Джеймс Чейз - You're Dead Without Money

Barney shook his head in disbelief.

‘That’s never happened before. If I told you the number of times I’ve been photographed by these tourist jerks you wouldn’t believe it.’

‘A nickel,’ I said.

He dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

‘Let’s get back to Don Elliot,’ he said firmly and rapped his empty glass on the table. He waited until Sam had brought him a refill, then went on, ‘As I was saying, Elliot’s luck ran out. He had completed six movies and Pacific Pictures were drafting a new contract that would give him 20 % of the producer’s profits, and that, from what I have been told, would have netted him a million bucks, plus all expenses and so on and so on. The contract was finally ready to sign, and Lewishon, his agent, called him from Hollywood and asked him to come on up and sign it. At this time, Elliot had found another doll he imagined he was in love with. I saw her: a good-looking chick if you like them skinny: blonde, of course, with flashing green eyes and tits that should have been muzzled. The two of them left here in the racing Porsche for Hollywood. Halfway to Hollywood, the girl wanted to drive. As Eliot was nuts about her, he let her. She had no more idea of handling a racing car than I have. At around a hundred and five miles an hour, she hit a truck. His safety belt saved him, but she took the steering wheel messily in her chest. When Elliot came to in a private, top class clinic, he found Sol Lewishon and the President of Pacific Pictures at his bedside.’ Barney drank a little beer and persuaded his fat face to look sad. ‘Maybe you read about it in the newspapers?’ he asked.

I said I must have missed it. I didn’t have much time to read newspapers and news from Hollywood seldom interested me.

Barney nodded.

‘The chick was killed of course and they had a lot of trouble digging Elliot out of what was left of his car. To get him out, they had to cut off his left foot that had got caught in the wreckage.

‘The President of Pacific Pictures, a guy called Meyer, told him not to worry, to get well and then come and see him. Then he left. He had only come because he wanted to be sure Elliot had really lost his foot. He couldn’t believe it when the news had been relayed to him. One moment he had a big money spinner who jumped, ran, rode, swam, climbed, fought and did all the things Flynn had done and now he had a hunk of good looking flesh minus a foot.’

Barney sat back and regarded me.

‘You get the photo, mister? A guy with a potential earning power of a million bucks suddenly without a foot. Quite a thing, huh?’

I agreed.

‘Elliot was under sedation and had no idea he had lost his foot. Lewishon knew the goose that had been laying golden eggs for him was now washed up. He would have to hunt up another handsome hunk of flesh from somewhere and persuade Meyer to start grooming all over again and he knew he couldn’t afford to waste time on Elliot. He broke the news to Elliot that he had lost a foot, said they must get together when Elliot left the clinic, said he would talk to Meyer and scrammed.

‘A month later, Elliot was back in Paradise City. He came back a changed man: hard, sour and bitter. He didn’t see any of his so-called friends. He kept to himself. A couple of months later he was fixed up with a tin foot. He had a lot of guts and he really persevered with the tin foot. He got so he could walk normally without a shade of a limp, but running, jumping, fighting and so on were now strictly for the birds. Also the tin foot gave him a complex. Before losing his foot he spent a lot of time with the dollies in his swimming pool, but you don’t go swimming with a tin foot.

‘Elliot used to lay some girl three or four times a week, but it is sort of embarrassing to get into bed with a doll when what should have been a foot is a red looking stump. But that was only a small piece of his troubles. As soon as he was satisfied he could walk normally, he took a plane to Hollywood and called on Lewishon. When he walked into his agent’s office, Lewishon gaped at him. He had written Elliot off but seeing this big, sun bronzed handsome guy come in the way he used to come in revived Lewishon’s hopes for more golden eggs.

‘He immediately contacted Meyer, but Meyer knew Elliot was a non-starter. He knew Elliot had no acting talent. To him, a cut and thrust merchant with a tin foot was as saleable as a contraceptive to a eunuch. He said he was sorry, but no dice. To give him his due, Lewishon tried, but when Meyer said “no”, he meant no.

‘When Lewishon broke the news, Elliot stared at him, white faced. “So what the hell am I going to live on?” he demanded.

‘Lewishon was puzzled that Elliot was taking this so badly.

‘ “What are you worrying about?” he asked impatiently. “You have royalties coming in on three movies. You can count on at least $30,000 a year for the next five years and a little less for another five years. You won’t starve and who knows what’ll happen after ten years — we could all be dead.”

‘Elliot’s hands turned into fists.

‘ “I owe money everywhere,” he said. “Thirty thousand is chick feed. I was relying on this new contract to get me out of my hole.”

‘Lewishon shrugged.

‘ “Sell the villa. You could raise half a million on that.”

‘ “It’s not mine, goddamn it! It’s mortgaged to the roof!”

‘ “Okay, Don, let’s get down to it. How much do you owe?”

Elliot lifted his hands in despair.

‘ “I don’t know, but it’s plenty... something like two hundred thousand... probably more.”

‘Lewishon thought for a moment. He was a sharpie and he saw a chance of making a good investment. Elliot’s six movies could bring in an income of around $30,000 for the next five years and after five years they could still bring in something. He said he might find someone (meaning himself) to buy the rights and pay Elliot $100,000 cash down.

‘Elliot tried to get him to make it $150,000 and Lewishon said he would see what he could do. Elliot went back to Paradise City and waited.

‘Finally, Lewishon persuaded him to accept the $100,000 and with his back to the wall, Elliot agreed. He got the cash, but from that moment he was out on a limb.

‘The money went to settling some of his debts. There was something fatal about Elliot. He just couldn’t stop spending. He should have cleared out of the villa and taken a small apartment. He should have got rid of his staff who he paid well and who ate their heads off. He shouldn’t have ordered the new Rolls that cost around $30,000, promising to pay later.

‘He knew he was heading for a god-awful crash, but there was nothing he seemed able to do to avoid it.

‘At the back of his mind there was the thought of suicide. When the crash finally came, he told himself, he would empty a bottle of sleeping tablets down his throat and that would be that.

‘If this was to be his end, he decided, then he would make hay while the sun shone. He began to entertain again. His parties weren’t the success they used to be because he wasn’t the same man he used to be. His hard, cynical jeering attitude bothered people. Nobody had an idea that he was without money. By now, everyone knew about his tin foot and that he was washed up in movies, but they believed he had stashed away enough when he was in the money to be still a very rich man.

‘Then one day he got a call from his bank manager, asking him to drop in and have a talk. Elliot knew what this meant He dropped in and had a talk. His account was in the red for twenty thousand dollars and the bank manager who often played golf with him said regretfully he couldn’t give him any more credit. “Head Office is pressing me to get this overdraft reduced,” he said. “What can you do about it, Don?”