1974 - So What Happens to Me (4 page)

As a show-off he was in a class of his own.

“Look at that freak,” I said, glad to change the conversation. “Who can he be?”

Pam glanced down the aisle.

“That’s Claude Kendrick. He owns the most fashionable, the most expensive and the most profitable art gallery here.”

I watched the fat man waddle to a table, three tables from where we were sitting. Behind him came a thin, willowy man who could be any age from twenty-five to forty. His long thick hair was the colour of sable and his lean face, narrow eyes and almost lipless mouth made him look like a suspicious, vicious rat.

“That’s Louis de Mamey who runs the gallery,” Pam told me. She cut into her steak and ate.

The fuss Henri was making of these two told me that Henri considered them V.I.P. people. Interested, I watched them settle at their table. A Vodka martini appeared as if by magic and was placed before the fat man. His companion refused a drink.

There was a brief discussion with Henri about what they would eat, then Henri, darting away, snapped his fingers at a waiter to follow him.

Claude Kendrick looked around, like a king surveying his court. He waggled his fingers at people he appeared to know, then he looked our way. His little eyes dwelt on my face for a brief moment, then they shifted to Pam. His eyebrows crawled upwards and his mouth pursed into a smile. Then he did the damnedest thing. He bowed to her and using the orange wig as you might use a hat, he lifted it high of his egg baldhead, bowed again and replaced it then he shifted a little in his chair and began to talk to his companion.

Pam giggled.

“He’s marvellous, isn’t he?” she said. “He does that to all his women friends.”

“You a friend of his?”

“I used to model some of his special jewelry. I’ve known him for some years.” She finished her steak. “Excuse me . . . I have an idea,” and getting up, she went over to Kendrick’s table.

Her back screened him from me and she talked to him for about three minutes, then returned to our table.

“What was all that about?” I asked.

“He has the most marvellous motor cruiser. I thought it would be fun if we had a trip. He’s delighted. You know this city is a bit dull for people who always live here. Everyone likes to meet someone new. You’ll come, won’t you?”

As I hesitated, she went on, “He’s really fun and very important.” The waiter came and cleared our plates. “You’ll like him.”

The motor cruiser had an appeal.

“Well, okay: what have I to lose?”

I looked across at Kendrick. He smiled and nodded to me as the waiter served him smoked salmon. I nodded back to him.

We finished the meal with coffee. Kendrick and de Mamey only had the salmon and also coffee. By the time we were ready to go, they were also ready to go.

Pam pushed back her chair and led me to their table.

“Claude. . . this is Jack Crane. He’s working on the runway Jack. . . this is Mr. Kendrick.”

“Call me Claude, cheri.” A hand that felt like a lump of warm dough engulfed mine. “So glad. Welcome to this lovely city. I do hope you will be marvellously happy here.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Let’s go out into the moonlight. Louis, my pet, do take care of darling Pam. I want to get to know Jack.” He encircled my arm and led me down the aisle. Twice he paused to raise his awful wig and bow to women who smiled at him. I was sweating with embarrassment by the time Henri bowed us into the hot night air.

Here we all paused.

Kendrick said. “Do take Pam for a little ride in the boat Louis. You know how she loves it. Jack, will you put up with me for a few minutes? There is something I want to talk about.”

Before I could protest, Pam and Louis were walking away.

“What’s there to talk about?” I hated this fat freak and hated the idea of being stranded with him.

“It’s about Bernie; he is one of my bestest friends.” Kendrick mopped his face with a silk handkerchief. “Let us get in my car. It’s air-conditioned. I find this heat a little oppressive, don’t you?”

I hesitated, but without Pam to drive me back to the airport, I was marooned so I followed him down the pier to where a gaudy yellow and black Cadillac stood waiting. A Jap chauffeur slid out and had the doors open as we approached.

“Just drive around, Yuko,” Kendrick said and lowered his bulk into the car. I went around the other side and got in. There was a glass partition between the chauffeur and the rear seats.

It was wonderfully cool when the car doors were shut. The car slid away and Kendrick offered me a cigar which I refused.

We drove along the sea front for some minutes, then the chauffeur turned off the main boulevard and took us out into the country.

Kendrick who had got his cigar smoking evenly, said, “I understand that you are a very close friend of Bernie.”

“That is correct.”

“I am worried about Bernie.” Kendrick heaved a sigh. “The poor darling. . . that dreadful wound.”

I didn’t say anything but waited.

“He has terrible people to work for. That man Essex! What a creature! And his wife!”

Still I didn’t say anything.

“Bernie feels so insecure.”

“Don’t we all!” I said, watching the moon as it floated like a yellow disc in the cloudless sky.

“You feel the same?” He turned to look directly at me. “You also feel insecure?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“You’re right, of course, but have you ambitions? Do you want to be rich? I’m sure you do and Bernie is the same. We often talk about money. He once said to me . . . I remember his exact words: ‘Claude, I would do anything to fix this insecurity. If I could only lay my hands on some real money I wouldn’t care how I got it.’”

“Bernie said that?”

“Those were his exact words.”

It was my turn to look directly at him.

“Look, Kendrick, suppose you skip this phoney buildup? To me, it stinks. I can see you want to feel your way as you don’t know much about me, but your approach is as subtle as a bulldozer. What have you on your mind?”

He took of his orange wig and looked inside as if he expected to find something hiding in there, then he slapped it back on his head.

“Bernie warned me,” he said and smiled. “He said I would have to be careful how I handled you. He told me he once had got you out of trouble. You held up a Vietnamese moneychanger and got away with three thousand dollars. Bernie gave you an alibi. Is that correct?”

“Vietnamese money changers were easy meat. I needed the money and he had plenty. Bernie talks too much.”

“Bernie said the money changer was killed by a bomb so everything was nicely tidied up.”

As the Caddy drifted along with the lights of Paradise City making a necklace of diamonds in the distance, my mind went back to Saigon.

My Vietnamese girl wanted money to get to Hong Kong.

She was half out of her mind with terror. She had come from the North and she was sure the Viets were after her. Nothing I could tell her made an impact. She insisted she had to have money to bribe her way to safety. I was a bit crazy about her but her stupid terror spoilt our nights. I had no money to give her. Although I knew I was losing her, I finally decided I would have to get her to Hong Kong. One evening I walked into this moneychanger’s office, with a service revolver in my hand and forced him to give me the money. I had been drinking hard and didn’t give a damn. I gave the money to her and that was the last I saw of her. Then the M.P.s had a line-up and the moneychanger fingered me. I thought I was in the ditch, but Olson arrived He said he and I were working on his kite at the time of the hold-up. I’m sure the M.P.s weren’t convinced, but Bernie had a lot of authority and I got away with it.

Thinking about this incident, it seemed a long way in the past. It was a lucky thing for me that the moneychanger’s office, with him in it, caught one of the first rocket bombs the Viets threw at Saigon. He was going to take his complaint to the Commanding General, but the rocket silenced him.

I had told Bernie the facts and he had grinned at me.

“Well, don’t do it again Jack. I might not be around to bail you out,” and that was that.

At least, it was for a time, but I was always short of money.

I got tied up with another Vietnamese girl; a dancer at one of the gaudy, noisy clubs American servicemen frequented. She held out for money; that’s what most Vietnamese girls thought about. So one night, when I was really turned on, I walked into another moneychanger’s shop. I wasn’t taking any chances this time. There was a thunderstorm going on, plus a hail of Viet rockets and the noise drowned my shot. I thought no more of killing an old Vietnamese than I would have shooting a wild duck. I collected a thousand dollars out of his open safe. It was enough to get me a good time with the girl and have something in hand. I did this three times. Each time I knocked of the moneychanger and then my conscience caught up on me. I began to dream about these old men. I kept seeing their eyes, full of terror, as I shot them. These eyes followed me around even when I was servicing Olson’s kite. So I dropped it. Sitting in this luxe Cadillac, the eyes came back.

Kendrick was saying. “What have I on my mind? Bernie must tell you that. It’s his operation but there is one thing I would like to ask you. Bernie said you would do anything for big money. The operative word, of course, is ‘anything.’ May I ask if that is your thinking?”

“It depends on what big money means,” I said.

He nodded.

“That is the correct answer.” He released cigar smoke that was immediately taken out of the car by a small but efficient extractor fan. “Yes . . . how big? Would a quarter of a million interest you’?”

I felt a prickle run up my spine, but I kept my cool.

“It would interest anyone.”

“I’m not talking about anyone.” There was a sudden impatient snap in his voice. “I’m asking you.”

“It depends.”

“It is a simple question, cheri. Would you do anything for a quarter of a million dollars?”

“I’ll have to talk to Bernie.”

“Quite right.” Kendrick picked up a tiny microphone. “We’ll return, Yuko.”

The Cadillac stopped, turned and headed back to the City.

“Quite an operation,” I said. “First, Bernie sells me on a phoney job. Then Pam seduces me. Now you appear on the scene, talking about a quarter of a million dollars. It’s not what I call a well-planned operation. It’s too hurried. Suppose I go to the cops right now and tell them what is happening. Do you think they would be interested?”

Kendrick closed his eyes. He looked like an aged dolphin, at rest.

“They might, cheri, but I think they would be more interested in you.” He shifted his wig, still keeping his eyes closed. “But don’t let us talk about the police. It is always a depressing subject. There’s money to be had and your cut would be a quarter of a million. You must talk to Bernie and you can always say no. If you say no, you can then take a plane back to your little town and spend the rest of your days trying to make some kind of living. That, of course, is your privilege, but on the other hand you can come in with us and become rich.”

I lit a cigarette.

“I’ll talk to Bernie.”

We sat in silence until the Caddy pulled up outside L’Espandon where Pam and de Mamey were waiting.

As I got out of the car, Kendrick said, “I hope we can work together, cheri. I have confidence in you.”

I paused to stare at him.

“That’s more than I have in you.” I joined Pam who was already moving to where she had parked the Mini.

“You in this too?” I asked as we folded ourselves into the tiny car.

“Did Claude talk to you?”

“You know he did. You threw him at me didn’t you? I’m asking you: are you in this too?”

She started the motor and began driving the little car fast back towards the airport.

“You’d better talk to Bernie.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question, and I want it answered.”

She shrugged.

“Yes, I’m in it. Bernie will explain it to you.”

“If he handles the rest of the operation the way he’s handled it so far, I wouldn’t touch it.”

She shot me a quick hard glance.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s so phoney. This phoney excuse to get me here, then throwing you at me, then you throwing that fat horror at me. Was this all Bernie’s idea?”

“Well, you’re interested, aren’t you?”

“The money interests me, but apart from the money, and it’ll take a lot of convincing before I’ll believe that kind of money, the operation, so far, stinks.”

“You must talk to Bernie.”

“You can say that again.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence and when she pulled up outside my cabin, she switched on her sexy smile.

“Let’s spend the rest of the night together Jack.” She began to get out of her car, but I stopped her.

“No.” I stared at her. “You’re Bernie’s girl. . . remember?”

She looked as if she were going to hit me. I just continued to stare at her until she looked away, then I slid out of the car and walked over to my cabin.

I was up and sipping coffee on the porch when Tim O’Brien came out of his cabin. The time was 06.45 and he looked at me, surprised.

“You’re early.”

“I thought I’d come down to the site,” I said and finished my coffee. “If there’s some job you can give me that I can do. I’ll be glad.”

“Know anything about blasting?”

“Not a thing.”

He grinned.

“Know anything about bulldozers?”

“Sure.”

“Fine. . . then you look after the bulldozers and I’ll look after the blasting.” We got in the jeep. “So you’ve decided you want to work?”

“When I get paid I give value. But get this straight, Tim you’re the boss. Tell me what you want done end I’ll try to do it.”

So I spent the day in the heat, the dust and the noise. Four times I was called on to repair a bulldozer and I did it. Engines were simple to me. I got along fine with the negro crew who worked well but hadn’t any idea how to cope with a stalled engine. I didn’t see anything of O’Brien until lunchtime. From the bangs, he was doing plenty of blasting. We had lunch together under a tree: hamburgers and coffee. He asked me how I liked the job and I said it was fine. He gave me a curious stare, but didn’t take it further.