by Irwin Shaw
“Then he’ll use a knife or a club or maybe his bare hands,” Billy said. “You don’t know what he’s like.”
“That’s true,” said Rudolph. “And I’m sorry I’m finding out now.”
“Listen,” Billy said, “if you don’t really want to get mixed up in this, I’ll try to handle it myself. You can always forget what I’ve told you, you know.”
Rudolph looked thoughtfully at Billy, as though he was considering the disadvantages of not forgetting, then shook his head. “Maybe,” he said, “I should have been the one to go looking for Mr. Danovic. Long ago. Only it never occurred to me until tonight. No, I don’t think forgetting is the answer. Good night, Billy. If you have any good ideas during the night, call me. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping all that well, anyway.”
He wiped his face with his hands again and walked slowly and heavily toward the elevator.
I never thought about how old he is before this, Billy thought, as the elevator door opened and then shut behind his uncle.
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The next morning they had breakfast together in the hotel dining room. Rudolph looked haggard, with puffs under his eyes, and he ate without speaking, drinking one cup of coffee after another.
“You go get the—the object—this afternoon,” he said finally, “and hand it over to me.”
“Are you sure you want to …” Billy began.
“One thing I’m sure of,” Rudolph snapped, “is that I don’t want any more arguments from you.”
“Okay,” Billy said, “you’re the boss.” He felt relieved to be able to say it, the responsibility for decision no longer only in his hands.
The concierge came into the dining room and approached Billy. “There’s a telephone call for you, Mr. Abbott,” he said in French. “In the hall booth.”
“Thank you.” Billy stood up. “It must be him,” he said to Rudolph. “Nobody else knows I’m here.”
“Be smart about how you talk to him,” Rudolph said. “Make everything sound plausible.”
“I’ll do my best. I’m not guaranteeing anything when it comes to that boy,” Billy said and started out of the dining room. The coffee he had drunk suddenly tasted sour in his mouth as he went into the hall and entered the booth and picked up the phone.
“Billy,” Wesley said, his voice thin over the wire, “can you talk?”
“Not really.”
“I’m at Les Pinèdes in Saint-Tropez. When will you get here?”
“Not for a few days, I’m afraid, Wesley. There’ve been some complications about getting the stuff.” His own voice sounded fake to him as he spoke.
“What sort of complications?” Wesley said harshly.
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Are you going to get it or aren’t you going to get it?”
“I’m going to get it all right. It’s just going to take a little time.”
“What’s a little time?”
“Four, five days.”
“If I don’t see you in the next five days, I’m going on to Cannes,” Wesley said. “Alone. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Keep your cool, Wesley. I’m doing the best I can.”
“I think you’re stalling, Billy.”
“I’m not stalling,” Billy said. “It’s just that certain things have come up.”
“I bet,” Wesley said and hung up.
Billy walked slowly back into the dining room. “He’s at Les Pinèdes in Saint-Tropez,” he said as he sat down. “And he’s not happy. He gave me five days.”
Rudolph nodded. “You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”
“No.”
“I’ll take the train down to Antibes tonight,” Rudolph said. “I don’t want to go through the check at the airport. I’ll be at the Colombed’Or at Saint-Paul-de-Vence if you want to reach me.”
“Did you come up with any ideas during the night?” Billy asked.
“Maybe.” Rudolph smiled grimly.
“Do you want to tell me what they are?”
“No. As you said last night, I’d rather not say. And it’s better for you and for me if you don’t know.”
“We’re a great family at keeping secrets from one another, aren’t we?”
“Up to a certain point.” Rudolph stood up. “I’m going to enjoy the city of Paris today. I may even go to the Louvre. I’ll meet you back here at five o’clock. Don’t do anything foolish until then.”
“I’ll try not to,” Billy said. “Until five o’clock.”
After his uncle had gone, Billy took a taxi to the bank on the corner of the rue St. Dominique. He didn’t want anyone noticing the convertible Peugeot and perhaps taking down the number on the license plate. He took his tennis bag along with him, and when the attendant in the vault had turned the two keys and had gone back to his desk, Billy slipped the automatic and the extra clips into the bag and what remained of the ten thousand francs and went upstairs and told the clerk he was giving up the coffre-fort and handed over his key.
Then, carrying the bag, he took a taxi back to the hotel and put the bag on the bed. He sat there looking at it until five o’clock.
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Rudolph got off the train into the southern morning sunlight at Antibes. The car he had ordered from Hertz was waiting for him at the station. As he signed for it he kept one leg pressed against his locked bag.
When he drove up to the Colombe d’Or he carried the bag with him to the hotel and after checking in followed the porter who carried the bag.
After the porter had left he telephoned the old lawyer in Antibes and made a date for eleven o’clock in his office. Rudolph shaved and had a bath, in which he drowsed for a long time. It was two o’clock in the morning in New York and his body knew it. He moved lethargically as he put on fresh clothes and ordered a big cup of coffee to be sent to his room. It was the same room he had had before. Jeanne had visited him there and the memory of the times with her stirred old desires. He took out a sheet of paper and wrote, “Dear Jeanne, I’m back at our hotel and wonder if you’re free—” He stopped writing and crumpled the sheet of paper. It had been too long ago. Over.
At ten-thirty he locked his bag and went down to the rented car and drove carefully to Antibes.
The old man was waiting for him at the large polished table with the sunny blue sea framed in the big window behind him.
“It’s safe to talk in here, isn’t it?” Rudolph asked as he sat down.
“Completely,” the lawyer said.
“I mean, there are no tape recorders in the desk or anything like that?”
“There is one,” the lawyer admitted, “but it is not turned on. I only use it when the client demands it.”
“I hope this doesn’t offend you, sir,” Rudolph said, “but I would like you to put it on the desk so that we both can be sure it is not recording.”
The old man wrinkled his face into a frown. “If you wish, sir,” he said coldly. He pulled open a drawer and put the little machine on the desk, to one side.
Rudolph stood up to look at it. It was not turned on. “Thank you, sir,” he said and sat down again. “I would also appreciate it,” he said, “if you didn’t take any notes either now or after I’ve left.”
The old man nodded. “No notes,” he said.
“The matter I’m here for is a very delicate one,” Rudolph said. “It concerns the safety of my nephew, the son of my brother who was killed.”
The old man nodded again. “A sad affair,” he said. “I trust the wounds have healed somewhat.”
“Somewhat,” Rudolph said.
“And,” the lawyer said, “that the estate was divided with a minimum of—ah—acrimony.”
“Maximum,” Rudolph said grimly.
“Alas,” the old man said. “These family matters.”
“My nephew is in the south of France,” Rudolph said. “He doesn’t know that I’m in the country and I would prefer it if he didn’t learn about my presence for the ti
me being.”
“Very well.”
“He is here to find out where he can reach Mr. Danovic.”
“Ah,” the old man said gravely.
“He intends to kill the man when he finds him.”
The old man coughed, as though something were stuck in his throat. He took out a large white handkerchief and wiped his lips. “Forgive me,” he said. “I see what you mean when you say it is a delicate matter.”
“I don’t want him ever to find Danovic.”
“I understand your position,” the lawyer said. “What I don’t understand is how I can be of any help.”
Rudolph took a deep breath. “If Danovic is killed—by other means, let us say—before my nephew learns of his whereabouts, the problem would be solved.”
“I see,” the old man said thoughtfully. He coughed again and once more produced the handkerchief. “And just how do you believe I can help achieve this desirable result?”
“In your time, sir,” said Rudolph, “you must have handled cases that involved members of the milieu along this coast.…”
The lawyer nodded. “In my time,” he said softly, “yes.”
“If you would introduce me to a man who knew where Danovic could be found,” Rudolph said, “and who could be persuaded to undertake the job, I’d be prepared to pay very well for his—his services.”
“I see,” the lawyer said.
“Naturally,” Rudolph said, “I’d be prepared to deposit a considerable sum in your Swiss account for your services.”
“Naturally,” the lawyer agreed. He sighed. Rudolph could not tell whether it was because of the risks that might have to be run or at the thought of the considerable sum in the Swiss account.
“It would have to be done very soon,” Rudolph said. “The boy is impatient and foolish.”
The lawyer nodded. “I sympathize with your position, Monsieur Jor-dache,” he said, “but as you can imagine, it is not something that can be arranged overnight, if at all.…”
“I’m prepared to go as high as twenty thousand dollars,” Rudolph said steadily.
Again the lawyer coughed. Again he wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “I have never smoked in my life,” he said, almost petulantly, “and yet this cough pursues me.” He swung around in his chair and looked out at the calm sea, as though some fruitful answer could be found there for the questions that were troubling him.
There was silence in the room for a long moment. In the silence Rudolph reflected painfully on what he was doing. He was committing an evil act. All his life he had believed in goodness and morality and he was now committing an evil act. But what was he doing it for? To prevent an even more evil act. Morality can be a trap, he thought, just like a lot of other noble words. The question is—what comes first, your principles or your own flesh and blood? Well, he had answered the question, at least for himself. He would suffer for this later, if he had to.
The silence in the room was broken when, without turning to face Rudolph, the lawyer said, “I will see what I can do. At the very best, I can only hope to communicate with a gentleman who might just possibly be interested and have him get in touch with you. I hope you understand that would have to be the beginning and the end of the matter for me.”
“I understand,” Rudolph said. He stood up. “I am staying at the Colombed’Or in Saint-Paul-de-Vence. I will be waiting for a telephone call.”
“I promise nothing, dear monsieur,” said the lawyer. He turned around, and with his back to the sea, smiled wanly at Rudolph. “To be perfectly honest with you, I would prefer it if you could persuade your nephew to abandon his rash scheme.”
“So would I,” Rudolph said. “But I doubt that I could do so.”
The lawyer nodded somberly. “Young men,” he said. “Ah, well, I shall do what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Rudolph stood up. As he went out of the room the lawyer was looking out at the sea again. They had not shaken hands as they said good-bye.
The power of money, Rudolph thought, as he drove along the port. Would Hamlet have paid Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to do the job on his uncle, the king, if he had had the florins?
When he got to the Colombe d’Or, he called the Hôtel Alembert, in Paris. Luckily, Billy was in. What Rudolph didn’t know was that Billy hadn’t left the hotel, except for the one trip to the bank the day before.
“Billy,” Rudolph said, “there’s a ray of hope. I can’t tell you about it, and don’t ask what it is—now—or ever. But it’s there. What we have to do is buy time. What you have to do is keep Wesley pacified. Can you hear me clearly?”
“Too clearly,” Billy said. “What am I supposed to do to keep him pacified?”
“Get to Saint-Tropez on the fifth day. Make up some story—any story—you’re a clever fellow.…”
“That’s what they tell me,” Billy said bleakly.
“Just hang in there with him,” Rudolph said. “I don’t want him disappearing into the blue. We’ve got to know where he is at all times. Got it?”
“Got it,” Billy said, without enthusiasm.
“If necessary,” Rudolph said, “you can tell him where I am. I’d rather he didn’t know, but if that’s the only way we can put him off, I’ll chip in on the holding process. And keep me posted.”
“How long do I have to keep him pacified?” Billy asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“That’s a nice round figure,” Billy said.
“No witticisms, please,” Rudolph said severely. “I’m doing my share, you do yours.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy said. “I’ll spend the next couple of days making up a story.”
“That’s a good boy.”
“Making that crazy man believe it is another story,” Billy said.
“Get lucky,” Rudolph said and hung up.
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The Clothilde was moored not far from the Chris-Craft that Bunny was crewing in the port of Saint-Tropez, and Wesley and Bunny went over to take a look at it. Bunny hadn’t wanted him to go. “You’ve seen enough of that boat,” he said.
“Don’t worry, Bunny,” Wesley said. “I won’t break into tears or hit anybody. It was the only home I ever had that I felt good in. I’ll just look at it and remember that, how it was when my old man was on it. I’ve been looking at a lot more depressing things since then.…” He had spent the days and nights of waiting for Billy prowling around the ports of Saint-Tropez and Cannes and going in and out of the nightclubs in both places. He couldn’t ask Bunny if Danovic was around, because Bunny would start arguing with him. He couldn’t ask anyone else, either, about Danovic because he couldn’t let Danovic, or eventually the police, know that he was after him, but he could look. He had looked and hadn’t found the man, but he was certain that, given enough time, Danovic would surface. Well, he had plenty of time. Surprisingly, being around the ports in the quiet month or so before the season began had calmed him. He even slept more quietly and the violent dreams that had plagued him for so long did not recur.
When they reached the place where the Clothilde was tied up, they stood looking at it, without talking. The ship looked old-fashioned and comfortable and Wesley was pleased that it was clean and well-kept. It would have hurt him if the ship was messy or looked neglected.
“They keep it up nice, don’t they?” he said to Bunny.
“They’re Germans,” Bunny said; “you could eat off the deck. You want to go on and take a look around? They put in an automatic pilot.”
Wesley shook his head. “No. This is enough. I’m glad I saw it, but it’s enough.”
They went back to the Chris-Craft, where Wesley had a fish stew going on the range for lunch. There would be three for lunch, because Bunny had taken up with a girl who worked in one of the boutiques on the port and she lunched with him every day. She was a pretty, small, dark-haired girl who spoke fairly good English and Bunny was crazy about her and as far as Wesley could tell, she was crazy about him. She came over to the C
hris-Craft after work, too, and sometimes spent the night with Bunny. Bit by bit, Bunny was losing some of his womanish gestures, Wesley noticed. Bunny and she were talking about getting married and signing on as a couple in a bigger ship. Bunny, Wesley noticed, was not only taking on some of the mannerisms of Tom, he was moving consciously or unconsciously toward the sort of life his father and Kate had had together.
Wesley was pleased by that, too—it was a tribute, he recognized, to the value of his father, a tribute from the man who had known him better than anyone else alive. It made up for a lot of the things Wesley had heard about his father from Teddy Boylan and from Schultzy, in the Hebrew Home for the Aged in the Bronx.
The lunch was a good one, with a bottle of cold wine. Wesley had asked Bunny not to tell anybody that he was acting in a picture that was going to be shown in Cannes, but when the girl, whose name was Nadine, asked Wesley what his profession was, Bunny blurted out, “He’s a goddamn movie actor. How do you like that—my old shipmate?”
Well, Wesley thought, if it gives Bunny points with his girl, what harm can it do?
“Is that true?” Nadine looked at him incredulously.
“I’m afraid so,” Wesley said. “After the picture comes out I may be an ex-movie actor.”
“Are you two fellows pulling my leg?” Nadine asked.
“You can see for yourself,” Bunny said. “He’s the star of a movie they’re going to show at the festival.”
“Not the star,” Wesley protested. “It’s just a bit part.”
Nadine looked at him closely. “I thought you were too good looking just to be nobody.”
“A dime a dozen,” Wesley said. “I’m really just a seaman at heart.”
“There’s a girl who works with me,” Nadine said, “actually my best friend, she’s crazy about the movies, she’s awfully cute, why don’t I bring her to dinner tonight?”
“I’m just staying in Saint-Tropez a little while,” Wesley said uneasily. Remembering Alice’s promise to try to come over to Europe for at least two weeks, he didn’t want to be tempted by an awfully cute French girl.
“She speaks good English,” Nadine said.
“Actually,” Wesley said, “I have a date for tonight.” It was the fifth day and he wanted to be at the hotel if and when Billy showed up.