Джеймс Чейз - You're Dead Without Money

Elliot relaxed a little.

The thought of breaking into Larrimore’s house, even with Vin to help him, had bothered him. If it was only information that Kendrick wanted, then the set-up looked much more reasonable.

‘I’ll go along with that. Okay, Claude, you leave this to me.’

Kendrick got to his feet.

‘I have to run, cheri. A dreadful cocktail party looms ahead but it is good for business. One must sacrifice oneself. If there is anything further I can do to be helpful, do ask. I can rely on you to be most careful?’

‘Sure... I’m in this for the money... same as you.’ Elliot got to his feet.

Kendrick waited until he heard Louis shut and lock the gallery door after Elliot, then he picked up the telephone receiver, dialled a number and waited. When the connection was made he said, ‘The Belvedere Hotel? Please connect me with Mr. Radnitz. This is Mr. Claude Kendrick calling.’

Barney broke off to blot his eyes with the back of his wrist.

‘These sausages, Mr. Campbell, have a kick like a mule, but they are good for the digestion. You have one.’

I said a mule and my digestion were things apart and I would rather not.

Barney shrugged his immense shoulders, rinsed his mouth with some beer, collected his thoughts which apparently had been disturbed by the last sausage and settled down to his story again.

‘Now, I bring upon the stage yet another character,’ he said. ‘Herman Radnitz.’ He paused and blew out his cheeks. ‘Radnitz comes to this City from time to time and rents all the year round the penthouse at this hotel, the Belvedere. Let me tell you the penthouse costs a lot of solid bread, but Radnitz is rich. I’ve seen him two or three times, and frankly, if I never saw him again, it wouldn’t put me off my beer. Let me give you a photo of him. Imagine a short, square-shaped man with hooded eyes that would shame a bullfrog and a thick, hooked nose. I am told he is one of the richest men in the world and to my thinking looks the meanest sonofabitch I’ve yet seen and that, mister, is saying a lot.

‘I’m told he is internationally known for his financial machinations, has power over Foreign Embassies, has fingers in any international deal worth more than five million dollars, is a power behind the Iron Curtain and is on first name terms with the political top shots throughout the world.

‘This is the man who wanted Mr. J.’s stamps. He has a vast organization of slaves who work for him and — so some people whisper — kill for him. He had instructed these people to find the stamps and after a year of systematic digging the gap had been narrowed to Larrimore.

‘Radnitz found it an odd coincidence that the stamps just might be in his favourite City where he spent a few weeks a year relaxing. He had dealt with Kendrick’s gallery and because he always believed in putting on file information about anyone he dealt with he had Kendrick investigated. He learned that Kendrick was not only a dealer in fine art, but also a fence. Having tried to approach Larrimore and failed, Radnitz decided to see what Kendrick could do.’

Barney paused to eat the last of the sausages. I waited until the expected reaction took place. Then when Barney had recovered, he said, ‘You get the photo, Mr. Campbell? Okay for me to go ahead or are there any questions?’

I said I was listening and there were no questions.

Ko-Yu, Radnitz’s Japanese chauffeur and valet, opened the door of the luxury penthouse suite and bowed Kendrick inside.

‘Mr. Radnitz is expecting you, sir,’ Ko-Yu said. ‘Please to find him on the terrace.’

Kendrick went through the big living room and out on to the terrace where Radnitz, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and cotton slacks was sitting at a table covered with documents.

‘Ah, Kendrick, come and sit down,’ Radnitz said. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘No, thank you, sir,’ Kendrick said and sat down away from the table.

Radnitz scared him, but he was sure this squat toad of a man could make money for him and money was the principal thing in Kendrick’s life, apart, of course, from the glamour boys who buzzed around him like bees around a hive.

‘Have you any news for me?’ Radnitz asked, rolling a cigar between his stumpy fingers. ‘The stamps?’

‘There is progress, sir.’ Kendrick explained about Elliot.

Radnitz listened, his eyes hooded.

‘Larrimore has no friends,’ Kendrick went on, ‘except Elliot. I thought...’

‘Don’t let’s waste time,’ Radnitz broke in curtly. ‘I know all about Larrimore. Tell me about Elliot... a movie star, if I remember rightly?’

Kendrick explained about Elliot’s financial position: how he had lost his foot and how he (Kendrick) had put on the pressure and now how Elliot had agreed to cooperate.

‘And you think he will succeed?’

‘I hope so, sir.’

‘And if he doesn’t what other suggestions have you to make?’

Kendrick began to sweat.

‘At the moment, I am relying on him, but if he fails, I will think of something.’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘Larrimore has a daughter,’ Kendrick said. ‘Perhaps we could use her to put pressure on Larrimore.’

‘I am aware that he has a daughter,’ Radnitz said stonily. ‘Of course I have considered this possibility. But first we must be certain Larrimore has the stamps. If he has — if Elliot fails us — then we might use the daughter.’

‘Yes,’ Kendrick said, ‘but I’m hoping Elliot won’t fail... he has the incentive.’

‘Very well. Keep me informed.’ Radnitz made a gesture of dismissal. ‘Thank you for coming,’ and he reached for a document on the table.

When Kendrick had gone, Radnitz laid down the document and clapped his hands three times.

After a short delay his secretary and personal assistant came out on to the terrace. This man was tall, thin, balding, with deep-set eyes and a thin, cruel mouth. His name was Gustav Holtz. He was as important to Radnitz as Radnitz’s own right hand. A mathematical genius, a man with no scruples, with eight languages at his fingertips and with shrewd political know-how, Holtz served Radnitz well.

‘Don Elliot,’ Radnitz said without looking around. ‘One time movie star. Open a file on him. Have him covered. I want to be informed of his movements — a daily report. Be sure he doesn’t become aware that he is being watched. Cover this immediately.’

‘Yes, Mr. Radnitz,’ Holtz said.

Knowing his order would be scrupulously obeyed, Radnitz again picked up the document and dismissed Elliot from his mind.

As he drove back to the bungalow, Elliot did some heavy thinking.

With Vin, Cindy and Joey willing to help him, he was now enthusiastic about getting hold of these Russian stamps. This seemed to him not only to be an exciting adventure and a solution to his financial problems but also a challenge in the best tradition of a movie plot. After Kendrick’s warning, he realized a direct approach to Larrimore was out of the question. He hadn’t seen Larrimore for more than three months. He had never been to his house. He couldn’t ‘accidentally’ run into him at the golf club. He had to steer clear there. Too many of his creditors were members and besides, his subscription was long overdue. This wasn’t going to be easy and his mind searched for another solution. Then he thought of Larrimore’s daughter. She could be a possibility, he thought. Yes... this could be the solution.

He was still thinking when he pulled up outside the bungalow.

He found Vin on his own. Joey and Cindy had just left in the Jaguar on a self-service store raid.

After Elliot had explained the possibilities of stealing the stamps, Vin had become more cooperative. The thought of being paid fifty thousand dollars for stealing a few postage stamps appealed to him. In spite of the way Elliot had physically handled him, Vin was impressed by this handsome movie star. He felt instinctively that if anyone could plan this steal, Elliot would be the one to do it.