

One of the men was closely dusting the receiver for fingerprints while the other went to the hall porter and began to question him.

‘Okay, Cindy, let’s go.’ Elliot got casually to his feet.

The hotel lobby was swarming with tourists and by walking slowly, pushing their way through the crowd, they attracted no attention.

‘I’ve got to talk to Humphrey again,’ Elliot said. ‘We’ll drive to Dayton Beach.’

They got into the Alfa Romeo and Elliot headed north. Cindy looked anxiously at him as he drove. There was a bitter expression on his face now and it frightened her.

‘Don... let’s go back,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can get by. We don’t have to have this money. If you’ll stay with dad and me...’

‘Skip it,’ Elliot said curtly. ‘I told you how it was going to be, Cindy. There’s something fatal about me. We’ve met... we’ve liked each other... we’ve had a good time together... that’s as far as it’s going to go. Just take it easy... I want to think.’

Cindy relapsed into silence: her hands into fists, gripped between her knees.

As Elliot drove up the broad highway, his mind wrestled with the problem. For some important reason, these stamps were at priority. The C.I.A. wouldn’t have said this unless it was true. ‘Your duty to the State.’ Against that there was Radnitz offering a million. Radnitz had dealings with the Soviet Union. This must mean that the Russians were as anxious to get the stamps as were the C.I.A. If he gave the stamps to Humphrey in the hope he would be paid a reward, he was certain Humphrey would want to know from whom he had got the stamps and this would involve Larrimore. That was, to Elliot, unthinkable. The only way was to mail the stamps to Humphrey and kiss the million goodbye.

The money doesn’t matter, Cindy had said, and he could believe that. She and Joey had lived for years on a shoestring, stealing, living simply and they could go back to their old way of life. Vin didn’t matter. He would always look after himself.

Elliot whipped the Alfa past a Cadillac as he turned his thoughts to himself. This was the end of the road, he thought. Well, what did it matter? He had had fun for eight or nine days: something he couldn’t remember having had for a long, long time. It was still a good movie script. He had outfoxed Vin without the aid of the scriptwriters. He would talk again to Humphrey and tell him that the stamps were on their way. He would drive Cindy back to Paradise City. Tell Vin the operation was abortive. He was confident he could take care of Vin if Vin turned ugly. Then, he would walk out, get in the Alfa and drive to Hollywood. Sleeping pills would take care of the rest of the story. His non-existent foot began to ache. He would be better off, he thought, with no future. He remembered what he had said to Cindy: You’re dead without money.

He glanced at her. She was sitting motionless, looking through the windshield, her lips parted, her face a mask of misery. For a little while, he thought, she would suffer, but she was young. In a year or so, he would be just a romantic memory. He reached out and patted her hand.

‘It’ll work out, Cindy,’ he said. ‘It always does.’

She didn’t look at him, but she moved her hand and gripped his.

Later, he pulled up outside the Beach hotel at Dayton Beach.

‘Wait here, Cindy,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

During the drive they had scarcely spoken and Cindy was in despair. She felt now she had lost this man who meant so much to her. A barrier had grown up between them and she was fearful of what he intended to do.

Again inside an air-conditioned telephone booth, Elliot called Humphrey.

‘Mr. Humphrey,’ Elliot said as soon as he was connected, ‘you can call off your men. Don’t try to find me. I’m sending you the stamps by registered mail. You will have them the day after tomorrow. The only condition is you won’t try to find me. If you act smart and I get picked up, I assure you will never get the stamps. Okay?’

‘If the stamps don’t arrive on my desk by the day after tomorrow,’ Humphrey said, his voice curt, ‘we’ll come after you. I have a tape recording of your voice. You’ll be in the middle of the biggest manhunt this country has ever staged. I’ll give you until the day after tomorrow and then, if you haven’t delivered, you’re in trouble.’

This could be a James Bond movie script, Elliot thought. Well, the stamps would arrive and he wouldn’t be in that kind of trouble.

‘Let’s hope we don’t have a mail strike,’ he said and hung up.

As soon as Vin had hung up on his conversation with Radnitz, he went to his bedroom and packed his things. He was so elated with the thought that within a very short time he would be worth a million dollars he was almost tempted to leave all his old clothes, thinking that soon he could buy himself a complete new wardrobe. Once the bag was packed, he looked around the room, made sure he had left nothing, then dropping his.38 automatic into his hip pocket, he carried the bag into the living room.

Lighting a cigarette, he went to the window. It would take Joey a good hour to get down town, collect the stamps and return. Well, that was all right with Vin. He could wait... just so long as Joey did come back. Vin told himself that Joey was so spineless he would get the stamps. He grinned to himself as he thought of how he had scared the crap out of Joey with a bottle of eye drops.

While he stood by the window, he thought of Radnitz. He could be tricky. Suppose he tried a double cross? A million was a hell of a lot of money. Radnitz wouldn’t give him that sum in cash.

Vin rubbed his jaw while he thought. How to work this?

After a while and having made his brain creak he decided he and Radnitz would meet at Radnitz’s bank. Before a bank witness, Vin would hand over the stamps in return for a certified cheque. That seemed to be the safe and only way to block a double cross. Radnitz would have to remain in the bank until the money had been transferred by Telex to Vin’s New York bank. Satisfied that he had solved this problem, he continued to wait, his mind roving into the future. Man! What would he do with all this bread! He had always wanted a yacht. Okay, so he would buy a yacht. He would buy one of those big estates in Bermuda the pictures of which he had so often seen in the coloured glossies. He would fill the house with willing dollies. Man! Would he live it up! Then when he wanted a change he would get aboard his yacht with one special chick and take off into the sun. That was the way to live! Vin grinned. Two days... then he would have the key that opened the door to a new, rich and exciting life!

He went on dreaming and waiting and the hands of his watch crept on. Vin didn’t mind the wait. Who cared about waiting when a future so full of everything he wanted made coloured pictures in his mind?

Then he saw Joey coming up the path leading to the bungalow.

Vin watched him. The jaunty, sprightly step and Joey’s relaxed, almost happy expression baffled Vin. It was as if Joey was receiving a million dollars rather than losing them.

Vin went to the front door and jerked it open as Joey reached the steps.

‘Did you get them?’ Vin demanded, aware his voice was unsteady.

‘I’ve got them,’ Joey said and moving past Vin, he entered the living room.

Vin went after him.

‘Give!’ He caught hold of Joey’s arm, his face alight with greed and excitement.

Joey handed him an envelope. Vin snatched it and ripped it open. He took out a plastic envelope containing the eight stamps. He stared at them, his eyes gleaming.

‘They don’t look much, do they?’

Joey moved away from him, watching him.

‘Lots of things don’t look much,’ he said quietly. ‘You and me don’t look much.’

Vin wasn’t listening. He was gloating over the stamps. Finally, he put them in his pocket.

‘Well, I’m on my way, Joey,’ he said. ‘Think of me — rich! Man! Am I going to have a ball! Tell that dummy movie star from me to get stuffed! He thought he was smart. Tell him I’m smarter.’ He went to pick up his bag while Joey watched him, saying nothing.

Vin paused and looked at him.

‘You don’t say much, do you, Joey?’

‘What’s there to say except I’m glad to see you go,’ Joey said quietly. ‘I hope you enjoy the money. Get going. Don could come back.’

‘Yeah.’ Vin started for the door, then again paused. ‘So long, Joey. When next we meet, if ever, I’ll buy you a cigar.’ He went quickly down the path to the waiting Jaguar.

Joey drew in a long, deep breath. So all that danger, risk, the threat of the cops was now finished, he thought. He would have to be careful how he explained it all to Cindy. Maybe if he explained it right, she would come to her senses, see that their way of life was the best way of life. He sat down limply in a chair, feeling suddenly depressed and very tired, but he knew — he was sure — that he had done the right thing. Who wanted all that money? You didn’t have to have money to be happy, he assured himself. He closed his eyes and began to rehearse what he would tell Cindy.

‘Being a writer, Mr. Campbell,’ Barney said as he finished what must have been his sixteenth beer, ‘I don’t have to tell you that every story has some loose ends. Now, this may surprise you, but when I tell a story, I like to be neat. I like to tie up as many loose ends as I can.’

I said that was the hallmark of a good writer and it did him credit. He squinted at me suspiciously, not quite sure if I were conning him or not, but finally he decided I wasn’t.

‘Telling a story is like painting a picture,’ he went on. ‘You finally finish it and you sit back and look at it and you find there are still a few touches to make it perfect... right?’

I nodded.

‘Well, I’m going back to a corner of my picture that you might think I’ve neglected.’ He scowled across the smoky, crowded bar and waved an urgent hand.

Sam shoved his way through the crowd, carrying the seventeenth beer and another vicious looking hamburger.

‘Are you eating again?’ I asked, not because I begrudged paying for this horrible abortion, but because I found it hard to believe any man, at one sitting, could work through three of these soggy messes, plus two dozen mouth exploding sausages.

‘My midnight snack,’ Barney said gravely. ‘If I don’t eat well, I don’t sleep well. If there’s one thing I like, apart from beer and talking, it’s sleeping well.’

I said I understood.

‘Well, now,’ he said as he began to cut up the hamburger. ‘I’m going to shift the scene just for a moment to the two hippies I told you about at the beginning of this story: Larry and Robo.’ He chewed, then looked inquiringly at me. ‘You remember them?’

I said I remembered them. They were the two Vin had run into when he had first met Judy Larrimore: the two Vin had fought with and had kicked around, busting Larry’s nose.

Barney nodded approvingly.

‘That’s what I like about a professional,’ he said. ‘You keep track. You know something? I often tell punks a story and when I try to remind them of something I’ve told them, I find they are asleep.’

I said this was always a danger when telling people stories.

‘Yeah.’ He brooded darkly for a long moment, then went on: ‘Larry and Robo: two stupid young punks who chased the chicks, smoked reefers, threw their weight around and generally made a nuisance of themselves. Not that there is anything unusual about that. They just followed the trend.’ Barney swirled his beer around in his glass and shook his head. ‘The trouble today, Mr. Campbell, is that it is too easy for young punks to earn money. When they’ve got it, they get into mischief. These two punks made money in a rattlesnake factory. Their job was to skin the snakes while other punks put the snakes in cans. Doesn’t sound much of a job, does it? But you’d be surprised. What with their union and the rest of it they made around a hundred and twenty dollars a week. That’s nice money, isn’t it?’

I said nothing would induce me to touch a rattlesnake, dead or alive.

Barney pursed his lips.

‘That’s because of your artistic temperament, Mr. Campbell. These punks aren’t made like you.’

I said that was just as well for the canning factory.

‘Yeah.’ Barney ate more of the greasy hamburger. ‘Well, these two were discharged from hospital at the identical moment Vin was getting into his Jaguar to call on Radnitz. Larry had got his nose fixed, but it was still sore and Robo had stopped passing blood. Vin’s punch in his kidneys had upset his waterworks. They had only one thought in their minds and that was to get even with Vin. Not only had they had a bad time in hospital — the matron had made them wash themselves — but they had lost money because when they stopped skinning snakes they stopped earning. So they were in a pretty mean mood. They had talked it over while in hospital and they had come to the conclusion that Vin was too tough for them to try to beat up. They weren’t going to risk another spell in hospital. They decided to find out where he lived, wait until he had gone out, then break into his place and wreck it: smash everything and pour acid on all his clothes. They liked this idea because it was without risk to themselves and it would make Vin flip his lid. The first move then was to find out where he lived.

‘Now the State hospital is within a stone’s throw of the Belvedere hotel. As these two were coming down the steps of the hospital they spotted Vin’s blue Jaguar pulled into a parking bay outside the hotel. They watched Vin lock the car and walk up the steps of the hotel to the imposing entrance. They looked at each other. The same thought had occurred to them and without hesitation, they crossed the road and approached the hotel.

‘On arriving outside the hotel, Vin found that he wasn’t as confident as he should have been. He remembered Elliot had warned him about Radnitz. Elliot had said: He’s big time and dangerous. He could put you on the ball of his thumb and make a smear of you on a wall. Although Vin had scoffed at this, it had made an impression on him and now that he was about to come face to face with Radnitz he felt uneasy. He would be crazy, he told himself as he drove along Paradise Boulevard, to take the stamps into the hotel. Radnitz might have a gunman around who would take the stamps off him and then throw him out. This would have been Vin’s mode of operation had he been in Radnitz’s place. He pulled up by the kerb and taking the plastic envelope containing the stamps from his pocket, he lifted the floor mat of the car and slid the envelope out of sight. He refixed the mat, telling himself no one would think to look in that hiding place.’ Here, Barney paused to look scornful. ‘I’m sure a gentleman of your intelligence, Mr. Campbell, would never leave stamps worth a million dollars in your car. You would take in the possibility of the car being stolen, but Vin, as I have already pointed out, had little intelligence and was a slow thinker. So that’s what he did.’

‘And now,’ I said, ‘you’re going to tell me the car was stolen?’

Barney gave me a glassy stare, hitched himself forward and ignoring my interruption, went on, ‘Vin asked for Mr. Radnitz and sent up his name. He wasn’t kept waiting and this did something for his wilting confidence. Radnitz received him in his big living room.

‘As soon as Holtz had shut the door, leaving the two men alone, Radnitz said abruptly, “You have the stamps?”

‘ “I have them. You’re offering a million dollars for them... right?”

‘Radnitz nodded.

‘ “Before parting with them,” Vin said, still very unsure of himself, “I want the money credited to my bank in New York.”

‘ “That can be arranged,” Radnitz said and held out his hand. “Show me the stamps.”

‘ “You don’t imagine I have them with me,” Vin said, forcing a grin. “I don’t trust anyone. We’ll meet at your bank this afternoon. That’ll give me time to get the stamps from where I’m keeping them. Before a witness, I’ll show you the stamps, you will then instruct your bank to telex my bank in New York, crediting me with a million dollars and then you get the stamps, but not before.”

‘Radnitz regarded him and the chill in his toad like eyes made Vin shift uneasily.

‘ “Very well,” he said. “Come to the California & Mutual Bank at three o’clock. Ask for Mr. Sanderson.” He paused, then went on, “Describe these stamps to me.”

‘Vin described the stamps.

‘ “There are eight of them?” Radnitz asked.

‘ “Yeah.” Vin found it hard to believe that this man seemed so unconcerned about paying this enormous sum without some quibble. He wondered if he dare try to up the price, but there was something about Radnitz that scared him. After all, he told himself, sweating with excitement, a million, goddamn it! was a million!

‘ “I must warn you that if you don’t produce the stamps and you are wasting my time,” Radnitz went on in his quiet guttural voice, “I will make you wish you had never been born.”

‘This threat shook Vin.

‘ “You give me the money and I’ll give you the stamps.”

‘ “Then at three o’clock this afternoon,” Radnitz said and made a gesture of dismissal.

‘Vin took the express elevator to the ground floor. What a mug Elliot was! he thought. All this fuss! This rich punk hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even quibbled about paying for the stamps. He was so elated that he wanted to dance a jig. As the elevator doors swished open, he glanced at his watch. The time was 12.55. He had two hours to kill. What did a man do to kill time when he was worth a million dollars? Vin asked himself and he knew the answer: a man bought himself a drink and a fancy meal, and that’s what he was going to do. He took out his billfold and checked his money. He had twenty-five dollars: all the money he owned. He would blow the lot on a slap-up meal. Why should he worry? In two hours he would be worth a million!

‘Unaware that Larry, half-hidden behind an open newspaper, was watching him, Vin strode into the bar and called for a double whisky on the rocks. While waiting, he beckoned to a waiter and told him he wanted a table in the restaurant. The waiter said this could be arranged.

‘Larry had moved to the bar entrance and had overheard the conversation. He walked briskly across the lobby and out into the sunshine where Robo was waiting.

‘ “He’s going to stuff his gut,” Larry said. “We’ve lots of time. There’s a drug store down the road. Go, buy a roll of gauze bandage and hurry it up.”

‘Robo grinned and ran off.

‘After his drink, Vin swaggered into the restaurant and was conducted to a single table. The rich clients, shovelling food into their faces, looked at him and raised their eyebrows. This brash, shabbily dressed man wasn’t in their class, but Vin couldn’t care a goddamn. He sat down and surveyed the crowded restaurant with a sneering little grin. He was as good as any of these slobs, he told himself. In two hours’ time he would be worth a million dollars! In a month or so he would have his own house and his yacht. This would be the last time he ate alone. Every dollie within a five-mile radius would be fighting for his favours once the word got around how rich he was.

‘He was a little dashed that the menu was in French, but the suave Maître d’hôtel was at his elbow to help him. He finally let the Maître d’hôtel choose the meal of smoked eel and the breast of chicken in lobster sauce.

‘While he was eating, Robo came back from the drug store and joined Larry, waiting at the hotel car park.

‘Since these two had been in hospital and had been forced to wash themselves, their long hair and their beards, they now looked as respectable as any of the kids on vacation in the City and no one paid any attention to them as they converged on Vin’s Jaguar. With Robo shielding his movements Larry removed the cap on the gas tank, quickly unwound some of the bandage and inserted one end into the tank. He then paid out a long length of bandage which he concealed under the car. All this was a work of seconds. Striking a match, he set fire to the gauze which began to smoulder, running up the length of the bandage towards the gas tank.

‘They had about two minutes to get clear which was ample time. By the time they had reached some distant clump of palm trees, the Jaguar’s gas tank, along with a million dollars’ worth of stamps, went up with a bang, shattering some of the hotel’s windows.’

‘Well now, Mr. Campbell,’ Barney said, ‘that’s about the whole story.’ He looked at his empty glass and then at the wall clock opposite him. The hands pointed to 02.15. ‘It’s getting past my bed time.’

‘There are still some loose ends to tie up,’ I said. ‘How about one for the road? I’m having a whisky. How about you?’

Barney’s little red snapper of a mouth moved into a smile.

‘I’ve never said no to a drop of Scotch,’ he said and flapped with his enormous hand in Sam’s direction.

‘First, what happened to Judy Larrimore?’ I asked.

Barney’s fat face showed his disapproval.

‘You’ll find her at the Adam & Eve club any time you look in there. She’s just the same... looking for boys with money, maybe a little fatter, maybe a little less attractive, but still in the same old groove.’

Sam came over and took the order for whiskies.

‘And Vin?’

‘I don’t have to tell you that Vin flipped his lid when the doorman came into the restaurant asking if anyone owned a blue Jaguar with New York plates. The way Vin rushed out of the restaurant lowered all records for the hundred yards sprint. The sight that met his eyes turned him to stone. The car was a complete write-off and he realized his dream of a million dollars was now just a dream. He stood there, white faced, scarcely breathing, watched from a safe distance by Larry and Robo who were squirming with joy. Then a hand on his arm made him turn. Holtz, by his side, asked quietly, “The stamps were in the car?”

‘Vin nodded dumbly.

‘ “Then I am sorry for you,” Holtz said and returned to the hotel to report to Radnitz.

‘Later, the cops picked Vin up as he was trying to hitch a ride to Jacksonville. Without money, without even his few belongings, he was in trouble. The cops had received a tip-off and I don’t have to tell you from whom the tip had come. The Miami hotel dick picked Vin out at an identity parade and Vin went away for five years: robbery with violence.’

Sam came with the whiskies. With drunken dignity, Barney leaned forward, tapping his glass against mine.

‘Your health, Mr. Campbell,’ he said. ‘Your very good health.’

‘And Elliot?’ I was wondering if the whisky would prove too much for Barney and I wouldn’t hear the end of this story, but I needn’t have worried: Barney’s capacity seemed without limit.

‘Elliot?’ Barney lifted his heavy shoulders. ‘You didn’t read about it? When Joey told him and Cindy what he had done and why, and when Elliot realized there would be no more money coming to him, he gave a wry grin, shrugged and told Joey he had done the right thing.

‘Joey wasn’t interested in what Elliot thought. He was only concerned to see how Cindy reacted. She sat there, looking at Elliot, and the expression in her eyes made Joey feel bad, but he kept reminding himself that she was young, and in another year, maybe less, she would have forgotten Elliot.

‘Elliot said he would now go to Hollywood. There was still a chance that his agent would find work for him. Neither he, Cindy nor Joey believed this, but they went along with it. Elliot shook hands with Joey and wished him luck. He said he hadn’t ever enjoyed anyone’s company as much as his. This pleased Joey because Elliot said it as if he meant it. Then Elliot turned to Cindy.

‘ “I told you, Cindy,” he said, “we’re not for each other. Forget me...” He smiled at her. “So long.”

‘He left the bungalow without touching her and Cindy, in her despair, hid her face in her hands and sobbed her heart out.

‘Joey didn’t attempt to console her. He went to the window and watched Elliot get in the Alfa and drive away. He remembered what Cindy had told him. Elliot had said to her: You’re dead without money. As the Alfa disappeared around the corner, Joey said goodbye to Elliot forever.’

Barney finished his whisky and released a sigh of contentment.

‘On the way to Hollywood, Elliot’s Alfa was hit by a car driven by a drunk. He was killed instantly.’ Barney sniffed and wiped the end of his nose with the back of his wrist. ‘The drunk swore to the cops that Elliot had plenty of room to avoid him but who’s going to believe a drunk? Anyway, the smash saved Elliot from taking his own life, and if you are to believe what was said about him, that was what he was planning to do.’ Barney paused, then shook his head. ‘Fate’s funny, isn’t it?’

‘You could say that,’ I said. ‘And Cindy and Joey... are they still working the City?’

‘Oh, no.’ Barney shook his head. ‘Cindy and Joey are in Carmel. They own a nice little bungalow and they don’t steal anymore. They are now what you call respectable folk. Joey looks after the bungalow, cuts the lawn twice a week and does the shopping. Cindy has a job at a very decent hotel: a receptionist, I think they call it. From what I hear — and you know by now, Mr. Campbell, that I’m a guy with his ear to the ground — she’s as happy as any pretty girl can be without a husband.’

This didn’t quite add up to me.

‘How come they own a bungalow in Carmel?’ I asked.

Barney suppressed a belch. He looked at his empty glass and sighed.

‘Have just one more for the road, Barney,’ I said. ‘Let’s tie up all the loose ends before we call it a night.’

‘That’s a good idea, Mr. Campbell,’ Barney said and flip-flopped with his hand. Sam brought two more whiskies.

‘Almost another story,’ Barney said, fondling his glass and wagging his head. ‘An hour after Elliot had left, with Cindy crying her eyes out and Joey now trying to console her, a chauffeur driven car pulled up outside the bungalow. An elderly man got out and rang the bell.

‘Startled, Joey opened the door.

‘ “My name is Paul Larrimore,” the man said. “There’s a young lady living here, I believe... I want to see her.”

‘Poor Joey felt a chill run up his spine. He had visions of tough cops arriving and taking Cindy and himself to jail.

‘Cindy came to the door. Miserably, she tried to smile at Larrimore.

‘ “I’m sorry,” she said. “I took your stamps. I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

‘Joey felt quite sick that Cindy could be so stupid, but Larrimore just smiled and asked if he could come in. So they let him in and Joey saw Larrimore was carrying the old stamp album Cindy had left him.

‘ “Don’t apologize,” Larrimore said as soon as he had sat down. “You saved me from a lot of trouble. I would never have had the moral courage to have parted with those stamps and sooner or later they would have got me into trouble. Taking them as you did has saved me from a possible prison sentence. I hope you haven’t got them any longer?”

‘ “No, Mr. Larrimore. Someone has sold them,” Cindy told him.

‘ “I don’t envy the person who has bought them.” Larrimore shrugged. “But never mind, so long as you can’t get into trouble.” He paused, then he put the old stamp album on the table. “I’ve brought your album back. Looking more carefully through it, I have found a rare stamp: a misprint. I want it and I will pay you twelve thousand dollars for the stamp and the album.” ’

Barney finished his drink.

‘That’s how they bought the bungalow at Carmel, Mr. Campbell. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?’ He yawned and stretched. ‘Well, I guess it’s my bed time.’ Lowering his great arms, he squinted at me. ‘Let me remind you, there’s not much — if anything — I don’t know about this City. When you want to hear another story, you know where to find me.’

I sat for a moment thinking, then I thanked him.

‘Sad about Elliot,’ I said.

Barney wrinkled his fat nose.

‘He’s better off dead, Mr. Campbell. People who can’t manage their money don’t get any sympathy from me.’ He peered at me. ‘You did say another twenty dollars, Mr. Campbell? That’s what you gave me last time.’

‘Did I?’ I gave him a twenty-dollar bill. ‘Well, you can’t say you don’t manage your money, Barney, can you?’

‘That’s right.’ He tucked the bill away in his hip pocket and heaved himself to his feet. ‘Good night, mister: pleasant dreams.’

I watched him lumber across the bar and out into the hot, starlit night, then I went over and settled the check with Sam.