1953 - The Sucker Punch

by James Hadley Chase

  Recently Vestal had made three demands, and because Leadbeater hadn't been able to agree to them, she had brought pressure on Sternwood to get rid of him.

  First, she was asking that a mink coat, costing twenty-five thousand dollars, she had recently bought, should be accepted by the tax authorities as a legitimate expense, and included in her expense claim.

  As Leadbeater rightly pointed out, this suggestion was ridiculous, and the tax authorities would think the bank had gone crazy if they put forward such a claim.

  Her second demand was to have all the rents of the Shelley Foundation, a two mile stretch of tenement houses on the lower East side, raised by fifteen per cent.

  Leadbeater had reminded her that only the previous year she had raised the rents and could not do so again. He had the full support of Harrison & Ford, the estate management firm who handled the Shelley Foundation. They were emphatic that the rents were already out of all proportion to the conditions of the tenements, and the collectors would not be able to squeeze the extra money out of the tenants.

  Her third demand was for the bank to sell a large apartment house, No. 334, Western Avenue, which her father had bought way back in 1914.

  This seemed, on the face of it, a reasonable request as the property had sharply increased in value. There were, however, five tenants who had lived in the house since old man Shelley had bought it. The bank thought they should be considered. Vestal had received an offer for the house from Moe Burgess. The offer was a considerable one as Moe was anxious to turn the house into a deluxe brothel.

  So apart from all the trick questions she might shoot at me, I had also these three points to get around if I were going to last any length of time working for her.

  On the morning of the 15th, I took a taxi from the bank to civ one-room apartment soon after ten o'clock and changed out of my working clothes. When Leadbeater visited Cliffside, the Shelley residence, he always wore the conventional dark suit. I decided to give Vestal a complete change of scene.

  I put on a yellow linen sports jacket with pouch pockets, a white sports shirt with a brown and yellow polka dot neck scarf, a pair of gabardine navy slacks and reverse calf moccasins. I looked a lot more like a successful movie actor than an unsuccessful clerk, and that's how I wanted to look.

  The private road to the Shelley residence was cut out of the cliff face. It twisted and turned for three miles, climbing higher and higher until it eventually arrived at the elaborate wrought iron fifteen-foot high gates, some 900 feet above sea level.

  As the taxi rounded the final bend in the drive, the first sight of the house stood me up on my ear.

  I expected something pretty grand, but this wasn't a house—it was a palace.

  It stood on an imposing terrace: a vast and magnificent pile of glittering white marble.

  It was quite a walk up the hundred white steps to the terrace and front entrance.

  Before I could hunt around for a bell or a knocker, one of the doors opened and Hargis, Vestal's butler, stood framed in the doorway.

  He was a big, fat man with the cold aristocratic face of an archbishop, and his pale grey, coldly disapproving eyes ran over me like the Siberian wind.

  "I'm Mr. Winters," I said. "Miss Shelley, please."

  He stood aside, and I walked into a hall the size of Pennsylvania Central Station.

  "If you will take a seat, sir."

  He went away, his head held high, his back stiff as a ramrod.

  I moved around looking at the suits of armour, the battleaxes, the pikes and the broadswords that gleamed dully from the oak-panelled walls.

  There were several oil paintings of well-fed, handsome cavaliers that might or might not have come from the brush of Frans Hals.

  The atmosphere of the house began to have an odd effect on me. I found I was regretting I had put on this sports getup. I was even suddenly scared of meeting Vestal Shelley.

  I had a mental picture of Tom Leadbeater in his neat dark suit, clutching his briefcase in sweating hands, while he waited in this overpowering hall for a battle he knew he couldn't win.

  Hargis returned after a few minutes.

  "If you will follow me. . . ."

  He set off down the passage and I went after him. We walked down a corridor wide enough to take a ten-ton truck and paused outside double oak doors.

  Hargis knocked softly, turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  "Mr. Winters from the Pacific Banking Corporation," he said, and he made it sound as if he were announcing a third-rate act in a fourth-rate vaudeville hall.

  I braced myself and walked in.

  The room was small, bright and full of flowers. Casement windows opened on to a wide terrace with a magnificent view of the garden and the distant ocean.

  There was a big desk by the window and seated behind the desk was a girl whose dark hair was scraped back and whose blue eyes stared at me through hard, rimless glasses.

  I looked no further than the scraped back hair and the glasses, and that's where I made a mistake. Knowing what I know of Eve Dolan now it seems incredible that I shouldn't have spotted that thing in her that was to play all hell with me in a few months' time. I don't care for women who wear glasses, so I didn't bother to look closely at her, and I thought the hard effect of the scraped back hair put her straight into the sour virgin class, and I am not and never will be interested in sour virgins.

  "Mr. Winters?" she asked, and I could see she was staring at my getup.

  "That's right."

  "Oh. I'm Miss Dolan, Miss Shelley's secretary. Won't you sit down? Miss Shelley may be a little time."

  I remembered what Leadbeater had told me; how he had waited hours and then was told to go away. That wasn't going to happen to me.

  "When Miss Shelley wants me you will find me in the garden," I said and walked out on to the terrace.

  I heard her say something, but I kept moving. I walked down the steps to the terrace and sat on the balustrade and lit a cigarette.

  I was pretty keyed up, but I kept telling myself I wasn't going to be sent away without seeing this woman. I decided to give her fifteen minutes and no more before I took action. I watched the regiment of Chinese gardeners tending the lawn, the paths and the packed flowerbeds with slow and loving care. I smoked three cigarettes while the hands of my watch crawled on. At last the fifteen minutes were up. I walked back to Miss Dolan's sanctuary.

  "Miss Shelley still not ready for me yet?" I asked, putting my hands on the desk and leaning forward so she could catch a sniff of the lavender water I had used after shaving.

  "I'm afraid not. She may be quite some time, Mr. Winters."

  "I would like a sheet of notepaper and an envelope."

  That came as a surprise. After a moment's hesitation she indicated a rack containing paper and envelopes.

  "Thanks," I said. "Do you mind?" I leaned forward and lifted her typewriter away from her, set it before me on the other side of the desk, pulled up a chair and sat down.

  She began to say something then changed her mind. She continued to write in an engagement book, but I could see I had taken her right out of her stride.

  I pounded out the following note:

  Dear Miss Shelley,

  I have been waiting to see you for the past fifteen minutes. Miss Dolan now informs me that you may yet be delayed further.

  I am a man with a conscience, and I feel it is my duty to remind you that every minute I remain relaxing in your beautiful garden, I am wasting both your time and your money—particularly your money. There is an old saying that the stock markets don't stand still while investors sleep.

  There is also a little matter regarding a mink coat that appears to need our combined attention somewhat urgently.

  I signed this note, put it in an envelope, crossed the room and dug my thumb into the bell push.

  A minute or so passed, then the door opened and a young footman came in.

  "Take this note to Miss Shelley right away," I said.r />
  "Yes, sir."

  There was a long impressive silence as I wandered over to the casement windows and stared out at the gardens. I lit a cigarette to steady my nerves. I had hold of myself, but inside, I was pretty worked up.

  Minutes ticked by. I kept my eyes on my watch and wondered if my bluff was going to fail. Then I heard a knock on the door and the door opened. An apologetic cough sounded just behind me. I turned.

  The young footman stood respectfully at my side.

  "Miss Shelley will see you now, sir. This way if you please."

  I followed him to the door, then as he went on ahead I paused to look at Miss Dolan.

  She sat motionless, staring at me, her face bewildered and perhaps slightly admiring.

  I gave her a long, slow wink, and then set off after the footman.

  I felt as if I were walking on clouds.

  I had no complete picture in my mind of what Vestal Shelley would look like. Seeing her propped up in an enormous bed with a high quilted headrest and on a raised dais gave me something of a shock.

  She was a little thing: there was nothing of her so far as I could see. The first thing I noticed was her shock of mashed carrot-coloured hair that stood up in a gollywog cut, surrounding her small head in a fiery halo.

  She was painfully thin. Her big glittering eyes were sunk deep into dark-circled sockets. Her small bony nose looked like the beak of a hawk. Her mouth was large and hidden under a plaster of blood-red lipstick.

  I looked at her and she looked at me.

  "You are Chad Winters?" she asked.

  She had a surprisingly deep musical voice that was in odd contrast to her size and thinness.

  "Yes, Miss Shelley. I am to take over from Leadbeater. No doubt, Mr. Sternwood ..." I stopped short because I could see she wasn't listening.

  She was waiting to speak.

  "You wrote this?" She held up my note.

  "Yes."

  She studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment.

  "You are very handsome, Mr. Winters. Did you put those clothes on for my benefit?"

  "Certainly. You seem to tire very quickly of the conventional clerk from the bank. You have used up fifteen of them, Miss Shelley, and there's only me left. I thought a change of scene might appeal to you."

  "That was clever of you." She waved the note. "And this was clever too. I intended to keep you waiting for some time."

  "I thought you might. That was why I wrote the note."

  She inclined her head, studied me a little longer, then waved to the foot of the bed.

  "Wouldn't you like to sit down?"

  I climbed the four steps to the top of the dais and sat on the foot of the bed.

  "What's this about my mink coat?" she asked, her eyes intent and searching my face.

  If I hadn't done my work on the Shelley files during the past week, I had given considerable thought to the three points that had got Leadbeater into trouble. I had a solution for them all, but I wasn't sure how safe it would be to put the solutions forward.

  "Before we go into that I would like your assurance that if you don't approve of my suggestions, you will forget I made them."

  I saw surprise and interest jump into her eyes.

  "Go on."

  "Up to now, Miss Shelley, you have been dissatisfied with the way the bank has been handling your affairs. From what I hear, the bank has taken upon itself to give you advice you would rather not have. In other words, you and the bank have been on the opposite sides of the river so to speak. I intend to cross the river and work on your side."

  She studied me.

  "You begin to interest me, Mr. Winters. Now tell me about the mink coat."

  "You are asking for it to be included in your expense claim. From the point of view of the bank and the tax authorities that is an unreasonable and ridiculous suggestion."

  She continued to stare at me, her face expressionless.

  "It so happens," I went on, "that I am all for slugging the government if I think I can get away with it. But that isn't the attitude of the bank."

  "Never mind the bank."

  "We have to consider the bank, anyway, for the moment, because it is only through the bank that I can fix this item as a legitimate expense. The bank's figures are accepted by the tax authorities without question. Of course the bank has to have receipts to back up its figures, but from my experience, these receipts are asked for once in a blue moon."

  "Keep going, Mr. Winters; I am following you so far."

  "The only way to get the cost of this mink coat into your expense allowance is to disguise it as something else." I waited a second or so, then went on, "and that is called perpetrating a fraud."

  There was a long, sudden silence.

  A lot depended on her reaction. Her face told me nothing. Her eyes continued to dig into my mind.

  "Would you repeat that, Mr. Winters?" she said softly.

  For a moment I hesitated. Was I sticking my neck out? Would she reach for the telephone and call Sternwood?

  "It would be defrauding the revenue, Miss Shelley. They could fine you or even send you to jail."

  "Could it be found out?"

  I drew in a long breath of relief. She had said all I wanted to know.

  The rest was easy. If she had shied away from the suggestion of fraud I should have been sunk, but there was no hesitation in her voice. All she was thinking about was whether she would be found out or not.

  "The way I would handle it, the chances of being found out would be five hundred to one, and that, I think, is a reasonable risk."

  "How would you work it?"

  "Way back in 1936 your father had extensive repairs made to a number of his farms. These repairs were legitimate expenses, and he claimed for the amount and got it. The tax authorities didn't ask to see the receipts. They accepted the bank's word that the work was done. I have the receipts and I have bleached out the date and have substituted this year's date. I have now an up-to-date set of receipts the tax authorities have never seen before for extensive repairs to three farm buildings for the sum of thirty thousand dollars. That amount will more than cover the cost of your mink coat, won't it, Miss Shelley?"

  "Suppose the tax authorities want to inspect the work?"

  "That's the one in five hundred chance. If they do, then we're sunk, but they won't. They have other things to do. The Pacific Banking Corporation rates high with them. Its word won't be questioned. I promise you that."

  She nodded and smiled. She had very small, white teeth.

  "I think we might have a bottle of champagne on this, Mr. Winters. You seem to be a very clever young man." She touched the bell by her bed. "I think you and I are going to have a very long and pleasant business association together."

  It was as easy as that. I could see the doors of the world I wanted were open. All I had to do was to go ahead and help myself.

  Hargis brought in the champagne in a silver ice bucket and set it down on the table.

  He opened the bottle with a flick of his fingers that only years of practice could have perfected. He poured the foaming wine into two glasses, and then offered one to Vestal and one to me. Then he went away.

  "To a long and profitable relationship, Mr. Winters," Vestal said. She raised her glass.

  We drank.

  It was easily the worst champagne I have ever tasted, so bad that I had trouble not to grimace. I looked up and saw she was watching me.

  "I am afraid Hargis has been naughty," she said, setting down her glass. "This is the muck I let the servants have at celebrations."

  I went suddenly hot with anger.

  "Maybe he thought it was good enough for me," I said before I could stop myself.

  "Could be, Mr. Winters," she said smiling. "These old family retainers can be difficult at times. But never mind. He will come to appreciate you as he gets to know you better. Now we have the mink coat business settled, what do you propose to do about the Foundation rents?"

  Don't
imagine I was walking into this with my eyes closed.

  She was only being gracious and condescending with her 'you're a very handsome and clever young man' talk and her lousy champagne for no other reason than the fact I was doing what Leadbeater had refused to do. She would continue to be condescending just so long as I was useful to her. She wasn't content to get the mink coat written off on her expense account; she was greedy for more. Having got the coat, she now wanted the extra rents, and having got the rents, she would bring up the sale of 334 Western Avenue.

  "The Foundation rents?" I said as if surprised. "Well, I can fix that easily enough if you want it fixed."

  "How?"

  "By changing your estate management firm. I know a firm who would get your increased rents for you without fuss or trouble."

  "Then what are we waiting for?"

  "A letter from you to Harrison & Ford telling them they cease to represent you from the first of the month."

  "They have collected rents for my family for over forty years."

  "When a servant ceases to be useful, it is always wise to get rid of him."

  She looked at me, and there was a sudden spiteful expression in her eyes.

  "Be careful those words don't come home to roost."

  "They are not likely to," I snapped. "I don't consider I'm your servant. Your butler may think now he can push servant's champagne off on to me, but that's a trick that can have repercussions. I can be useful to you, Miss Shelley, but don't regard me as your servant!"

  "Don't get annoyed," she said, startled. "You mustn't mind Hargis. After all he is old enough to be your father. You and I, I am quite sure, will get along fine together.”

  I didn't say anything. At least I had let her know I wasn't to be pushed around. If she didn't like it she could get back Leadbeater.

  There was a long pause, then I said. “On my way out I'll dictate a letter to Harrison & Ford for your signature.”

  She lay back, wrinkling her beaky nose I don't know if she meant to look charming. but to me she succeeded only in looking like a made-up, wizened little doll.

  "This has been quite a morning Mr. Winters. I don't remember ever having so much such fun with a bank clerk before."