James Chase: Vulture Is a Patient Bird

On the Zulu’s forefinger of his right hand, flashing in the sunlight, was the Caesar Borgia ring.

As soon as Garry had cleared the customs at London Airport, he hurried to a telephone box and dialled Toni’s number. The time was 10.25 hrs. and he was pretty sure she would be still sleeping. After the bell had rung for some minutes, he heard a click, then a sleepy voice said, “Miss White is away.”

Knowing she was about to hang up, Garry shouted, “Toni! It’s me!”

There was a pause, then Toni, now very much awake, released a squeal of excitement. “Garry! Is that really you, darling?”

“Yes. I’ve just got in from Jo’burg.”

“And you’re calling me? Oh, darling! So she isn’t so marvellous after all?”

“Don’t let’s talk about her.” Garry’s voice went down a note. “Listen, Toni, how are you fixed? I’m flying to Bern tomorrow morning and I want you to come with me.”

“Bern? Where’s Bern?”

“It’s in Switzerland. Didn’t you learn anything at school?”

“I learned to make love. Who cares where Bern is anyway? You want me to come with you? Why, darling, of course! I’d go with you to Vierwaldstattersee if you wanted me to.”

“That’s nice. Where’s that?”

She giggled.

“It’s in Switzerland too. How long will we be staying?”

“A day or so, then I thought we would go down to Capri for two weeks and really live it up. You know where Capri is, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I’d love to, Garry, but I simply can’t. I have to

work. I can manage three days, but not two weeks.”

“Wives shouldn’t work, Toni.”

There was silence. He could hear her breathing over the line and he imagined her kneeling on the bed in her shortie nightdress, her big blue eyes very round and astonished, and he grinned.

“Did you say wives shouldn’t work?” she asked, her voice husky.

“That’s what the man said.”

“But I’m not married, Garry.”

“You soon will be. See you in two hours from now,” and he hurriedly hung up.

He piled his luggage into a taxi and told the driver to take him to the Royal Towers Hotel.

Arriving at the hotel, he had his luggage put in the baggage room and then asked the hall porter to call Shalik’s suite and announce him.

There was a brief delay, then the hall porter told him to go up.

Arriving at the suite, he tapped and entered the outer room. A blonde girl sat at the desk, busily typing. She surveyed him as she paused in her work and got to her feet. Dressed in black, she was tall and willowy and exactly the type of girl Garry went out of his way to avoid: hard, shrewd, intelligent and very efficient.

“Mr. Edwards?”

“Correct.”

“Mr. Shalik will see you now.” She opened the door to Shalik’s office and motioned him forward as if she were shooing in a nervous chicken.

Garry smiled at her more from force of habit than to be friendly. He need not have bothered. She wasn’t looking at him and her indifference irritated him.

He found Shalik sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar, his plump hands resting on the blotter.

As Garry walked towards him, he said, “Good morning, Mr. Edwards. Have you the ring?”

“Yes, I have it.” Garry sat down in the lounging chair opposite Shalik. He crossed his long legs and regarded Shalik.

“You have? My congratulations. I take it the other three will be coming to join us in a moment or so?”

Garry shook his head.

“No, they won’t be coming to join us.”

Shalik frowned.

“But surely they want their fee?

“They won’t be coming and they won’t be collecting their fee.”

Shalik sat back, studied the end of his cigar, then looked hard at Garry.

“And why not, Mr. Edwards?”

“Because they are dead.”

Shalik stiffened and his eyes narrowed.

“Are you telling me Miss Desmond is dead?

“Yes, and so are the other two.”

Shalik made an impatient movement which conveyed he wasn’t interested in the other two.

“But what happened?”

“She caught a bug… lots of dangerous bugs in the jungle, and she died.”

Shalik got to his feet and walked over to the window, turning his back to Garry. The news shocked him. He disliked strangers knowing that he was capable of being shocked.

After a few moments, he turned and asked, “How do I know you are telling me the truth, Mr. Edwards? How did the other two die?”

“Jones was eaten by a crocodile. I don’t know what happened to Fennel. He was probably killed by a Zulu. I found the Zulu dead with Fennel’s rucksack and the ring. Fennel had stolen the ring and my compass and left Gaye and me to find our way out of the jungle. I succeeded: Gaye didn’t.”

“Are you quite sure she is dead?”

“I’m sure.”

Shalik sat down. He wiped his damp hands on his handkerchief. He had an important assignment involving a million dollars lined up for Gaye when she returned. Now, what was he to do? He felt a bitter rage seize him. He would have to start another long and difficult search for a woman to replace her, and in the meantime, the assignment would fall through.

“And the ring?” he said, controlling his rage.

Garry took a matchbox from his pocket and pushed it across the desk to Shalik who picked it up, shook the ring out on to the blotter and regarded it. Well, at least, this assignment hadn’t failed. He was suddenly very pleased with himself. By using his brains and these four people as his pawns, he had made half a million dollars within the space of a few days.

He examined the ring closely, then nodded his satisfaction. As he put the ring down, he said, “I am sure the operation wasn’t easy, Mr. Edwards. I am very pleased. In fairness to you, I will double your fee. Let me see… it was nine thousand dollars. I will make it eighteen thousand. Is that satisfactory to you?”

Garry shook his head.

“Nine is enough,” he said curtly. “The less I have of your money, the cleaner I will feel.”

Shalik’s eyes snapped, but he shrugged. He opened his desk drawer and took out a long envelope which he tossed across the desk.

Garry picked up the envelope. He didn’t bother to check the contents. Putting the envelope in his breast pocket, he got up and walked to the door.

“Mr. Edwards…”

Garry paused.

“What is it?

“I would be glad if you would dictate a full report of what happened during the operation. I would like to have all the details. My secretary will supply you with a tape-recorder.”

“What do you want it for… to give to the police?” Garry said. “You have the ring… that’s all you’re getting from me,” and he went out, walked past the blonde secretary without looking at her and hurried to the elevator, his one thought now being to get back to Toni.

Shalik stared at the closed door, thought for a moment, then shrugged. Perhaps after all, it was better not to know too much about what happened, he decided. Pity about Gaye. He knew she had no relations. There would be no awkward questions asked. She had come into his life, served a useful purpose, and now she had gone. It was a nuisance, but no woman was irreplaceable.

He picked up the ring and examined it. Holding it in his left hand, he reached for his telephone and dialled a number.

The diamonds were nice, he thought and ran his forefinger over the cluster, then started as something of needle sharpness cut his finger. He dropped the ring, frowning, and conveyed his bleeding finger to his mouth.

So the Borgia ring still scratched, he thought. The poison, of course, would have long dried up: after all the ring was nearly four hundred years old. He looked at his finger. Quite a nasty scratch. He continued to suck his finger as he listened to the burr-burr-burr of the telephone bell, thinking how pleased his client would be to get the ring back.