The Predators

by Harold Robbins

  “What are you so hot about?” I asked. “Maybe it will be better if you can all go home together.”

  Buddy lit a cigarette and shook his head at me. “You’re an asshole,” he said. “Do you think if it wasn’t important that I would be this hot?” He took a deep lungful of smoke and then let it come out slowly. “I have a girl that I married in Harlem before I went into the army. I thought it would get me out of the draft, but I was stupid. I’ve got nothing but grief from that cunt. Now I have to get divorced from her or kill her before Ulla gets to the States.”

  I stared at him. “And I thought I was in the shithouse.”

  “Then you’ll go to the old man?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I’ll go.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ve been friends a long time,” he said. “I appreciate you helping me out. You know that anything that I can do for you, all you have to do is say the word.”

  * * *

  Late that night after Giselle and I had gone back to the apartment we sat at the table having a coffee. “Paul told me what was going on.”

  “He talks a lot to you,” I said.

  “I told you we go back with family,” she said. “He wants you to stay in France. Do you want to?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “The only thing I know is that I want to be with you. But I don’t know what I can do here.”

  “Paul said that he will help your friend Buddy to stay in France and go from here to the States, if you will stay here in France after your discharge.” She looked as if she were close to tears. “I want you to stay here, Jerry. I know you can find something to do.”

  I leaned across the table and cupped her face in my hands. “I will try, Giselle.” Then I kissed her warm lips and we went into the bedroom.

  Quickly, we threw our clothes on the floor and, naked, rolled onto the bed. With my fingers I opened her pussy. My cock was already dripping as I drove into her.

  She gasped. “Jerree! Give me your baby! Come inside and make many children inside me. I love you, I love you!”

  I felt her fingernails tearing into my buttocks. Then I felt my body shuddering and I opened my mouth to gasp in air as my orgasm tore through me and I felt my life essence pouring into her. “My God! My God!” I collapsed like dead weight on top of her. Our bodies were pouring sweat.

  She pulled my face to her and kissed me. “I really love you, Jerree,” she whispered. Her tears were wet on my face.

  18

  It was almost a week later that I had my last meeting with blue suit and gray suit. It was in a small curtained-off corner table in the Blue Note. This was different than any other meeting. The Frenchmen were in uniform. The gray suit was dressed in the French army brigadier general’s uniform and the blue suit was in the gray Sûreté police uniform with a hard round hat and two braids on the shoulder. Paul brought me to their table. This was a section of the club in which I never sat. It was the homos’ side of the runway.

  When Paul brought me to the table the two Frenchmen stayed in their chairs. I saluted them and “yes sir’d” them to death. There was a bottle of cognac on the table before them, and the general poured a drink for Paul and myself. “Salut!” he toasted.

  “Salut!” we answered.

  The policeman looked at me. “We are very pleased with your assignment. It went very well.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  The general spoke to me. “Have all your extra personnel returned to their divisions?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “All except one. He was in my platoon since before we came to France.”

  The policeman looked at me. “The one who had been transferred to Norway?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you send him back to Norway?” the general asked.

  “He wanted to stay here,” I said, looking to Paul for help. “He was originally transferred because he had a problem with the MPs while driving our commanding officer to an off-limits club.”

  The policeman smiled. “Your friend was sent to Norway to cover up the incident?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Did you arrange that transfer?”

  “No, sir,” I answered. “That was not my jurisdiction at the time.”

  “But you knew that your commanding officer arranged for the transfer?” the general asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Do you think that your friend is trustworthy and can keep his mouth shut?” the policeman asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  They turned to Paul. “What do you think?” the general asked.

  “Jerry and he have been friends since long before the war started,” he said. “I have no doubt that they can both be trusted.”

  This time it was the policeman who poured the drinks. “Salut!”

  “Salut!” I returned and toasted.

  The general then pushed an envelope across the table to me. “This is a bonus in appreciation for a job well done.”

  I picked up the envelope. It felt full and thick with banknotes. “It is not necessary, but I thank you for your generosity, gentlemen.”

  The policeman smiled. “And I want you to know that you will not be bothered by any of the authorities if you choose to sell the rest of the jeeps on the street.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I answered.

  We all stood up and shook hands formally as they left. Paul and I returned to our chairs. The envelope was still lying on the table.

  I picked it up and opened it. I counted the bills. Five thousand U.S. dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. I looked at Paul. “I think they meant for half of this to go to you.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been taken care of already. This money is all yours.”

  I whistled softly. “This is crazy,” I said. “This will make over twenty-five thousand dollars from the time we started to now.”

  “Let me assure you,” Paul said. “There was a lot of money made for those two if you made that much. You owe them nothing. You are safe; they will not forget your help.”

  “I don’t know how to hide this from the American authorities,” I said.

  “Why not do the same thing Buddy did?” Paul asked.

  “But he’s married. He’s covered it by giving it to his wife,” I said.

  “Giselle could hide it for you,” Paul said.

  “But we’re not married,” I said.

  “Giselle loves you—the money makes no difference to her. She’ll hide it for you and protect you.” Paul smiled.

  I thought about Kitty and how she had protected me.

  “I’d offer to hold it for you, but that would not be safe. I’m Corsican and too many people in the French government know that I’m close to the separatist movement. If there is ever a problem, they’ll wipe me out and I’ll lose everything.”

  “Christ,” I said sympathetically. “I don’t understand it.”

  Paul nodded. “That is the way of the world. The Irish fight the English. The Jews fight the Arabs. There will always be people fighting for their own country. They always believe that it will bring them freedom. Even your own Civil War should tell that to you.”

  “Great,” I said sarcastically. “Thanks for the history lesson, but that has nothing to do with my money. I still don’t know how to hide my money.”

  “You could always be honest about it.” He laughed. “Tell them you got the money gambling. Then you can pay your taxes and there will be no problem. Of course, you may not have much money afterward, but you will be honest.”

  “Shit,” I said. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Of course I am,” he said. “If you can’t trust Giselle there is no one in the world you can trust.” He got up from the table. “If you want my advice, talk to Giselle tonight.”

  I stared after him as he walked through the club to the backstage area. The son of a bitch was right. There was nothing else I could do. I didn’t want to be cleaned out li
ke I was when Uncle Harry and Kitty did their number on me. Giselle was the only person I could trust.

  19

  It was the end of April. Exactly April 30. It was eleven at night and I was sitting at the Blue Note at Paul’s table waiting until Giselle did her turn and we could go home. I was nursing a beer when a voice came from behind me. “Sergeant Cooper.”

  I knew the voice. I stood up and saluted. “Colonel.”

  “At ease, Sergeant,” he said, and sat down.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, also sitting. “May I offer you a drink, sir?”

  “Thank you, Cooper,” he answered. “Do you think they have any Canadian rye in this place?”

  “I can ask,” I answered, gesturing to a waitress. But Paul was faster. He came quickly from backstage before the waitress could come to the table.

  “Colonel.” He smiled. “I’m happy to see you again.”

  Paul was great. He hadn’t seen the colonel since Buddy brought him into the club months ago. “The colonel wants to know if you have any Canadian rye whiskey,” I said.

  Paul was apologetic. “No, sir. But I do have American bourbon.”

  “Okay,” the colonel answered. “Thank you. Also some ginger ale.”

  “Right away, sir,” Paul answered.

  The colonel looked at him. “I have to talk with the sergeant privately.”

  “My office is at your service, Colonel.” Paul bowed. “No one will bother you there.”

  Five minutes later we were sitting in Paul’s office. I had never seen it before. It was a small room but tastefully furnished. An antique desk, partly covered in leather with a chair to match. Across from the desk was a two-cushion leather couch. On the wall hung a few French theatrical prints and clown paintings.

  The colonel took over the desk and its chair. Paul had placed a bottle of bourbon in front of him with a glass, ice, and ginger ale. He made himself a highball and then leaned over to me. “The war is almost over,” he said to me as though I had never heard anything about it.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I have orders to close down this whole operation,” he said, making himself another drink.

  I was silent.

  “I know you still have about eleven jeeps that can be salvaged, as well as a few others that can only be used for extra parts.” He looked at me. “Have you any ideas about how we can use them?” he asked.

  “I haven’t thought about it, sir,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell him that I had already received permission from the Corsicans to sell them on the black market.

  “I don’t know, either,” he said, again pouring himself another drink. “I’ve been transferred back to Detroit to set up the discharge headquarters for the platoon so we can get everybody out as fast as we got them in.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I can take you back to the States with me, Sergeant,” he said. “I’ve received permission to bring certain help with me. I thought that you might be interested because you’ve done a good job with me and I wanted to show my appreciation.”

  I looked at him. By this time his face was flushed and he was on the way to getting completely pissed. I was not that stupid. I knew the only reason he wanted to bring me back to the States was to make sure I couldn’t talk about the operation here after he left. Besides, I didn’t trust him. He drank too much and I couldn’t be sure that he would take me to the States.

  “I appreciate your consideration, sir,” I said. “But I was planning on staying in France after the war.”

  “You have a girl?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “But, Colonel, Buddy knows as much about the division as I do, and I know that he wants to go home as soon as he can. Especially with you, sir. He has a great deal of respect for you.”

  The colonel thought for a moment and poured another drink. “Then what will you do?” he asked.

  “Just leave me the discharge papers dated the day the war is officially over and I’ll be okay,” I answered. “I’m sure that I can get a job here.” I held my breath while he thought about my idea.

  Again, he poured another shot of bourbon into his glass. He looked into the bottom of the glass. “Okay, Sergeant,” he said. “You send the private over to see me. I know that he’s bright enough to handle the job. I’ll sign your discharge papers and you can send them into headquarters whenever you are ready. And I will give you junk orders for the jeeps you have left. Make sure you get some money out of them.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, standing and saluting.

  He stood straight up from his chair and began to salute, but he didn’t quite make it. He started to fall forward across the desk, knocking the bottle of bourbon and his empty glass onto the floor.

  I don’t know how, but Paul must have had a sixth sense. He was in the office in only a few moments. He looked at the colonel. “He can’t hold his liquor.”

  Frenchmen are funny even when they don’t mean to be funny. “Stupid,” I said. “Get the fat man to help me straighten him up. I’ll run over and get Buddy to take him back to the colonel’s apartment.”

  “What was it he needed to tell you?” he asked.

  I smiled at him. “I guess you’ll have me around awhile. I’m getting my discharge papers. And by the way, tell blue suit and gray suit that Buddy will be leaving with the colonel.”

  20

  Suddenly everything changed. Two days later, May 2, Buddy put Ulla on the train to Norway and picked up his duffel bags from my office in the garage. “I’m meeting the old man in Paris,” he said. “Tomorrow we’re going to the States.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “That’s all you have to say?” he asked, looking at me. “Aren’t you even going to say ‘Good luck’?”

  I smiled at him. “Buddy, I never knew you were so sentimental! You were always ‘Mr. Cool-man’ all the time.”

  “Jerry,” he said, “I was never like that with you. You were always my friend and I felt like we were brothers.”

  “We are,” I said. “But we’re taking a different road now. I’m going to miss you, but I’ll have to get used to it.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” he said.

  I looked at him. There were tears on his cheeks. “You’re crying,” I said.

  “Niggers don’t cry,” he said, embracing me. “You’re just a crazy Jew boy.”

  I hugged him back. “You’re my best friend, you son of a bitch. The best friend I have in the world. Now let go of me or people will think that we’re queers.”

  He stepped back, took out a cigarette, and lit it. “I suppose you couldn’t grab a jeep and drive me to headquarters?”

  I took out a cigarette of my own and lit it. “You haven’t changed.” I laughed. “I was beginning to think you had really just come to say good-bye.”

  He laughed, too, and let the smoke trail out of his nostrils. “That is what I came for,” he said. “But I thought it wasn’t a bad idea if you took me into Paris. Being best friends and all of that.”

  “You are a prick.” I grabbed his hand. “You’re a rich man. You can take a taxi into Paris.”

  He shook my hand. Each of us was holding his cigarette in the other hand. “When am I going to see you again?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ll be hanging around here.”

  “After the war?”

  “Yes, after the war,” I replied.

  “How can I get in touch with you?”

  I thought for a moment. “Reach me through Paul at his club. He’ll always know where I am.”

  “Will you be able to keep in touch with Ulla?” he asked.

  “I will,” I said. “Besides, Giselle likes her; they’ve already arranged to keep in touch.”

  He looked at his watch. “I’m running late. I better get going.”

  I took his hand again. “Good luck, Buddy.”

  He smiled at me. “And you, too.” Then he turned and walked out of the office.

  * * *

>   Five days later, May 7, the war was over in Europe. Paris became nothing but a party town. The American soldiers were heroes. Wine, champagne, and beer flowed freely. The girls, married or not, were all caught up in the fever. Couples were fucking in the park in the daylight, in the hallways and stairways of the apartment houses. Love was everywhere.

  The Blue Note was jammed from the minute it opened until the last closing drink. The homosexuals were no different than anyone else. Both sides of the runway were crowded, every table jammed, with champagne corks popping and the wine flowing. I couldn’t get a place at my usual table, so I waited backstage so that I could see what was going on.

  Paul came up behind me and tapped my shoulder. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “The war is really over,” I said. “I never thought I would see this kind of happiness.”

  “It’s been many years,” Paul said. “It’s like climbing out of hell. So much death. So much destruction.”

  “I had it easy,” I said. “I didn’t go through any of it, really. Maybe I should be ashamed of myself.”

  “You are human,” he said. “You had no choice of what the army would have you go and do. It might just as well have been that they sent you to the front. Who knows in this life?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “For me the war turned into a business.”

  “That was what the army gave you to do,” he said. “The extra was there for anyone to pick up. You are a good soldier. You did what you were told to do.”

  “Were the French like that?” I asked.

  “They were like all the others. They stole, they lied, they collaborated with the enemy, they turned on their own French Jews. And many of them made money because of it. Much more money than you can ever dream about. At the end of it, the bureaucrats will own the country, not the patriots who risked their lives for victory.”

  I stared at him. “You have no respect for any of them.”

  “Why should I?” he asked. “They gave up half of Asia, a quarter of Africa, and fifteen percent of the Middle East because they bled everything they could from them and then shit them out. Yet, Corsica is still held prisoner because they still have use for it.”