Brian Freemantle: Charlie Muffin U.S.A.

‘Suppose we’re going to be together for a while,’ said Pendlebury, as if the awareness had only just come to him.

‘Yes,’ said Charlie.

‘So we should get to know each other?’

‘Might be an idea.’

Pendlebury looked across the foyer, to the Sir Harry bar.

‘Drink?’

‘Fine,’ agreed Charlie. For a man who looked as bad as Pendlebury, to go so early into a bar either indicated an act of supreme courage or someone long accustomed to booze.

‘Coming?’ Pendlebury asked the other Pinkerton’s man.

Heppert put his hand to his stomach, confirming Charlie’s thought about ulcers.

‘Bad stomach,’ he said. ‘Maybe another time.’

Pendlebury turned away without attempting any persuasion, leading the way, and Charlie became completely aware of the other man’s appearance. The trousers were quite shapeless and the jacket hung oddly backwards off his shoulders, as if it were trying to escape the embarrassment. From behind, Pendlebury looked like a very old elephant on his way to wherever it is elephants go to die. As he passed the jeweller’s window, Charlie caught sight of himself in the window reflection and saw that there was a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He frowned, recognising it as unjustified. He recognised something else, too. He could have been the second elephant in the line. It was easy to understand the disappointment of Senator Cosgrove, who would believe a man was as sharp as the crease in his trousers.

Pendlebury ignored the stools at the big, centre bar, choosing instead one of the side tables with large armchairs. Because it was still before noon, the bar was comparatively empty and a girl came to them almost immediately.

‘Vodka,’ ordered Pendlebury. ‘Large, just ice.’

‘Scotch,’ said Charlie. ‘With water.’

‘Read somewhere that vodka is good for avoiding hangovers,’ said Charlie. Even accepting Pendlebury’s responsibility, the behaviour at the initial meeting had surprised him. He wondered why Pendlebury found it necessary to be hostile to everyone.

‘Don’t put your faith in it,’ said Pendlebury, with feeling.

‘I don’t. Any more than I do in rehearsing against robberies.’

Charlie detected Pendlebury’s instant interest and regretted the remark. It hinted an expertise of which he didn’t particularly want the other man to be aware and was therefore careless, like smiling in jewellers’ windows. For the moment, he had decided to let them imagine he was content with the protection.

‘Tells people where to go, if anything happens,’ said Pendlebury, and Charlie was aware he was being encouraged.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, guardedly. ‘Useful for that.’

The drinks came and Charlie waited, watching. Pendlebury took up his glass but didn’t drink.

‘Worried?’ asked Charlie.

Pendlebury shrugged. ‘Like you said, you can’t guarantee complete security in a hotel. Certainly not one this size, with so many people having the right of access.’ He grinned at a sudden thought. ‘I’d be more worried if I were you. Six million dollars is a lot of money to risk losing.’

‘That’s what insurance is, risk,’ said Charlie.

‘Been at it long?’

Charlie felt the stomach tightening again. ‘Fair time,’ he said guardedly.

‘Must be interesting.’

It had to be the stock remark whenever two men sat in a bar and talked about their jobs. Yet from Pendlebury it seemed to have more point. Charlie wondered whom the man reminded him of.

‘Something like yours,’ he said easily.

‘Not really,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Jesse James and his gang are dead.’

‘Why Florida?’ demanded Charlie suddenly.

‘Florida?’

‘Why put on an exhibition such as this in Florida?’ asked Charlie. ‘I would have thought there were a hundred other cities, rather than Palm Beach, where these things would have had more appeal.’

‘You’re probably right,’ agreed Pendlebury. ‘My job is to guard them, not say where they should go. Lot of money in Palm Beach. And people with time to spend it. I guess Gosgrove thought he’d get the best response there.’

‘What’s Cosgrove like?’

Pendlebury shrugged. ‘Professional politician. Millionaire from his father’s stock market expertise. Very ambitious. Wife about fifteen years younger, who is always in the magazines and social columns…’

‘Do you like him?’

‘I haven’t got to.’

‘So you don’t?’

‘His cologne is too strong.’

Charlie smiled at the assessment. ‘Is the Breakers better than this?’

‘About the same, security-wise,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Best hotel in Palm Beach, site of all the exhibitions. We’ve installed extra electrical precautions, of course.’

‘Duplicated, like here?’

Charlie was looking intently at the other man, alert for his reaction. Pendlebury’s mottled face remained unchanged.

‘Common sense,’ he said. ‘A back-up in case one camera system malfunctions.’

‘Of course,’ said Charlie quickly. Seeming eager to cover his embarrassment at an apparently thoughtless question, he indicated the elaborately produced colour catalogue which he had carried from the exhibition room into the bar.

‘Difficult to imagine these little squares of paper having such value, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Not really,’ said Pendlebury. He nodded towards the unseen exit from the hotel and Park Avenue beyond. ‘Take a cab to 82nd Street and you could probably find a Greek pisspot in the Metropolitan Museum of Art described as priceless.’

Charlie saw that before starting it, Pendlebury had allowed a substantial quantity of ice to melt, diluting his drink. And that his own glass was empty. The American signalled for refills from the attentive waitress.

‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting his glass. He still had his original drink, with all the melted ice.

‘Cheers,’ responded Charlie. Perhaps the man was just a slow drinker. He looked again at the bloodshot eyes; then again, perhaps he was not.

The waitress lingered. ‘How do you want to pay?’ she asked. She seemed to recognise Pendlebury.

‘Charge it to the suite, like before,’ he said, turning from the girl to Charlie. ‘Got a suite here,’ he said, needlessly. ‘It’s very comfortable.’

‘Expensive, too.’

‘Yeah, that as well,’ agreed Pendlebury. He smiled, as if offering an intimacy. ‘Glad I’m not paying.’

‘I’m not keen on these publicity receptions that are announced on the programme,’ said Charlie.

‘Organisers consider them worthwhile.’

‘I don’t.’

‘It would certainly provide the chance for anyone wanting to discover the layout,’ admitted Pendlebury.

‘Perhaps we’re being over-cautious,’ said Charlie.

For several moments Pendlebury did not reply, studying Charlie. Then he said, ‘Which is better than being too casual.’

‘I’m never that,’ said Charlie.

‘Nor am I,’ said Pendlebury and Charlie believed him.

Giuseppe Terrilli’s study was on the east of the castle, where the original chateau design had been modified to give a big-window view of the Atlantic. Normally he enjoyed the outlook. Frequently he swivelled in his chair to stare over it while discussing some point with the two men who ran the non-public part of his operation, whom he knew to be informants to the inner council on everything that he did.

It was because of that awareness that today Terrilli ignored the sea, concentrating on the figures before him, asking exactly the right questions and isolating exactly the right weaknesses, wanting to impress them with the efficiency that he knew had made him a near legend within the organisation. They could never know how close he had come to making a ridiculous mistake. But he knew and the knowledge frightened him. It would have shown a weakness of which Giuseppe Terrilli had always felt he was incapable. For the first time in fifteen years, he had considered cancelling the weekly review of the forthcoming shipments and of the distribution of that which had been landed during the preceding week because he had feared he would be late in New York for a preview of the Romanov Collection.