Harold Robbins Thriller Collection

by Harold Robbins

  He didn’t look at her. “No, go sit somewhere else. I don’t want you.”

  She hesitated a moment, then turned and made her way back through the tables to the bar. The bartender put a pastis in front of her as she climbed onto a stool. “He’s in one of his moods again?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s been sitting here all night like that. He won’t talk to anybody.” She didn’t answer.

  “I don’t see why you bother with him,” the bartender said, leaning forward confidentially, “a girl like you. You should have a man who appreciates you. One who goes out and helps you in the business. He should get customers for you, not just sit there and expect you to do all the work.”

  “He’s a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman!” The bartender snorted. “If that’s what a gentleman’s like, give me an old-fashioned mac any time.” He went down the bar to fill an order. When he had finished, he came back. He leaned across the bar.

  “You’re wasting yourself. Get rid of him, and I’ll put you onto something good. Really good; no more pounding hard pavements in freezing weather.”

  She laughed. “I don’t want to go into a house. I like working for myself.”

  “No house. I just got the O.K. from the boss. Get a few good girls, he told me, and right away I thought of you. Denisonde, I thought, that’s the right sort of girl for a place like this. Real class.”

  Before she could answer, he left and went down the bar to fill another order. Just then the combo stopped playing, and the trio came down from the stand to the bar. The thin Negro who had been playing the drums stopped alongside her. He pulled a cigarette from a beat-up package, and stuck it in his mouth. “Hello, Denisonde.”

  “Jean-Claude.”

  He leaned his back against the bar so he could look at her and out over the room at the same time. “Bobby hasn’t said a word all night.”

  “There wasn’t any trouble?” she asked anxiously.

  Jean-Claude shook his head. “No, we’re kind of used to Bobby by now. Everybody’s walking wide around him.”

  “Good.” She glanced back over her shoulder. Robert was still staring down into his drink. “I wish he’d come home. He’s in pain.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can always tell. I knew it the minute we came out tonight. I couldn’t work for worrying about him. That’s why I came in early.”

  “You’re really gone on him, aren’t you?”

  She looked at Jean-Claude. “He’s alone, he needs somebody.”

  “From what I hear, he doesn’t have to be alone.”

  “What do you hear?”

  “That man was around again last night. You know, the one who was asking about Bobby?”

  “Did Robert talk to him?”

  “No. Same as usual, he told him to go away. After that Bobby went out and didn’t come back until just before you did. From what the man said, Bobby’s papa wants him to come home.”

  Denisonde didn’t answer.

  “That boy’s a pure fool,” Jean-Claude said. “He don’t have to spend his life sitting in joints like this.”

  “The war did some funny things to people.”

  “I was in the war, and I’m the same as I always was.”

  Denisonde looked at him out of the corners of her slightly slanted eyes. “You were lucky.”

  The bartender came over to them. “I got a live one for you, Denisonde,” he whispered. “Down there at the end of the bar.”

  Denisonde turned slowly. A small man, almost insignificant in his gray suit, stared back at her. She looked at the bartender and shook her head. “No, thanks. Bobby doesn’t like me to pick up anybody in here.”

  “Don’t be a fool. He’ll meet you outside, and Bobby will never know. Five thousand francs.”

  “No, thanks.”

  Jean-Claude’s voice came from behind her. “That’s the man I was telling you about, the one Bobby wouldn’t talk to. He must have just come in.”

  Denisonde looked down the bar again. Suddenly she made up her mind. “D’accord,” she said to the bartender. Quickly she scooped up her bag from the bar and glanced back over her shoulder at Robert. He was still staring into his drink. She got off the stool and went out the door.

  She shivered a little at the cold night air and pulled her coat around her. She walked down to the corner and stepped into a doorway. A moment later the man came out and walked down toward the corner.

  “Over here,” she hissed from the doorway.

  The man turned and came toward her. “M’am’selle,” he said politely.

  “The bartender said five thousand francs.”

  Without a word he reached into his pocket and came out with a few bills. She took them and put them into her evening bag. “Your place or mine?”

  “Your place.”

  “Follow me. It’s just around the corner.”

  Denisonde walked briskly past him and turned the corner. About halfway down the street she turned into an apartment house. They stood silently in the hallway as she opened the door of her apartment.

  “The bedroom’s over here,” she said, leading the way. She threw her coat onto a chair and closed the door. She began to slip out of her dress, when she noticed that he was still standing there. He hadn’t made a move. She let her dress settle back around her.

  “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “I’ve paid you five times the rate. Let’s talk first.”

  She shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. “O.K., if that’s what you want.”

  He took off his coat and sat down on the edge of the chair facing her. He took out a package of cigarettes. “May I smoke?”

  She shrugged.

  He lit a cigarette, and after a moment he said, “His father wants him to come home.”

  “Why talk to me?” she said. “Talk to Robert.”

  “He won’t listen.”

  She held out her hands expressively. “I’m not keeping him prisoner here. Robert can leave any time he wants to.”

  “His father will give you one million francs if you can get him to come home.”

  “His father doesn’t have to give me anything. If Robert wants to he can go.”

  “You’re not being very smart. A million francs is a lot of money. You wouldn’t have to live like this. You could do anything you wanted.”

  “I can do anything I want now. Robert isn’t holding me any tighter than I’m holding him.” She got to her feet. “You tell his father that if he really wants him back the only way is by coming here and talking to Robert himself.”

  “His father is a proud man. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “That’s the baron’s affair, it’s his son. There’s nothing I can do.”

  He sat there silently for a moment smoking his cigarette. “The baron is a dangerous man to have for an enemy.”

  “The baron is also a sensible man. He knows that Robert is safe with me, that I am looking out for him.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked in a tone of finality.

  “Yes,” he said, getting to his feet. He began to take off his shirt. “Five thousand francs is a lot of money for just conversation.”

  Robert was still at his table when she came back into the cellar club. She stopped beside the table and silently dropped the banknotes on the table. Without glancing at her, he picked up the money and stuffed it into his pocket. He got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Silently she followed him back through the club and out into the street. They walked round the corner and up the stairs to their apartment. Denisonde closed the door and bolted it as he went into the bedroom. In a few moments he returned and his hand lashed out suddenly, catching her across the face. She fell backward into the chair in stunned surprise.

  His face was contorted with anger. “How many times have I told you to change the sheets after you’re through work for the night?”

  120

 
The sharp knifelike pain raced through him and Robert moaned softly in his sleep. Vaguely he felt her hand soothing his cheek. “Denisonde,” he whispered, then fell back into the uneasy blackness. He still heard the screams echoing down damp stone corridors, the heavy clump of the soldier’s boots on the cement floor outside his cell.

  He moaned again in his sleep, then suddenly sat up. He reached out his hand; he was alone in the bed. “Denisonde!” he screamed, fear mounting uncontrollably. “Denisonde!”

  The bedroom door opened. “I’m here, Robert.” She held out a glass. “Drink this.”

  Gratefully he took the glass and sipped the warm liquid. It was sweet and soothing. “I thought you had gone out,” he said huskily.

  “You know I wouldn’t do that.” She took the empty glass. “Now try to go back to sleep.”

  He stretched out again, his hand still clutching her fingers. Already the opiate was clouding his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She watched and when he was asleep she went out into the other room. The coffee was hot on the stove and she took a cup to the table and sat down. Idly she glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. She reached for the telephone and dialed a number. A girl’s voice answered.

  “Yvette?”

  “Oui.”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “Oui.”

  “I have a date I can’t keep.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-five hundred francs.”

  “It’s not worth it,” Yvette said quickly. “I give you half, there’s nothing in it for me.”

  “You don’t have to give me half. I’ll take five hundred francs.”

  “D’accord. Where do I meet him and how will I know him?”

  When Denisonde put down the phone she stared at it for a moment. There were too many like this. She had lost too many customers lately, but there was nothing she could do about it. She could not leave Robert when he was so sick.

  She sipped at the coffee and lit a cigarette. Men were such fools. Even with whores they liked to feel they were something special, and when she didn’t show up for a date that was generally the end of a client. And in the two years she had been with Robert she had lost far too many. Most of her steadies were gone and everyone knew that the foundation of any girl’s business was the repeaters.

  For the last few months, in order to earn enough for them to live on, she had taken to the streets again like a rank beginner. Twice already she had been picked up by the flics, but luckily she had been able to talk her way out of it. She stared thoughtfully at the bedroom door.

  Something would have to be done soon. What it would be she did not know. Only the man asleep behind that door knew. Only he could supply the answers. Even now she didn’t know the whole story of what had happened that day he appeared at her door two years ago.

  The war had been over for almost a year, and for a while they had lost touch. His father had come back from America and Robert had gone to work in the bank. The one time he had come to see her, oddly enough, he had taken her out to tea. Nothing more.

  She had looked at his thin drawn face across the table. “You still have pain?”

  “A little. But the doctors assure me it will pass in time.”

  “Your sister, she is all right? I hear she married that South American.”

  “Dax? Yes, she is with him in the United States.”

  A memory of the dark intense face came to her. “I hope she is happy.”

  He looked at her sharply. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The war changed many things for my sister and me. I don’t know if either of us can ever really be happy again.”

  “You will be happy again. In time the war will recede. Look around you; already people are beginning to forget. You will, too.”

  Robert had glanced around the crowded tearoom. Suddenly his lips tightened and he got to his feet. He threw a banknote on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  She had followed him into the street. He turned and looked at her. I’ll walk you back to your place.”

  “I don’t want to take you out of your way. You must be very busy.”

  His lips twisted wryly. “I am; my father has acquired the world’s busiest errand boy. Me.”

  “I’m sure he has other plans for you.”

  “If he has he’s keeping them a secret.” He put a hand under her arm. “Let’s go.”

  “You sound angry. Is it my fault?”

  “No, it’s not your fault. Really.”

  When they had reached her building she had said, “Would you like to come up?” He had shaken his head.

  She was silent for a moment, then held out her hand.

  “Thank you for the tea,” she had said, almost primly. “It was very nice.”

  “Denisonde?” He held onto her hand.

  She looked up into his eyes. They were darkly somber. “Yes, Robert?”

  “Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “There is nothing, thank you. I have everything I need. I manage very well.”

  “You do.”

  “Robert, what is wrong? What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Then his voice had turned bitter, and he had dropped her hand. “There must be something wrong with me. I don’t manage very well at all.”

  She had watched him turn the corner before she had gone up to her apartment. Right then she had sensed that he would be back. How, when, or why, she was not sure. But he would come back. And she was strangely sad because she knew that when he did it would not be good for either of them.

  Later that same afternoon Robert sat at his desk studying the papers in front of him. The heading across the top of the first sheet fascinated him:

  DER KUPPEN FARBEN GESELLSCHAFT

  Beneath it were fifty other pages, each containing the details and balance sheets of the many different companies which had made up the largest industrial complex in Germany. During the war these companies had been the primary targets for all Allied bombers. Now they were merely pieces of paper on his desk.

  They had been brought in to him by his father’s personal secretary several days ago. Attached was a short note in his father’s hand. “Study these, then see me Friday morning.”

  As he opened the folder he wondered why his father was interested in the Kuppen companies. He had read in the papers the week before that the Allies had formed a commission to study the overall company and formulate plans to dissolve the complex. They felt that like Krupp, Kuppen had too great a war-making potential.

  A thought entered his mind. It might be that his father was being asked to represent France on the commission. A smile came to his lips; in that case it would be a pleasure to work on such a project. It seemed almost as if he had grown up with a hatred for the name because it was somehow tied up with every engine of destruction that had come out of Germany. Aircraft submarines, the Kuppen V4 bombs that helped rain destruction on England, even the Kuppen rifle, which had been standard equipment in the Nazi army. It would be a joy to tear such a company apart.

  The telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up. It was his father’s secretary. “The baron is ready to see you now.”

  “I’ll be right in.”

  His father looked up as Robert came into the office. He gestured to a chair. “You read the reports?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You also are aware that last month the Baron Von Kuppen was sentenced to five years in prison for his part in the war crimes?”

  Robert nodded.

  “And that also last week a commission was formed to break up the various companies?”

  “And about time!” Robert burst out. “It should have been done after the first war. Perhaps then the Nazis might never have got started.”

  The baron looked at him placidly. “Is that why you think I gave you those reports to study?”

  “W
hat other reason could there be? Obviously the commission has requested your expert advice.”

  His father was silent for a moment. “Either you’re a complete idiot or a naive fool, and I don’t know which is worse.”

  Robert was confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve read an analysis of the stockholdings, I presume?”

  Robert nodded.

  “You noticed perhaps that the largest stockholder exclusive of the Von Kuppen family is Credit Zurich International of Switzerland?”

  “Yes, they own thirty percent.” Suddenly a rocket exploded inside his head. “C.Z.I.!”

  “That’s right,” his father said dryly. “C.Z.I. Credit Zurich International. Our bank in Switzerland.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. That means we own thirty percent of the Kuppen Farben?”

  “Exactly,” his father answered quietly. “And that’s why we can’t let them break it up.”

  “Then we’ve been making war against ourselves? And receiving a profit out of it at the same time?”

  “I told you not to be an idiot. We made no profit out of the war. Our equity was confiscated by Hitler.”

  “Then what makes you think we have it back now?”

  “Baron Von Kuppen is a gentleman. I have an assignment from him to the effect that he did not recognize the edict of the Nazis. He will honor his obligation.”

  “Sure,” Robert said, his voice turned sarcastic. “What has he got to lose? His seventy percent of what we may save for him will be worth a hell of a lot more than the hundred percent of nothing he will have if the commission breaks the company up.”

  “You’re talking like a child.”

  “Am I?” Robert got to his feet. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten. These are the people who set out to wipe us off the face of the earth. These are the ones who dragged your daughter into a prison and raped and beat her. These are the same men who tortured me to get me to betray my countrymen. Have you forgotten all this, Father?”

  His father’s eyes were steady. “I haven’t forgotten. But what has that got to do with it? The war is over.”

  “Is it, Father?” Angrily Robert took his jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeve up over his forearm. He leaned over his father’s desk. “Is the war over, Father? Look at my arm and tell me if you still think so!”