The Predators

by Harold Robbins

  “When I was in the States I owned a seltzer company. I bought it with the money that my father left for me. I sold special soda water in spritz bottles. We called it Coney Island Seltzer and we sold from door to door. Most of our customers were regular users. It was like delivering milk.”

  Jack interrupted me to fill J. P. in on the seltzer business in New York. “Seltzer bottles were usually sold to the old-fashioned Jews who didn’t trust New York water,” he said.

  “I also worked in a soda fountain that sold drinks over the counter. We served two cents plain, egg creams, and Coca-Colas,” I said.

  “What is ‘two cents plain’?” Jean Pierre asked.

  “A plain glass of soda water,” I said.

  “Was that bottled soda water that you dispensed?” J. P. asked.

  “No,” I answered. “We had tanks of gas that we tied into the water lines to make the soda.”

  “Then it wasn’t natural carbonated spring water that you sold?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir.”

  “Did anyone ever want natural carbonated spring water?” he asked.

  “Not that I ever knew of,” I said. “The only thing that might be close was Canada Dry soda that we sold in bottles.”

  “That’s what the bars and hotels gave you when you ordered scotch and soda. The highballs were rye whiskey with ginger ale,” Jack filled him in.

  J. P. turned back to me. “Do you think natural spring water in bottles would sell well in the States?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “I think it would be a good idea. Especially with a lot of advertising behind it, and maybe a word about how the army soldiers in Europe lived on it.”

  “But it’s not actually true.” J. P. smiled.

  “Who would know?” I asked.

  J. P. looked at me and then smiled. “I have a job for you, Jerry,” J. P. said. “I want to go worldwide with my water, particularly in England and the States first. But I want someone that knows about Plescassier from the bottom up. I think that it will take about four or five years to get the company set up for it, but meanwhile, I’ll pay you five hundred francs a month to learn the business.”

  I stared at him. That was not much money. Only two hundred U.S. dollars. A good salary in France, but shit in the States.

  Giselle looked at me. “I’ll be working. We can manage all right.”

  “I don’t want you to have to go whoring for our living,” I said.

  “She won’t have to,” J. P. said. “I’ll make sure that she gets into a decent club to work. Giselle is my very good friend. Also, this could make you a very wealthy man.”

  I looked at her again. I still had almost twenty grand socked away. If there were any problems, we could run. I turned to J. P. and held out my hand. “Thank you,” I said. “I hope I’ll be good for you.”

  BOOK FOUR

  AMERICA

  TWO DOLLARS A QUART

  1

  “J. P. is still under his father’s thumb,” I said. I was watching Giselle getting ready for dinner. J. P. was having one of his famous parties. Or maybe it was Jack Cochran, J. P.’s lover, who set all the parties up. J. P. had a beautiful 130-foot yacht in the marina at Cannes. That was where the party was going to be. This was a big party; Jack had been arranging things for almost three days. But it was no problem for Jack, who always stayed in Cannes while J. P. flew his two-engine Cessna to his office in Paris, Plescassier Springs, and the bottling plant in the Alpes Maritime.

  Giselle looked at me. “You can’t risk saying anything about it. J. P. is very close to his father.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “I’ve been here more than four years now and there is nothing more that I can do for him. Remember, right after I came to work for him, I tried to get him to take the distribution for Pepsi-Cola in France and Europe, but no! His father said the French would never drink that cola over beer and wine. So there you are, Pepsi and Coke are the biggest-selling soft drinks in Europe.”

  “So there was nothing you could do about it,” Giselle answered.

  “Finally his father allowed him to take over some other cola. Green River. I told J. P. that it was a dog, and just as I said, it went out of business.” Jerry lit a cigarette.

  “But J. P. set up a flavored-cola company. He has all kinds. Orange, cherry, strawberry. You name them and he has them. And they’re doing pretty good,” Giselle said. “So stop complaining—he’s listened and learned from you. That’s why you are paid ten thousand francs a month now.”

  “But the original idea was to go to the States. He has not even tried to get into the States yet,” I said. “When we met he said he wanted to make Plescassier into a worldwide bottled water.”

  “He still has his father to deal with,” Giselle said. “Give him time, he will get there.”

  “I’m on the front line,” I answered. “I hear what’s going on. Perrier and Evian are already talking about setting up an operation in the States. If he takes too long they will all be in there before us. They will take the cream off the market first!”

  Giselle turned to him. “Why don’t you just tell him?”

  “I have,” I said sadly. “A dozen times. But he always says, ‘It’s not time yet.’” I looked at her. “I think that he’s waiting for his father to die before he makes a move.”

  She was silent.

  “What do you think?”

  She smiled at me and kissed me. “Don’t forget that it’s his business and his ball game.”

  I finished tying the black bow tie. “What is so important? Every time they have a big party, we have to put on formal evening clothes.”

  “Because this is a very special party,” Giselle answered. “J. P. is inviting people who are either in the government or have international contacts. He needs them when he tries to bring his business into the States.”

  “It’s kind of crazy,” I said. “Because half of them will wind up in a homosexual orgy.”

  “But that’s after the real party is over,” Giselle said.

  “Maybe that’s when the real party begins,” I teased.

  “You’re very provincial, maybe, because you are American.” She laughed. “Maybe it would be better if they had an orgy that you could join in on.”

  “You know I don’t need that,” I said. “You’re all the orgy I need.”

  J. P. arrived at the yacht directly from the airport in Nice. Jack was already setting the place cards on the large dining table on the rear deck.

  J. P. walked toward him, and they kissed, much like an old married couple. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Jack answered. “But I do have problems seating some of the Americans. Estée Lauder would be a joy to anyone, but her husband, Joe is another story.”

  J. P. smiled. “That shouldn’t be any trouble. Sit him next to Princess Troubestkoy. Marcia is American, and on the other side of him seat Giselle. She speaks English and a pretty girl won’t hurt anything.”

  “Then I’ll sit Jerry next to Mrs. Lauder and Count Di Stefano on the other side,” J. P. said.

  “Ernesto will bullshit her up to her ears,” Jack said.

  “But the ladies always like him,” J. P. said. “Be sure and sit Madame d’Estaing next to me. Too bad her husband won’t be with us. Sooner or later he’ll be the president of France.”

  “We have plenty of friends here whom we will enjoy later,” J. P. answered. He turned and walked away, and then turned around and came back. “There’s a young American lawyer that will be here with his wife. It’s the first time for either of them to be at one of our parties. So be careful, and take care of them. He’s an assistant to the new secretary of commerce in the Eisenhower administration. He’s straight and honest, but he likes us and is willing to help us set up Plescassier in the States.”

  “I’ll make sure that they are taken care of.” Jack smiled.

  J. P. laughed. “Just don’t try to seduce him. Especially in front of his wife
.” He started off again and then called back to Jack. “Tell Jerry to come see me in my cabin before the party. I want to let him know what we are doing.”

  * * *

  J. P. was drinking a scotch on the rocks when I knocked on the door of the small living room in the master cabin. “You wanted me, J. P.?” I asked.

  J. P. was sitting comfortably in his shorts, one leg hanging over the side of the leather couch. He looked up at me. “Do you still want to take Plescassier into the States?”

  “That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” I answered. “That is why I have studied and worked all over your company so I could know the business.”

  J. P. smiled at me. Then he gestured down to his penis and testicles, slightly showing out of one leg of his shorts. “Enough to suck me?”

  I looked at him. “You’re joking.”

  “You’d wind up making a lot of money,” J. P. said. “Jack would give his life for a chance like this.”

  “I’m sure he would,” I answered. “But he’d blow a lot of money as well as your cock. Jack is nothing but a playboy acting like a housewife.”

  J. P. looked at me. “You don’t like Jack, do you?”

  “He’s okay as your lover, not mine,” I answered.

  “You love Giselle?” J. P. asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Enough to take her to the States with you?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Marry her?” J. P. asked.

  “We never thought about it,” I answered. “Maybe in time.”

  J. P. fixed another drink for himself and offered me one. I shook his head. “Scotch is too heavy this early. Besides, why did you ask me to come down here?”

  J. P. nodded. “I’ve decided to send Plescassier to the States and I think that you are the right man for the job.”

  I looked at him. “You mean that?”

  J. P. said seriously, “I do.”

  I took a deep breath. “I think I’ll have that scotch now.”

  J. P. shook my hand. “We’ll work out the details next week. I’ll want you to meet my father.”

  “That makes me nervous,” I said. “What if your father doesn’t like me?”

  “My father already knows everything about you,” J. P. answered. “He likes the way that you worked through the business.”

  “But he was angry with me when I didn’t agree on the Green River colas,” I said.

  “And you were right. That was yesterday and it’s over,” J. P. answered. “I’ve already talked to my father. He thinks you’ll be right.”

  “And Jack?” I asked. “He might be pissed off. He might think that he should take over this operation.”

  “Well, like you say, Jack is a playboy acting like a housewife.” He shook his head. “He won’t complain about it. I’ve built a villa down the hill for him near mine. I’ve made him a rich man. And I don’t even give a damn that he has his own boyfriend down there living with him.”

  I took a sip of the scotch. “You’re in another world. I don’t understand it.”

  “You don’t have to understand that world,” J. P. said. “As long as you understand the business we are in, that’s all you need. I like you. Even more important, I trust you. And I think that we are friends.” He held out his hand again.

  I shook his hand. “Yes, we are friends. Thank you.”

  2

  It was two weeks later that I met J. P. and his father in their house in Paris. Jacques Martin was proud of his son. Jean Pierre was everything he had wanted him to be. He had completely proved himself in the business. It was Jean Pierre alone who had built Plescassier into the third highest selling water in France behind Evian and Perrier. But there was only one problem with Jean Pierre as far as his father was concerned: Jean Pierre had an attachment for American men. But to Jacques, all American men were whores. He had been angry when J. P. gave so much to the American, Brad, he had picked up in London. One million francs. Brad had exchanged it into American dollars and had it wired to the States. Then he arranged to have himself transferred back to the U.S. Once he got there, Jean Pierre never heard from him again.

  It wasn’t long after that that the Allies had moved their offices to Paris. Jean Pierre fell in love with another American. Jack Cochran. But Jacques approved of him. He was nothing but a playboy. He loved parties and good times, and also had a talent for interior decoration, which made France very interesting for him. Jack had no desire to return to the States permanently. That made Jacques feel at ease.

  Now there was another problem. Me. Not only was I an American, I was a Jew. Jacques didn’t like the Jews. It was not because he was anti-Semitic, but he had always fallen into unfair business agreements. He had made a partnership with an important Jewish industrialist. The partnership involved an investment of two million francs to build up Plescassier. The industrialist promised Jacques that Plescassier would be the number one bottled water in France. But when he went over the agreement with his advocate he discovered at the end of it that a Jew would have control of the company and finally own it. Jacques wanted to kill him, but he didn’t have to. All he did was wait until the Germans came into France and then he turned him over to the Nazis.

  Jacques was seventy-two when he met me. But he still had an astute understanding of men. The first thing he knew was that I was straight. He knew I was heterosexual and would not become jealous of J. P.’s relationship with Jack. Neither did Jack and I live in the same world. Jack liked everything to do with society and I seemed to care nothing about it. All I was interested in was business and was loyal to J. P. because he had given me an opportunity.

  I was surprised at how much J. P. and his father resembled each other. Maybe his old man was a queer, but there had to have been at least one time that he was straight.

  Jacques looked across the table at me. “How do you plan to market Plescassier in the States?”

  I looked back across the table at J. P. and then over at the old man. “Very much the same way you do in France. Half-liter and liter bottles, as in France, shipped to the States. Then we will begin an advertising and publicity campaign so the American public will recognize and at least try the water in the beginning. Newspapers, magazines, radio, and the new television stations are all necessary for success.”

  “That means we are going to have to make a large investment,” Monsieur Martin said.

  “America is a giant, untapped market,” I said. “There are two hundred million people we have to reach. Four times the population of France.”

  Jacques shook his head. “I feel that it would be expensive to send these bottles to the States because of the shipping weight and space. I feel that we should ship the water in five-liter bottles and then rebottle in smaller bottles once we get to the States. You can buy bottles cheaper there and labeling would be no problem.”

  “I’m sorry, Monsieur Martin, I don’t agree. The Americans are sometimes very skeptical. They won’t believe it’s French water if it doesn’t have a French label that says it’s bottled in France,” I said, and looked at J. P. “What do you think?”

  “You are talking about a great deal of money,” he said. “Maybe we would be better just to start it in New York. We’ll bottle it there, and try it there first.”

  Jacques looked at me. “I don’t want you to lose your enthusiasm for the project, but it will be safer if we start in New York.” He looked at his son and then back to me. “Because we realize that you are from New York, I’m sure that you will know the right way to make it successful.”

  J. P. spoke across the table. “I just want to get there before any of the other waters.”

  “We’ll make it, son,” Jacques said confidently.

  I had nothing more to say. It was their company.

  J. P. spoke to me as they got into the car to drop him at his hotel. “What do you think of my father?”

  “Your father has his own ideas,” I said.

  “Don’t put it down,” J. P. said. “My father h
as been right more times than he’s been wrong.”

  3

  “When do you think we’ll go to the States?” Giselle asked.

  I was stretched out on the bed looking at the Herald Tribune. “I don’t really know,” I answered. “I didn’t get any more information since we spoke with J. P.’s father. Maybe they are down on it. Maybe I spoke too soon. I was talking to them about a lot of money.”

  Giselle smiled. “I don’t think it’s the money. I think the old man is looking for a partner.”

  “You mean he’s trying to hedge his bet?” I asked.

  “The French always want to do that. They like to bet a little on each side. This way they feel they are safe.” Giselle stretched out on the bed next to me. “Maybe we can find someone to go in with him,” she said.

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “Paul,” she said. “He has a lot of money in the States now. Maybe he would want to take a piece of it.”

  “Paul?” I looked at her. “Do you think the Martins would want to get involved with outside money?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “Money has no family ties.”

  “Can you get in touch with him in Corsica?” I asked.

  “I know how to get in touch with him,” she said. “But there’ll be one thing. You’ll have to ship the water over on one of his freighters.”

  “He has ships?” I asked.

  “He’s also tied in with the Greeks. But the shipping will have to go out of Marseilles. The Corsicans control the port there. They can’t ship out of Le Havre.” She looked at me. “What do you think?”

  “How do you know so much about him?” I asked.

  “I told you a long time ago that we’re family,” she answered.

  “I think I better talk about it with J. P. first. Maybe his father wouldn’t want to do business with the Corsicans.”

  “He shouldn’t have any complaints,” she answered. “After all, the Corsicans kept his labor under control during the war.”

  * * *