1972 - You're Dead Without Money (12 page)

‘Who is this guy who offered all this money?’

Judy paused as she began to butter another piece of toast.

Her green eyes suddenly became quizzing.

‘Why should you care?’

Vin realized he was out on thin ice.

‘So you don’t know?’

‘Suppose I do?’

‘Well, okay, baby, if you want to make a mystery of it.’ He shrugged. ‘I was just curious.’

‘Oh, let’s skip stamps.’ She munched the toast. ‘Let’s go swimming. I know a marvellous place where you can swim in your skin.’

‘Fine.’ Remembering Elliot’s advice not to rush it, Vin reluctantly decided to drop his probe for the time being.

After they had finished breakfast and Vin had paid the check for the night’s stay, they went together to the Jaguar. They drove some twenty miles along the coast road and then down a narrow sandy lane that led to a small deserted cove with access to the sea.

They left the car, stripped off and swam, then getting under the shade from a clump of palms, they stretched out, side by side.

‘This is the life,’ Judy said. ‘Man! If I could do this every day! Are you staying long, Superman?’

‘What would you do if you had a million dollars, chick?’ Vin asked, staring up at the overhanging palm leaves.

‘Still got that on your mind?’ Judy turned on her side and studied him. ‘What’s with it?’

‘I’m asking you a question,’ Vin said, not looking at her.

‘So okay . . . with that kind of bread I’d get out of this goddamn country. I’d go to Paris and buy myself a ritzy apartment and get into the life there . . . the life I want to live. I’d have a ball. I’d have another place in Capri. I’d have a ball there too. With all that money, the men would come. I wouldn’t even have to look for them.’

‘If your old man has all these stamps would he miss these eight if you took them?’ Vin asked.

Judy remained silent for so long, Vin got worried that he had rushed this too fast, then she said, ‘Yes, he’d miss them. He spends most of his time gloating over his stamps and now this guy has offered all this money, I bet he gloats over those stamps more than the others.’

‘What guy?’

Judy sat up, cupping her naked breasts.

‘You may think I’m dim, Superman, but I’m going to surprise you. Are you thinking of trying to get these stamps and selling them to this man who has made this offer?’

This was it, Vin thought. He had rushed it, but this could be his chance. He turned on his side and looked up at her.

‘It’s an idea that occurred to me,’ he said. If we get a payoff like that we would split it down the middle or if you want to stick with me we could share the lot and have a real ball together.’

They stared at each other.

‘Just who are you?’ she asked. ‘That account executive crap doesn’t jell with me. Who are you?’

‘A guy on the make.’ Vin grinned. ‘Like you: thirsty for money. You and me could work this . . . as partners.’

She got to her feet and with a towel she wiped the sand off her buttocks and thighs. He lay there, watching her, tense, wondering if he had played the wrong card or the right card too fast He felt a growing uneasiness as she dressed in silence.

‘Well, for Pete’s sake! Say something!’

She looked down at him.

‘Let me tell you something, Superman. I don’t trust anyone and that includes you. If you think you’re smart enough to get those stamps, I’ll help you, but you don’t get the name of the man who wants to buy them. I’ll handle that end of it. And if there is going to be a split, it’ll be a split on my terms. Seven-fifty for me and two-fifty for you.’

A tricky chick, Vin thought. Okay, let’s play along. Get the stamps, then I’ll take over. If she imagines she’s going to have that kind of split then she needs her head examined, but okay, let’s play along.

He got up and put on his clothes while she wandered over to the Jaguar. When he had dressed, he joined her.

‘Let’s have a drink,’ she said, getting into the car. ‘I’m as thirsty as a camel!’

He took her to a beach bar and bought her a double gin and tonic while he had a beer. It was still too early for the bar to be crowded so they sat at an isolated table under the awning and Vin began to work on her.

‘How do we get the stamps, baby?’ he asked.

She regarded him.

‘You’re keen, aren’t you?’

‘Skip the smart dialogue,’ Vin said sharply. ‘Are we going to work together on this or aren’t we?’

She sipped her drink while she continued to eye him.

‘Do you imagine, Superman, that if there was a chance, I wouldn’t have taken the stamps weeks ago, sold them and got the hell out of here? It’s no deal. The old stinker has his collection protected.’

‘Maybe with the two of us working at it, we could swing it.’

She shook her head.

‘This is a waste of time. You won’t get them so forget it. Let’s talk about what we’re going to do tonight’

‘Where money is concerned,’ Vin said, ‘nothing is a waste of time. Where does he keep his collection?’

‘In the house. He has a big room, lined with drawers. In each drawer there are stamps set out under glass and each drawer is wired to a burglar alarm. There are hundreds of drawers and thousands of stamps. Believe me, looking for one particular stamp is like looking for a virgin in this City . . . strictly for the birds.’

‘What’s his security like?’

‘Tricky alarms wired direct to the cop house. Each drawer automatically locks when he throws a switch when he isn’t in the stamp room. The switch is in a steel box built into the wall and he always has the key. There is a closed circuit TV and the monitor is watched by Security Guards, night and day when he isn’t in the room.’ She grimaced. ‘He takes care of his stamps . . . that’s all he cares about.’

Vin turned this information over in his mind. After a long pause, he said, ‘Okay . . . but suppose I got in the stamp room without raising the alarm, how do I find these eight stamps?’

She stared at him, then laughed.

‘You don’t get in.’

‘I said suppose I did.’

She shrugged.

‘You’ll find something like eight hundred drawers all containing thousands of stamps, all under glass and the drawers wired to the cop house and watched by Security Guards so if you touch just one of the drawers you’ll get a lapful of fuzz.’

Burglar alarms, closed circuit TV and police didn’t bother Vin. He was an expert in his field, but what did bother him was the thought of getting into this stamp room and then trying to find eight particular stamps.

‘Look, baby,’ he said, ‘your old man can’t have a miracle memory. Suppose he wants one particular stamp among all these thousands? He must have a system of finding it fast.’

‘He has. He and I worked it out together . . . that was before mummy died and before I realized there was more to life than fooling around with a lot of crappy stamps.’

Vin felt his pulse rate quicken.

‘What’s the system then?’

‘It’s simple. Each drawer has a number. He keeps a register. For instance U.S.A. stamps are in drawers numbered one to a hundred and fifty. These drawers are broken down into dates and again into rare stamps. During the day he carries the register around with him and at night he locks it in a safe in his bedroom.’

‘What’s it look like?’

‘A little leather loose leaf book he carries in the inside pocket of his jacket Short of knocking the old buzzard on the head, no one will get it.’

Vin finished his drink.

‘So suppose we knock him on the head?’

‘Not a chance. He only goes out once a week to play golf, otherwise he’s in the stamp room. When he goes to the golf club he has a chauffeur with him. The road to the club is always busy with traffic so no one can hold up the car. There’s no chance of getting into the house. He has a staff of five and they’re always around. You can forget it Without the register, you can forget the stamps . . . so you can forget the million dollars.’

Vin now had most of the information he wanted. There was no point in wasting further time with this chick.

‘Okay . . . I’ll think about it. If I come up with an idea, do you and me make a deal?’

‘What deal?’

‘I get the stamps. You give me the name of the buyer and we split the take.’

‘That’s not my idea of a deal, Superman,’ she said and finished her drink. ‘I take seven-fifty and you have the rest.’

Vin grinned.

‘Okay . . . okay.’

‘And I handle the buyer, Superman.’

Just for a moment he hesitated, then, knowing she had him where she wanted him for the moment, he grinned again.

‘It’s a deal.’

She nodded.

‘Well, let’s go.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ve got business. How about tomorrow night?’

‘What’s the matter with tonight?’

He shook his head.

‘I’m tied up. Tomorrow night I’ll take you to the Low-Life Club. Dress the part, baby . . . it’s your thing.’

‘Who’s tying you up tonight?’ She was studying him suspiciously.

‘Oh, a guy . . . come on, baby, let’s go.’

She went with him to the Jaguar.

‘Want me to drop you off home?’ he asked as he started the car.

‘Who wants to go home? Drop me off at the Plaza Beach. I’ll spend the day there.’ As he set the car in motion, she went on, ‘Give me some money, Superman. If I’m not seeing you tonight, I’ve got to eat Give me a hundred dollars.’

‘Your kid friends can feed you. I only give money for value.’

‘Haven’t you had value, you mean sonofabiteh?’ she demanded.

‘Not yet.’ Vin grinned. ‘You, me and a million bucks is my idea of value.’ But when he dropped her at the entrance to the Plaza Beach he gave her thirty dollars. She snatched the money out of his hand, put her tongue out at him, then walked away, swinging her hips.

* * *

For the first time since he had become secretary to Herman Radnitz, Holtz failed to carry out his master’s instructions. He had been told to have Don Elliot watched and to submit a daily report on Elliot’s activities. Back in his office, he had telephoned Jack Lessing who was in charge of a team of experts specializing in this kind of work. Lessing had said there would be no problem and he would put four men on the job right away.

Six hours later, Lessing, short, thin, with foxy eyes and thinning hair, came into Holtz’s office. Without wasting time, he reported that Elliot had disappeared and his men could find no trace of him.

‘I’ve got ten men hunting for him but up to now there’s no sign of him,’ Lessing said. ‘He hasn’t left the City by rail or plane but he could have used his car. His Alfa is missing. We can’t get a thing from his servants. So what do you want me to do?’

Holtz stared at him and the expression in his eyes made Lessing shift uneasily.

‘Find him!’ Holtz snarled. ‘That’s your job . . . that’s what you get paid for! It can’t be difficult He’s known everywhere. Get the syndicate working on it . . . get every available man on

it . . . but find him!’

When Lessing had left, Holtz sat wondering if he should wait another six hours before telling Radnitz. There was every chance that with the whole of Lessing’s organization hunting for Elliot he would be found, but he decided he would have to tell Radnitz there was a hitch.

He went out on to the terrace where Radnitz was talking to Berlin on the telephone. He was arranging a currency deal and Holtz waited until he had replaced the receiver.

‘What is it?’ Radnitz asked, turning to stare at Holtz.

Holtz told him and went on to explain what action was being taken. Radnitz listened, his fat face darkening and his hooded eyes gleaming angrily.

Holtz expected to receive vitriolic criticism. He was even prepared to be dismissed and he was startled when Radnitz seemed to control his anger and pointing to a chair, said quietly, ‘Sit down.’

A little uneasy because he had never sat down in Radnitz’s presence before, Holtz took the chair.

‘How long have you worked for me?’ Radnitz asked, taking a cigar from a pigskin case and cutting it with a gold cutter.

‘It will be five years next month, sir.’ Radnitz nodded

‘You have given satisfaction. You have my confidence. I think I had better tell you why Elliot must be found.’

Holtz stiffened. This was the last thing he expected and because he was surprised, he decided to say nothing.

Radnitz lit his cigar, then stared at the distant beach, crowded with people sun bathing and swimming.

‘I am searching for eight Russian stamps,’ he said. ‘They come from a lot that was never issued to the public. They got into the hands of a Russian scientist who had fallen in love with an American woman he had met in East Berlin. He was warned to have nothing further to do with her. Outwardly he agreed, but inwardly he planned to defect. He knew the stamps would be valuable and he had to provide for himself and this woman once he left Russia. He drew up a report of his work. This report is of considerable value to the enemies of Russia. He made eight microdots of this report and each dot went on to each of the eight stamps, making them priceless. We needn’t go into the details about the report but it is something the C.I.A. would pay enormous money to have. This scientist persuaded a friend to smuggle the stamps out of Russia and to East Berlin and the American woman got them but the scientist had left it too late and he was arrested. Under torture he revealed what he had done. Having been warned of her lover’s arrest, the woman fled to Paris. She sold the stamps to a Paris dealer and with the proceeds went to New York. The dealer, knowing nothing about the microdots, sold the stamps to a client who was kidnapped, but died of a heart attack before the kidnappers could find out what he had done with the stamps. The stamps have vanished.’ Radnitz paused while he tapped ash off his cigar. ‘As you know I have considerable and profitable dealings with the Soviet Government. They asked me if I could help. I have promised to do so. Financed by them, I have made a very thorough search for the missing stamps. Unfortunately, the news has been leaked to the C.I.A. and they too are searching for the stamps. I have to move carefully. At the moment the C.I.A. are concentrating their search among the smaller collectors - especially the Russian collectors. My search has narrowed down to a man called Paul Larrimore who lives in this City. I believe he has them and I have made him a generous offer which he has ignored. This means nothing. He either has the stamps and won’t sell or he hasn’t got them and hasn’t the politeness to say so. It would be a simple solution to kidnap this man and force him to admit he either has or hasn’t got the stamps, but this would produce publicity and would alert the CI.A.’ Radnitz puffed smoke, his face stony. ‘I have now approached Claude Kendrick who knows this movie star, Elliot, who seems to be Larrimore’s only contact. Elliot is desperate for money and has agreed to try to get information about the stamps. I have reason not to trust Kendrick. If Elliot got the stamps and gave them to Kendrick, Kendrick might try to find a higher bidder than myself so it is important for me to know when Elliot gets information and when he gets the stamps. So Elliot must be found at once.’ Holtz thought for a moment