Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

‘This worries me,’ Grenville said uneasily. ‘I have done a few shabby deals in the past, but I’ve never gone so far as to do anything criminal.’

‘This is not criminal, Chris.’ Archer got to his feet. ‘The police won’t come into it. Think what you will be able to do with a million dollars. With that kind of money you will be free of all those old, rich women. Love her, Chris: that’s your job. The more she needs you, the easier it will be to get the money from her.’

Grenville drew in a deep breath.

‘All right. When will it be?’

‘Three days after you have settled in at the villa, but we will meet again before then. I will let you know what I have arranged.’ Archer paused, his eyes turning bleak. ‘She outsmarted me once, now it is my turn.’

Some two years ago, when Jack Archer had been a senior partner of a reputable firm of international lawyers in Lausanne, he had received a telephone call.

A harsh American voice said, ‘This is Moses Seigal talking. You know me?’

Archer always read the Herald Tribune, so he knew Moses Seigal was one of the important Mafia men, and was being hunted by the F.B.I. for tax evasion.

‘Yes, Mr. Seigal,’ he said cautiously. ‘I have read about you.’

‘Yeah. Now listen, I want your advice and I’ll pay. A guy who gives advice to a guy as big as Herman Rolfe is my idea of a guy. I’ll be at Bernie’s restaurant, Geneva, at eight o’clock tomorrow night. You be there, and you’ll pick up some dough,’ and he hung up.

For some minutes Archer hesitated. He knew Seigal was on the run, but he also knew the Mafia people were dangerous to refuse. So, without telling his partners, who would have been dismayed, he decided it might be profitable to himself personally, to talk to this man.

Bernie’s restaurant was on a side street off Quai Gustave. It looked unimpressive, dark and shabby.

Entering, Archer had been greeted by a short, thickset, swarthy-looking man with a beard, who had told him Mr. Seigal was waiting.

The bearded man, introducing himself as Bernie, had taken Archer through the crowded restaurant to a room at the back where a fat, beetle-browed Italian was drinking Campari soda.

‘Okay, Bernie,’ the man growled. ‘Get us some of your swill. I’m in a hurry.’

He waved Archer to a chair.

‘I ain’t got long,’ he said as Archer settled himself. ‘I’ve got a load of hot money. I want to stash it. What do I do?’

Bernie came in with two plates of spaghetti, drenched in tomato sauce, plonked them down and went away.

A little shaken, Archer said, ‘In cash or bonds?’

‘In cash.’

Seigal began to attack the spaghetti, eating like an animal.

‘I could arrange for you to have a numbered account in a reliable private bank,’ Archer said.

‘Yeah. That’s what I heard. Okay, you fix it. I got the money right here.’ Seigal nodded to a battered suitcase by his side. ‘Two and a half million bucks.’

Archer flinched.

‘Yes, Mr. Seigal, I can arrange that’

‘You get fifty thousand Swiss francs. Okay?’

This would go straight into Archer’s pocket. He had no intention of sharing it with his partners.

‘That is perfectly okay with me, Mr. Seigal.’

‘So it’s fixed, huh?’ Seigal was eating as he talked. Spaghetti fell from his mouth, and Archer thought he was utterly revolting. ‘You take the dough, huh?’ He belched, then again crammed spaghetti into his mouth. ‘I had you investigated, Archer. You’re an all right guy, but if you think you can walk off with my dough, think again. My boys would take care of you.’

‘There’s no question of that,’ Archer said stiffly. ‘Leave the money with me, and I will arrange it. Give me an address where I can send the account number.’

Seigal nodded.

‘To my wife. Here...’ He took out his billfold and produced a stack of Swiss francs and a card.

‘That’s the address, and there’s your pay-off.’ By now, he had almost demolished the spaghetti which Archer hadn’t touched. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to get moving.’

Bernie came in.

‘Want some more, Moses?’

‘Haven’t the time. My goddamn plane is about to take off. Hey, Bernie, look at this guy. His name is Jack Archer. He’s taking care of my money. He does me a favour: you do him a favour, huh?’ Turning to Archer, he went on. ‘Bernie is Mr. Fix-it in this town. Anything you want done, talk to him: he’ll fix it. Right, Bernie?’

‘If you say so, Moses, it is so,’ Bernie said.

And Archer remembered.

Leaving Geneva airport, he told the taxi driver to take him to Bernie’s restaurant. As he sat in the taxi, he remembered how he had taken the two and a half million dollars to a bank and had deposited them. The director of the bank knew him, so there was no problem. He had sent the number of the account to Seigal’s wife. Two months later, he read in the Herald Tribune that Moses Seigal had been shot to death.

Paying off the taxi, Archer walked into the shabby restaurant. There was Bernie, standing behind the bar, slightly older, slightly heavier, who recognized him and came to him, offering a hard, sweaty hand.

‘Mr. Archer!’

‘Hello, Bernie.’

‘Come and have some spaghetti.’ Bernie led Archer into the back room. ‘And a bottle of Valpolicella,’ and he went away.

The wine and the spaghetti arrived.

‘Bernie, sit down. I want to talk to you,’ Archer said, and began to eat the spaghetti, for he was hungry.

‘Why else should you come?’ Bernie laughed. ‘You heard about Moses? He had it coming: if not his enemies, then the cops.’

‘I read about it.’

Bernie went over to close the door, then sat opposite Archer.

‘It is good?’

Archer stirred the sauce into the spaghetti.

‘Very good. Bernie... I have a small problem. You could help.’

‘If I can, I will.’

‘I want to hire two reliable men. When I say reliable, I mean two men who will be paid to do a job, and then forget they have done it.’

Bernie nodded.

‘What’s the job, Mr. Archer?’

‘I want these two men to fake — and I repeat fake — a kidnapping. The man, who is to be kidnapped, has asked me to arrange this. Between you and me, he wants to frighten the woman he is living with. All these two men have to do is to arrive at the home of this woman, look menacing, hustle the man out, and drive him away. The police won’t come into it. It is really a joke on the woman.’

Bernie reached for a wooden toothpick and began to explore his teeth.

‘So what happens then?’ he asked.

‘That’s it. The woman will believe her boyfriend has been kidnapped. He will keep away from her for a couple of days, then return.’ Archer shrugged. ‘He thinks he will bring her to heel.’

Bernie nodded.

‘How about money, Mr. Archer?’

‘For finding two reliable men, I will pay you five hundred francs. I will arrange payment with the two men when I have met them.’

Bernie continued to dig into his teeth for a long moment, then he shook his head.

‘No, Mr. Archer, it will cost a little more. For one thousand francs, I can find two reliable men.’

Archer was in no position to bargain.

‘Very well: a thousand francs.’

Bernie smiled.

‘Enjoy your meal, Mr. Archer. I’ll fix it,’ and getting up, he left Archer alone.

By the time Archer had finished the spaghetti and the bottle of wine, Bernie returned.

‘It is fixed, Mr. Archer,’ he said as he dropped his bulk into the chair opposite Archer. ‘These two men: I know them. They hang out here in the evenings. They are most reliable. Their work isn’t much.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘They work together on the tourist steamers, and they speak English. Naturally, they are eager for money. The young one is Jacques Belmont. The older one is Max Segetti. There is a homo relationship between them.’ Bernie smiled. ‘I assure you, Mr. Archer, if you are willing to pay, they can be relied on.’