Джеймс Чейз - You're Dead Without Money

‘ “He’s a burglar,” Cindy said, ignoring Vin.

‘ “An interesting trio.” Elliot smiled at them. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. In my better days, I might have been tempted to give you fifty thousand, but you’ve arrived a little late.” He got to his feet. “I must be on my way.” He left the gun on the arm of the chair and moved to the door. “Take my tip... layoff the kidnapping racket. I don’t think you’re in that league.”

‘ “You’re right, Mr. Elliot,” Joey said. He paused, hesitated, then blurted out, “You’re not planning to make trouble for us? I mean... the police?”

‘ “Of course not,” Elliot said. “Who knows? In a little while the police may come looking for me.” He had said this jokingly but the truth of it suddenly struck him. He realized with a sense of shock that he was no better than these three professional thieves. They stole in a small way, but he had been stealing in a big way. By walking out like this he was stealing from the bank and his creditors. The nine thousand dollars in his hip pocket was stolen. The clothes on his back and in his suitcase were stolen. “Goddamn it,” he thought. “I’m a thief! I’m as dishonest as these three are!” Then into his mind came the memory of Louis de Marney as he said, “You have the opportunity of getting the stamps — how you get them is no business of ours — we will accept them from you, ask no questions and give you two hundred thousand.”

‘Elliot studied the three as they sat looking at him. Maybe with their help, he could get hold of these stamps. Suppose he paid them fifty thousand? That would leave him with a hundred and fifty. With that kind of money he could really have a ball before he called it a day.

‘The idea caught fire in his mind.

‘ “If you three really want fifty thousand,” he said, “how about earning it?” He came back to his chair and sat down. “How would you like to do a job with me?”

‘Vin eyed him suspiciously.

‘ “What kind of job?”

‘ “In your line.” Leaning forward, Elliot told them about the Russian stamps.’

As Louis de Marney was winding down the steel grille that protected the window of the gallery, he saw Elliot coming down the street from the parking lot. He nipped into Kendrick’s room to warn him.

Kendrick, who was preparing to go home, smiled his oily smile.

‘I was rather expecting him. Show him in, cheri, and stick around. I might just need you.’

As Louis returned to the gallery, Elliot opened the door and entered.

‘Why, Mr. Elliot! How nice!’ Louis gushed. ‘Did you want a little mot with Claude?’

‘Yeah,’ Elliot’s eyes were hard and his face tense. ‘He hasn’t gone yet?’

‘Just on the very point, but I know he’ll see you. You go right on ahead, Mr. Elliot.’

Elliot found Kendrick pouring himself a whisky.

‘My dear Don! What a nice surprise! Have some of this poison with me? It’s so bad to drink alone and Louis, the stupid dear, has given it up. All he thinks about is his figure.’

‘Thanks.’ Elliot closed the door, walked over to a chair and sat down.

Kendrick brought his drink, set it on a side table, then went behind his desk, folding his bulk into his chair.

‘What’s brought you here, cheri?’

Elliot lit a cigarette.

‘Tell me about these Russian stamps you’re interested in, Claude.’

‘If you can get them, Donny boy, I will...’

‘I know all that, Louis made it clear. Let’s have the dope about them and don’t, for God’s sake, call me Donny boy!’

‘So sorry... a slip of the tongue.’ Kendrick smirked. ‘Well... these stamps. They have an amusing history. About two years ago one of the Russian top shots — no names, of course, dear Don — thought he was entitled to have his face on a postage stamp. Let’s call him Mr. J. Well, at that time Mr. J. was powerful enough to persuade the merry gang to agree and the order went ahead to print the stamps. Mr. J. had a jealous enemy who suddenly and unexpectedly produced proof that Mr. J. wasn’t, after all, a loyal comrade but a thieving capitalist. The merry gang were horrified, stopped the print run of the stamps and ordered them all to be destroyed. It was inevitable, of course, that in the process Mr. J. also got himself destroyed. The merry gang realized that by stopping the print run of the stamps, the stamps already printed would be of tremendous value in the capitalist world. Fifteen thousand stamps had been printed. They were checked and eight were found to be missing. It was assumed that one of the printers had smuggled them out of the country for they turned up very briefly in Paris. A French stamp dealer approached a wealthy client of his, but before the client had time to make an offer, the French dealer was murdered and the stamps stolen. Since then, they have vanished but it is certain someone and not the Russians have them. A client of mine is ready to pay a substantial sum for them. For the past year he has made searching inquiries. Every big collector has been approached. They have, without exception, been frank about the approach, saying if they had the stamps they would accept the deal offered. My client is satisfied that they are being truthful. The one and only important philatelist who ignores my client is Larrimore. This seems to us to indicate that he has the stamps and won’t part at any price, but we could be wrong. He just might be bloody minded. As you are a friend of his, we think it’s possible for you to make certain he does have the stamps.’

‘All this fuss about eight stamps?’ Elliot said, staring at Kendrick. ‘And all the same stamps? Just how much is your client willing to pay for them?’

Kendrick removed his wig, looked inside it as if he expected to find something growing in there and then replaced it.

‘That we needn’t go into, dear Don. All that is necessary for you to know is what we are going to pay you.’

‘But why me? I’m an amateur. If your man is so keen to get the stamps why doesn’t he hire experts to break into Larrimore’s house and steal the stamps? Why me?’

Kendrick finished his whisky, blotted his mouth with a silk handkerchief and smiled.

‘My dear boy! Larrimore owns around 300,000 stamps. How could a burglar find the wanted stamps among all those? What you need to find out is how he classifies his stamps. In what case he keeps his Russian stamps and how to get at them quickly. Without this knowledge, it would take weeks to find them.’

Elliot considered this.

‘Yeah. Suppose I get near them? How do I know they’re the stamps you want?’

‘That is a good question.’ Kendrick opened a drawer in his desk, took from it a steel box, found a key and opened the box.

‘Here is a photostat of the stamp. It’s nothing to look at and as you will see it is easily identified.’ He passed the Photostat across the desk.

Elliot examined the stamp. As Kendrick had said it was nothing to look at: the head of a man with the face of a charging bull and CCCP in the right hand corner.

‘Well, okay... I’ll see what I can do,’ Elliot said, putting the photostat back on the desk.

‘You must be careful how you approach Larrimore,’ Kendrick said quietly. ‘He has already been offered a very large sum of money for the stamps and he has ignored the offer. If he has the stamps and if he becomes suspicious he might come under pressure, he could put the stamps in a bank vault. If he does that, then the operation will be sunk. So caution is the word.’

Elliot nodded.

‘This is really a shot in the dark,’ Kendrick went on. ‘Although we feel it is highly likely that Larrimore has the stamps, we don’t know for certain. As I have told you, my client has approached every likely collector and has drawn a blank, but there might just possibly be some little collector and not Larrimore who has the stamps. So, first, you must find out if Larrimore has them. If he has them, you must find out where he keeps them.’ Kendrick paused, then went on, ‘I’ve been thinking, dear Don. It might be wiser if you got me this information — that he has the stamps and where he keeps them — and for me to pass this information on to my client for him to take action himself. We would still pay you the two hundred thousand and you would run no risk. What do you think?’