Джеймс Чейз - Believe This... You’ll Believe Anything

‘I’ll do that myself when I reach San Salvador. I don’t want the taxi to wait.’

‘Right. There’s one little thing, Mr. Vidal. The fare is nine hundred and eighty-five, cash,’ I leaned heavily on the last word.

‘Tell them to put it on my account,’ and he hung up.

Cursing under my breath, I dialled his number again. He must have been near the telephone for he answered himself.

‘What is it now?’ he demanded.

‘Burden here again, Mr. Vidal. You have no account with Florida Air Taxi service. They want cash.’

‘They want... WHAT?’

His bellow made me snatch the receiver from my ear.

‘The manager was emphatic, Mr. Vidal,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry but the ticket has to be paid for before take-off.’

‘No one can treat me like that!’ He sounded as if he were going to break a blood vessel. ‘Now listen to me Burden. I’m employing you because my wife tells me you are efficient. Then be efficient! Tell this sonofabitch I expect a month’s credit or I’ll see he loses his job!’ and he slammed down the receiver.

I sat for some moments breathing heavily, then bracing myself, I called the Air Taxi service.

Everet came on the line.

‘This is Burden,’ I said, my voice trying to drip honey. ‘Mr. Vidal hasn’t that much cash until the banks open. Can’t you stretch this as a favour? He could put a lot of business your way if you play nice.’

‘No cash, no ride. Those are my instructions, Mr. Burden. Sorry.’

‘Mr. Vidal could get tricky, Mr. Everet. He could take this up with your management.’

Everet gave a snorting grunt.

‘Did that phony dwarf threaten to get me the gate, Mr. Burden?’

‘Well, yes. That seemed to be his thinking.’

‘Is that right? Would you please give him a personal message from me? Tell him, with my compliments, to go screw himself. Should I repeat that, Mr. Burden?’

‘No, thank you, Mr. Everet. You’ve made it beautifully clear. No cash, no ride.’

‘That’s it. Do I cancel?’

‘I’ll call you back,’ I said wearily.

I dialled Vidal’s number and waited. As if expecting me, Vidal came on the line.

‘Well? Have you fixed it Burden,’ he barked.

‘I’m sorry Mr. Vidal. Perhaps I had better repeat exactly what Everet said. No cash, no ride, and with his compliments, please tell him to go screw himself.’

Well, there goes my job, I thought. Having had a tiny taste of it, I wasn’t sorry. I would have to find some other way of meeting Val. This way was too much.

‘Was that what he said?’ Vidal’s voice had suddenly gone quiet.

‘His exact words.’

‘Go screw myself?’

‘That is correct.’

To my startled surprise Vidal gave his short, barking laugh.

‘You have more guts than I thought Burden. Always tell me the truth. You are way ahead of these lousy yes-men I have around me. Tell Everet he’ll get cash and I’ll be at the airfield at 06.15,’ and he hung up.

I arrived at the Vidal residence at 08.50. I had had scarcely any sleep and I was feeling tense at the thought of seeing Val again. As soon as I had parked my car, I went to Dyer’s office. As a member of the staff, I didn’t bother to announce myself to the receptioness. I tapped on Dyer’s door and entered.

He was sipping a cup of coffee, a big pile of unopened mail before him.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I heard about last night. Never be surprised at the surprises Tiny will surprise you with. As I told you no hours are sacred to him. Burning to make a start?’

‘Where do I go?’

‘I’ll show you.’ He finished his coffee, got to his feet and moved out of his office. ‘You will be working in the residence. Mrs. V. wouldn’t want to work here. I’ve spent the whole week fixing your office. Consider yourself favoured.’ While he was talking, he led the way along the azalea lined path to the house. ‘Everything fancy, of course. Mrs. V. has luxury tastes.’ We entered the house and he led me through a big hall crammed with armour and old weapons and up a wide staircase, along a passage to a door at the far end. Opening it, he stood aside and waved me in. ‘Make yourself at home. The big desk is yours. The desk with the I.B.M. is for Mrs. V. The schedules are on your desk. Go to it, brave heart. I must return to my slum. See you,’ and he withdrew.

I leaned against the door and looked around the big, sunlit room. It was luxurious all right. The big french windows looked on to the swimming pool. My desk was big enough to play billiards on. There were four telephones, an intercom and nearby a Telex machine. A Grundig recorder stood on a small table by the desk. I went around and sat in the executive chair. Opposite me was a slightly smaller desk, equipped with an I.B.M. Executive, two telephones, a Grundig recorder and an array of pencils and ball points. The room was air conditioned. It was certainly the most luxe office I had yet worked in.

On the snow white blotter were a dozen or so thick envelopes. The time now was 09.00. I wondered when Val would appear. Remembering that Dyer had said I would be busy, I picked up one of the envelopes and opened it.

It contained a brief to transport Mr. and Mrs. William Jackson for a two week stay in Rangoon, hotel to be arranged V.I.P. Two passports were included. Visas would be required.

It suddenly dawned on me what I had taken on. If this travel brief had come to me at the A.T.S. office, I would have sent it to Massingham who had the staff to deal quickly and efficiently with it and obtain the visas. Apart from Val who hadn’t yet appeared, I had no staff. The Burmese Consulate was in Miami: a trip of over an hour there and back. There was always a delay at any Consulate. I couldn’t hope to get the visas back here under four hours: a waste of the whole morning. This just wasn’t realistic.

I looked at the intercom, found Dyer’s name under one of the switches and called him.

‘This is Burden,’ I said. ‘I want a leg-man to go to Miami right away. Will you fix it?’

‘Not my pigeon I am glad to say old boy. Try Lucas. He handles staff problems. So sorry,’ and he snapped up his switch.

I located Bernard Lucas’s number, called him and explained my problem.

‘We have no one to spare.’ His dry voice sounded completely uncooperative. ‘I don’t know anything about this. I was under the impression we deal with the A.T.S. Why not ask them?’

‘We are not dealing with them anymore.’ I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice. ‘I’m handling the travel end now for Mr. Vidal. I want a leg-man.’

‘Then you’ll have to speak to Mr. Vidal. I have no authority to engage additional staff,’ and he hung up.

This was something Val would have to cope with, I told myself. I looked at the brief again and saw the Jacksons were due off early the day after tomorrow. This would be cutting it very fine to get their visas in time. At least I could book the flight, lay on a car and fix their hotel accommodation. This I did, using the telephone and the telex. That was as far as I could go with this brief. I put the papers back into the envelope and opened another. This was for transport for Mr. Jason, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Fremlin and Mr. McFeddy to Tokyo. The usual Vidal V.I.P. treatment. Mr. Jason needed to be reminded to have a smallpox shot and Mr. McFeddy needed a visa. I cursed them both. They were due off in three days’ time. I got on to the Jap airlines and booked their flight, then telexed the Pacific hotel, Tokyo for accommodation.

But why go on? Each envelope I opened contained some headache or another. Dyer had certainly passed me the buck. There was still no sign of Val. I worked fast but without someone to do the typing I was hamstrung.