Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

‘A little more than that, Mr. Patterson. I have known Helga for the past twenty years. Sex is as necessary to her as food is to you.’

Patterson was intrigued. He took a pull at his drink, knocked cigar ash on the floor and leered at Archer.

‘Well! She’s a doll too! You think she and I could get together in bed? If I gave it to her, she would part with the dough?’

Archer regarded the pockmarked, sweaty, coarse face. If only we could see ourselves as others see us, he thought.

‘I think not, Mr. Patterson,’ he said, picking his words carefully. ‘Helga seems only interested in rather special, unusual men. She likes them tall, younger than herself, extremely handsome, witty, preferably with a knowledge of the arts, and of course, since she speaks German, French and Italian fluently, she would expect the man to do the same.’

Patterson chewed his cigar.

‘Jesus! For a doll with hot pants she sounds hard to please.’

‘She is worth a hundred million,’ Archer said, and smiled. ‘She can afford to be difficult.’

‘Yeah.’ Patterson began to pick his nose. ‘How’s about Ed Shappilo? He looks good and he speaks Spanish. How’s about him?’

Archer sadly shook his head.

‘I don’t think Ed is quite in the same bracket as Helga Rolfe, Mr. Patterson. My idea is this: let us suppose we find the ideal man. He meets Helga who falls in love with him. I know Helga. Once she falls for a man, she will do anything for him. After a week or so, this man explains the Blue Sky promotion to her, asking her advice. He tells her he is acting for you. What does she think? Helga, in love, can be very generous. As you have so rightly said, two million is chick-feed to her. This man then tells her unless he can raise the money, he will be out of a job. All this will have to be done very subtly. I will handle it, as I know Helga. She will produce the money... I can practically guarantee it.’

Patterson left his nose alone and sat back, screwing up his eyes while Archer watched him anxiously. Had he handled this right? he asked himself. Everything depended now on how this fat, sweaty man would react.

The long pause while Patterson brooded made Archer sweat. Finally, Patterson nodded.

‘Sounds okay. Yeah, I get the photo. You’ve come up with a smart idea, Archer. I guess I’ll have to look around for some stooge to go after her. That ain’t going to be easy.’

Archer relaxed. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped off his hands.

‘I wouldn’t be here at this hour, Mr. Patterson, with this idea, unless I had already found the right man,’ he said. ‘After all, that is what you are paying me for — to give you advice and service.’

Patterson sat upright.

‘You’ve found him?’

‘The perfect man for Helga,’ Archer said. ‘She will find him irresistible.’

‘For Pete’s sake! How did you find him?’

Archer was prepared for this question and had discussed it with Grenville.

‘He is a professional gigolo, Mr. Patterson: very high-class and he is used to dealing with middle-aged and elderly, rich women. Some years ago, he looked after an old client of mine and I got to know him. We met by chance this afternoon. As soon as I saw him, I knew I had the solution to our problem. I would like you to meet him, and see for yourself.’

Patterson, scowling, began to pick his nose again.

‘A gigolo? Hell! I hate those finks.’ Releasing his nose, he rubbed his hand over his sweaty face, then went on, ‘You think he can handle the Rolfe doll?’

‘I know he can. I wouldn’t be here wasting your time unless I was sure,’ Archer said.

Patterson thought for a moment, then shrugged.

‘Yeah. This could be a smart idea. Okay, tell him to be here tomorrow at eleven.’

Grenville had been very emphatic when and where he was to meet Patterson.

‘Even if this man doesn’t want me, let us, at least, get a decent lunch out of him,’ he had said to Archer. ‘Tell him the Ritz grill at one or I don’t play.’

‘I think it would be unwise, Mr. Patterson, for him to be seen here with you,’ Archer said. ‘Madame Rolfe might see you two together. My man appears to be occupied, but he could meet us at the Ritz grillroom at one o’clock tomorrow.’

‘Who the hell cares if he is occupied or not?’ Patterson snarled. ‘I’m hiring him, ain’t I?’

‘That we don’t know as yet. This man is very high-class, Mr. Patterson. He has many irons in the fire. If you could make an exception, I suggest it would be profitable for you to meet him as arranged.’

‘A goddamn gigolo!’

‘They have their uses, Mr. Patterson,’ Archer said mildly. ‘When he has persuaded Madame Rolfe to part with two million dollars, I think you will agree.’

Patterson stubbed out his cigar, then got to his feet.

‘Okay... the Ritz grill.’ He patted Archer on his shoulder. ‘You’re doing all right, Archer.’ He took out his wallet and produced a hundred-dollar bill. ‘Here... go buy yourself a drink.’

As Archer’s fingers closed over the bill, Patterson, slightly unsteady, stumped off down the corridor to the elevator.

Seated at a corner table in l’Espadon grillroom of the Ritz Hotel, with Patterson at his side, Archer watched Grenville make his entrance.

‘Here he is, Mr. Patterson,’ Archer said.

Grenville had kept them waiting a quarter of an hour, and Patterson was now in an ugly mood.

‘Who the hell does he think he is?’ he kept muttering as the minutes ticked away. ‘A goddamn gigolo!’

But Grenville’s entrance impressed him. Wearing an immaculate beige-coloured suit, Grenville paused at the entrance: nonchalant, confident, and imposingly handsome.

The maître d’hôtel hurried towards him.

‘Monsieur Grenville! This is a pleasure! You have been deserting us!’

As this was in French, Patterson squinted at Archer.

‘What’s he say?’

‘The maître d’hôtel says it is a pleasure to see Mr. Grenville again,’ Archer told him.

‘Is that right? The fink didn’t say that to me!’

Patterson watched Grenville shake hands with the maître d’hôtel, and then talk briefly; then the maître d’hôtel conducted him towards Patterson’s table. On the way Grenville paused as an elderly waiter, fat, balding, bowed to him.

‘Why, Henri, I thought you had retired,’ he said and shook hands.

‘Hell!’ Patterson muttered, obviously impressed. ‘This guy seems to be known here.’

‘And is known at all the most important restaurants in Paris,’ Archer said, delighted by the way Grenville was making his entrance. ‘I told you, Mr. Patterson, he is very high-class.’

Grenville reached their table.

‘Hello, Jack,’ he said, smiling at Archer, then he turned to Patterson. ‘You will be Mr. Patterson. I am Grenville.’

Patterson stared up at him, his mean little eyes probing. Archer was scared that Patterson was going to be difficult, but obviously, Grenville’s smooth, forcible personality had made an impact.

‘Yeah. Archer has been telling me about you.’

There was a waiter to pull out Grenville’s chair and he settled at the table.

‘It is over a year since I have been here,’ Grenville said. ‘I have many happy memories of this great hotel.’

The wine waiter was at his elbow.

‘Your usual, Mr. Grenville?’

Grenville nodded as Patterson gaped. The wine waiter went away and the maître d’hôtel arrived with the menus.

Grenville waved to Patterson.

‘Mr. Patterson is our host, Jacques,’ he said. ‘Remember him. He is influential and important.’

‘Certainly, Mr. Grenville,’ and the maître d’hôtel darted around the table and handed Patterson the menu. Thrown off his stride, Patterson stared at the menu which, being in French, he couldn’t read, then growled, ‘I’ll take onion soup and a rare steak.’