1972 - You're Dead Without Money (3 page)

All the same, although pressure was now relaxed on his billfold, Vin told himself he must get down to work. He was a stranger in Paradise City and had no connections which made things tricky. He knew Joey and Cindy had been coming to the City for the past three years and he decided to have a word with Joey to find out if Joey could steer him to a steal.

So one morning while Cindy was preparing the lunch and the two men sat under the shade of a tree in the little garden, Vin casually asked if Joey knew of a reliable fence in the City.

‘Fence? There are several.’ Joey shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t say they are reliable. The best fence is Claude Kendrick. He runs a big antique shop in the swank district of the City, but he is strictly big time. He supplies antiques and modern art to most of the big shots living around here and makes a fortune, but he also deals in hot goods. It depends, of course, what he’s offered. Give him something top class and he’ll take it, but not small stuff. Abe Levi who runs a tourist junk shop takes the small stuff, but he pays badly. All the same, I should think Abe would be the man for you.’ Joey looked thoughtfully at Vin. ‘Are you thinking of pulling a job?’

‘My dough’s running out,’ Vin said, frowning. ‘Yes, I’ve got to do a job.’

This was a shock to Joey although he was careful not to show it. He had been under the impression from what Cindy had told him that Vin was loaded with the stuff and now to hear Vin was running short more than depressed him.

‘Look, Vin,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything rash. I . . .’

Vin’s sudden scowl stopped him short. For the first time, Joey saw the meaner side of Vin’s nature and this was also a shock.

‘Rash? I don’t get you.’ Vin growled. ‘When I pull a job, I do it right.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ Joey said hastily, ‘but you’re in Paradise City now, Vin. This City’s special. It’s like a closed shop if you know what I mean.’

Vin stared at him.

‘Like a . . . what?’

‘The boys here have everything organized,’ Joey explained, his tone apologetic. ‘Outsiders aren’t encouraged.’

Vin stiffened and his eyes hardened.

‘Is that right? Am I an outsider?’

Joey fidgeted with his beautifully shaped hands.

‘I guess you are, Vin. The boys won’t take kindly to you if you start operating here.’

‘So what will they do if I do operate?’

Joey ran his fingers through his thick, grey hair.

‘From what I hear they will tip the cops, and Vin, make no mistake about this, the cops here are dynamite. It’s their job to protect the rich living here and believe you me, they do a job.’

Vin lit another cigarette. He thought for a long moment, then, his voice more subdued, he asked, ‘So how do I get an in, Joey?’

Joey looked unhappy.

‘It’s tricky, but talk to Abe. Tell him you’re in the business and ask him politely what he can do for you. It’s the only way, Vin. If Abe turns you down, that’s it. You must not operate in this City. If you do, without Abe’s say-so, you’re certain to get picked up by the cops.’

‘I never had this trouble in Miami,’ Vin said angrily. ‘What the hell’s with it with this goddamn City?’

‘Take an older man’s tip then,’ Joey said. ‘Live here and work Miami. It’s not all that far away. You could spend a couple of days there, do a job and come back here.’

Vin shook his head.

‘Miami’s too hot for me now,’ he said sullenly. ‘I’ve got to work this City if I’m going to work at all.’

Joey shifted uneasily in his chair.

‘You’re not in trouble?’

‘Trouble? No, but the cops in Miami have a description of me. I can’t go back there.’ Vin stared up at the blue sky. ‘I’ll tell you something. I’m getting sick of this way of life, Joey. As soon as I get any money I either lose it or spend it. I want to do a once-and-for-all job that will set me up for three or four years . . . I want to marry Cindy. I want to buy a bungalow somewhere on this coast and for us three to settle there. You and me could go fishing and we could talk. Cindy and I could have fun and you could stick around because I like you, Joey. I wouldn’t want you to leave us. We’ve talked about it. When Cindy and I want to be alone I’d give you the high sign and because you’re smart you’d leave us alone. That way we could all live together and have fun.’

Joey couldn’t believe his ears. This was what he had been praying and hoping for. Tears rushed into his eyes and he had to get out his handkerchief and pretend he was stifling a sneeze.

‘But, first, I’ve got to pull a big one,’ Vin went on, not noticing Joey’s emotion. ‘It’s got to be big. Fifty thousand dollars would do it. Now how the hell am I going to find a job worth all that bread?’

Fifty thousand dollars!

Joey sat up in alarm.

‘Now look, Vin, that’s kid’s talk. Fifty grand! They could put you away for fifteen years. Now get that right out of your mind! You don’t think I want a son-in-law locked away for fifteen years, do you?’

Vin stared at him, his eyes cloudy and far away. He didn’t have to put into words the thought that was going through his mind. Joey knew Vin was regarding him with friendly contempt and Vin knew he was looking at a man who lived and thought small and would always live and think small.

Cindy came to the open door that led to the living room.

‘Come and get it,’ she called.

As the two men got to their feet, Vin asked, ‘Where do I find Abe Levi?’

* * *

Abe Levi’s junk shop was located on the waterfront near, where the sponge trawlers and the lobster boats anchored. The shop was one of the City’s tourists’ attractions. It contained anything from a stuffed snake to a tortoiseshell comb, from glass ‘diamonds’ to handicrafts made by the local Indians, from a canoe to the original muzzle loader that killed some General during the Indian wars. You name it, Levi had it. Stuffed with objects, the vast, dimly lit shop was served by four attractive Seminole girls, wearing their native costumes.

Levi kept behind the scenes in his small, pokey office. Although Levi made a large and steady income from the junk he sold, he made an even larger and even more steady income from handling loot the local thieves offered him and at a much bigger profit.

Abe Levi was tall and thin with a balding head, a hooked nose and eyes as impersonal as bottle stoppers. He regarded Vin as Vin sat by Abe’s old-fashioned roll top desk and what Abe saw he didn’t like. He didn’t like handsome men. He dealt with the small fry of the City’s thieves who were invariably shabby and far from handsome. This tall, bronzed man in his immaculate suit and outrageous tie and his arrogance made Abe instinctively hostile.

Vin had explained who he was and that he was looking for a job to pull. Abe listened, stroking his hooked nose with thin boney fingers, shooting quick glances at Vin and then looking away.

‘If I find something,’ Vin concluded, ‘are you in the market to buy?’

Abe didn’t hesitate.

‘No.’

The flat note and the hostile expression sent a wave of hot anger up Vin’s spine.

‘What do you mean?’ he snarled. ‘You’re in the goddamn business, aren’t you?’

Abe fixed Vin with his bottle stopper eyes.

‘I’m in the business but not to outsiders. There’s nothing here for you in this City. Try Miami. They take outsiders. We don’t.’

‘Is that right?’ Vin leaned forward, his big hands into fists. ‘If you don’t want my business, there are plenty who will.’

Abe continued to stroke his nose.

‘Young man, don’t do it,’ he said, ‘This City is a closed shop. We have enough working here without outsiders. Go to Miami, but don’t try to operate here.’

‘Thanks for nothing. So I operate here,’ Vin said, red showing through his bronze. ‘Who’s going to stop me?’

‘The cops,’ Abe said. ‘The cops here know there must be a certain amount of crime in this City. They accept this, but they don’t accept a new face. Someone will tip them that a new face has arrived and the owner of the new face has ideas. In a few days that new face is either run out of the City or else lands up behind bars. Take my tip: there’s nothing here for you. Go to Miami. That’s a fine city for a young man like you . . . but don’t try anything here.’

Vin stared for a long moment at this tall, thin Jew and it dawned on him that this old man was being helpful in his odd way. He lifted his shoulders and stood up.

‘Well, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it,’ and turning, he made his way through the shop, ignoring the Indian girls who were ogling him hopefully and into the hot sunlight of the waterfront.

For the first time in his life, he felt a lack of confidence and a nagging fear that soon his money would run out. He didn’t want to leave Paradise City. He wanted to be with Cindy. But what was he to do? He knew a warning when he was given a warning and Abe Levi had shown him the red light.

With lagging steps, he walked to where he had parked the Jaguar.

Two

A
middle aged, fat, blonde woman, followed by a man who could have been her husband came into the bar. They climbed up on stools and ordered whisky on the rocks. The man, weedy, balding, wearing a bush jacket and crumpled khaki slacks divested himself of two expensive looking cameras which were festooned around his neck. He stared around and his eyes finally came to rest on Barney who was putting away the third tier of his second hamburger.

The weedy man nudged the fat blonde who swivelled her head and eyed Barney, her pale blue eyes popping. This woman had managed to wedge her enormous hips into a pair of flame coloured shorts. I felt that any extra movement from her would make the shorts give at the seams. Over her vast frontage, she had on a lightweight sweater with a pattern of orange rings against a white background.

‘One of the local characters, Tim,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘I love this City. You can’t move a yard without finding something exciting to look at.’

Barney looked a little smug.

‘You know, Mr. Campbell, people notice me,’ he said. ‘Mr. Dulac is right. I am a tourist attraction.’ He pointed his big finger at my chest. ‘I’ll bet you a nickel before those two leave, the punk will want to take my photograph.’

I said it was a bet, but how about getting on with this story of his?

Barney nodded.

‘Yeah . . . well, you know about Joey, Cindy and Vin. We’ll leave them for the moment with the outlook for Vin bleak. He could, of course, have moved on to Jacksonville and tried his luck there, but he now had this rooted idea that he had to pull off the big one so he could settle with Cindy and Joey for at least a couple of years before looking for another job, and he knew Paradise City was about the only city apart from Miami where you could find loot worth fifty thousand bucks in one quick, safe steal.’

Seeing the fat woman was still gaping at him, Barney wigwagged with his bushy eyebrows and gave her a leering grin. The woman looked hastily away and leaning close to her husband, she began to whisper.

‘She’s a little shy,’ Barney said. ‘You wait. They’ll be over here wanting my photo.’ As I said nothing, he went on, ‘Now I’ll tell you about Don Elliot. You’ve seen plenty of pictures of him: a tall, well-built guy, handsome, dark and with that sexy look most women can’t resist.

‘When Errol Flynn kicked off, there was an opening for a movie actor to take his place. Pacific Pictures had Elliot under contract and they realized, with careful grooming, they could move him into Flynn’s market. They groomed him and he delivered. His first three movies went well and did big box office. He was a mixture of Flynn and Fairbanks senior. As you said, no actor, but a good cut and thrust merchant. His agent, Sol Lewishon, was smart enough to get Elliot on a percentage deal after the third movie and Elliot really moved into the dough. Like most movie stars, he was a heavy spender.’

Barney paused to eat the last of the hamburger. ‘It’s an odd thing with these movie people. They have this inferiority complex. You know what I mean?’ He stared at me with his small, calculating eyes. ‘They think if they don’t live it up the rest of the world will think they’re cheapies. They have to have big cars, flash women, big houses, swimming pools. They have to throw their money around. Elliot was like that. He came to Paradise City and built a villa up on the hill and this villa, Mr. Campbell, sure as death, had everything. I heard it cost around half a million bucks. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, maybe not. It wasn’t all that big, but it had everything. One of my newspaper friends wrote an article about the villa and he showed me some of the photos.’ Barney drew in a long slow breath. ‘It had every gimmick you can imagine. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms and a living room that could hold two hundred people without them breathing down each other’s necks, a dining hall, swimming pool, a playroom, sauna baths, barbecue - you name it, Elliot had it. He even had his own movie theatre.

‘He had three cars: a Rolls, an Alfa and a Porsche racer. He was a sociable guy and he was liked. The rich creeps living here entertained him and were entertained by him. His movies were great box office. Things looked set for him, but as so often happens, his luck ran out.’

At this moment the fat woman and her weedy husband finished their drinks and got off their stools. Barney looked at me and winked, then sat back, preening himself, stroking out the wrinkles in his sweatshirt. The fat woman and her husband went out of the bar without looking at him and they disappeared into the crowd moving along the waterfront. There was a long pause, then I said gently that he owed me a nickel.

Barney shook his head in disbelief.

‘That’s never happened before. If I told you the number of times I’ve been photographed by these tourist jerks you wouldn’t believe it.’

‘A nickel,’ I said.

He dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

‘Let’s get back to Don Elliot,’ he said firmly and rapped his empty glass on the table. He waited until Sam had brought him a refill, then went on, ‘As I was saying, Elliot’s luck ran out. He had completed six movies and Pacific Pictures were drafting a new contract that would give him 20% of the producer’s profits, and that, from what I have been told, would have netted him a million bucks, plus all expenses and so on and so on. The contract was finally ready to sign, and Lewishon, his agent, called him from Hollywood and asked him to come on up and sign it. At this time, Elliot had found another doll he imagined he was in love with. I saw her: a good-looking chick if you like them skinny: blonde, of course, with flashing green eyes and tits that should have been muzzled. The two of them left here in the racing Porsche for Hollywood. Halfway to Hollywood, the girl wanted to drive. As Eliot was nuts about her, he let her. She had no more idea of handling a racing car than I have. At around a hundred and five miles an hour, she hit a truck. His safety belt saved him, but she took the steering wheel messily in her chest. When Elliot came to in a private, top class clinic, he found Sol Lewishon and the President of Pacific Pictures at his bedside.’ Barney drank a little beer and persuaded his fat face to look sad. ‘Maybe you read about it in the newspapers?’ he asked.