1972 - You're Dead Without Money (7 page)

‘Is this proposition to do with Larrimore?’

Louis looked at Elliot, then the little eyes shifted.

‘That’s right’

‘Claude and I have already talked about Larrimore. I told him he hadn’t a hope.’

‘Claude’s thinking has developed further since you talked to him,’ Louis said like a man feeling his way across thin ice. ‘He is now ready to offer you two hundred thousand for your cooperation.’

Elliot drew in a deep breath. He thought what this kind of money could mean to him in his present situation.

‘My cooperation? Look, Louis, will you stop talking like a goddamn politician and explain what you’re getting at?’

‘Mr. Larrimore has some specialized Russian stamps,’ Louis said shifting his eyes back to his fingernails. ‘Claude has a client who wants to buy them. We have already written to Mr. Larrimore offering to buy these stamps, but he ignores our letters. If you could get these stamps for us, Claude would pay you a commission of two hundred thousand.’

‘For God’s sake! How much are they worth?’

‘To you or to me . . . very little, but to a keen collector a great deal.’

‘How much?’

‘I don’t think we need go into that, Mr. Elliot.’ Louis gave Elliot a foxy smile. ‘The point we are discussing is that these stamps if you can get them would be worth two hundred thousand to you.’

Elliot sat back. This could be the way to solve his present problems, he thought, but could he persuade Larrimore to sell?

‘If I’m going to talk to Larrimore I must have a figure,’ he said. ‘That’s obvious, isn’t it? I have to tell him the sum your man wants to pay. How else can I persuade him to sell?’

Louis ran his fingers through his sable tinted hair.

‘I don’t think you would get anywhere with Mr. Larrimore whatever sum you offered. Our client has already written to him and Mr. Larrimore won’t sell. No, approaching Mr. Larrimore would only end in disaster.’

Elliot frowned.

‘So just what are you getting at?’

Louis again studied his fingernails as if he found them fascinating.

‘We felt that as you are on friendly terms with Mr. Larrimore and have access to his house, you might see a way to get hold of these stamps. If you did, we would pay you immediately - two hundred thousand in cash.’ Louis got to his feet as Elliot stared at him as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘And, of course, there would be no questions asked.’

Elliot remained still for a long moment, then he said, a grating note in his voice, ‘Are you suggesting I should steal these stamps for Claude?’

Louis waved his hands, not looking at Elliot.

‘We’re not suggesting anything, Mr. Elliot You happen to have the opportunity of getting the stamps - how you get them is no business of ours - we will accept them from you, ask no questions and give you two hundred thousand dollars.’

Elliot got to his feet. The look in his eyes made Louis take a hurried step back.

‘Get out!’ The anger in Elliot’s voice made Louis retreat still further. ‘Tell Claude I don’t deal with crooks! I’ll find someone to buy my stuff! Tell him he’s seen the last of me!’

Louis lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug.

‘I did warn him you might not go along with his thinking, but Claude is a complete optimist. No hard feelings, Mr. Elliot. Of course the offer stands should you change your mind.’

‘Get out!’

Louis sighed and turning, he weaved his way down the path that led to the car park. He drove back to the gallery and went immediately to Claude’s room.

‘The sonofabitch won’t play,’ he said as he shut the door. ‘He called you a crook and said he never wanted to see you again. I warned you, Claude. Now what are we going to do?’

Kendrick took off his wig and laid it on the desk while he thought.

‘It was a chance and it still could remain a good chance. I will bring a little pressure to bear on dear Don.’ He brooded, then opening his desk drawer he took from it a leather bound address book. ‘Who would you say is Elliot’s biggest creditor?’

‘Luce & Fremlin,’ Louis said promptly. ‘He has given every tramp he’s laid a piece of jewellery. The last one got a diamond and ruby ring that must have cost the earth.’

Kendrick consulted his book, then called Luce & Fremlin, the best and most expensive jewellers in the City. He asked to be connected with Mr. Fremlin, the junior partner and a raving homosexual.

‘Sydney, my beautiful poinciana, this is your devoted Claude. How am I? Oh, pretty fair, struggling to make both ends meet.’ He giggled. ‘And you? So glad.’ A pause. ‘Sydney, a word in your ear. I don’t know if Don Elliot owes you anything . . . yes, the ex-movie star. He does? I thought he just might. I’m worried about him. He owes me too. I sent Louis to talk to him this morning. You know how tactful I am. Louis tried to get a cheque from him, but Elliot turned rather nasty. We get the impression here that he isn’t in the position to pay. Dreadful, isn’t it? Of course the poor fellow is now handicapped without his foot and without film work, but I did imagine he was financially sound. Does he owe you much?’ Claude listened, then lifted his eyebrows and released a soft whistle. ‘My poor darling! Fifty thousand! But that’s a fortune! I’m only in the hole for five.’ He listened again. ‘Well, I would act fast if I were you. I can’t imagine he is going to be worth much now. He hasn’t had a girl since he lost his foot. Terribly, terribly sad. I thought I would alert you. Yes, do let’s meet sometime. Bye now.’

As he hung up, Louis said, ‘That should get things moving.’

‘Poor Sydney . . . rather foolish, but I like him. Well, let’s not waste time. Elliot’s booze, catering and tailor’s bills must be impressive.’ Kendrick replaced his wig. ‘Perhaps a word in those dears’ ears might be a charitable act,’ and he reached again for the telephone receiver.

* * *

Toyo, Elliot’s chauffeur, met Winston Ackland at the Paradise City airport and drove him to Elliot’s villa. Ackland had arrived in his own light aircraft, flying from Miami at Elliot’s urgent request.

Ackland was short, fat and full of bustle. He was one of the leading antique and art experts in Miami with a flourishing gallery and was always on the lookout for a bargain. When

Elliot had told him he had a Chagall he wanted to sell and a collection of jade, Ackland said he would be over that afternoon.

Elliot watched him as he examined the Chagall. The expression on Ackland’s fat face told him nothing. Finally Ackland turned away from the painting.

‘This could be an Errile Houry, but it is certainly not a Chagall,’ he said. ‘A nice fake. I hope it didn’t cost you too much, Mr. Elliot.’

‘A hundred thousand,’ Elliot said, his voice husky. ‘Are you sure it’s a fake?’

‘You can never be entirely sure, but that’s my opinion,’ Ackland said quietly. I suppose Kendrick sold it to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Kendrick isn’t as good with this kind of art as he thinks he is,’ Ackland said ‘He could have been deceived. Even some of the top experts have been deceived by Houry, but I happen to specialize in Chagall and I’m sure this isn’t one of his . . . at least almost sure.’

Elliot felt cold sweat break out on his forehead.

‘And the jade . . . don’t tell me that’s a fake too.’

‘Oh no. That’s a very nice collection. I would offer you twenty thousand for it.’

‘Can you give me anything for the Chagall?’

Ackland shook his head.

‘I don’t want it. It’s a painting that could get any dealer into trouble.’

‘And the rest?’

‘Nothing impressive, but if you want to get rid of all the paintings, I would offer ten thousand I’m sorry to offer so little, but these paintings are just decorations . . . they have no value.’

Elliot hesitated, then shrugged.

‘Okay . . . give me a note for thirty thousand to be paid in cash and the stuff’s yours.’

Ackland gave him the note. When he had gone, Elliot did some thinking. Maybe, he thought, Claude didn’t know the Chagall was a fake. He hesitated for a long moment, then he rang Kendrick’s gallery.

Louis answered.

‘Give me Claude,’ Elliot said.

‘It’s Mr. Elliot?’

‘Yeah.’

‘A tiny moment.’

Then Kendrick came on the line.

‘If you want the Chagall you can have it,’ Elliot said ‘My dear boy . . . what a nice surprise. From what Louis told me you were cross with me,’ Kendrick said, startled to get this call.

‘Never mind that. What will you give me for the Chagall before I offer it to Winston Ackland?’

‘Ackland? You mustn’t do that, dear boy! He would give you absolutely nothing! He’d probably tell you it’s a fake. Ackland is really rather horrid.’

‘What do you offer?’

‘I would rather take it on commission, dear Don. I could get you . . .’

‘I want cash . . . remember? How much?’

‘Thirty thousand.’

‘I paid a hundred thousand.’

‘I know, but these are dreadful times.’

‘You can have it for forty-five: immediate cash.’

‘Forty, my dear boy. That’s absolute top.’

‘Send Louis with your note to be paid in cash and he can take it away,’ Elliot said and hung up.

Kendrick replaced the receiver and beamed at Louis.

‘The poor stupid dear has sold us the Chagall for forty. Imagine! That silly Mrs. Van Johnson is aching for a Chagall. If I don’t get a hundred thousand out of her, I’ll eat my wig!’

‘Watch it, Claude,’ Louis said. ‘If she has it checked . . .’

‘Of course she won’t have it checked as Elliot didn’t have it checked.’ Kendrick sat back, his fat face wreathed in smiles.

‘My word is their guarantee.’

* * *

By 15.00 that afternoon, Elliot had seventy thousand dollars in cash. He had cashed Ackland’s note and Kendrick’s note at another bank, not his own. He knew if he had tried to cash these notes at his own bank the dreary question of his overdraft would have come up.

As he locked the money away in his desk drawer, he felt he had gained breathing space. He could pay his staff and use the rest of the money to continue his way of life for a few more months. For the first time in weeks, he felt relaxed Then the telephone bell rang.

Frowning, Elliot snatched up the receiver. The caller was Larry Kaufman, the Rolls Royce agent.

‘Mr. Elliot?’ Kaufman’s voice sounded sharp and hostile. ‘I’m asking you to settle for the Rolls. My people are pressing me. You’ve had the car over two months now. They’re insisting

on immediate settlement.’

Elliot hesitated, but only for a moment He still had the Alfa which was paid for and he would be out of his mind to part with thirty thousand no matter how much he loved the Rolls. He knew he must now hang on to every dollar he could lay his hands on.

‘You can take it back, Larry. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want it.’

‘You don’t want it?’ Kaufman’s voice shot up.

‘That’s what I said.’

‘I can’t take it back just like that . . . damn it! It’s a second hand car now!’

‘Well, okay, so take it back as a second hand car. What am I bid?’

‘You’re sure you want to do this, Mr. Elliot?’

‘What am I bid?’

‘I’ll give you an honest deal as I can sell the car the moment I have it. Suppose you owe me three thousand?’

‘You think that’s honest.’

‘It is honest and you know it, Mr. Elliot.’

‘Okay . . . okay. Come and get it. I’ll have a cheque ready for you.’

Elliot tried to be indifferent about this, but it gave him a pang to see Kaufman drive the Rolls away with a cheque for three thousand in his pocket. Elliot wondered if the cheque would bounce. He hoped his bank manager would extend his overdraft. Anyway, he thought, it was worth a try. After lunch, as he was settling down on the patio for a nap, his bank manager called.

‘Don . . . Kaufman has just been in and presented your cheque for three thousand. I’ve honoured it because you and I are good friends, but this is the last time. You have to do something about this overdraft. No more cheques, Don. Understand?’

‘Sure . . . sure . . . I’ll sell some stock,’ Elliot said glibly. ‘By the end of the week I’ll have fixed it.’

The wolves were closing in, he thought. Well, at least he had seventy thousand in cash in his desk drawer. It might be an idea to get in the Alfa and go to Hollywood, stay at a motel for a couple of weeks and let his debts take care of themselves.

The more he thought about this, the better he liked the idea, but this wasn’t his day. As he got up with the intention of packing a bag and getting out, his majordomo came out on to the patio.

‘There’s a gentleman . . .’

A tall, hard faced man, carrying a briefcase, stepped around the majordomo and came up to Elliot.

‘I’m Stan Jerrold, Mr. Elliot.’ He paused until the majordomo had left them, then went on. ‘I’ve been briefed by Luce & Fremlin and Handcock & Ellison to collect two outstanding debts. I’ve been instructed to issue you with a summons to be returned at the Courthouse at the end of the month if I don’t get a certified cheque right now.’

‘Is that right?’ Elliot forced a grin. Once a summons was issued all the wolves would rush in. ‘How much is it for?’

‘Sixty-one thousand dollars.’

This jolted Elliot but he managed to retain his grin.

‘As much as that?’ He knew he couldn’t afford to be served with a summons. ‘I’ll give you cash.’

Ten minutes later, Jerrold left, his briefcase bulging and Elliot’s cash assets had abruptly shrunk to nine thousand dollars.

He lit a cigarette and leaning back in his desk chair, he considered his future. It looked bleaker than ever before. He knew the word would get around that he was paying his debts. In a day or so his other creditors would come knocking on his door. It was time to get out and get out fast. He would drive to Hollywood and when his nine thousand dollars had run out, he would take enough sleeping pills to make headlines for the last time.

Going into his bedroom, he packed a suitcase, selecting the best of his wardrobe, conscious that none of the clothes he was putting into the suitcase had been paid for. He included a bottle of Scotch and a carton of two hundred cigarettes.