THURSDAY'S ORCHID

by Mitchell, Robert

  We had originally met over a deal involving a shipment of marijuana that an east coast buyer had engaged George and I to obtain for him on a commission basis. The buyer had a quantity of counterfeit notes – good quality; and had suggested that maybe we could palm some off on to Nick, for a percentage of the profit of course. George and I both knew what would happen if we got caught out on the deal. Not only would we be in fear of our lives for a good time to come, but our bona-fides would be shot to ribbons.

  We had agreed to the scheme and then gone straight to Nick with it, only to discover that he already knew about the ring-in. I still don’t know how he found out. Nick dealt with the matter as we expected he would, but let the buyer off lightly to my way of thinking. He took the funny-money, raised the price by one hundred percent and then calmly told the buyer that in future he would be eating spaghetti with his left hand. And that’s exactly how it turned out. It utterly destroyed the guy. He became an alcoholic and died a couple of years later. It was a good lesson to the few who thought they could put one over on Nick, and it taught me a thing or two.

  “Well, Jeff,” he said, letting go of my hand. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “It’s been quite a while. It seems even longer with George gone.”

  The smile left his face. “I was sorry to hear about George,” he said quietly. “We all miss him.”

  “Not as much as I miss him,” I answered. “George was more than a partner to me: he was a friend, the father I never really knew. Still, I think in a way it was best it happened when it did. He was going downhill fast. If he hadn’t jumped, he probably would’ve died of a broken heart.” I lowered my eyes to the ground, hoping he wouldn’t see the hypocrisy. “Yes, it was best it happened when it did.”

  Best for me, that is.

  He stood and looked suitably sorrowful for a minute or so. His daughter smiled politely, not really following the conversation, her eyes shifting from me to the horses and then back again. He introduced us and she held on to my hand for a fraction longer than she should have.

  Sophie. It was a name that suited her. Soft and European; sophistication and yet a hint of something hidden; a fire that might burst forth.

  Nick and I chatted on about old times, people we knew and what they were up to, the races, and nothing in particular. He had acquired several more blocks of apartments since we had last met and seemed to be doing well. Sophie half listened for a while then smiled and moved off down towards the crowd by the rail. Once she had left, Nick dropped a couple of hints suggesting he was thinking of moving into the international side of the business. His words caught me by surprise. It wasn’t just the fact that he was thinking about expanding into the overseas market – he had always been low-key and local – but the fact that he was talking to me about it. He was usually close-mouthed about everything.

  I mentioned that I thought he was set for life and didn’t need any more problems.

  “Well, yes,” he replied, running fingers up and down the strap of the binoculars’ case. “I’ve got enough here in Adelaide. There’s the house, five blocks of apartments, the boat, and the farm up in the hills. All strictly legitimate.” The word brought a smile to his lips. “There’s also the restaurants and the retail outlets, but without being fed they’d lose money.”

  He looked down towards the bookies, down to where Sophie was haggling the odds with one of the more colourful characters. She seemed to be getting her way. Then he turned back to me, his face now serious.

  “I’ve been thinking about the future, about Angeline and the kids. Perhaps I should be salting away more cash in that Nassau bank for my old age, and for the grandchildren when I eventually move on.”

  It was strange talk for Nick. He had always been a vibrant person, and still seemed to be so on the surface, and I could see no sign that he might be getting past his prime. There were the few specks of grey in his hair, but that means nothing. Sure, he had put on a few kilos, but don’t we all.

  So Nick was starting to worry about the grim reaper. He comes for us all, one day or another.

  The conversation shifted to my activities over the last couple of years. Somehow he had heard that I had been rolling around the Continent ever since George had died, wasting time and money. He was critical. He didn’t approve.

  “You’ve gone to seed, my boy,” he said, one hand on my shoulder. He was older and wiser than me, but I still didn’t appreciate the patronizing tone. He poked a finger into my stomach. “You’ve gone a bit flabby. Don’t look as sharp as you used to.”

  His tailor was simply more adept at concealing the heavy bulges than mine was.

  “From what I hear,” he continued. “You’ve probably gone through most of the cash you and George put together over the years.”

  His eyes were still following his daughter, looking sideways at me from time to time, almost as an aside. He caught my look of surprise.

  I turned to the track and looked down on the mounting paddock. We both watched the horses being paraded before the start of the race. I had nothing to say. Several minutes went by before he turned back to me again, his eyes flicking about behind me – searching for flapping ears.

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, his voice lower now. “I was thinking of looking you up, but didn’t know where to find you.” I didn’t think it would have been difficult, if he was really interested. “The last I heard was that you were taking it easy at some fancy resort in Spain. But that was two months ago. Bumping into you here is a real coincidence.” He paused. “I presume it is a coincidence?”

  I laughed at him. “Nick, you’re one of the last persons I expected to see.”

  I filled him in with my intentions of getting back amongst the action, of boredom with the playboy life, but leaving out the fact that my funds needed to be replenished for future requirements.

  He pointed to his daughter, now on her way back to us. “You should get married, my boy. Find yourself a nice girl, a good girl. Settle down and get a job, and raise a family. Take a steady pay-packet home to the little wife every Thursday. That’s what you need to do.”

  It had reared its ugly head again: Thursday!

  He watched as the blood rose up in my cheeks, then grinned again, and held his hands out in front of his chest, palms towards me.

  “Hey, hey!” he laughed. “I’m kidding. Hell, we both know you could no more settle down to a steady job than I could go back to growing cabbages.” He paused. “But, jokes aside, a good girl could do a lot for you.”

  I thought of Peggy and the long talks we used to have – such a long time ago.

  “No thanks, Nick. I’ve always been a loner when it comes to women, and to men for that matter. No ties, no emotional problems. It’s taken too long for me to get over losing George and Peggy.” It was strange how much I actually missed them both. “As for the dolly birds, well, the palate gets jaded when you stick to the same brand too long. Love them and leave them. In, out, and away.”

  We both roared with laughter.

  “So,” he murmured once the mirth had died, drawing out the word. “You think you’re still in good enough shape to do a little business, eh? You don’t think you might have gone a little stale, lost some of that confidence?” A serious look came upon his face. “Do you reckon you can get along without George’s guidance, his contacts?”

  Was he trying to bait me, trying to make me lose my cool? If I did it would probably blow any chance of a part in the project he so obviously had in mind.

  “We both know,” I said, not being able to resist tapping him once or twice in the chest, “that George was a smart operator, a damned smart operator, with a vast number of contacts. Anything that could be turned into a profit was meat and drink to George. But you don’t think I spent ten years in partnership with him without learning anything do you?”

  The smile came slowly to his face, his eyes looking down at the finger I hurriedly restrained just before it was due to plunge into his
chest again.

  “That’s right, Nick,” I continued. “I know all his contacts; at least the ones who haven’t retired or been called to a higher vocation by someone with more influence than the rest of us.” The last remark hit home as was intended and I smiled to myself as his eyes grew dull. “I’m still in the prime of life, still young, and still as smart as I ever was. Smarter probably. I’ve been broadening my education, you might say. Spent the last couple of years in the finishing school of the world.”

  He stood there, letting me go on.

  “I’m probably not as fit as I was ten years ago, none of us are.” That got through to him as well. “But all I need is something to get my teeth into.”

  I stared at Sophie, Nick’s pride and joy, watched as she strode up the steps towards us, the short-skirted suit bouncing around well-proportioned thighs. It was more than enough to bring him out of his thoughts of coffins and funeral marches.

  “Fair enough, Jeff, fair enough. You’ve made your point.” He pointedly steered Sophie around to his right side, away from me. “I think you and I might have some business to discuss; but let’s enjoy the horses for the moment, shall we? They’re lining up now. Thanks, Sophie.” The last to his daughter as she handed him the betting-slip.

  My brain was ticking over furiously. What did he have in mind? I turned back to the track, my eyes watching the horses, waiting for the starter’s signal, but my ears tuned to Nick.

  Three

  The barrier flew up and the gates jerked open with a loud metallic clang as the horses leapt forth, jostled for position, and were away. Nick didn’t say a word as they thundered down the track, clumps of grass and mud streaming behind, the brightly coloured silks of the jockeys blurring in frantic motion. He didn’t cheer, didn’t even quietly urge them on, but just stood still, pensive. Not me though. I yelled at the top of my lungs, and was drowned out by Sophie.

  Nick’s binoculars never left his eyes, held steady on the leading bunch. Number six – at odds of two to one – came in with half a head to spare. Nick had his money on the runner-up. He screwed up his ticket and dropped it to the ground. Sophie mouthed an obscenity. My horse was still coming down the track, or so it seemed.

  “Looks as though we both missed out,” Nick muttered. “I was sure that colt was going to come home ahead of the rest. Sophie wanted me to back it each way and make it a certainty. A waste of time really. Small risk, small profit.”

  But Nick’s fortune had been made just exactly that way, never taking risks and never being greedy. He turned to Sophie. She was still quietly cursing the horse that had let them down.

  “Well Sophie,” he said. “We mightn’t have made any money on the horses, but at least we’ve got an old friend back with us. Perhaps we’ve come out a winner after all.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Why not come around for lunch tomorrow, Jeff? I’d like to discuss that proposition. You might be interested. It looks good, although there might be a few complications that need sorting out. And you could be the one to do just that!”

  I accepted his invitation and we parted. Sophie hung back, smiling at me, eyelashes flashing; and got a flick in the butt from Nick for her troubles.

  And that’s how my problems started. Not to say that it was Nick’s fault. He was merely the catalyst that brought it all together.

  Nick’s house – at least that’s what he called it; to anyone else it would have been a mansion: ostentatious without being gaudy; and worth a fortune. He had built it about ten years ago and, next to his family, it was the thing he held most dear. Nick mentioned in passing that it was modelled on the villa his father had always dreamt of building back in Greece; but the old guy never got the chance of returning home and displaying his hard-won wealth. He had died a month or so after Nick had taken over the business from him.

  Most of the houses in the area were two-storey. This was an expensive suburb, and the tree-lined street one of the most exclusive in the area. But Nick had insisted on this low-set house, spread out, with plenty of open spaces in which to move around.

  The building was based on a square, with a central open courtyard garden. In one corner of the courtyard a waterfall cascaded down over several huge boulders reaching almost to the eaves. There were passageways leading through the four sides of the house, allowing the breeze to waft through – no matter from where it might be blowing. A verandah surrounded the whole of the structure, supported everywhere by marble pillars. The roof was of half-round red Spanish tiles. The predominant colour of the walls was white, offset with a light brown trim from place to place. A cool place in the summer.

  I stood by the large carved front doors and looked back across at the two-metre-high stone wall surrounding the entire property. There weren’t any jagged pieces of broken glass set in the top, just a series of electronic sensing devices which, according to Nick, registered the intensity of any movement across the wall. If anything larger than a cat were to pass the scanners, bells would ring. He made a point of demonstrating the system, but I felt certain that the real detectors were more cunningly hidden.

  I had met his wife, Angeline, several times before. Sophie was present, of course, as well as his other three daughters; all attractive females, even the youngest girl.

  Nick had everything a man could want, except a son – but I don’t think he regretted it. At least it meant he had no competition in that household of beautiful women.

  Luncheon was a family affair and, being Sunday, came complete with all the trimmings. They employed a first-rate cook, Jessie: competent, quick, and silent.

  As we sat down to eat, the girls started bombarding me with questions, anxious to hear of my travels over the past two years, about the famous people I had met and seen, the cities I had visited and the things I had done; but mostly wanting to know about the fabulous places they read of in the fashion magazines every day. I told them what they wanted to hear, making up tales of Monaco and St Tropez. Nick let me go on, pleased at the interest the girls were showing. Talk of business is banned at his table and I seemed to be holding the floor, the conversation falling silent every time I took a mouthful of the delicious food, or a sip of the potent Metaxa.

  Too soon the meal was finished and we sat with cocktails and liqueurs in front of us.

  “Nick,” Angeline said, patting him on the forearm, leaving her hand there for a long moment, pride in her husband shining from her eyes. “Why don’t you take Jeff into the garden and get on with your business. I know you’re bursting to tell him whatever it is you’ve been working on for the past few weeks.”

  We both smiled at her, nodded to the girls, and took our glasses and the cups of thick black coffee through to the central oasis; and settled ourselves on sun-lounges, drinks placed on the flagstones. I was happy to just sit and soak up the tranquility of the moment, and to let the food digest; but not Nick.

  “Marijuana!” he burst out as soon as he was certain the girls were out of earshot. “The deal involves fifty tonnes of marijuana.”

  I sat up with such a jolt that the lounge almost toppled over.

  “Good God, Nick! Fifty tonnes! There’s not that much in the whole bloody country. And what the hell could you do with fifty tonnes, even if you had it?”

  A self-assured smile lit his face. “Who said it all had to be Australian?”

  “Well, what then?” I asked.

  “New Guinea.”

  “New Guinea?”

  “Right. You’d be surprised how much they produce up there.”

  “But who wants fifty tonnes?” I asked. Fifty tonnes was a huge quantity and it came to a hell of a lot of dollars.

  “I’ve got a contact in South-East Asia who wants it, more if possible. I’ve been asked to supply it from here and deliver up there. I suspect they’ll refine the stuff. But I don’t really care what they want to do with it.”

  “Why don’t they just export it straight from New Guinea?” I asked. “Surely that makes more sense.”

  “No,
” he replied, smiling. “Australia is an importer of marijuana. We don’t export. Any cargo going to South-East Asia from New Guinea would be suspect, and subject to rigorous checking. The authorities wouldn’t expect it to come from Australia.”

  It wasn’t the time to interrupt. I sat and listened.

  “I can get some of the grass from various sources in Australia, and smuggling the bulk of it in from New Guinea in small boatloads dropped off up north is not a problem. There’s no difficulty in getting it to a central depot here in Adelaide. My problem is in moving it back out of the country in such a large quantity. It’s too big to handle by fishing boat. And that’s where you come in. I haven’t had any experience in moving consignments around the world. You have. What I want, Jeff – if we can reach an agreement – is for you to help me refine a plan to ship the stuff and oversee it throughout the transaction, and make certain nothing goes wrong. I’d need you to grease any palms that may need greasing and handle the delivery at the other end. Just think, Jeff. Fifty tonnes!”

  He lay back on the lounge, with a smile on his face like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

  “Yes, well,” I said, most of the liqueur now almost gone. “George and I handled some fairly big shipments from time to time, but nowhere near as valuable as this would be. Fifty tonnes of grass would be a lot smaller in volume than most of those consignments, but the risk is certainly a lot heavier. But anyway, why pick me? There must be others with the same amount of experience.”

  He sipped at his coffee, making me wait for his reply, his fingers trembling slightly.

  “Jeff, I need somebody I know I can trust. The amount of money involved is unbelievable. I need somebody who won’t be blinded by the mega-bucks involved, somebody who won’t double-deal me. You and George could have done me for a large amount of cash on that deal we did together way back, but you both stuck by the arrangement. I respect you and, besides, I like you.”