Джеймс Чейз - You're Dead Without Money

Levi kept behind the scenes in his small, pokey office. Although Levi made a large and steady income from the junk he sold, he made an even larger and even more steady income from handling loot the local thieves offered him and at a much bigger profit.

Abe Levi was tall and thin with a balding head, a hooked nose and eyes as impersonal as bottle stoppers. He regarded Vin as Vin sat by Abe’s old-fashioned roll top desk and what Abe saw he didn’t like. He didn’t like handsome men. He dealt with the small fry of the City’s thieves who were invariably shabby and far from handsome. This tall, bronzed man in his immaculate suit and outrageous tie and his arrogance made Abe instinctively hostile.

Vin had explained who he was and that he was looking for a job to pull. Abe listened, stroking his hooked nose with thin boney fingers, shooting quick glances at Vin and then looking away.

‘If I find something,’ Vin concluded, ‘are you in the market to buy?’

Abe didn’t hesitate.

‘No.’

The flat note and the hostile expression sent a wave of hot anger up Vin’s spine.

‘What do you mean?’ he snarled. ‘You’re in the goddamn business, aren’t you?’

Abe fixed Vin with his bottle stopper eyes.

‘I’m in the business but not to outsiders. There’s nothing here for you in this City. Try Miami. They take outsiders. We don’t.’

‘Is that right?’ Vin leaned forward, his big hands into fists. ‘If you don’t want my business, there are plenty who will.’

Abe continued to stroke his nose.

‘Young man, don’t do it,’ he said, ‘This City is a closed shop. We have enough working here without outsiders. Go to Miami, but don’t try to operate here.’

‘Thanks for nothing. So I operate here,’ Vin said, red showing through his bronze. ‘Who’s going to stop me?’

‘The cops,’ Abe said. ‘The cops here know there must be a certain amount of crime in this City. They accept this, but they don’t accept a new face. Someone will tip them that a new face has arrived and the owner of the new face has ideas. In a few days that new face is either run out of the City or else lands up behind bars. Take my tip: there’s nothing here for you. Go to Miami. That’s a fine city for a young man like you... but don’t try anything here.’

Vin stared for a long moment at this tall, thin Jew and it dawned on him that this old man was being helpful in his odd way. He lifted his shoulders and stood up.

‘Well, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it,’ and turning, he made his way through the shop, ignoring the Indian girls who were ogling him hopefully and into the hot sunlight of the waterfront.

For the first time in his life, he felt a lack of confidence and a nagging fear that soon his money would run out. He didn’t want to leave Paradise City. He wanted to be with Cindy. But what was he to do? He knew a warning when he was given a warning and Abe Levi had shown him the red light.

With lagging steps, he walked to where he had parked the Jaguar.

A middle aged, fat, blonde woman, followed by a man who could have been her husband came into the bar. They climbed up on stools and ordered whisky on the rocks. The man, weedy, balding, wearing a bush jacket and crumpled khaki slacks divested himself of two expensive looking cameras which were festooned around his neck. He stared around and his eyes finally came to rest on Barney who was putting away the third tier of his second hamburger.

The weedy man nudged the fat blonde who swivelled her head and eyed Barney, her pale blue eyes popping. This woman had managed to wedge her enormous hips into a pair of flame coloured shorts. I felt that any extra movement from her would make the shorts give at the seams. Over her vast frontage, she had on a lightweight sweater with a pattern of orange rings against a white background.

‘One of the local characters, Tim,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘I love this City. You can’t move a yard without finding something exciting to look at.’

Barney looked a little smug.

‘You know, Mr. Campbell, people notice me,’ he said. ‘Mr. Dulac is right. I am a tourist attraction.’ He pointed his big finger at my chest. ‘I’ll bet you a nickel before those two leave, the punk will want to take my photograph.’

I said it was a bet, but how about getting on with this story of his?

Barney nodded.

‘Yeah... well, you know about Joey, Cindy and Vin. We’ll leave them for the moment with the outlook for Vin bleak. He could, of course, have moved on to Jacksonville and tried his luck there, but he now had this rooted idea that he had to pull off the big one so he could settle with Cindy and Joey for at least a couple of years before looking for another job, and he knew Paradise City was about the only city apart from Miami where you could find loot worth fifty thousand bucks in one quick, safe steal.’

Seeing the fat woman was still gaping at him, Barney wigwagged with his bushy eyebrows and gave her a leering grin. The woman looked hastily away and leaning close to her husband, she began to whisper.

‘She’s a little shy,’ Barney said. ‘You wait. They’ll be over here wanting my photo.’ As I said nothing, he went on, ‘Now I’ll tell you about Don Elliot. You’ve seen plenty of pictures of him: a tall, well-built guy, handsome, dark and with that sexy look most women can’t resist.

‘When Errol Flynn kicked off, there was an opening for a movie actor to take his place. Pacific Pictures had Elliot under contract and they realized, with careful grooming, they could move him into Flynn’s market. They groomed him and he delivered. His first three movies went well and did big box office. He was a mixture of Flynn and Fairbanks senior. As you said, no actor, but a good cut and thrust merchant. His agent, Sol Lewishon, was smart enough to get Elliot on a percentage deal after the third movie and Elliot really moved into the dough. Like most movie stars, he was a heavy spender.’ Barney paused to eat the last of the hamburger. ‘It’s an odd thing with these movie people. They have this inferiority complex. You know what I mean?’ He stared at me with his small, calculating eyes. ‘They think if they don’t live it up the rest of the world will think they’re cheapies. They have to have big cars, flash women, big houses, swimming pools. They have to throw their money around. Elliot was like that. He came to Paradise City and built a villa up on the hill and this villa, Mr. Campbell, sure as death, had everything. I heard it cost around half a million bucks. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, maybe not. It wasn’t all that big, but it had everything. One of my newspaper friends wrote an article about the villa and he showed me some of the photos.’ Barney drew in a long slow breath. ‘It had every gimmick you can imagine. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms and a living room that could hold two hundred people without them breathing down each other’s necks, a dining hall, swimming pool, a playroom, sauna baths, barbecue — you name it, Elliot had it. He even had his own movie theatre.

‘He had three cars: a Rolls, an Alfa and a Porsche racer. He was a sociable guy and he was liked. The rich creeps living here entertained him and were entertained by him. His movies were great box office. Things looked set for him, but as so often happens, his luck ran out.’

At this moment the fat woman and her weedy husband finished their drinks and got off their stools. Barney looked at me and winked, then sat back, preening himself, stroking out the wrinkles in his sweatshirt. The fat woman and her husband went out of the bar without looking at him and they disappeared into the crowd moving along the waterfront. There was a long pause, then I said gently that he owed me a nickel.