‘Go ahead,’ I said, ‘I’m still listening.’
Al sipped his beer, then set the glass down on the table.
‘Well, mister, we’ve got Abe Schulman and Henry Shelley on the stage, now we’ll take a look. She dreamed up this big jewel take. She organised it. It was her idea that Abe should find the second juvenile lead. Abe was always in contact with the out-of-towners, and Martha was anxious the other sharks didn’t hear of her idea. If they did get to hear of it, they too would have moved in.
‘Martha had always been careful with her money — not like Henry, and she had undertaken to finance the operation. She didn’t tell Henry how much capital she had. In actual fact, she had around twelve thousand dollars tucked up her girdle and she had made up her mind to put the operation on as it should be put on.
‘She took a three-room suite at the Plaza Hotel on Bay Shore Drive. Nothing over deluxe, but good. She got the penthouse suite which suited Gilda who believed in having comfort for nothing. It pleased Henry too who liked to live up to his phony background, and besides, it wasn’t costing him anything either.
‘While Henry was talking to Abe, Martha was sitting under a sun umbrella on the private terrace that went with the penthouse, eating peppermint creams while Gilda was lying in the full sun on a Li-Lo as naked as the back of my hand . . .’
Martha Shelley, better known in the underworld as Fats Gummrich, put two fat fingers into the carton and selected a chocolate which she regarded with affection before popping it into her mouth.
‘Cover yourself up, girl,’ she said, looking at Gilda’s naked brown back. ‘Henry could walk in at any moment. . . what would he think?’
Gilda, lying face down, rested her head on her crossed arms, lifted her long, lovely looking legs and tightened her lean buttocks. She giggled.
‘I know what he would think,’ she said. ‘But who cares? That old goat’s got beyond it.’
‘No man ever gets beyond it — anyway, not in his mind,’ Martha said. ‘Put something on!’
Gilda turned on her back, crossing her legs, and looked up at the brilliant blue sky through her sun goggles.
She was twenty-five years of age: her hair was thick, worn long and the colour of a ripe chestnut. She had large green eyes, fringed by long, dark lashes and one of those gamin, interesting faces that make men’s heads turn — not strictly beautiful, but beautiful enough. Her suntanned body was sensational. There was no bikini whiteness. When Gilda sunbathed, she sunbathed in the nude.
‘You eat too much,’ she said, lifting her cone-shaped breasts. ‘How can you go on stuffing yourself hour after hour . . .ugh!’
‘I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you!’ Martha snapped. ‘Cover yourself up! I don’t want Henry to get upset. He has old fashioned ideas.’
Gilda waved her long legs in the air as she gave a hoot of laughter.
‘That’s funny! The old buzzard gave me the biggest bruise on my bottom I’ve had in weeks! Look . . .’ She rolled over, pointing.
Martha controlled a snigger.
‘Well, maybe he isn’t all that old fashioned, but cover yourself up, honey. I’ve enough trouble without Henry getting out of hand.’
Grimacing, Gilda pulled a wrap off a chair by her.
‘What trouble? I thought everything was fixed.’ She laid the wrap across her middle.
‘Do you want one of these?’ Martha held up a peppermint cream.
‘In this heat? No, thank you!’ Gilda turned on her side to stare up at the massive woman under the sun umbrella. ‘What trouble?’
‘No trouble,’ Henry Shelley said coming silently out on to the terrace. He eyed Gilda’s exposed breasts with appreciation. ‘No trouble at all. Abe has everything taken care of.’ He watched with regret Gilda pull the wrap up to her chin.
‘Take your eyes off me, you old lecher!’ she said.
‘Well, they do say a priest is allowed to read a menu in Lent,’ Henry said with a sly grin and sat down near Martha.
‘That’s enough of that!’ Martha said sharply. ‘What did Abe say?’
‘Well, as was expected, he screamed to high heaven, but he promised in the end to pay a third. He’s found us a good boy. He’ll be along in a couple of days. He’s getting fitted for his uniform and he is buying a car . . . he knows about cars. In a couple of days’ time, we can get moving.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
Henry nodded. He touched his temples with his silk handkerchief while he eyed Gilda’s exposed legs. Pretty girl, he thought a little sadly. In his past, he had had much amusement with pretty girls.
‘He’s made to measure. A little tough, but we’ll be able to work with him, I’m sure.’
‘What do you mean— tough?’ Martha asked, delving into the carton again.
‘He has a quick temper. He’s inclined to hit out if someone doesn’t please him, but I know that type. He’ll be all right in any emergency.’ The old grey eyes moved from Gilda to Martha. The movement of his eyes alerted Martha. She looked at Gilda. ‘Suppose you get dressed, honey? I thought we would all go down to the Casino.’
‘That means you two old squares want to yak together,’ Gilda said. She got to her feet, holding the wrap against her and then walked across the terrace, swinging her naked hips while Henry watched, entranced.
‘Lovely girl,’ he murmured, pulling at his moustache.
‘Wants her bottom smacked!’ Martha said, outraged. ‘What about this boy?’
Henry explained what Abe had told him, then went on, ‘I met him and I like him. There’s no doubt he can handle this job. It’s just. . .’ He fingered his string tie. ‘There’s Gilda.’
‘You mean he could fall for her?’
‘He’ll do that for sure.’
‘Well, so what?’ Martha dug out another chocolate. ‘She needs a man. I’d rather it be someone in the family . . . that wouldn’t worry me. Can he handle safes?’
‘Abe swears by him.’
‘Did you get a brooch or something from Abe?’
Henry took from his pocket the jewel case.
‘Abe extended himself. It’s worth eighteen grand.’
Martha examined the bracelet, then nodded her approval.
‘Do you think we are going to have trouble with Abe, Henry?’
‘I don’t think so. He’s tricky, but he’s cooperating all along the line. The big test is when we get the stuff and ask for the money.’
Martha brooded for a long moment, then she slipped the jewel case into her handbag, lying on the table.
‘Do you think it is going to work, Henry?’ she asked, suddenly a little doubtful.
Henry crossed his long legs and stared out at the busy harbour below.
‘It’s got to work, hasn’t it?’ he said.
Two days later, the three were on the terrace: none of them revealing the slight tension they were all feeling. Martha and Henry sat in lounging chairs under the shade of the big sun umbrella. Gilda, in a white skimpy bikini that set off her golden skin, lay in the full sun.
Martha was working on a piece of embroidery, stretched on a frame and from time to time, dipping into a big box of chocolates Harry had bought at the gift shop down in the lobby. Henry was studying the Stock Exchange column in the New York Times. In his imagination, he bought and sold many stocks and could spend hours working out his imaginary profits. Gilda lay limply on the Li-Lo, feeling the rays of the sun burning into her. She could lie that way for hours.
Neither Martha nor Henry had an idea what went on in her mind while she sunbathed. Henry thought probably nothing, but Martha, who knew her better, wasn’t so sure.
The sound of the telephone brought them alert. Martha put down her embroidery frame. Gilda lifted her head. Henry dropped his newspaper, got to his feet and walked with that slow gait that reminded Martha of the uneven movements of a stork into the living room.
They heard him say ‘Yes?’ in that deep aristocratic voice of his, then, ‘Tell him to come up if
you please.’
Henry returned to the terrace.
‘Our chauffeur has arrived.’
‘Cover yourself up, Gilda!’ Martha said. ‘Put that wrap on!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Gilda exclaimed impatiently, but she got up and pulled on the wrap. She walked over to the balcony rail and leaned over it, staring down at the crowded swimming pool in the hotel garden.
Johnny Robins made an impact on Martha. He came on to the terrace, immaculate in a well-cut, dark blue chauffeur’s uniform, a peaked cap under his arm. He was a tall, powerfully built man with close-cut black hair, a narrow forehead, a blunt nose, eyes set wide apart and hazel-green, and a thin, tight mouth. Everything about him hinted of strength with a hidden vein of violence. He walked like a professional fighter: relaxed, and with silent, springy steps.
‘Hello, Johnny,’ Martha said as she eyed him. ‘Welcome.’
‘Hello. I’ve heard about you,’ Johnny said, and his hard face lit up with an easy smile. ‘The old gentleman has been telling me about you.’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Henry said curtly, annoyed. ‘You call me the Colonel!’
Johnny threw back his head and laughed.
‘Sure . . . why not?’ His eyes went from Martha to Gilda’s shapely back. Even the wrap couldn’t disguise Gilda’s contours. Watching him, the other two saw the look of awakening interest. ‘Is that Miss Rigoletto I’ve been hearing about?’
Gilda turned slowly and surveyed him from head to foot. She felt a stab of excitement run through her at the sight of this man, but her expression remained remote and disinterested.
They regarded each other, then Johnny stroked the side of his jaw with his thumb.
‘Ah . . . hmmm.’ He turned to Martha. ‘I think I’m going to like it here.’ He grinned and began to unbutton his double— breasted jacket. ‘Phew! I’m hot. Have you seen the beauty I’ve bought you? Look at it. The steel grey job on the drive— in.’
Martha hauled herself to her feet. She and Henry joined Gilda at the balcony rail. They all looked down at the Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham parked by the entrance to the hotel.
Martha sucked in her breath. ‘Hell! What did that cost me?’ she demanded, turning to glare at Johnny.
‘Two thousand eight hundred dollars,’ he told her. ‘It’s a giveaway price. I’ll sell it again for four thousand. You can’t lose.’
Martha peered down at the car again. She felt a tingle of excitement run up her larded spine. This was a car! This was the kind of car she had often dreamed about when shut in her cell.
‘You’re sure? You really mean you can sell it again for four?’
Johnny squinted at her: his eyes turned hard.
‘When I say something, I say something.’
Martha studied him, then she nodded, satisfied. Abe, she felt, had made the right choice. This man might be difficult, but she was now sure that he was right for the job, and that was all Martha cared about.
‘Would you like a drink, Johnny?’
He shook his head.
‘I don’t drink.’ He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the chairs, then he sat down.
‘Let’s talk business. The old . . . the Colonel gave me the general outline. Now I want details.’
Martha lowered her enormous bulk into a chair near his. She relaxed back, her fingers hunting for a chocolate. Henry took a chair near hers. Gilda pulled her wrap closer and more provocatively around her and remained by the balcony rail.
Johnny looked at her.
‘Isn’t Miss Rigoletto in on this?’ he asked.
‘Of course . . . come and sit down, Gilda,’ Martha said, patting a chair near hers.
‘You yak . . . I’m taking a swim,’ Gilda said, and without looking at Johnny, she left the terrace.
***
Al Barney finished the last of his beer, then rattled the glass impatiently on the table until the barman brought him a refill.
‘All this talking makes me thirsty,’ he said, catching my eye. ‘I get scratchy at the back of my throat.’
I said I understood.
‘Well, mister, I now want to fill you in how Martha got her idea for this big steal,’ Al said after a long gulp of beer.
‘Around eight years ago, she was running a little gang of smart jewel thieves — three of them. They did a hold-up job — a little crude. There was a rich old cow loaded with jewels who went every night always at the same time to the Miami Casino. Martha just couldn’t resist the temptation. She organised the stick-up. The guys got the loot, then Martha was hit by a hurricane. What she didn’t know was the jewels were insured by the National Fidelity of California, and that is the toughest, roughest insurance company in the whole of the States. They have a man there named Maddox who looks after the Claims Department. To him, so I’m told, paying out a claim is like losing a quart of his own blood. Tangling with Maddox is about ten times as dangerous as tangling with a puff adder.
‘One of the stick-up artists had a missing finger, and in spite of being scared half-dotty, the victim of the hold-up noticed this. Maddox had the most comprehensive card index of every jewel thief in the world: big and little. He had only to press a few buttons and out came Joe Salik’s card. It took Maddox’s investigators three days to pick up Joe and then they worked him over — make no mistake about this. Maddox’s investigators play rough. Joe talked, and Martha found herself behind bars.
‘She shared her cell with a middle-aged woman who was in for embezzlement, and this woman, her name was Hetty something-or-other, was a talker. She had worked for Alan Frisby, an insurance broker in Paradise City. He acted for all the top insurance companies in the country. If you wanted to insure something special, you went along and talked to Frisby and he told you impartially which company to go to for your particular coverage, the best rates and he fixed the deal. He had a very sound, flourishing business.
‘Well, Hetty talked, and Martha listened and from what she got told, she realised how she could organise the big steal. She got from Hetty inside information that nobody should know, and it was this information that inspired Martha to make the plan that she hoped would put her on easy street for the rest of her eating life.’
Al paused, shifted his enormous body to a more comfortable position, then asked, ‘You’re following so far, mister?’
I said I was.
***
The Villa Bellevue was on Lansdown Avenue: one of the swank avenues of Paradise City. It was a compact, deluxe, ranch house type of building with four bedrooms, four bathrooms, an enormous living room, a deluxe kitchen, servants’ quarters, a big terrace and a garage for four cars. Leading down by steps from the terrace was a small, screened private beach, equipped with hot and cold showers, changing rooms and a cocktail bar. The ranch house was owned by Jack Carson, a wealthy
New York stockbroker who had bought the place as an investment. He rented it furnished for $1,500 a month. After some heavy haggling, Martha got it for $1,300 and signed up for three months. The price outraged her, but she knew that if she was going to swing this job she had to have the right background and the right address.
A day after Johnny had joined the trio, the Cadillac moved off from the Plaza Hotel, heading for Paradise City.
Johnny, in his uniform, was at the wheel. Next to him was Flo, the coloured maid, who had been with Martha now for the past three years.
Flo was a tall, thin Negress who, at one time, had been a skillful shoplifter, but eventually the cops caught up with her and, like Martha, she had decided she would never go back behind the bars again. She and Martha got along well together. Flo never asked questions. She guessed there was some job on, but she didn’t want to know about it. Her job was to supply Martha and the rest of them with meals, keep the villa clean and pick up $100 a week which was what Martha was paying her.
In the back of the roomy Cadillac were Martha, Henry and Gilda.
During the twenty-four hours that they remained at the Pla
za Hotel while waiting to move to Paradise City, Gilda and Johnny probed each other out: like a dog and a bitch, not quite knowing if they would fight or make love.
There was nothing that Gilda didn’t know about men. She had had her first sexual experience at the age of fifteen. She liked sex, and had had many men during the following years, but now, at the age of twenty-five, she had decided she wanted to get married and to settle down. This job that Martha was planning would give her, she hoped, the necessary capital to have a home, possibly a husband and possibly a family.
Johnny interested her. She knew from long experience that he wanted her the moment he set eyes on her. She knew too that having Johnny as a lover would be one of the most exciting of all her sexual experiences. She liked the look of him: he could just possibly be the partner she had been hoping to find . . . just possibly. She wanted to get to know him better, so she told herself to play it cool. No matter how much he put on the pressure, he wasn’t going to have her. No ring — no bed. If eventually, there was no ring . . . then it would be just too bad.
They arrived at the villa late in the afternoon. They were all impressed with it.
‘I’ll say!’ Martha exclaimed, heaving her bulk from room to room, inspecting everything. ‘So it should be good! Look what I’m paying . . . thirteen hundred dollars a month!’
She chose the largest and best bedroom for herself, gave the second best to Henry and the other two bedrooms which were pleasant enough to Gilda and Johnny: all rooms had a view over the beach and the sea.
Gilda went immediately to her room, changed into a bikini and then ran down the steps to the sea. A few minutes later, Johnny joined her. Stripped down to brief trunks, his muscular, powerful lean body was impressive. Seeing him as he came running across the sand, Gilda again felt a stab of almost pain run through her. To be made love to by a man like this! She forced herself to turn away and she swam with powerful, professional strokes out to sea. She prided herself on her prowess as an expert swimmer and she was confident that she would not only impress him, but leave him far behind. It came as a distinct shock when she paused to find him just behind her. She shook the water out of her eyes and lifted her eyebrows.
1968 - An Ear to the Ground Page 2