1974 - So What Happens to Me (21 page)

I replaced the receiver and stared out of the open window.

There was something so out of character about this set-up that it began to bother me. I had expected a vicious explosion from this woman: no explosion had come. I had been willing to bet that she wouldn’t have parted with half a million dollars and yet she had meekly submitted. The only thing in character had been those flicking fingers.

I tried to convince myself that she had so much to lose that half a million was an acceptable pay-off. Like her husband, she was stinking rich, such a sum was like a hundred dollars to me and yet somehow it didn’t jell. It was so completely out of character. As I sat staring at the sunset, my future began to fray at the edges.

I had a meal, then wandered around the city, then went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. Around 02.00 I couldn’t stand my thoughts any longer. I took three sleeping pills and they gave me the oblivion I had to have.

I slept until midday. The rest of the day stretched endlessly for me. I wondered what I was going to do with myself. I thought of Vicky and suddenly wanted her physically, but I knew that was finished. The finger flicking act and those impersonal, cold violet eyes told me that as nothing else could.

I went down to the bar, had a double Scotch on the rocks and a chicken sandwich. It was all I could do to eat it. Then I drove down to the beach. The dolly birds were there, but they no longer interested me, I sat in the car, staring at the sea until dusk, my thoughts tormenting me. Then I returned to my apartment and watched the telly.

The following day was a carbon copy of the previous day.

I kept telling myself to relax. By tomorrow we would have Aulestria off our backs. The day after I would report to Wes Jackson and begin work. I was sure that once I began to work, all this would fall behind me. I tried to think what I would do once I was in charge of the airfield. I even made a few notes, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Around 19.00, my front door bell rang. I let Sam in. He handed me a bulky envelope.

“How is she. Sam?” I asked, taking the envelope.

“She’s okay. Mr. Crane. She’ll always be okay.” He shuffled his feet. “I guess I’ll say goodbye. I’m moving on.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled sadly.

“Mrs. Essex doesn’t need me anymore.”

“You mean she’s given you the gate?”

“That’s it, Mr. Crane.”

“What are you going to do?” I was shocked.

“I’ll get by. I have my savings. I’m going home.”

“You mean she’s thrown you out. . . just like that?”

“It had to happen sometime. She’s a difficult lady. If things go right with her it’s fine: if they don’t it’s bad.”

“I’m sorry. Sam. I feel it’s my fault.”

His nice, kindly face split into a rueful grin.

“If it hadn’t been you it would be someone else.” He wiped his hand on the seat of his trousers, then offered it. “Well, so long, Mr. Crane, it’s been my pleasure knowing you.”

We shook hands and he left.

Could this happen to me? I wondered. After this was over, after Aulestria had been paid off, was I too going to get the gate? I went over and sat in a chair.

Yes, I told myself. The writing was on the wall. You’ll get the gate. She won’t want you around as she doesn’t want Sam around. You’ll go: that’s for sure.

I looked down at the bulky envelope I was holding in my hand. I ripped it open. It contained five bearer bonds, each worth $100,000. I could get in the Caddy and take off These bonds were cash. I could do that, but I wasn’t going to.

I sat there thinking. My future had exploded. What was going to happen to me?

I suddenly felt in the need of comfort and there was only one person on earth who could give me that.

My old man answered the telephone: his voice sounded tired.

“Well, this is a surprise. How are you Jack?”

“I’m okay. I’ve been thinking. This job isn’t working out. Is that garage still up for sale?”

“Could be. I don’t know. I’ll ask. Would you be interested Jack?”

“Maybe. Ask anyway.” I had twenty thousand dollars of Essex’s money in the bank. I wouldn’t have to borrow from my old man. “How’s the garden looking?”

“Wonderful. The roses have never been so good Jack. . .” I could hear his excited breathing. His voice no longer sounded tired. “Are you coming home?”

“Maybe, Dad. I’ll let you know in a little while. Yes . . . I could be coming home.”

“All right, son. I’ll wait to hear.”

“I won’t keep you waiting long. Bye now. Dad,” and I hung up.

I didn’t take any sleeping pills that night.

It occurred to me as I got into the Caddy the following morning that this would be the last time I would drive it. It was a fine car and I started the motor with regret. I drove to the Hilton and parked. A distant church clock chimed the hour.

Holding the envelope containing the bonds, I walked up the hotel steps and into the imposing lobby. In a few minutes, I told myself as I entered the elevator, the pressure would slacken.

I walked along the corridor and tapped on Aulestria’s door.

It opened immediately and Aulestria stood aside to let me in.

Then he stepped into the corridor, looked to right and left, then came back into the room.

Pam was standing by the window. She had on a light dustcoat and two expensive-looking suitcases stood nearby.

“You have the bonds, Mr. Crane?” Aulestria asked.

“I have them.” I took them from the envelope and showed them to him. He didn’t attempt to take them from my hand, but peered at them, then nodded.

“Satisfactory.” He took from his pocket an envelope. “Here are the photos and the negatives. Take them and I’ll take the bonds.”

We made the exchange. I checked the photos and the negatives.

“How many more copies have you kept back?” I asked.

“Mr. Crane . . . please. You can trust me entirely.” He smiled. “There are no copies. I give you my word. Mrs. Essex can be quite happy about that.”

“You’ll be sorry if you try for another squeeze,” I said, “but that’s your funeral.”

“There won’t be another squeeze, Mr. Crane.”

“I’m just telling you.”

I turned and left the room. Walked down the corridor to the elevator and rode down to the lobby.

I was putting the envelope containing the photos in my breast pocket when a voice said gently, “I’ll have those Crane.”

I spun around, my heart jumping.

Wes Jackson was standing just behind me, his teeth showing in his shark’s smile. He held out his fat hand.

“I’m representing Mrs. Essex. She has asked me to collect the photos from you.”

“She’ll get them, but from me.”

“She anticipated that would be your reaction.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Here is an authorisation.” His little eyes dwelt on my face. “She doesn’t want to see you again.”

I took the slip of paper.

Jack Crane,

Hand the blackmail photographs to Mr. Jackson.

From this moment you are no longer employed by Essex Enterprises.

Lane Essex

I stared at the signature, then at Jackson.

“So she told him?”

“Naturally. No one has ever succeeded in blackmailing the Essex people: no one ever will. Give me the photographs.”

I gave them to him.

“Thank you. Now, Crane, let’s sit down for a few minutes. Let us both witness the end of this sordid little drama. It will interest you.” He laid his fat hand on my arm and guided me to two lounging chairs that faced the elevators. He sat down and glanced at the photographs, then put them in his pocket.

I sat down.

From this moment you are no longer employed by Essex Enterprises.

I had anticipated this, but all the same it came as a shock.

“You will leave Paradise City immediately,” Jackson said. “You will be wise never to return. You can consider yourself fortunate. When discussing your case. Mr. Essex took into consideration that you did save Mrs. Essex’s life. This weighed in your favour. I am sure you will be wise enough to say nothing to anyone of what has happened. I can tell you we have withdrawn the insurance claim for the Condor and by doing this, we have neutralised the blackmail threat. The other photo means nothing.”

“They’re getting away with half a million dollars,” I said, “You call that smart?”

He smiled, looking more like a shark than ever.

“No one gets away with anything when dealing with Mr. Essex.” He stretched out his long, thick legs. “Ah! Do look. Crane. This will interest you.”

One of the elevator doors slid open. Pam, followed by Aulestria came out into the lobby. Behind them were two beefy looking men with cop written all over them.

Aulestria’s face was ashen. Pam looked as if she were about to collapse. The two men herded them across the lobby and down to a waiting car.

Another man, again with cop written all over him. came from another elevator, carrying the two suitcases I had seen in Aulestria’s room. He set them down and came over to Jackson.

He dropped the heavy envelope containing the bonds into Jackson’s lap.

“No problem,” he said and picking up the suitcases, he walked to the exit, got in the waiting car which drove rapidly away.

“Now you see, how our organisation works,” Jackson said smugly. “Those three men are ex-police officers. They will escort those two petty blackmailers onto a plane to Merida: it is a chartered flight and they will have the plane entirely to themselves. Arriving at Merida they will be met by an extremely hostile reception. I need not mention that Mr. Orzoco has been alerted. Aulestria stupidly took funds belonging to Mr. Orzoco’s party. They will know how to deal with him and with the woman. Aulestria is under the impression that the men escorting him belong to the City police. Every word you and he exchanged was taped and they have played the tape back to him. He imagines he is going to be prosecuted for blackmail. It won’t be until he is put on board the plane that he will realise what is happening: then it will be too late.” He gave me his shark’s smile. “Little, stupid people Crane, like yourself. There is an old saying: the clay pot should never go down stream with the gold pot. The clay pot invariably gets broken.” I could see he was enjoying himself. “You perhaps didn’t realise that I had arranged for a bug to be planted on you when you first called on Aulestria. You might give it to me. It’s in your right coat pocket.”

Dazed, I groped in my pocket and came up with a black object no bigger than an Aspro pill. Then I remembered the man who had lurched against me.

As I gave Jackson the bug, I said, “So what happens to me?”

“Nothing.” He heaved himself to his feet and regarded me contemptuously. “Nothing ever will,” and he walked away, leaving me staring after him.

Perhaps he will be wrong. Ever is a long time.

I sat there thinking of my old man, the small time town and the garage that could still be for sale.

I suddenly felt a surge of confidence.

After all Henry Ford began small, didn’t he?

THE END