Джеймс Чейз - So What Happens To Me?

‘Yes.’ He heaved himself to his feet, went to a desk, opened a drawer and after fumbling around for some moments, returned with a roll of bills. ‘You have no doubt that this aircraft will be safely delivered?’

‘Bernie delivers it. I don’t. Ask him.’ I put the money in my hip pocket.

‘You are satisfied with the runway?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Is there anything else to discuss?’

I got to my feet.

‘Not right now. When will the passports be ready?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon.’

‘I’ll pick them up.’ As I started for the door, he said. ‘You foresee no trouble?’

I stared at him.

‘Not from our side. Have you the money ready? One and a half million dollars?’

‘It will be ready by the end of the week.’

‘I’ll be giving you instructions how to deliver it. We have had a change of ideas about payment. We’re forming a company in Mexico. I’ll give you details later.’

He squinted at me.

‘How very wise to form a company.’

‘Yeah.’ I again stared at him. ‘The kite doesn’t move until we get the advance payment.’

‘I understand.’ He paused, then went on, ‘If you need a sound Mexican lawyer...’

I cut him short.

‘I’ll handle that end of it. Well, so long,’ and left him.

I drove to the Florida Airlines and booked a 10.00 flight to Mexico City on September 6th, then with nothing else to do, I drove down to the beach and spent the rest of the afternoon chatting up a dolly bird who had a Playboy body and a mind like a hole in a wall. Still, she amused me and then, when the sun began to set, she announced she had to return home to cook her husband’s dinner. We parted amicably.

I decided I would take Tim out for a last drinking spree but I found him already packing. He apologised for not coming with me.

‘I’m leaving at the crack of dawn Jack,’ he explained. ‘I’ve got a big job waiting for me in Rhodesia.’

‘You runway builders certainly get around.’ We had a drink together, said goodbye and I left him. I didn’t feel like going out on the town by myself, so I went along to the restaurant, had a light supper and returned to my cabin. I switched on the telly.

Around 22.00 the telephone bell rang. Lifting the receiver, I heard a woman say, ‘Mr. Crane?’

I felt a tingle run up my spine. I didn’t have to be told who was calling. Mrs. Essex had a very special kind of voice: Once heard never forgotten.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘I will be at my cabin on September 24th for five days,’ she said. ‘You are invited,’ and she hung up.

I replaced the receiver, lit a cigarette, turned of the telly and dropped into a lounging chair. Since she and I had got together, she had been seldom out of my mind. I had kept wondering if our explosive affair had been a ‘ships that pass in the night’ thing: now I knew it wasn’t. Five days and I was invited! Five days with her alone in that hidden cabin! Eighteen days to wait! I drew in a long, deep breath. I didn’t sleep much that night.

The following afternoon I collected the passports. Kendrick was out, but de Mamey coped with me. My passport was good. I was, now Jack Norton. I checked the other passports: they were all as good as mine.

‘Satisfied?’ de Mamey asked.

‘Sure. Give the fatboy my love,’ I said and left him.

My old man was at the station to meet me. He looked taller and thinner and older.

We shook hands and we walked to his beat-up Chevy.

‘How’s it been going Jack?’ he asked as he drove the car away from the little station towards his house.

‘Pretty good Dad. How are things with you.’

‘The usual. One doesn’t expect much when you have reached my age. Still, the bank is going well. I had four new accounts this week.’

A triumph! I thought, and my mind dwelt on the million and a quarter I would soon be owning.

‘That’s fine, dad.’

‘Well, it’s not bad. I’ve got a good steak for your supper tonight. You been eating all right, son?’

‘Sure.’

‘You look fit.’

‘That’s what I am.’

There was a long silence while he drove. I looked at the streets, the small shops, the small time people. Some of them waved to the old man. Already I was beginning to regret coming back, but I had to. This was the last time I would see him. In another thirty days I’d be dead to him and I would have to remain dead if I was to hang onto all that money.

When we got home, I went up to my small shabby bedroom — what a contrast to the luxury cabin on the Essex’s airfield! — and unpacked. Then I went down to the living room. My old man produced a bottle of Cutty Sark.

‘Go ahead Jack. Make yourself a drink,’ he said. ‘Not for me. Whisky doesn’t seem to agree with me anymore.’

I gave him a sharp look.

‘Are you all right. Dad?’

He smiled his gentle smile.

‘I’m sixty-nine. For my age, as they say, I am all right. Get your drink and come and sit down.’

‘When are you going to retire?’

‘The Bank talked about it, but I told them I wanted to carry on. My clients don’t want me to go so it was decided I could keep on until I have to stop.’ He smiled again. ‘I don’t want to stop yet.’

I made myself a stiff whisky and water, found ice, then came and sat down.

‘Tell me what you have been doing,’ he said.

That I wasn’t going to do, but I told him that I was now working for Lane Essex, that I was on his payroll, that a new kite was expected and I had charge of its maintenance.

‘Lane Essex?’ My old man looked impressed. ‘A clever man... he must be worth a billion. They say he has cut corners.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose any man can make his kind of money without cutting corners.’ He regarded me, his eyes sad. ‘So you’re settling in Paradise City? I won’t see much of you.’

‘Oh, come on. Dad! I hope you’ll take your vacation down there. Anyway, when I’m on vacation, I’ll come here.’ I hated myself talking this way to him for I knew in a couple of weeks I’d never see him again.

‘You hungry, son?’ He heaved himself out of his chair. ‘Do you think it would be an idea to have some fried onions with the steak?’ He looked hopefully at me. ‘I’ve bought some.’

‘Why, sure.’

‘Just leave it to me.’ He started across the room towards the kitchen, paused and asked. ‘Did you meet Mrs. Essex, Jack?’

I stiffened.

‘I met her.’

‘I understand she is a very beautiful woman. I saw a photo of her in a magazine, but photos can be deceptive... is she?’

‘You could say that. Yes, she’s beautiful.’

He nodded and went into the kitchen. I finished my drink, lit a cigarette and thought back on the past week.

I had flown down to Mexico City and had booked in at a minor hotel overlooking the Alameda Gardens. I had gone to the National Bank of Mexico and had introduced myself as Jack Norton. I told the executive that I wanted to form a company with a starting capital of a million and a half dollars. From that moment I had no trouble. He produced forms and filled them in for me. He said there would be no problem. I gave him Bernie’s new name as President of the Company and told him I was the Managing Director. I added Erskine’s and Pam’s new names, saying they were directors. I spent half an hour signing forms and he told me within the week the Blue Ribbon Air Taxi Service would he registered as a going concern. I told him the money would be credited to the company about the same time. We shook hands, he bowed to the floor and I left him.

It was as easy as that. Foreign money, specially dollars, was what the Mexican economy wanted.

Now here I was with that hurdle jumped, back in my old man’s shabby little home. We ate the steak which was good, talked some more and then went to bed.