Beggarman, Thief (52 page)

“I understand,” Rudolph said. He stood up. “I am staying at the Colombed’Or in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. I will be waiting for a telephone call.”

“I promise nothing, dear
monsieur,”
said the lawyer. He turned around, and with his back to the sea, smiled wanly at Rudolph. “To be perfectly honest with you, I would prefer it if you could persuade your nephew to abandon his rash scheme.”

“So would I,” Rudolph said. “But I doubt that I could do so.”

The lawyer nodded somberly. “Young men,” he said. “Ah, well, I shall do what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Rudolph stood up. As he went out of the room the lawyer was looking out at the sea again. They had not shaken hands as they said good-bye.

The power of money, Rudolph thought, as he drove along the port. Would Hamlet have paid Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to do the job on his uncle, the king, if he had had the florins?

When he got to the Colombe d’Or, he called the Hôtel Alembert, in Paris. Luckily, Billy was in. What Rudolph didn’t know was that Billy hadn’t left the hotel, except for the one trip to the bank the day before.

“Billy,” Rudolph said, “there’s a ray of hope. I can’t tell you about it, and don’t ask what it is—now—or ever. But it’s there. What we have to do is buy time. What you have to do is keep Wesley pacified. Can you hear me clearly?”

“Too clearly,” Billy said. “What am I supposed to do to keep him pacified?”

“Get to Saint-Tropez on the fifth day. Make up some story—any story—you’re a clever fellow.…”

“That’s what they tell me,” Billy said bleakly.

“Just hang in there with him,” Rudolph said. “I don’t want him disappearing into the blue. We’ve got to know where he is at all times. Got it?”

“Got it,” Billy said, without enthusiasm.

“If necessary,” Rudolph said, “you can tell him where I am. I’d rather he didn’t know, but if that’s the only way we can put him off, I’ll chip in on the holding process. And keep me posted.”

“How long do I have to keep him pacified?” Billy asked.

“As long as it takes.”

“That’s a nice round figure,” Billy said.

“No witticisms, please,” Rudolph said severely. “I’m doing my share, you do yours.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy said. “I’ll spend the next couple of days making up a story.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“Making that crazy man believe it is another story,” Billy said.

“Get lucky,” Rudolph said and hung up.

«  »

The
Clothilde
was moored not far from the Chris-Craft that Bunny was crewing in the port of Saint-Tropez, and Wesley and Bunny went over to take a look at it. Bunny hadn’t wanted him to go. “You’ve seen enough of that boat,” he said.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” Wesley said. “I won’t break into tears or hit anybody. It was the only home I ever had that I felt good in. I’ll just look at it and remember that, how it was when my old man was on it. I’ve been looking at a lot more depressing things since then.…” He had spent the days and nights of waiting for Billy prowling around the ports of Saint-Tropez and Cannes and going in and out of the nightclubs in both places. He couldn’t ask Bunny if Danovic was around, because Bunny would start arguing with him. He couldn’t ask anyone else, either, about Danovic because he couldn’t let Danovic, or eventually the police, know that he was after him, but he could look. He had looked and hadn’t found the man, but he was certain that, given enough time, Danovic would surface. Well, he had plenty of time. Surprisingly, being around the ports in the quiet month or so before the season began had calmed him. He even slept more quietly and the violent dreams that had plagued him for so long did not recur.

When they reached the place where the
Clothilde
was tied up, they stood looking at it, without talking. The ship looked old-fashioned and comfortable and Wesley was pleased that it was clean and well-kept. It would have hurt him if the ship was messy or looked neglected.

“They keep it up nice, don’t they?” he said to Bunny.

“They’re Germans,” Bunny said; “you could eat off the deck. You want to go on and take a look around? They put in an automatic pilot.”

Wesley shook his head. “No. This is enough. I’m glad I saw it, but it’s enough.”

They went back to the Chris-Craft, where Wesley had a fish stew going on the range for lunch. There would be three for lunch, because Bunny had taken up with a girl who worked in one of the boutiques on the port and she lunched with him every day. She was a pretty, small, dark-haired girl who spoke fairly good English and Bunny was crazy about her and as far as Wesley could tell, she was crazy about him. She came over to the Chris-Craft after work, too, and sometimes spent the night with Bunny. Bit by bit, Bunny was losing some of his womanish gestures, Wesley noticed. Bunny and she were talking about getting married and signing on as a couple in a bigger ship. Bunny, Wesley noticed, was not only taking on some of the mannerisms of Tom, he was moving consciously or unconsciously toward the sort of life his father and Kate had had together.

Wesley was pleased by that, too—it was a tribute, he recognized, to the value of his father, a tribute from the man who had known him better than anyone else alive. It made up for a lot of the things Wesley had heard about his father from Teddy Boylan and from Schultzy, in the Hebrew Home for the Aged in the Bronx.

The lunch was a good one, with a bottle of cold wine. Wesley had asked Bunny not to tell anybody that he was acting in a picture that was going to be shown in Cannes, but when the girl, whose name was Nadine, asked Wesley what his profession was, Bunny blurted out, “He’s a goddamn movie actor. How do you like that—my old shipmate?”

Well, Wesley thought, if it gives Bunny points with his girl, what harm can it do?

“Is that true?” Nadine looked at him incredulously.

“I’m afraid so,” Wesley said. “After the picture comes out I may be an ex-movie actor.”

“Are you two fellows pulling my leg?” Nadine asked.

“You can see for yourself,” Bunny said. “He’s the star of a movie they’re going to show at the festival.”

“Not the star,” Wesley protested. “It’s just a bit part.”

Nadine looked at him closely. “I thought you were too good looking just to be
nobody.”

“A
dime a dozen,” Wesley said. “I’m really just a seaman at heart.”

“There’s a girl who works with me,” Nadine said, “actually my best friend, she’s crazy about the movies, she’s awfully cute, why don’t I bring her to dinner tonight?”

“I’m just staying in Saint-Tropez a little while,” Wesley said uneasily. Remembering Alice’s promise to try to come over to Europe for at least two weeks, he didn’t want to be tempted by an awfully cute French girl.

“She speaks good English,” Nadine said.

“Actually,” Wesley said, “I have a date for tonight.” It was the fifth day and he wanted to be at the hotel if and when Billy showed up.

“How about tomorrow night?” Nadine persisted.

“I’ll probably be in Cannes tomorrow night,” Wesley said. “Maybe some other time.”

“Are you coming back from Cannes after the festival?” Nadine asked.

“That depends,” Wesley said.

“She just broke up with her boyfriend,” said Nadine. “You’d be just the thing to cheer her up.”

“I’m not much good at cheering people up,” Wesley said. “Ask Bunny.”

“He’s a serious boy,” Bunny said. “He can stand some cheering up himself.”

“If we come to Cannes,” Nadine said, “can you get us tickets to see your film?”

“I guess so. I’ll let Bunny know where I’m staying.” Christ, Wesley thought, that’s all I need, two French girls hanging around my neck just as I bump into that sonofabitch Danovic.

“You won’t forget now?” Nadine said, as she prepared to go back to her boutique.

“I won’t forget,” Wesley lied.

Nadine kissed Bunny, and they both watched her walk swiftly down the quay, a curvy small girl with a swinging walk.

“What do you think of her?” Bunny asked. He had not asked before.

“She’s pretty as can be,” Wesley said.

“Do you think she’s too flighty to make a good wife?” Bunny asked anxiously.

“I think she’s fine, Bunny,” Wesley said. He didn’t want to be responsible in any way for a decision as grave as marriage for Bunny. “I hardly know her.”

“I tell you something,” Bunny said, “with your looks and what you learned from your father and now, with being a movie actor and all, I bet you know a hundred times more than I do about women. That’s never been my strong point and I don’t want to kid myself about that.” He hesitated. “Did you get the impression she was flirting with you or anything like that?”

“Come on, Bunny.” Wesley was honestly shocked.

“I wouldn’t want to get hooked up with any woman who made passes at my friends,” Bunny said.

“Rest easy, mate,” Wesley said. “There wasn’t the flicker of an eyelash.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bunny said. “Now—about you—”

“What about me?”

“I got the feeling you didn’t come down to the Cote d’Azur just to see your old shipmate or to go to any goddamn movie.…”

“You’re imagining things. I just …”

“I’m not imagining anything,” Bunny said. “I have feelings about you. When you’re on the level. When you’re hiding something. You’re hiding something right now. I keep watching you when you don’t know I’m looking and I don’t like what I see, Wesley.”

“Crap,” Wesley said roughly. “Stop being an old lady.”

“I know one thing,” Bunny said. “Your father would hate to see you get into trouble—bad trouble—especially if it’s because of that Danovic fellow. Are you listening to me, Wesley?”

“I’m listening.”

“He loved you and the thing he wanted most was for you to have a good life. And that goes almost ditto for me. I don’t want to have to visit you in prison or in a hospital or in a morgue.”

“Don’t make me feel sorry I came to see you, Bunny,” Wesley said quietly.

“I don’t care if you never see me again,” Bunny said, “if I can hammer some sense into your head. You’ve got a great life ahead of you—don’t ruin it. Your father’s dead and that’s that. Respect his memory, is all I’m asking from you.”

“I’ve got to get back to my hotel,” Wesley said; “I’m expecting a call.”

Bunny was standing at the stern of the Chris-Craft staring coldly at Wesley as Wesley mounted the one-cylinder bicyclette he had rented and chugged off toward his hotel.

«  »

When Wesley reached the hotel, he saw the open Peugeot standing in the parking lot. He hurried into the hotel. “There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the bar,” the concierge told him as he gave Wesley his key.

Billy was sitting alone in the empty bar, sipping at a beer and staring out at the inlet of the bay on which the hotel was built. He looked small and disconsolate, slumped in his chair. His clothes were rumpled and he hadn’t bothered to comb his hair, which had been whipped by the wind on his journey. The long trip to Paris and back in the open car had made his normally dark complexion two or three shades darker. He looks like a shifty little Arab, Wesley thought as he went up to him. Billy stood up as Wesley approached, and they shook hands.

“Well, Cousin,” Wesley said, “it’s about time.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Billy said querulously, “are you going to start like that?”

“Let’s go to my room,” Wesley said, looking over at the barman who was peeling lemons at the other side of the room. “We can talk there.”

“You might let me finish my beer,” Billy said. “And you look as though you could use one yourself.”

“There’re a lot of things I could use more,” Wesley said. “Drink up.”

Billy looked around him. “This is a pretty fancy place,” he said. “It must cost a fortune.”

“I thought I was only going to be here a couple of days,” Wesley said. “I didn’t think I’d have to stay here for the whole season. You finished with your beer?”

“I suppose so,” Billy said, “but I have to pay.”

“Put the gentleman’s drink on my bill, please,” Wesley called to the bartender at the other end of the room.

“Thanks,” Billy said as he followed Wesley out of the bar.

“It’s the least I could do,” Wesley said sardonically, “for my true-blue cousin.”

In his room, Wesley turned on Billy. “Have you got it?” he asked harshly.

“You have to let me explain,” Billy said. “The man who was holding it for me is on the lam. He wasn’t in Paris and his girlfriend said she didn’t know where he is. But she said he would call her and …”

“When?” Wesley asked. “When is he going to call her?”

“She couldn’t say. Soon, she thinks.”

“Soon? The fourth of July? Christmas?”

“Jesus,” Billy said aggrievedly, “there’s no call for you to talk to me like that. I did my best. It’s not like going into a store and buying a box of candy.”

“You know what I think, Billy,” Wesley said levelly, “I think you’re lying to me.”

“Don’t be so goddamn suspicious. I volunteered, didn’t I, for Christ’s sake? Nobody put a gun to my head. All I was doing was trying to help.”

“Balls,” Wesley said. “You know where that gun is—if there ever was a gun …”

“There’s a gun,” Billy said. “I swear it.”

“Then you’re going to tell me where it is. And you’re going to tell me right now.” With a sudden, feline motion, Wesley leaped at Billy and began to choke him. Billy struggled, clawing at the hands around his throat and trying to use his knee to Wesley’s groin. But Wesley outweighed him by forty pounds. Soundlessly, they struggled around the room. Billy slipped and was on the floor, with Wesley kneeling on him, his face calm, his hands pressing maniacally on Billy’s throat. Just before Billy was about to black out, the hands relaxed.

“You going to tell me or not?” Wesley whispered.

“Christ,” Billy gasped, “you could have choked me to death.”

“Highly possible.” Wesley’s hands began to press a little harder.

“Rudolph …” Billy said brokenly. “He’s in Saint-Paul-de-Vence … the Hôtel Colombe d’Or. Now will you get off my chest?”

Slowly, Wesley released his grip and stood. He helped Billy up and Billy fell into a chair, feeling his throat with his hands. “You’re too fucking strong for your own good,” he said.