The Girl, the Gold Watch and Everything

by John D. MacDonald

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Could the Farnham broad have something tucked away? She sounds desperately loyal.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Charla and Joseph are going to be very irritable, Kirby. But I think they’ll think you’re still the best link to what they want. And I don’t think they know exactly what they do want. But they want it bad. Badly enough so they shouldn’t treat you too badly. You sure you didn’t give them my address? While drunk?”

  “If I had, they wouldn’t be trying to find out.”

  “They don’t want us to get together on this. They’d rather deal with a goof, not somebody I’ve toughened up for them.”

  “I don’t care much for that word, Betsy.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, be honest with yourself. If I hadn’t planted the seeds of suspicion, Charla’d have you on a leash by now, trotting you around, scratching you behind the ears, tying your new ascots, and giving you the slow strip and tease routine, until you wouldn’t be able to remember your name if somebody asked you quick.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “You just don’t know Aunt Charla. Hell, where are we? I think you ought to trudge on back there and play cute. Make out you know what they’re after. Admit you tricked them. Say you’ll listen to an offer. Maybe then we’ll get a better clue as to what they really want, if they know.”

  “I don’t think I’m very good at this sort of thing.”

  “I know you’re not very good at it. But hang in there. I think we might get some volunteer help. Bernie’s coming down soon with a crew and some models and so on to do some commercials here. Mad ones all. Maybe they’ll help us add a little more confusion to the deal.”

  “Do we need more?”

  “Poor Kirby.”

  “The thing is, in eleven years you get sick of dealing with people you know you’ll never see again. I kept wanting to get out. I had this idea of maybe finding a town way off a main road with maybe twenty-eight people in it, so I would know them and they would know me, tomorrow, next year, ten years from now. I could stop trying to remember names and faces. And I’d know where I was before I woke up in the morning, instead of figuring it out afterward.”

  “With me,” she said, “it’s a dream of being back in that school. I was there for six years, you know. From nine to fifteen, the longest I’ve ever been anywhere. And I dream a class is leaving and I have to leave too, and I’m crying. But then they take me out of the line and I know I can stay, and it’s the most wonderful thing. All the others are marching away, but they’re going to keep me.”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “Charla came in a car big as a freight engine, with a driver in uniform and an English Lady Something with her who made a horrible snorting sound when she laughed. I was supposed to be in a play at school, but they didn’t give a damn. They drove me to Paris and bought me a lot of clothes. We met some other people there, and then we all flew to Cairo.”

  “Sometimes you have more accent.”

  “I can get rid of every trace of it when I have to.”

  “Could Charla have arranged to have my uncle’s places—robbed?”

  “Why not? It isn’t her usual style. It’s a bit crude, and probably quite expensive. But she has the pragmatic approach.”

  “They won’t be able to get that letter.”

  “They can afford to wait a year. And all you got was a keepsake.”

  He took the watch from his pocket. She reached over and took it from him. “A real grandpa kind of watch.” Before he could stop her, she looked through the little gold telescope.

  “Happy days,” she said in a tired voice. “Don’t let Bernie see this. It’s all this apartment needs. There’s room on that wall for a mural.” She took another look. “They make this junk in Japan. A girl in school had a candybox full. Hers were all set in rings.” She handed the watch back to him. Just as he put it back into his pocket, she leaned toward him, reached toward him. Because of his humiliating flight from Wilma’s apartment, he had resolved to fight fire with fire. He reached toward Betsy. His aim was defective. His palm slid into and across an abrupt nubbin of breast, frank and firm under the blue blouse as an apple in the sun. And he saw a glimpse of teeth in something not a smile, and something flashed and smashed against the left side of his face. The sudden pain filled his eyes with tears. She was a blur. As vision cleared he saw her looking gravely at him as she sucked her knuckles. With the tip of his tongue he isolated the metallic crumb in his mouth, moved it out to his lips, plucked it out and stared at it. It was a piece of filling. It made a small clinking sound as he dropped it into the ashtray.

  In the silence she reached for him again, took his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, took one out of the pack and put the pack back.

  “Get carried away by the decor?” she asked.

  “I just thought—”

  “Maybe Charla has warped your values, pal. Maybe with her it’s a social gesture, like passing the butter. Or asking for the next dance. Not with me, Winter. I put a higher value on myself.”

  “She said it was the other way around,” he said miserably.

  “How many lies are you going to believe?”

  “From now on—not very many.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit quite that hard, Kirby.”

  “I’ve had better days than this one, I guess.”

  She got up and moved across the room. Again he marveled at her talent for expression. The stretch pants projected demureness, regret and impregnability. She fiddled with a panel board on the far wall. Suddenly he heard a rising, hissing scream and knew a jet was diving into the building. As he sprang to his feet, the great sound turned into an infantry barrage. She twisted the volume down and it suddenly was Latin music, bongos, strings, a muted trumpet.

  “High fidelity is part of the treatment, too. Two hundred watts, maybe, with tweeters and woofers hidden all over the place.”

  “Loud, wasn’t it?”

  “The records are down here. There’s no activity you can think of that he hasn’t got music to do it by. But I’ve got it on FM radio now.” She moved restlessly across the room, moving to the rhythm, half-dance, half-stroll. “If we just knew exactly what they’re after.”

  “Well—I better go back there and see if I can find out.”

  “Don’t let them know where they can find me.”

  “I won’t. But what would they do?”

  “Find a way to keep us apart. It might be something unpleasant.”

  He tried to think of Charla doing something unpleasant. But when he thought of Charla, the air seemed to get too thin. He saw her, vividly, wearing Wilma’s smoky wisp, smiling at him, and the image was combined with the tactile memory of Betsy’s small firm breast against his hand. Betsy came over and stared at him. “Do you have some kind of seizures?”

  “Me?”

  “Try cold showers, deep breathing and clean thoughts, Winter. Now take off, so I can take a nap.”

  Six

  HE ARRIVED AT THE ELISE at quarter to five, and though he went directly to his room without stopping at the desk, the phone began to ring ten seconds after he had closed the door. It rang and it also flashed an imperative red light at him.

  “Couldn’t you have let me know you’d be delayed, dear?” Charla asked.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Do you have anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “That seems very odd.”

  “What’s odd about it?”

  “Don’t public figures usually have a swarm of people around them, eh?”

  “Public figures?”

  “Kirby dear, you’re so lovably obtuse. You better scoot right down here before the sky falls on you. Down the hall, dear. To the suite. I guess we’re lucky we didn’t try to do any shopping. We’ll be lucky if we can make it to the Glorianna, dear. She got in this morning.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dear God, don’t
you really know?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t you stop at the desk?”

  “No.”

  “Then you better hustle down here and let me tell you about it.”

  She hung up. As soon as he hung up the phone began ringing again. He answered it. A tense male voice said, “Kirby Winter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Look, fella. I won’t horse around. If nobody’s got to you, twenty-five hundred bucks on the line for a twenty-four-hour exclusive. This is Joe Hooper. Remember that name, hey? And I’ll see you get protection from everybody else until this time tomorrow. Is it a deal?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t be coy, sweetie. You got to move fast. You sneaked by pretty good, but word got around and they’re on their way up there now.”

  “Who?”

  “Are you Kirby Winter, for Crissake?”

  He heard a commotion in the hall, and people began pounding on his door. “Excuse me, but there seems to be somebody at the door.”

  “That’s them, you nut! Is it a deal?”

  Kirby sighed and hung up. He started toward the door and hesitated. It sounded like a big crowd out there. Suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the locked interconnecting door at the other end of his room, and a muffled voice. “Kirby?” He recognized Charla’s voice. He went over to the door and answered her. “Open the latch, dear,” she said.

  He opened the door. She smiled at him and tilted her head and listened to the commotion in the hall. “My word, they gather quickly don’t they?” She wore a yellow mandarin coat over white Bermuda shorts, and she was wearing huge opaque sunglasses.

  “Who?”

  “All the news people, lover. All jostling and pushing and despising themselves and each other and you, their nasty little strobe lights and pencils and tape machines all aimed and ready. I thought it might be like this, so just in case, I had Joseph pick up this room in between you and the suite. These interconnect so this whole oceanside can be turned into a big suite. Joseph had to get a dear little honeymoon couple moved out of this room to arrange it.”

  “What do those people want?”

  “Don’t stand there like a ninny, dear. They sound as if they might actually break the door down.”

  He went with her through the extra bedroom and into the suite. She closed the interconnecting door behind them. In the suite she handed him an afternoon edition of the Miami News. They had a two-column picture of him on page one. It was an old picture. The head said, MYSTERY NEPHEW IN KREPPS TAX DODGE. He sat down very abruptly.

  “At noon today Walton Grumby, Executive Vice President of Krepps Enterprises, revealed that serious estate tax problems are anticipated in the Omar Krepps estate because of the refusal by Kirby Winter, nephew of the late Krepps, to reveal the whereabouts of approximately $27,000,000 diverted over an eleven-year period from Krepps Enterprises into a mystery company known as O.K. Devices, entirely owned by Krepps.

  “Grumby told reporters that O.K. Devices occupied a small rental office in the Fowler Building, employing only a Miss Wilma Farnham of Miami, and Kirby Winter. The day after the death of Krepps, Miss Farnham, either on her own initiative, or on the advice of Winter, destroyed all the files and records of O.K. Devices and closed the rental office. Grumby stated that Krepps was always highly secretive about the operations of O.K. Devices, and it seems possible that the company was merely a device for draining off the liquid assets of Krepps’ other ventures and placing them out of the reach of the Internal Revenue Service.

  “Grumby stated that Winter traveled to all parts of the world on confidential orders from Krepps, returning infrequently to Miami. Earlier today, Winter refused to disclose his confidential activities to Krepps Enterprises executives or to state what had happened to the $27 million. The Farnham woman also refused to reveal any details of the operations of O.K. Devices or to state on whose instructions she had burned all the records.

  “Grumby told reporters that in view of these indications of conspiracy, it seemed possible that Winter and the Farnham woman may attempt to flee the country. At press time neither Winter nor the Farnham woman had been located for comment.”

  “Good Lord,” Kirby said, staring blankly at Charla.

  She came and sat close beside him and took off the sunglasses.

  “Do you see all the implications, dearest?” she asked.

  “I guess they’re anxious to talk to me.”

  “That figure has a horrid fascination. A million dreary little people are absolutely vibrating with the vision of all that money hidden away in the romantic corners of the world. They hate you for having it. And they have a sneaking admiration for you for grabbing it all as soon as your uncle died.”

  “But it wasn’t that way!”

  “Does that make any difference, really?”

  “But if I explain the whole operation in detail—”

  “Without any documentation at all? And you did tuck a little bit away here and there for yourself, didn’t you? Don’t look so indignant. If you didn’t, you are an idiot, of course. Didn’t Miss Farnham intercept a little? How can you be sure? But it isn’t the news people you have to worry about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dear Kirby, the world is jammed with animals who would happily put you and your Miss Farnham on a double spit and roast you over coals for just one per cent of that much money. All of a sudden, dear, you two are very tasty animals in the wrong part of the jungle. And I think you might find out how sharp the teeth are if you walk out that door.” She had been edging close to him and he had been trying to move away, inconspicuously. Now he was at the end of the couch and the satin weight of one breast was on his arm.

  “You need us more than ever,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “The Glorianna, dear. Don’t be so dense. Either we smuggle you away, or the world tears you to pieces, believe me. And I really don’t know why we should even dream of helping you, after that nasty trick you pulled on us. Ice skates, indeed!”

  “I was just checking.”

  “Joseph was livid with rage, but I told him it served us right for underestimating you. It was quite clever, really. But I imagine you wouldn’t have been so wary if Betsy hadn’t given you a lot of wrong impressions about us.”

  “But—I guess you do want something.”

  “Of course, dear! Isn’t it refreshing to have it out in the open? We can all stop playing games, can’t we?”

  “I guess so.”

  “No secrets?”

  “I guess—that depends.”

  “On what? Darling, if you’re thinking of being so crude as to require some sort of agreement, you might spoil things for us, don’t you think? I couldn’t promise to be your absolute slave. But it might turn out that way, once we’re at sea. I wouldn’t really strike a whore’s bargain, no matter what is at stake. It would make it all so terribly ordinary. And we want it to be extraordinary, don’t we?”

  Thinking of Betsy, he chose his words carefully. “I think, instead, I’m thinking in terms of a different kind of bargain. How my end of it will come out. And what the safeguards are.”

  She was so close he could see a tiny amber wedge in the gray-green iris of her left eye, and see the exquisite detail of her lashes and brows, the individual hairs like gold wire.

  The eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath and held it. “Then you have it!”

  “Have what?”

  “Just don’t get too bloody clever, Mr. Winter. You could bitch it for yourself, you know.”

  “How could I?”

  “All of a sudden, pet, your dead uncle has put more pressure on you than we ever could. Now I think you’re going to have to make a deal. Maybe you won’t have any choice.”

  He was feeling his way. This was a new and rather deadly Charla, a confirmation of Betsy’s description. “Just suppose, even with all that pressure, I don’t need you.”

  “Indeed?�
�

  “Just suppose a goodly chunk of that money did get stashed. Where I can get to it. And suppose I have the idea you people are a little crude.”

  “Crude?” she said thinly, shocked.

  “Ransacking all Uncle Omar’s little hideouts.”

  She studied him for a long time. “So you’re a good actor too. I think that makes you twice as dangerous as cleverness alone, you know. When the stakes are high enough, it’s worth making a direct move sometimes. It could have worked. Then who would need you?”

  “But it turns out you do.”

  She tilted her head. “And why the aw shucks, gee whiz, Huckleberry Finn reactions to my little—attentions, Kirby?”

  “I like to be disarming.”

  “Dear Jesus, you are! So what makes you immune? Is Farnham that good?”

  “Probably.”

  She got up to pace slowly, frowning. He noticed she had lost some of her accent in the past few minutes. “Very nice,” she said. “Set the mark up and when you get to the kill, he second-cards you to death. I suppose you are thinking in terms of a partnership.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Is it in the same place the money is?”

  “Is what?”

  She stamped her foot. “Don’t be so damned coy! Certainly you know we could have done it the other way at any time. You drank whatever I handed you. And we could have gotten you to a place where screaming wouldn’t matter. Joseph hasn’t got the stomach for it, but I have, friend. I have. I find it very interesting.”

  He swallowed a sudden obstruction in his throat. “So I guess that must mean it wouldn’t have done you any good.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good, dear.”

  “I guess you have to assume I know what I’m doing.”

  She nodded, reluctantly. “I’m beginning to think so. But what the hell was your uncle thinking of? He must have realized this would happen.”

  “If this is the way he planned it.”

  She gestured toward the newspaper. “If you brought this down on yourself, you must have a lot of confidence, Kirby.”