John MacDonald - The Deep Blue Good-Bye

But Berry was always making more than George Brell because he didn’t spend an extra rupee on himself. He kept reinvesting it in gold. Berry found a goldsmith on Chowringhi Road in Calcutta who would cast facsimile structural parts of the aircraft out of pure gold. Berry would sand them a little, paint them with aluminum paint, screw them in place. A man in Kunming would melt them back into standard bars.

This was after spot inspection was tightened up. When they were finally due to be shipped back on rotation, Brell had over sixty thousand American dollars, and he was certain that Dave Berry had at least three times that much. They took an R and R leave and hitched a flight down to Ceylon. It was Berry ’s idea. He had thought it all out, and had learned all he could about gemstones. The cash made Brell nervous. He followed Berry ’s lead.

They spent the full ten days buying the most perfect gem stones they could find. Deep blue sapphires, star sapphires, dark Burmese rubies, star rubies. Some were too big to fit through the mouth of a standard issue canteen. They cut the canteens open, put the gems inside and resoldered them. They poured melted wax over the stones to hold them in place. The wax hardened. They filled the canteens with water, hooked them on their belts and came home rich and nervous.

“I don’t think they ever suspected Dave of a thing. He kept his mouth shut. But I did some hinting when I’d had a few drinks. They got onto me somehow. I went back home and hid them. I didn’t dare touch them. I was on terminal leave, waiting to get out when I got called to the trial. After they sentenced him to life, I had a chance to be alone with him. I tried to make a deal with him. Tell me where his were. I’d take a reasonable cut for services rendered and see that his family got taken care of. Not a chance. He didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust anybody to be shrewd enough and smart enough. No, he was going to handle it himself without any hitches, and then he could make it all up to his wife and girls.

“I didn’t touch mine for three years. Then I had to have cash. There was some land I had to pick up. I could buy it right. I couldn’t run the risk of selling them in this country. Martha and I took a vacation. We went to Mexico. I made contacts there. I took a screwing, but at least I felt safe. I got just a little over forty thousand. I brought it back in U.S. dollars, and I led it into the businesses a little bit at a time. I was careful. But they came down on me, on a net worth basis, trying to make a fraud charge stick, saying there was unreported income. And it has cost me a hundred thousand dollars to keep from being convicted for that lousy forty thousand. I couldn’t talk to you. I couldn’t take the chance. There’s no statute of limitations on tax fraud, and they could still jail me for never declaring the money I made overseas. I’m marked lousy in the files, and they are after me every year. They’re never going to stop. Now for God’s sake, let me out of here.”

After I untied him, I had to help him to his feet and half carry him into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his bald head down on his bare hairy knees and began to cry.

“I’m sick,” he said. “I’m real sick, McGee.” He huddled and his teeth began to chatter. I tossed his clothes to him and he dressed quickly, his lips blue.

“Where are we?”

“About two miles from your house. We walked out of that club in Brownsville about three and a half hours ago. Nobody is looking for you.”

He stared at me. “Do you know how you looked? You looked like you’d enjoy killing me.”

“I didn’t want to take too long over this, George.”

“I couldn’t hold out against what you were going to do.”

“Nobody could, George.”

He felt his bald head. “Where is it?”

“In the bathroom.”

He tottered in. In a few moments he came out, hair piece in place. But the haggardness of his face made it look more spurious than before. He sat again on the edge of the bed. We were oppressor and oppressed. Traditionally this is supposed to create enmity. But, so often, it does not. It had opened up too many conflicting areas of emotions. The violence was a separate thing, like a wind that had blown through, and we were left with an experience shared. He was anxious to have me know that he had acquitted himself well. I was eager to have him believe he had left me no other choice.

“You are a friend of Callowell’s?”

“No.”

“I wrote the stuffy son of a bitch a nice letter and got a brush-off.”

“I traced you through him.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. “Callowell was so damn nervous about anything cute. He’d check that airplane. He’d check around, and right over his fat head some of the static line braces would be solid gold. I tried to kid with Dave about it. Dave didn’t see anything funny. He was dead serious about everything. God, it warted him to send money home when he knew he could keep it and keep on doubling it. I kept spending too much. I had a private car in a private garage in Calcutta. I had a wife and two kids home too. But the difference between Dave and me, he was sure he’d live forever.” He shivered violently. “Trav, you think you could get me home? I feel terrible.”

I drove him home in the Lincoln. My rental was in his drive, and the Triumph was there, in the triple carport, beside a compact station wagon. I rolled the Lincoln into the empty space. Lights were on in the back of the house. I went into the big kitchen with him. There was a center island of stone, and copper pots aligned on a fruitwood wall.

Gerry Brell came into the light wearing a pink quilted robe with big white lapels, her blonde hair tousled, eyes squinting in the light.

“Honey, I don’t feel so good,” George said.

“He’s having chills,” I told her.

She took him off. At the doorway she turned and said, “Wait for me, Trav.”

I looked in the refrigerators and found cold Tuborg in the second one. I leaned against the center island and drank it, feeling unreal. I walked on a fabric of reality but it had an uncomfortable give to it. You could sink in a little way. If you walked too much and came to a weak spot, you could fall through. I think it would be pretty black down there.

After fifteen minutes she came back to the kitchen, saw what I was having and got herself one. She had brushed her hair and her eyes were accustomed to the light.

She leaned against a bank of stainless steel sinks, facing me, and drank from the bottle and said, “He threw up. I turned on his electric blanket and gave him a sleeping pill.”

“I think he’s just emotionally upset.”

“You’ve had a dandy introduction to the Brell family.”

“Why did you ask me to stay?”

“Couldn’t you just wait so we could work around to it instead of coming out with it like that?”

“I’m not at my best at four in the morning.”

“Did you give him some bad news?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“George operates on the thin edge, and the edge is getting thinner all the time. I wanted to cut down the way we live, but he won’t hear of it. Any little thing could tip the scales, and then the walls come tumbling down.”

“How do you know that isn’t exactly what I want?”

She looked rueful. “Then I made a bad guess about you. Did he say anything about me tonight?”

“No. But it’s nice to know why you had me stay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hope you had a nice long talk with the girl when she got home.”

“I guess I had to, didn’t I? Not stepmother to child. That doesn’t work, does it? Woman to woman. Call it an armed truce.”

“The next time she makes a crack like that, Gerry, it might not go over his head.”