1969 - The Whiff of Money Read online

  The two men looked at each other.

  ‘I didn't hear you knock,' Kovski growled.

  Malik inclined his head:

  'Because I didn't.' He looked around, drew up an upright chair and sat astride it, staring at Kovski with his bleak, snake's eyes.

  For a brief moment, Kovski wanted to tell Malik to stand while he was talking to him, but he hadn't the nerve. There was that deadly menace lurking in the green eyes that warned Kovski that Malik could be pushed so far, and no further.

  He knew Malik had only to reach out and grip his neck in his huge killer's hands for him to die quickly and unpleasantly.

  'You have a chance to get back into favour,' Kovski said with his sneering smile. 'Listen carefully.' He told Malik what he had learned about Sherman's arrival, how Dorey had seen Sherman and had left with a movie projector.

  'And this should interest you: Dorey is now talking to Girland... the man who has always defeated you in the field...who is responsible for your present disgrace. I must know what is happening. You are to take over this assignment. Labrey, Drina, Alex and Max are already working on this. You must find out why Dorey has this movie projector: why Sherman has been here: why Girland is being consulted. I want immediate action. Do you hear me?'

  Malik stood up.

  'Deafness is not among my many failings,' he said, and without looking at Kovski, he left the room.

  chapter two

  A little after 10.00 hrs. on this bright May morning, Girland came awake. He came awake by slow degrees, groaning a little, stretching and yawning, then remembering he had work to do, he heaved himself reluctantly from under the sheet and walked with eyes half shut into the shower-room. Still only half-awake, he ran his electric shaver over his face, moaning softly to himself and feeling like a resurrected corpse.

  He had had an exhausting evening and the girl who had been him had been young and wildly enthusiastic. He had been glad to see her go, and thankful she hadn't insisted on spending the rest of the night with him.

  It wasn't until he had stood under the blast of cold water from the shower for some minutes that he finally came alive, then he discovered he felt fine. He threw on a sweatshirt and a pair of blue hipsters and as he did so, he found he was hungry. He hurried into the kitchenette and peered hopefully into the refrigerator.

  A few minutes later two eggs were cooking in a pan of butter and two thick slices of ham were sizzling under the grill.

  The coffee percolator was performing and Girland now felt much more with the world.

  After breakfast, he cleared the table, dumping the used crockery into the sink. Then lighting a cigarette, he placed a mirror from his dressing table on the table. He found a pack of playing cards, then sitting down in front of the mirror, he began to shuffle the cards.

  This evening he had been invited to a poker game. He knew that two of the players were professional cardsharpers: the other six were pigeons to be fleeced, and Girland had no intention of being fleeced himself.

  He hadn't played serious poker for some time and suspected that his technique might have become rusty. Watching his hands in the mirror, flicking the cards through with lightning speed, he saw that the manoeuvre of bringing all the aces to the top of the deck would be obvious to a trained eye.

  He continued to practise for the next hour until he was satisfied that all his rust had been removed. He then began another manoeuvre which was much more difficult: that of dealing himself Ace, King, Queen after eight hands had already been dealt. He was still working on this, the ashtray now over loaded with cigarette butts when the telephone bell rang.

  He put down the cards, hesitated, then shrugging, he crossed the room and picked up the receiver.

  'Is that you, Girland?' a voice asked: a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

  'If it isn't, some creep is wearing my clothes,' Girland returned. 'Who is this?'

  'I shall be with you in ten minutes ... wait for me,' and the line went dead.

  Girland replaced the receiver, rubbed the end of his nose and frowned.

  'Unless I am very much mistaken,' he said aloud, 'that sounded very much like that old goat, Dorey.'

  He looked around the big studio room. It had undergone certain changes for the better since he had lifted several thousand dollars off Dorey. Gone were the canvas deck chairs that had once served him as armchairs. Now the room sported a deep reclining padded-chair and a big settee which his girlfriends appreciated very much. There was also a splendid Bukhara rag on the floor: its rich colouring did much to give a tone of luxury to this otherwise dark-looking room.

  Humming under his breath, Girland put the mirror back on the dressing table, emptied his cigarette butts into the trash basket, made his bed and then washed up.

  Some fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, then the doorbell rang. He opened the door.

  Breathing heavily from the long climb, Dorey surveyed Girland, seeing a slimly built man, thin-faced with black hair, a few scattered white hairs either side of his temples, dark alert eyes that often had a jeering light in them, a thin hard mouth and a pronounced almost Wellingtonian nose.

  Girland looked at the movie projector Dorey was carrying, then with his jeering smile, he shook his head.

  'Not today, thank you ... I never buy anything at the door.'

  'Don't be impertinent,' Dorey said, trying to regain his breath. 'I want to talk to you.'

  With a resigned shrug, Girland stood aside.

  'Well, come in. This is a surprise. I thought you had retired long ago and were back in the States with your feet up.'

  Dorey ignored this. He looked around the room, then eyed the big lush-looking rug, his eyebrows lifting.

  'Hmm... that's a nice rug you have there... a Bukhara, isn't it?'

  'Yes... thank you very much.'

  Dorey looked sharply at Girland who was grinning.

  ‘I suppose that means you bought it with the money you stole from me.'

  Girland laughed.

  'Sit down. Take the weight off your feet. It's a long climb for an elderly gentleman... it even makes me tired sometimes.'

  Dorey took off his overcoat, dropped it on a chair, then sat down in the big armchair. He surveyed Girland with disapproval.

  'I have a job for you.'

  Girland grimaced, then held out his hands as if to push Dorey away.

  'No, thank you. If it is anything like the last job you landed in my lap, I'm not interested. I've finally made up my mind, Dorey, I have had enough of your funny little jobs. I'm getting along very well without you and I intend to continue to get along without you. Working for you is nothing but a pain in the neck.'

  'This is an unofficial job,' Dorey said, crossing one bird-like leg over the other. He suddenly became aware how comfortable the big armchair was. 'This is a nice chair you have.'

  'Glad you like it,' Girland said and smiled. 'Thank you very much.'

  Dorey's face suddenly relaxed and he gave his dry, wintry smile.

  'You are an amusing rogue, Girland. There are times when I actually find myself liking you. How would you like to pick up ten thousand dollars?'

  'Have you been drinking?' Girland lifted his eyebrows. He sat on the settee, then stretched out lengthwise, and eyed Dorey with a shade more interest. 'Ten thousand? Not from you ... that would be too much to believe.'

  'Ten thousand and expenses,' Dorey said, sensing that Girland, like a hungry trout, was now beginning to nibble at his bait.

  'Could be you just might end up with fifteen or even twenty thousand dollars. Does it interest you?'

  Girland laced his fingers at the back of his head. He stared up at the ceiling for some moments, then said, 'You know something, Dorey? You are not very subtle. You are sure I am for sale. Well, I am not. Every so often you and I get into this kind of huddle and you wave a bait under my nose and I fall for it. So what happens? I pull your chestnuts out of the fire and always land in grief myself. No... I'll get by without y
our ten thousand dollars. I'm not interested.'

  Dorey smiled.

  'What's the matter with you, Girland?' he asked. ‘I thought you still had some guts.'

  'This kind of talk I love! So now, apart from all this money you're offering, I also have to have guts.'

  'Let's stop this fooling!' Dorey said, his voice sharpening. 'Time is running out. Do you want this job which will pay a guaranteed fifteen thousand dollars or don't you?'

  Girland studied Dorey thoughtfully.

  'Guaranteed?'

  'That's what I said.'

  'How is this fifteen thousand to be paid?'

  'Five thousand tomorrow and ten thousand when the job is done.'

  Girland shook his head.

  'No, Dorey, I don't go along with that, but I might if you paid ten thousand tomorrow and ten thousand when the job is done. Yes ... I just might be tempted on those terms.'

  Dorey snorted and got to his feet.

  'You've heard my terms. I can get anyone to do this job, Girland. Don't imagine you are the only man...'

  'Save it,' Girland said and closed his eyes. 'Nice to see you looking so well considering your age. Thanks for coming. Good-bye.' Dorey hesitated, then sat down again.

  'One of these days, Girland, I'm going to fix you and fix you good. It's time you spent a few years in jail...'

  'Are you still here?' Girland opened his eyes. 'The trouble with you, Dorey, is you take life too seriously. It's fatal. Okay, stop looking like an outraged crocodile . . . have we a deal or haven't we?'

  Dorey choked back his wrath. This was too important to waste further time haggling. Sherman had all the money in the world. He would be furious if he got to know that Dorey was quibbling about money, but it stuck in Dorey's throat to give this insolent lay about such a sum.

  'Yes ... we have a deal,' he said finally.

  Girland eyed him.

  'Ten thousand tomorrow morning, and ten thousand when I have fixed this job?'

  Dorey drew in an exasperated breath.

  'Yes.'

  Girland swung his legs off the settee and sat up. His face was alert now and his eyes bright.

  'Come on... tell me. Just what is this job?'

  Dorey picked up the movie projector....

  'Do you understand how to work this? I don't. I want you to see a film.'

  'Oh, sure.' Girland got to his feet, set up the projector, wound on the film and then pulled the long, gold-coloured curtains over the big studio window.

  'Nice, aren't they?' he said, fingering the material. 'Again, thanks.'

  'Get on with it!' Dorey snapped. I can take just so much from you, Girland, but I warn you...'

  'Dorey! That's temper!'

  'Look at this film and stop behaving like a delinquent!'

  Girland laughed. He switched on the projector, throwing the picture on his white wall. He flopped back on the settee and watched what went on on the film.

  When he realised the kind of film he was looking at, he muttered, 'Dorey! You surprise me!' Then he said nothing further, but sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching the girl and the hooded man in their shameless act.

  Finally the film ran off the spool. Girland got up, turned off the projector and pulled back the curtains.

  He returned to the settee and lay on it.

  'Go ahead and talk. I don't imagine you brought this thing along for me to see for fun. What's it all about?'

  'There are three other films like this,' Dorey said. ‘I must find them. I also, want to find the girl in the film. That's the job, Girland. Do you think you can trace these films and find the girl? Try to be honest with me. The films were taken in Paris so I presume the girl is here too. How about it?'

  Girland rubbed his hands on his knees as he studied Dorey.

  'What's the rest of it?'

  'That's as much as you need know,' Dorey snapped. 'You will be paid.’

  'Oh, cut it out! If I handle this, I want the whole photo. Why are you mixed up in this?'

  'That's not your business, Girland. I want you to trace these other three films and find the girl... that's what you're being paid for.'

  Girland got up, took a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit it.

  'How's our future President keeping these days, Dorey? Is he free from trouble and worries... is he happy?'

  Dorey started as if he had been stung.

  'What are you talking about?' he demanded. 'What has...?'

  'Come off your ladder!' Girland said impatiently. He returned to the settee and sat down, facing Dorey, his eyes probing and hard. 'You forget I get around in this city. You forget I was once one of your dreary agents. You forget I meet and see lots of people you have never heard of. That girl on the film is Gillian Sherman, the daughter of the possible future President of the United States ... God help them! No wonder you've come here offering me all this money. Well, Dorey, for perhaps the first time in your life, you have done the right thing, coming to me. This job is right up my cul-de-sac. Now don't look like a turkey with colic. She's Sherman's daughter, isn't she?'

  Dorey drew in a long, slow breath.

  'Do you know her?'

  'I've seen her... I don't know her. I ran into her at a pot party. She was stoned. Some little wasp whispered in my ear that she was Sherman's daughter. This would be three months ago... probably more.'

  'Do you know where to find her?'

  'That's not answering my question. She is Sherman's daughter, isn't she?'

  'Yes.' Dorey hesitated, then plunged on, 'Sherman is being blackmailed. He's been warned to stop running for the Presidency or three more films will be mailed to the Opposition Party. They will not only wash him up as President, but they will utterly ruin him. He came to me for unofficial help. I come to you.'

  Girland thought for a long moment, his face expressionless.

  'It takes some time to dig the facts out of you, doesn't it?' he said finally. 'So for twenty thousand dollars, Sherman hopes to become President of the United States with me doing his dirty work.' 'Isn't it enough?' Dorey asked, looking anxious. 'Oh yes, but I'm wondering if I want to help him. I don't like him. I may be out of your racket now but I listen and hear things. I know he tried to get rid of his daughter. I don't dig for that. He is a creep who yearns for power and anyone who gets in his way, goes down the hole. I don't like his politics. I wouldn't vote for him. I wouldn't tell him the time if he asked me.'

  Dorey said quietly, 'Would you put the projector in its case for me? I see I am wasting my time with you, Girland.'

  As he got to his feet, Girland said, 'Don't be so touchy. You know I'll do the job. You know if the money is big enough, I'll do any job. You get off. Leave the film with me. I'll let you know something in a day or so.' Dorey regarded him. 'It's a deal then?'

  'Oh, sure.' Girland sounded bored. 'I'm always a sucker for money.' He suddenly grinned. 'I want ten thousand dollars in traveller's cheques right here tomorrow morning. I'll trust you to pay the balance when the job is done.'

  'I'll arrange it.' Dorey put on his overcoat. 'I don't have to remind you to be careful... if there is the slightest leak...'

  'On your way.' Girland waved to the door. 'This is my pigeon now. You don't have to remind me about anything.'

  * * *

  Max Lintz was tall and bony. He had recently come from East Berlin to work for the Soviet Security in Paris. Nearing fifty years of age, balding with deep-set eyes and a thin, sour mouth, he was known to be an expert tracker of men and an expert pistol shot.

  Drina liked him. They were of the same age and they got along well together. Whereas Paul Labrey, because of his youth and his manner, often made Drina boil with fury, Lintz had a soothing effect on him.

  They were sitting at a cafe near Girland's apartment, waiting.

  'Would you prefer to follow Dorey?' Lintz asked suddenly. I will take care of Girland... if you wish.'

  Drina shifted, frowning. This remark implied that he wasn't capable of follow
ing Girland and he looked sharply at Lintz.

  'We obey orders, comrade. I am to watch Girland. Comrade Kovski said so.'

  Lintz shrugged.

  'As you will, but be careful. Girland is a professional.'

  Again Drina shifted in his chair.

  'So am I.' He stared suspiciously at Lintz. 'Don't you think so?'

  Although Lintz liked Drina, he secretly thought he was well past his prime. He thought Kovski had made a mistake using Drina to watch a man like Girland, but that was Kovski's business.

  'Of course,' he said.

  There was a long pause. Drina sipped his cooling coffee and stared at the entrance to Girland's apartment block.

  ‘I hear Malik is in Paris,' Lintz said, 'and in disgrace.'

  'Yes.' Drina's little eyes surveyed the cafe's terrace. There was no one within hearing distance. 'A wonderful man ... the best.'

  'Yes. It can happen to any of us.'

  'Girland tricked him.'

  'So I heard. How long do you think Malik will remain out of the field?'

  Drina hesitated. Again he assured himself no one was listening.

  'Kovski hates him.'

  'Of the two men,' Lintz said softly, I prefer Malik.'

  This was too dangerous, Drina thought. He merely shrugged his fat shoulders. He loathed Kovski and was terrified of him. Kovski, to his thinking, was the jackal to Malik's lion.

  'Perhaps we had better not discuss this, Max,' he said uneasily. 'Nothing good ever conies of discussing personalities.'