1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Read online

  Again there was this note in his voice and she looked closely at him and she felt as if an icy draught had brushed over her, leaving her cold. "But how?"

  "With these." And he held up his huge hands. "He's soft and fat ... there would be no trouble."

  Her eyes opened wide as a flicker of hope came to her. Her heart began to pound.

  "But the photos are in the bank by now."

  He shrugged.

  "All he has to do is to write to the bank and tell them to send the photos here ... they'd do that, wouldn't they?"

  She got up, her legs unsteady, and went to the bar.

  "You'd better have a drink, Larry."

  "Not for me, ma'am ... unless you have a beer."

  She took a beer out of the refrigerator, poured it, then gave herself another vodka, adding ice and martini. While she was preparing the drinks, she was thinking.

  Could this boy force Archer to sign a letter to the bank? She thought of Archer, massive, but soft and fat. She looked at Larry: built like a fighter and she could see his lumpy muscles straining against his jacket. She handed him the beer and sat down.

  "If the bank got a letter from him, they would act on his instructions," she said, "but he wouldn't sign."

  "He'll sign, ma'am. That's no problem."

  The way he spoke gave her hope and suddenly she felt as if a burdensome, crushing weight had been lifted off her.

  "You mink you can make him sign?

  He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  She sipped her drink, put down the glass and lit another cigarette. "Let me mink about this, Larry."

  After a long pause, she asked, "How long will it take you to make him sign?" Larry considered this question as he chewed, then he shrugged.

  "That's hard to say, ma'am. It depends on how stubborn he is. If he was younger, it wouldn't take long: a couple of hours, but he's getting old and he's fat and soft. I'd have to handle him carefully." He looked up, his eyes remote. "I'd say twenty-four hours: that's the outside limit. He'll sign before then I reckon, but let's say twenty-four hours to be on the safe side."

  She shuddered. There was something so clinical and cold about this boy now that he was beginning to frighten her, and yet, here was the solution: a solution she couldn't afford not to accept. She had to have those photographs. She had an instinctive feeling that Archer would again dip into the account once he was sure he had her where he wanted her and she would have to lie again and again to Herman.

  I can't wait that long, Larry. My husband is arriving here the day after tomorrow. The bank will take at least a day to return the photographs. Archer will have to stay here until they arrive. We've left it too late." "Archer ... is that his name, ma'am?" "Yes. We've left it too late."

  "A problem is a challenge... that's what Ron always says. Can't you mink of some way around this one?"

  She was in the mood to face a challenge. Her mind worked swiftly and she came up with a possible solution. She looked at her watch. Her husband would be in his New York apartment clearing up final business before flying to Geneva the day after tomorrow. She got up and crossed to the telephone and dialled his New York number. There was a long pause, then she heard the ringing tone. "This is Mr. Rolfe's residence." She recognized Hinkle's fruity voice.

  "Oh, Hinkle, this is Mrs. Rolfe. Is my husband available?"

  "No, Madame. He is in conference. Is there anything I can do?"

  "Yes ... the wretched central heating system has broken down at the villa. I'm calling from the Eden hotel. There is a spare part broken and the engineer tells me the heating won't be working for at least four days. I think Mr. Rolfe should cancel his flight. He can't possibly stay in the villa... it's like an ice box, and you know how he detests staying at an hotel."

  "Yes, indeed, Madame. You say four days ? Mr. Rolfe will be disappointed."

  "As soon as the heating is working, I will telephone." She hesitated, then went on, "If he decides to come in spite of this will you send me a telex at the Eden?"

  "I assure you, Madame, he will postpone the flight," Hinkle said, and she drew in a quick breath of relief. She remembered Hinkle detested staying at an hotel even more than Herman did and from the tone of his voice, she was sure he would persuade Herman not to come.

  "How is Mr. Rolfe?"

  "Very fair, Madame."

  This was Hinkle's stock answer which could mean anything.

  "Then I won't expect him?

  "No, Madame."

  "All right, Hinkle ... I'll be telephoning as soon as I have news. She hung up. "That was smart, ma'am," Larry said. "You see ... a problem is a challenge ... Ron's right."

  She wasn't listening. She was thinking now of Archer. Here was another problem: suppose he wouldn't come to the villa? Suppose he became suspicious that she might be up to something? He held the whip hand. He could refuse to come and insist that she should come to the hotel.

  As if following her thoughts, Larry said, "How about Archer? Can you get him up here?"

  "I'm not sure ... let me think."

  She walked to the window and looked down at the lake, her mind busy. The whole plan would be defeated if Archer refused to come and he might well refuse. She would refuse if she were in his place. Why should he come? He had said she was dangerous. She felt suddenly sure that he wouldn't come, but he would insist she brought the stock list to the hotel ... unless she could trick him into coming.

  She moved away from the window, picked up a cigarette and lit it. She was aware that Larry was watching her. She looked at her wristwatch. The time was 12.05. There was a chance Archer would have returned to the hotel for a pre-lunch cocktail. He was expecting her to call at 15.00. She decided the only way to trap him was to bustle him into coming so he would have no time for caution nor to suspect this could be a trap.

  A fidgeting movement from Larry broke her concentration. She looked impatiently at him.

  "Excuse me, ma'am. I could do with something to eat. Is there anything to eat?"

  She pressed her hand to her forehead.

  "For God's sake, don't bother me ... I'm trying to think. Go to the kitchen and help yourself!"

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  As he left the room she sat down and picked up her drink. She sat still, her mind concentrating on the problem. Finally, after ten minutes of thought, she came up with a possible solution. Considering this solution, she was now fairly satisfied that she could get Archer to come to the villa. But once he was there, would Larry be able to handle him? He seemed certain he could, but suppose Archer refused to sign the letter? He might have more steel in him than he appeared to have. If Larry failed, Archer would take his revenge. Then she remembered the deadly note in Larry's voice and the remote, cold look in his eyes when he said: He's soft and fat. That would be no problem.

  Sink or swim, Archer had said. Well, she too wasn't the sinking type.

  "It's all ready, ma'am," Larry said coming to the door. "Come on ... you gotta eat."

  "I don't want anything."

  "Oh, come on, ma'am. We could have a rough afternoon. Have you thought of something?"

  "Yes." "Fine ... let's eat."

  Shrugging she went with him into the kitchen. He had made a vast bowl of spaghetti, using the peeled tomatoes, the tomato puree and the onions she had bought.

  It looked so appetising that she suddenly felt hungry. Together, in silence, they demolished the pasta. "You're quite a cook, Larry."

  He gave her his warm, friendly smile. "Yeah ... I'm not bad ... my Ma taught me." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "When are you getting him up here, ma'am?"

  She stood up, pushing the kitchen chair away from her. "If he's coming ... in about half an hour."

  She went into the living-room for a cigarette. Larry followed her.

  "Any idea how he will come, ma'am?"

  "He has a hired car."

  As Larry stripped the wrapping from a piece of gum, she lit her cigarette.

  "Do you think if I opened th
e garage door, he'd drive in?"

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Well, ma'am, it would be best if we did the talking in the games room downstairs." He looked around the elegantly furnished room. "This is a nice room. It would be a shame to mess it up."

  Again she felt as if an icy draught had blown around her.

  "You're not going to ... hurt him?"

  "I don't know, ma'am. I hope not." He smiled. "But some of these elderly finks think they are younger than they are. I might have to smack him a couple of times. I don't reckon I'll have to, but if I did and he fell over, the best place for him to fall over would be in the games room, wouldn't it?" Suddenly, she felt slightly sick.

  "He's no fool, Larry. I couldn't persuade him to go down to the games room. He would immediately suspect something." Larry chewed and thought about this.

  "Yeah ... well, that's okay. I won't smack him so hard then. If I have to soften him, I'll take him down to the games room. So maybe we'd better not waste any more time, ma'am. Will you get him up here?"

  She hesitated for a few moments. Should she do this? Was she bringing further disaster on herself? Then she remembered Archer's merciless eyes as he had said: Decision? You have no choice! I have you where I want you! She went to the telephone and dialled the number of the Eden hotel. "Is Mr. Archer in the hotel, please?" "A moment, Madame." She waited several moments.

  "Hello, yes? Who's that?" Archer's voice boomed over the line. She could tell by the pitch of his voice that he was on his third cocktail.

  "Jack! I have to see you! Something's happened!" She put urgency in her voice.

  "Is that you, Helga?"

  "Yes ... of course! Will you come to the villa at once?"

  "What do you mean? I'm about to have lunch." All the charm had gone from his voice now. "We have an appointment at three and I'm expecting you here."

  "I'm catching a train to Milan in two hours, Jack. I'm flying back to New York tonight."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" She caught an uncertain note in his voice.

  "Don't ask questions, Jack. We're on an open line. Hinkle has just telephoned. There is an emergency. It's bad. I'm flying back tonight." "Good God! Is it ...?"

  "Jack!" Her scream cut him short. "Not on an open line. Hinkle says it is touch and go. Not a word, Jack! This could upset the market ... it could plunge ... will you come?"

  "You damn well bet I'm coming! Be with you in ten minutes," and the line went dead.

  Slowly she replaced the receiver: a surge of triumph running through her. It had been an inspired thought and it had worked. She had conveyed to Archer that Herman was either dying or dead. She had mentioned the Stock Market. That would stop him trying to check if it was a lie or not. She knew even the slightest rumour that Herman was ill would send prices plunging. For Archer, this would be the time to sell before the news hit the headlines, men when the market had absorbed the shock, to buy back. He would also realize as he came storming up the St. Moritz highway that with Herman dead, he would lose his power over Helga. He would be in the mood to try to make a bargain. She looked at Larry. "It worked," she said breathlessly. "He's coming."

  Alone, Helga stood by the window that overlooked the private road leading to the villa, a cigarette burning in her fingers. Her heart was thumping and she felt cold in spite of the heating. She was committed now: there was no turning back. She hated violence. She could never bear to see violence on the movies or the TV screen and yet she knew there would be violence here this afternoon. She knew once Archer realized he had been tricked he would be like a raging, vicious bull. She had no doubt that Larry, a much younger and fitter man could cope with him, but the thought of what was to come sickened her.

  Larry had said he would stay out of sight until Archer was in the living-room. "Talk to him first, ma'am. Maybe you can persuade him to play ball. I'll be listening. If you can't, then I'll take over."

  She looked at her watch. He would be here any minute now. At this hour, the traffic would be heavy, but once past Cassarate, unless he got stuck behind the local bus, he could speed.

  Then she saw the Fiat 125 sweep into sight, driving much too fast. She caught a glimpse of Archer as she stepped away from the window. "He's here, Larry." Her voice was unsteady.

  "Okay, ma'am. You've got nothing to worry about," Larry said from the kitchen. "I'm right with you."

  She heard a car door slam, then the front door bell rang violently. "Be careful with him, Larry," she said.

  "That's okay, ma'am. You've got nothing to worry about." Again the front door bell rang.

  Bracing herself, she crossed the hall and opened the door. Archer bounded in. His heavy face was pale and his eyes had an unnatural glitter. "Is he dead?" he demanded.

  Helga looked stonily at him, turned and walked to the sitting-room. She heard Archer curse under his breath. In the doorway, she paused.

  "Take your coat off, Jack ... it's hot in here. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

  As he tore off his coat and flung it on the hall table, he said again, "Helga! Is he dead?"

  She moved into the room until she reached the centre, then turned and faced him as he came in.

  "Helga! For Christ's sake! Is he dead?"

  "Is who dead?"

  His big hands closed into fists and he glared at her.

  "You said there was an emergency ... that Hinkle telephoned!"

  "Oh, yes. Hinkle did telephone. Herman won't be coming here until next week. He's got some conference on or some bore." A wary, suspicious look came to Archer's face.

  "Just what is this? You led me to believe Herman was ill or dead."

  "Did I? Perhaps it was because I decided there would be no other way of getting you up here, Jack." His face turned mauve as blood rushed to his head.

  "Listen, you bitch, don't start any tricks!" he snarled. "Those photos are now safe in the bank! With a snap of my fingers I can ruin you and you know it! Now give me the stock list! I've about had all I'm taking from you! Give me the stock list!" She moved to a chair and sat down.

  "The situation has changed, Jack. You're not getting the list, but you are writing a letter to your bank, instructing them to send the photos to me." He glared at her, his mouth working.

  "I've a good mind to slap your bloody face!" he said viciously. "Have you gone out of your mind? Or are you telling me you don't give a damn about losing sixty million dollars?"

  "The situation has changed," she repeated quietly, feeling her anger rising. You held three aces ... but now I hold four."

  He suddenly appeared to take hold of himself and his face was no longer mauve. He stared at her, his small, hard eyes probing.

  That's interesting. You were always a good bluffer, Helga, but you don't bluff me. If I have any more of your nonsense, I will instruct my bank to send that envelope immediately to Herman! I'm calling your bluff." "If you do that, you go to jail."

  "Listen, you stupid bitch, can't you see I have no alternative? I'm willing to bet against my chance of going to jail against your chances of inheriting sixty million dollars," Archer said. "I'll give you two minutes to give me that stock list or I leave here and when I get back to Lausanne I give you my word the photos go to Herman!"

  "Your word?" She smiled bitterly. "What's that worth?"

  "You wait and see!"

  He shot his cuff and regarded his watch. "Two minutes!"

  "Jack ... will you please write to the bank and ask them to send me the photos? I'm asking this for your sake as well as mine," Helga said. "One minute!"

  She lifted her hands and in despair, dropped them in her lap. He pulled his cuff over his watch.

  "Okay, Helga. That's it. So we're no longer partners. The photos will be delivered to Herman as he leaves Geneva airport. I'll be able to put up with life in a prison cell, thinking of you booted out of your comfortable nest." He turned and marched to the door, jerked it open and found himself confronted by Larry.

>   He reared back as if he had touched a live cable, stumbled and had to make an effort to regain his balance.

  Larry moved into the room, his jaw moving rhythmically, his hands in his jeans pockets.

  "Hi, Fatso," he said in his quiet drawl. "Remember me?"

  "What are you doing here?" Archer snarled. He whirled around, glaring at Helga. "Is this your doing?"

  "You shouldn't have done this to me," Helga said quietly. "You should have known you couldn't get away with blackmailing me. Now, write to the bank and tell them to send the photos." She pointed to the desk. "Do it at once!" "I'll see you damned first!" Archer snarled. "You don't think this pimp of yours frightens me?"

  Larry reached out, grabbed Archer's arm and spun' him around. His open right hand, moving so fast it looked to Helga like a blur of white, slapped Archer's face. The sound of his palm against Archer's fat jowl was like a pistol shot. She saw something fly out of Archer's mouth as he staggered back. She looked down. Archer's top denture lay at her feet: six gleaming white teeth set on a gold plate. She shut her eyes and turned away.

  She heard Archer mumble something, then Larry, his voice sounding deadly, said, "Stay right where you are or I'll tread on them!" She braced herself and turned.

  A livid red mark showed on Archer's face. He looked changed without his top teeth and his lips had fallen in. To her, he looked old, stupid and frightened.

  Larry had moved to where the denture had fallen. There was a hard grin on his face as he watched Archer.

  "There's plenty of the same unless you do what you're told."

  Archer made a whinnying sound, then turning, he charged out of the room into the hall. Larry went after him, moving silently and swiftly.

  The slapping sound came again. Helga stood motionless, fighting down the bile rising in her mouth. She heard Archer suddenly cry out. It was a horrible sound and she put her hands over her ears, but her hands couldn't keep out the savage sound going on in the hall: the tramping of feet, the quick in–take of breath, the inhuman grunting of a man trying to exert all his strength, then the sound of a heavy fall that shook the villa. She rushed to the open door.

  Archer was lying on his back and Larry was standing over him. As she paused, Larry kicked the prostrated man in his shifting his heavy body by the force of his kick and making Archer cry out.