Джеймс Чейз - You're Dead Without Money

Vin suddenly relaxed. So this rich, powerful punk was that eager, he thought.

‘I’ll call back. I’m busy right now. Maybe I can fit you in sometime tonight,’ he said and he hung up.

Leaning on the table, staring at the telephone, he felt a surge of power. A million dollars! Maybe he could squeeze a million and a half out of this punk! So he called the President by his first name! So he was the biggest wheeler-dealer in the world! Well, Vin thought, I’ll show him! If he wants these stamps so goddamn bad, then he’ll sweat for them.

Holtz came across the terrace to where Radnitz was sitting, staring out to sea.

‘The call was from the Seagull bungalow, sir.’

‘It would be this man Pinna?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you Lessing’s report for this morning?’

‘Yes, sir. Elliot and Miss Luck left the bungalow at 10.00. They are being followed. Luck left at 10.45. He is also being followed.’

Radnitz nodded.

‘Keep me informed,’ he said and waved Holtz away.

At the Excelsior hotel, Elliot shut himself in an air-conditioned telephone booth and waited for his connection to C.I.A. headquarters, Washington.

Through the glass panel he could see Cindy sitting across the lounge, looking anxiously at him. He waved to her as he was connected. He asked to speak to Mr. Lee Humphrey. He went through the usual rigmarole of talking to an undersecretary, then to a secretary, then finally Humphrey came on the line himself.

‘Mr. Humphrey, I wish to remain anonymous,’ Elliot said. ‘I understand your organization is interested in eight Russian stamps.’

There was no hesitation in Humphrey’s booming voice as he said, ‘That is correct. If you have any information regarding these stamps, it is your duty to the State to give that information right here and now.’

Elliot grimaced.

‘My duty to the State? Would you expand on that?’

‘The State wants these stamps. Every philatelist in the country has been notified to this effect. There is a penalty of three years’ imprisonment and a thirty thousand dollar fine if anyone holding these stamps does not send them immediately to me.’

‘Can you tell me, Mr. Humphrey, just why these stamps are so important to the State?’

‘I can’t tell you that. Have you the stamps?’

‘It would make a difference if I knew,’ Elliot said. ‘If you will be frank with me and tell me just why these stamps are so important I will answer your question.’

‘I can’t tell you over an open line. If you have these stamps or know where they are or have any information it is your duty to go to the nearest C.I.A. office and either deliver the stamps or give information.’

‘You keep talking about duty, Mr. Humphrey. I’ve been offered a million dollars for these stamps. Is the State making an offer?’

‘That we can discuss. So you have them?’

‘I’ll call you back later,’ Elliot said, aware that he had talked long enough on this telephone. He hung up. Taking out his handkerchief, he carefully wiped the receiver, then the door handle of the booth. Satisfied he had got rid of any fingerprints, he walked over to where Cindy was sitting.

She could see by the expression oil his face he was worried.

‘What is it, Don?’

He told her of the conversation he had had with Humphrey and as she listened, her eyes grew round.

‘Duty to the State?’ She put her hand on his. ‘What does that mean?’

‘The C.I.A. aren’t dramatic,’ Elliot said. ‘It seems to me well have to give them the stamps. The last thing we want is to get the C.I.A. after us.’

‘Let’s go home, get the stamps and send them,’ Cindy said. ‘What do you think they can mean... duty to the State?’

Elliot gave her a little nudge as two big men, quietly dressed, came swiftly into the hotel lounge. One of them went to the girl who was in control of the switchboard, spoke to her, then went to the booth where Elliot had made his call.

‘The C.I.A.,’ Elliot said. ‘Just take it easy. I want to see what they do.’

One of the men was closely dusting the receiver for fingerprints while the other went to the hall porter and began to question him.

‘Okay, Cindy, let’s go.’ Elliot got casually to his feet.

The hotel lobby was swarming with tourists and by walking slowly, pushing their way through the crowd, they attracted no attention.

‘I’ve got to talk to Humphrey again,’ Elliot said. ‘We’ll drive to Dayton Beach.’

They got into the Alfa Romeo and Elliot headed north. Cindy looked anxiously at him as he drove. There was a bitter expression on his face now and it frightened her.

‘Don... let’s go back,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can get by. We don’t have to have this money. If you’ll stay with dad and me...’

‘Skip it,’ Elliot said curtly. ‘I told you how it was going to be, Cindy. There’s something fatal about me. We’ve met... we’ve liked each other... we’ve had a good time together... that’s as far as it’s going to go. Just take it easy... I want to think.’

Cindy relapsed into silence: her hands into fists, gripped between her knees.

As Elliot drove up the broad highway, his mind wrestled with the problem. For some important reason, these stamps were at priority. The C.I.A. wouldn’t have said this unless it was true. ‘ Your duty to the State .’ Against that there was Radnitz offering a million. Radnitz had dealings with the Soviet Union. This must mean that the Russians were as anxious to get the stamps as were the C.I.A. If he gave the stamps to Humphrey in the hope he would be paid a reward, he was certain Humphrey would want to know from whom he had got the stamps and this would involve Larrimore. That was, to Elliot, unthinkable. The only way was to mail the stamps to Humphrey and kiss the million goodbye.

The money doesn’t matter, Cindy had said, and he could believe that. She and Joey had lived for years on a shoestring, stealing, living simply and they could go back to their old way of life. Vin didn’t matter. He would always look after himself.

Elliot whipped the Alfa past a Cadillac as he turned his thoughts to himself. This was the end of the road, he thought. Well, what did it matter? He had had fun for eight or nine days: something he couldn’t remember having had for a long, long time. It was still a good movie script. He had outfoxed Vin without the aid of the scriptwriters. He would talk again to Humphrey and tell him that the stamps were on their way. He would drive Cindy back to Paradise City. Tell Vin the operation was abortive. He was confident he could take care of Vin if Vin turned ugly. Then, he would walk out, get in the Alfa and drive to Hollywood. Sleeping pills would take care of the rest of the story. His non-existent foot began to ache. He would be better off, he thought, with no future. He remembered what he had said to Cindy: You’re dead without money .

He glanced at her. She was sitting motionless, looking through the windshield, her lips parted, her face a mask of misery. For a little while, he thought, she would suffer, but she was young. In a year or so, he would be just a romantic memory. He reached out and patted her hand.

‘It’ll work out, Cindy,’ he said. ‘It always does.’

She didn’t look at him, but she moved her hand and gripped his.

Later, he pulled up outside the Beach hotel at Dayton Beach.

‘Wait here, Cindy,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

During the drive they had scarcely spoken and Cindy was in despair. She felt now she had lost this man who meant so much to her. A barrier had grown up between them and she was fearful of what he intended to do.

Again inside an air-conditioned telephone booth, Elliot called Humphrey.