Authors: Robbins Harold
Marcel smiled. "Yesterday I closed a deal with the American War Surplus for one hundred and thirty surplus tankers."
Dax took the cigar out of his mouth and let his breath out slowly. He could make a guess at the cost. "And what do you do with them if you cannot make this deal?"
Marcel took out another cigarette and lit it before he answered. Then he waved the match out and looked at Dax somberly. "I'll kill myself," he said quietly. "Because if I don't make this deal I have no other way to pay for them."
CHAPTER 9
It was after seven o'clock in the morning when Dax came down dressed in an old shirt and a faded pair of Levi's. He went through the empty dining room to the kitchen. None of the other guests were down yet.
Fat Cat looked up as he appeared in the doorway. "Come in," he said, his mouth full of food. "This one, she knows how to cook."
The Mexican woman simpered and smiled.
"Later," Dax said. "I thought we'd try some of their famous horses before breakfast."
Quickly Fat Cat shoved in a last mouthful of food. He got to his feet, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. He smiled at the cook. "Este muy bien. Mil gracias."
She flashed a shy smile at him. "De nada."
He walked over to Dax. "What time is lunch?" he asked from the doorway. "With cooking as good as this I don't want to be late."
"Twelve o'clock."
"Bueno." Fat Cat let out a satisfied burp. "I shall be here."
They went out into the bright morning sunshine through the kitchen door. Fat Cat squinted up at the clear blue sky. "It will be hot today."
Dax didn't answer. He led the way toward the stables just behind the kitchen. Three hands were in the corral putting a saddle on a skittish young mare. The two of them went over to the fence, and leaned over it. Each time one of the hands approached the animal she would turn, her ears flat back against her head, her teeth bared.
"The mare she is a very nervous one, no?" Fat Cat called pleasantly.
The men glanced at them, then at each other. They did not speak. One of them moved toward the mare, but she spun away from him.
"Why do not you cover her eyes?"
Again the hands glanced at them, pointedly silent.
"I thought we might take some horses out," Dax called.
This time they all paused in what they were doing, and looked at Dax. They studied the old shirt and the faded Levi's before one of them answered, a faint tone of contempt coming into his voice. "Mistuh Horgan doan allow no greaser servants to ride his horseflesh."
Fat Cat glanced quickly at Dax. Dax's face gave no hint of his feelings; only his eyes were suddenly dark and angry. "Not even that one?"
The three men looked at each other, then a grin came to their faces. The one who had answered turned toward Dax. "If'n you can git the saddle on her you're free to ride her."
"Thank you," Dax said politely. He placed two hands on the top railing and vaulted over.
Fat Cat bent down to crawl through but it was no use. He was too big. When he straightened up he saw the grins on their faces. Angrily he put his foot on the bottom rail to climb over. The rail broke under his weight.
He stood there looking down at the broken rail while their shouts of laughter echoed in his ears. When he looked up a pleasant smile was back on his lips. "I think I better use the gate, no?"
He opened the gate and came into the corral. "Your fences are not made for the weight of men. They must be made for boys, no?"
"Not men like you, Mex," the youngest of them said.
"I am not Mexican, senor," Fat Cat said in a dignified voice. "I am Corteguayan."
"Same thing," the hand holding the saddle said, "all them greaser countries."
Fat Cat turned toward him, his eyes beginning to glint dangerously deep in their layers of fat. Dax's voice kept him from answering. "Take the saddle, Fat Cat."
Silently Fat Cat took the saddle, while Dax walked around to the head of the mare. The man who had given it to him picked up a lariat and began to twirl it idly. Dax picked up the mare's lead rope. "You men go back to the fence," he said pleasantly, "you are making her nervous."
Silently the men drew back against the fence. Dax began to whisper softly to the animal in Spanish. "You are the most beautiful of mares." Horses and women. They were all the same. They loved flattery. He kept on talking to her softly, singing her praises, until at last she allowed him to take her head against his chest, his arm shielding her eyes. He nodded to Fat Cat.
In a moment the saddle was in place and cinched tightly. Before the mare even had a chance to react, Dax was on her, his legs and knees gripping tightly against her sides. The mare stood there for a full second before she realized that he was on her. Then she went straight up in the air and came down stiff legged.
Dax took up the shock with his legs, all the while still speaking softly to her. She took off on a tangent down the corral, bucking and twisting as she went, but there was nothing she could do to dislodge the man on her back. At the far end she turned and began sunfishing her way back. Halfway she ran out of strength and stopped in her tracks, her sides heaving.
Dax still kept stroking her neck and whispering. After a few moments he reined her in and started back up the corral with her. In front of the hands at the fence he turned her around until her rump was toward them, then he agilely slipped from the saddle. "You don't have to be afraid of her now."
They stared at him. He was still stroking the mare's neck. "Are you callin' us cowards?" The man's voice was harsh, the lariat still twisting in his hands.
Dax glanced at him contemptuously for a moment, then turned back to the horse without answering. A moment later the lariat dropped around his shoulders, pulling him roughly away from the horse. He half stumbled backward, almost fell, then caught his balance and turned.
The man holding the other end of the lariat was smiling. "Were you callin' me an' my friends cowards, greaser?"
From the corner of his eyes Dax caught a glimpse of Fat Cat moving toward them. With a quick gesture he stopped him. The hand took the gesture for a sign of fear and pulled at the rope. Dax stumbled, went to his knees and pitched face forward onto the ground just as Marcel and Horgan and several other men came into view around the house.
Marcel reacted swiftly when he saw what was happening. He still remembered the savagery at Ventimiglia. "You better stop your men, Mr. Horgan. They will get hurt!"
Horgan chuckled in a pleased voice. He was a big man. And this was his kind of Texas humor. "My boys kin take care of themselves. They're just funnin'. They love to josh tenderfeet."
Marcel looked at his host, who was surveying the corral with a pleased smile. He shrugged with typical Gallic resignation.
Fat Cat was leaning against the fence, and the hands had moved forward until they were standing over Dax. The man with the lariat looked down. He jerked sharply at the rope. The grin on his face froze into a look of surprise as it suddenly came away in his hands, then turned into a scream of pain as Dax broke his knee with the flat of his hand. He hadn't quite hit the ground when Dax, coming up, caught the second man with a straight arm in the rib cage.
Horgan and the others were standing more than twenty feet away but they could hear the sharp snap of the man's ribs cracking as he collapsed. Dax began to straighten up as the third man came up behind him. But that was about as far as he got, for by then Fat Cat had him garroted with part of the rope that had fallen to the ground, and was shaking him like a terrier with a rat.
"Fat Cat!" Dax's voice was sharp.
Fat Cat's eyes turned toward him.
"Basta!"
Fat Cat nodded. Abruptly he let go of the man. The hand sank to his knees, gasping for breath, his face still congested and almost purple, his fingers rubbing his throat. The other two stared up in pain and horror.
"In my country, senores," Fat Cat said in a voice thick with contempt, "even the children can take better care of themselves. You would not last one day in the jungle."
Dax turned back to the mare, who was still standing there, her sides heaving, her legs trembling. Soothingly he stroked her neck. "Get some water for the mare, Fat Cat," Dax said quietly. "She must be very thirsty."
Fat Cat turned. His round smooth face didn't change expression as he saw Horgan and the others hurrying into the corral. "Buenos dias, senores" he said politely.
Marcel came into the room. He was carrying a sheaf of papers under his arm. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting, gentlemen?"
"No, Mr. Campion," Horgan said. He closed the door behind Marcel. "If you're ready, we can start now."
Marcel nodded. He looked around the room. There were five men there besides himself. Dax, Cal Rainey, Horgan and his two associates, Davis and Landing, both well-known oilmen. Their faces were expressionless; they were sure of their own position, and waiting for Marcel to prove his. Marcel took a deep breath.
"I shall speak frankly, gentlemen. I know you are curious how I learned of your survey, and that you possibly suspect a leak in your organization. Let me put that fear to rest. It really was quite simple. The ship you chartered in South America happened to be mine."
Horgan looked at his associates. "I'll be damned. Didn't anyone think to check that?"
Marcel smiled. "If you had you would have found out nothing; the ship is registered in the name of its captain. The day after I learned of the existence of your survey I got in touch with Mr. Rainey. At the same time I had my attorneys in Washington institute a search to determine which South American countries had already granted mineral agreements for offshore development. Within a few days I learned they were pretty well taken up by the major companies. And those that weren't were already controlled by men like Hunt, Richardson, Getty and Murchison. I also found out that such individuals were pursuing an independent course. They were not a part of your syndicate."
Marcel paused for a moment to light a cigarette. "My attorneys inform me that the only country which thus far had not made any offshore-development deal is Corteguay. Mr. Rainey confirms that your survey indicates a high possibility of oil in that sector. My traffic department has completed a study of your worldwide shipping needs. At that point I asked Mr. Rainey to contact you directly with my proposition." A faint smile crossed Marcel's lips. "Now, gentlemen, you know. There are no more secrets."
Horgan was silent for a moment. "Thanks, Mr. Campion." He glanced at his associates. "If I may, I'll speak as frankly. I don't exactly see where you come in. What's to keep us from negotiating an agreement with Corteguay without your assistance?"
Marcel glanced at Dax, then back to Horgan. "Nothing. Anyone can negotiate. But it is one thing to negotiate on the basis I suggest and quite another to compete in an open market." "Are you suggesting that it will cost us less by negotiating with you?"
Dax looked at Marcel. "I think I should answer that."
Marcel nodded. Dax turned to Horgan. "You will pay just as much, perhaps even a little more. But you will get it."
Horgan smiled at him. "Then I can't see the advantage. What you and Mr. Campion seem to have forgotten is the simple fact that there may be no oil there. In that case we are not only out our investment but we'll also have gone to the expense of rearranging our shipping contracts in favor of Mr. Campion."
"You have to have ships anyway, Mr. Horgan," Marcel said. "And I'll be shipping your oil for four percent less than any of your current contracts."
"Maybe so," Horgan said, "but if we can't make a deal for less, I feel we're better off on the open market. We'll take our chances."
Dax glanced across the table at Marcel. Marcel's face was expressionless but Dax knew him well enough to recognize his faint pallor. Dax got to his feet abruptly. He was tired of playing games with these rich, self-centered men. "You're not taking any chances, Mr. Horgan." The Texan looked up at him. "What do you mean, Mr. Xenos?"
"You'll never get the contract on the open market."
Horgan got to his feet and faced Dax. "Am I to understand, sir, that you'll stand in our way?"
"I won't have to." Dax smiled but there was no humor in his face. His voice was very cold. "Because once we are home I have no way of keeping my friend from talking. And you don't really believe that my country would make an agreement with you after Fat Cat tells the story of how you stood there and watched while your men called us greasers and attacked us?""But they were only funnin'," Horgan protested.
Dax looked at him. "Were they?"
Horgan sat down again. He looked at his associates and then back at Dax. After a moment he turned to Marcel. "O.K., Mr. Campion, you got your deal."
Marcel looked at Dax. There was a faint smile behind Dax's eyes. Suddenly Marcel realized that it had all been a bluff. Marcel looked down at the table. He didn't want the others to see the relief in his own eyes. "Thank you, gentlemen."
That was the beginning of the Campion Lines, which in less than ten years would be the largest privately owned fleet of ships in the world.
CHAPTER 10
"It is over with the two of you then?"
Giselle looked at Sergei. "Oui." Her eyes grew thoughtful. "It is strange after so many years to realize that the thing you loved is no longer a part of the man you fell in love with." Her hands moved restlessly toward the cigarettes. "Dax has changed."
Sergei leaned across the table and lit her cigarette. He glanced around the restaurant and caught the waiter's eye to bring them two more drinks. "Everybody changes. Nothing, no one ever remains the same."
"I left him in Texas," Giselle said as if she had not heard him. "Suddenly I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to come home, to Paris. I am through with America. I shall never go back there again."
"Not even to Hollywood?"
"Even that. Here I am an actress, there I am nothing but a symbol. A French sex symbol. Like the post cards the Americans take home from Pigalle."