James Chase - An Ace up my Sleeve

“How dramatic! The dialogue is right out of a Victorian novel,” Archer said and smiled. “Not you, Helga. That’s something I’ll never believe.”

She shrugged.

“I couldn’t care less what you believe or don’t believe. I mean it. I intend to have those photographs. If I don’t get them, then I’m going to call the police and I will charge you with embezzlement. Go ahead and call your bank… then I’ll call the police.”

“Oh come! It’s nice bluff but it won’t work with me,” Archer said but he didn’t move to the telephone.

“Then I’ll call the police and after, you call the bank.”

She got up and went to the telephone. She picked up the receiver and began to dial.

He came blundering over and snatched the receiver from her hand.

“Don’t be so hasty, Helga.” She saw the uneasiness in his eyes. “You haven’t touched your drink. Let’s sit down like civilized people and discuss this.”

She realized she had won the first move in the game. She had frightened him. Her face expressionless, she went back to her chair and sat down. She was pleased that when she picked up her drink, her hand was steady. She sipped and nodded.

“Your martinis are always good.”

He lowered his bulk into his chair.

“Thank you.” He studied the end of his cigar. “Suppose I let you have the photographs… what will be your contribution?”

“I will tell Herman we both speculated and lost and the account must be taken from you.”

He shook his head.

“No. That’s back to square A. Let’s move to square B. You take all the blame for the gamble and I keep the account.”

It was her turn to shake her head.

“No, Jack. You’re through. The only other alternative is you go to jail.”

“And you lose sixty million dollars?”

“Yes, but I’m prepared to do just that, but are you prepared to spend ten years in jail? What are you now… forty-eight? No one will want an ex-jailbird at fifty-eight, will they?”

She watched him lick his lips.

“You’re very persuasive, Helga,” he said finally, “but I simply don’t believe you. You were always a good bluffer but you’re not bluffing me.”

“Then call the bank, Jack, and I’ll call the police… it’s as simple as that.”

“Suppose we move to square C?” Archer said, studying the end of his cigar. “I told you: without Herman’s account I am in financial trouble. I owe money everywhere and I’m being pressed. I would like to go back to the States. I could make a start. Now suppose I give you the photographs and give up the account and in return you give me a substantial sum of money so I can clear my debts and make a fresh start back home? What do you say?”

“I will not submit to blackmail,” Helga said quietly.

“You could afford two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Helga. For that sum you get the photographs and the negatives and eventually you’ll collect sixty million dollars. Come Helga, that’s a fair bargain.”

She reached for a cigarette and lit it, then she sipped her drink.

“And where do you imagine I’d find two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“Any Swiss bank would lend you that against Herman’s securities. He needn’t know.”

She shook her head.

“You have made a mistake, Jack. You should never have picked on me to blackmail. I’m not the blackmailing type. This morning as I lay in bed, I thought about my possible future. I discovered I am utterly bored and sick of Herman. I want my freedom. I want to be able to take a lover when I need one. I thought about all the money. Sixty million? It’s too much. I wouldn’t know what to do with such an enormous sum. Then I worked out what I would be worth if Herman divorced me and I was pleasantly surprised. I find I wouldn’t be badly off if he threw me out.” She was lying steadily and she hoped convincingly. “There are things you don’t know. For instance you don’t know that Herman gave me for my last birthday bonds that will bring me in an income of ten thousand dollars a year. (A lie.) He gave me for my birthday before last a cottage in Carmel where I could live very happily and comfortably. (Another lie.) I have two hundred thousand dollars worth of jewellery. (True.) I have five fur coats: all valuable. (Also true.) I have a car and a motor cruiser. (Again true.) Herman also gave me a Picasso which is worth at least a hundred thousand. (A lie there was no Picasso.) If I sell carefully and invest carefully, I will have an assured income of thirty thousand dollars for life, plus a cottage. (God! she thought, how I wish all this was true!) So I have come to the conclusion that it might be good to be rid of Herman so the answer to square C as you put it, is no.”

He stared at her for a long moment and she met his eyes without flinching.

“Do you really mean that, Helga? You’re not bluffing?”

“No, I’m not bluffing.” She finished her drink. “I think I would like another, please.”

His set face relaxed a little.

“Let’s both have another.”

He went over to the bar.

“You see, Helga,” he said as he mixed the cocktail, “if you really mean all you’ve been saying, then I’ll be forced to move to square D. I don’t want to do that, but if you’re not bluffing, then I’ll have to.”

The tone of his voice and the expression on his fat face made Helga alert.

“And what is square D?” she asked.

“I will sell the photograph of you showing everything you’ve got to Herman.”

She kept the expression of her face deadpan with an effort.

“And do you imagine he will buy it?”

“Yes, I think he would if I threatened, unless he did, I’ll send it to the pornographers. As a dirty postcard it would have a very wide sale.”

Inwardly she flinched.

“And in the meantime you would be in jail?” 163

“I don’t think so. I have also been doing some thinking. I have an idea that Herman wouldn’t prosecute if I convinced him that on a dirty postcard his wife would be quite a star attraction.”

She forced herself to brazen it out.

“Then you don’t know Herman. He would divorce me and not only prosecute you for embezzling but also for blackmail. You could go to jail for twenty years.”

Archer shrugged.

“Desperate situations need desperate measures. I think Herman would play. The last thing he would want would be to know his cronies were sniggering over your pretty nakedness.”

There came a sudden thudding sound from the hall that brought Archer to his feet. Helga also stood up.

Then Archer smiled.

“Your pimp trying to break out,” he said and sat down again. “That’s something he won’t do. That pole was a bright idea of yours, Helga. It is strong enough to pen in a bull. I know… I’ve tried.”

Still standing, she stubbed out her cigarette. Her mind was working swiftly. She knew she was caught unless she could find another way out. She was sure Herman would pay rather than let the photograph go into circulation. Archer would get his money and his freedom and she would lose everything! Her bluff had failed!

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Larry bawled through the door.

“Don’t move, Helga,” Archer said, stretching out his long, thick legs. “Never mind about him. Sit down. What do you think of square D?”

She picked up her drink.

“Ma’am!” Larry’s voice crashed into the room.

She braced herself, then taking a quick step forward she threw the contents of her glass in Archer’s face. Spinning around, she darted into the hall. She threw herself against the pole. It shuddered but held. She heard a roar of rage from Archer and as she heaved frantically at the pole, he came blundering out. The vodka was stinging his eyes and he was half blind. She dodged around the pole, caught hold of it and pulled with all her strength. She felt it shift as Archer struck at her. His fist thudded into her shoulder, sending her staggering back, but somehow, she kept her grip on the pole. It came with her. She sprawled on the floor, the pole on top of her.