1969 - The Whiff of Money Read online

  'That's true.'

  The two men remained sitting on the terrace in silence until they saw Dorey appear and walk towards his parked Jaguar.

  'There's my man,' Lintz said. ‘I leave you to pay the bill. Good luck . . . and be careful.' He got to his feet and crossed to where he had left his shabby Renault 4, climbed to and drove after the Jaguar.

  Drina watched him disappear, then putting three francs on the table, he lit a Gauloise and continued his wait. He was nervous. Lintz was right. Girland was a professional. He would have liked Lintz to have taken care of Girland, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Now, thinking that in a little while, he would have to follow this man wherever he went and remain out of sight brought him out into a cold sweat. Suppose he lost him? Suppose Girland spotted him? He licked his dry lips, trying to assure himself that for the past fifteen years he had followed suspects and had always been successful.

  He was so unnerved he could no longer sit at the table. He got up, waved to the waiter, indicating he had left payment and walked across the narrow street to where he had parked his Deux Chevaux. He got in and waited.

  Ten minutes later, he saw Girland come from his apartment block and saunter down the street. Girland was wearing a short leather coat over his sweater and hipsters. He was smoking, his hand thrust into his coat pocket.

  Drina started his car. He watched Girland cross the road and tuck himself into a shabby, beaten-up Fiat 600. Drina followed the Fiat into the mass of traffic, struggling along Rue Raymond Losserand and finally into Avenue du Maine.

  Here, Girland turned left. Allowing two cars to be between Girland and himself, Drina kept after the Fiat. At Rue de Vaugirard, Girland turned right and drove a few metres down the traffic-packed road before edging his car into a courtyard.

  Forced to continue on down the street by the traffic behind him, Drina had just time to see Girland get out of his car before he lost sight of him. Cursing, he drove on, turned off into a side street and was lucky to find a car pulling away from the kerb. He edged the Deux Chevaux into the space. Snapping off the engine and without waiting to lock the car door, he ran back to the courtyard.

  The Fiat was still there, but Girland had disappeared. Drina looked around. There were several doorways leading into the courtyard building that stood in a half square. A brass plate on one of the doors caught his eye.

  BENNYSLADE Photographic Studio

  Remembering the movie projector, Drina decided that Girland was paying Benny Slade a visit. He now wished Lintz had taken this assignment. When Girland eventually came out of this building, he would drive away. Drina would have to run down the street, get in his car, and by the time he had got back to Rue de Vaugirard, he would have lost Girland.

  He hesitated for a long moment, then decided he had to have help.

  He walked to the entrance of the courtyard, spotted a cafe further up the road and ran to it.

  A few minutes later, he was once more talking to Kovski.

  He had known Benny Slade for some years. Benny was an enormously fat, jovial homosexual with a brilliant flair for photography. He ran a very special and lucrative business supplying the luxury hotels where the Americans were to be found with coloured slides and 8 mm colour films of The Girls of Paris. There was nothing pornographic about his work: every shot was artistic, but somehow managed to be titillating. His slides and films had a very brisk sale. Most of the American tourists bought them to show their neighbours back home just what they were missing.

  Benny was onto a good thing and he knew it. He kept clear of any smut. He was the Playboy of Paris, and he prospered.

  The door was opened by a fair, beautiful looking youth clad in skintight trousers and a white shirt worn outside the trousers. He gave Girland a coy little smile and lifted carefully plucked eyebrows as he asked, 'Yes, monsieur?'

  'Is Benny hatching an egg?' Girland asked.

  The eyebrows went up and then down.

  'Mr Slade is shooting.'

  'When isn't he? Okay, I'll wait.' Girland moved forward, driving the youth into a long corridor lit by rose-pink lamps held in golden hands fixed to the wall. Everything about Benny's studio was artistic. Girland thought it was terrible.

  The youth shut the door.

  'Who shall I say, monsieur?'

  'Girland... he knows me.'

  The youth led the way down the corridor and opened a door.

  'Will you wait in here, please, monsieur?'

  Girland walked into a glossily furnished room with chairs along the walls, a table in the centre littered with the latest magazines, several of Benny's masterpieces of nude girls enormously blown-up, hanging in gilt frames on the wall.

  As the youth closed the door, Girland became aware of a girl sitting on a chair in the far corner of the room, a cigarette in her slim fingers, leafing through a copy of Elle.

  She glanced up and looked Girland over as he was looking her over. Quite a doll, he thought.

  The girl was possibly twenty-three or four years of age. She had long silky blonde hair that reached below her shoulders and concealed most of her face. Her eyes were large and the colour of first grade sapphires. Her mouth was made for kissing. Girland eyed her legs: long and slim, the way he liked them. She was wearing a white silk wrap that hung open revealing the swell of her breasts. She seemed to be wearing nothing under the wrap although Girland couldn't be sure about this. She pulled the wrap close to her when she saw Girland was staring.

  He gave her his most charming smile.

  'Like waiting at the dentist, isn't it? Are you modelling for Benny?'

  'That's right.' He could see by the sudden interest in her eyes that he appealed to her. 'Are you?'

  'Me?' Girland laughed and sat down two chairs away from her. 'Benny wouldn't want to shoot me. I'm just paying a social call. I'm Mark Girland.'

  ‘I'm Vi Martin.'

  Again they regarded each other. This was a girl, Girland told himself, who could be exciting in bed.

  'Do you do much work for Benny?’ he asked. She grimaced.

  'About once a month. The competition is fierce. Every little cow with good legs and tits comes rushing here. They'll even be shot for nothing.'

  'That's tough. What else do you do beside work for Benny?'

  'Oh, I model clothes.' She was vague enough for Girland to guess this wasn't strictly the truth. 'What do you do?'

  ‘I live off the fat of the land,' Girland said airily. ‘I don't believe in work. It's against my principles.'

  'It's against mine too, but I have to eat.'

  'A doll with your looks shouldn't have to worry.'

  She smiled.

  ‘I didn't say I worried. Do you mean you don't do any work?'

  'Not if I can avoid it.'

  'And you live off the fat of the land?' She let the wrap slip a little and Girland had a glimpse of firm, well-rounded thighs before the wrap was whipped into place.

  ‘I get by. Perhaps one of these evenings we could get together over a dinner and I'll tell you about it... that is if you are interested.'

  She regarded him, then nodded.

  ‘I could be. I've always wanted to live off the fat of the land and not do any work.'

  'This sounds as if we have a lot in common. Do you know Chez Garin restaurant?'

  Her sapphire coloured eyes opened wide.

  'I've heard of it... isn't it terribly expensive?'

  Girland shrugged.

  'So-so. The food's good. Perhaps you would like to have dinner with me tonight at nine? We could meet there.'

  She stared at him, then her face-hardened.

  ‘I hate being kidded so you can skip the routine.'

  'Listen, cherie, I don't kid beautiful dolls,' Girland said quietly. 'When I invite a doll like you to dinner, she stays invited.'

  'A girl can get stood up,' Vi said bitterly. 'I'd look wet, wouldn't I, if I turned up at that restaurant, and you weren't there to take care of the check.'

  'Okay... if you're th
at suspicious... I'll pick you up. Where do you live, unbeliever?'

  She relaxed and laughed.

  'I'll believe you. Nine o'clock then at Chez Garin.' She leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling. 'Do you have abstract paintings to show me after dinner?'

  'Nothing like that,' Girland said, meeting her look. 'But I do have a beautiful Bukhara rug.'

  'I've never been asked to do it on the floor before.'

  'You haven't? It's the rage this season. You don't know what you're missing.'

  The door burst open and what appeared to be an elephant stamped into the room. This was Benny Slade's normal entrance. In spite of his 280 lbs., he moved always with a quick rushing charge, surprisingly light on his small feet.

  Before Girland could avoid the rush, he was engulfed in enormous fat arms and hugged to breasts that felt like plastic balloons, beaten on the back with hands that felt like pads of dough, then pushed back while Benny beamed on him, his enormous, jovial fat face joyful and delighted.

  'Mark, my duckie darling! I'm so pleased! Imagine coming here! Only last night, I was dreaming of you and now ... here you are!'

  'Throttle back, Benny,' Girland said, escaping from the embrace. 'You're giving me a bad reputation. We have a lady present.'

  Benny giggled.

  'So like you, pussycat.' He beamed at Vi. 'Hello, baby. This is my very good, nice boyfriend, Mark Girland. He's quite the loveliest man! He...'

  'Benny! Wrap it up!' Girland said sharply. 'We've already met. We know each other. Don't be so goddamn exuberant.'

  Benny's fat face fell. 'Have I said anything wrong?'

  'Not yet... but you are showing signs. Miss Martin is waiting to be shot.'

  Benny made a motion of dramatic despair. ‘Not now, sweetie,' he said, turning to Vi. 'I'm sorry. . . I'm devastated, but I must talk to Mark. You see Alec. Tell him to arrange everything. You know... he'll give you you-know-what. Then come back the same time tomorrow, huh? I must talk to Mark.'

  Vi's expression could have frozen an ice cube.

  'You mean that little rat will pay me for just sitting here?' she demanded, getting to her feet. ‘I bet he won't'

  'Now, lovie, don't talk that way. You know Alec loves you as I love you.'

  'Like a mongoose loves a snake.'

  Benny spluttered into giggles.

  'What a darling! Now, listen, lovie, I'll talk to Alec. You pop your clothes on and I'll see Alec pays you.' He wrapped a fat arm around Girland's shoulders and led him to the door.

  Girland looked back at Vi who smiled at him.

  'Operation Bukhara at nine o'clock,' he said.

  She nodded as Benny half-led, half-dragged Girland out into the corridor.

  'Mark! You're not planning to do anything naughty with that girl, are you?' Benny asked as he propelled Girland by sheer weight down the corridor.

  'Why not?'

  'She has a bad boyfriend.' Benny led Girland into his private office. 'He sticks knives into people.

  'So do I.'

  Girland paused to absorb the room which made him blink.

  Benny had lavished a lot of care and money in making this room something very special. The big desk had a top of gleaming copper. The lounging chairs were covered in zebra skins. Ornate orchards, growing behind glass made up the walls. The lighting bathed this big movie set of a room in soft pink.

  'Phew!' Girland exclaimed, looking around. 'You're doing yourself well, aren't you?'

  'Do you like it?' Benny gave a laugh that sounded like a child with whooping cough. 'It took me weeks, darling . . .honestly. It nearly drove me out of my little mind. But do you really and honestly like it?'

  ‘I think it stinks,' Girland said, sinking into a zebra-covered chair.

  'Do you... do you really? I am so glad. I think it does too, but how it throws my clients! They just pee in their pants when they come in here.'

  'Look, Benny, I'm in a hurry. I want your help.'

  Benny's face lost its foolish animation. His eyes became alert. He no longer looked soft and stupid.

  'My help? Well, of course. Anything for you, sweetheart.'

  Some months ago, Girland had fixed a blackmailer who was putting the bite on Benny. He had to get very tough with the boy, but he finally fixed him. Had he not succeeded, Benny would have been out of business: the bite had been a big one. From that moment, Benny was Girland's slave.

  'I'll do anything for you, baby,' Benny went on. 'Ask and you will receive.'

  ‘I want you to look at a film. I'm hoping you will know who shot it, where it was shot and who the man is in the film. This is blackmail again, and urgent.'

  'Let me see it. Come into the studio.'

  'This is Top Secret, Benny. I wouldn't show you this film if I wasn't sure you won't talk about it.'

  'That's okay, sweetie. I once relied on you. You can rely on me.'

  His fat face serious now, Benny led the way into the big studio with its screens, lights, photographic equipment and a king-sized bed mounted on a golden dais on which most of the girls were photographed.

  The blond youth who had let Girland in was busy loading film into a camera.

  'Run along, Alec, my pet,' Benny said. 'Give Vi some money. She's dressing.'

  'But she hasn't done any work,' Alec said scowling.

  'Never mind... we must never be mean... just give her something. She'll be back tomorrow.'

  Alec shrugged and left the studio. Benny shot the bolt on the door.

  'We're quite alone now,' he said. 'Let's see the film.' This was not strictly accurate for Vi Martin had come quietly into the studio to collect her handbag. Alec hadn't seen her, and hearing Benny and Girland coming down the passage, she had stepped behind one of the big screens. Girland intrigued her. She was curious to know what his business was with Benny.

  Girland handed over the 8 mm film. Benny threaded it onto a projector. He cut the lights and threw the picture on a beaded screen.

  The two men stood side by side watching the film. Vi took a chance and peered out from behind her screen. She had only a brief glimpse of what was going on in the film before she ducked back again.

  When the film was finished and Benny had put on the lights, he said, 'Who's the girl? I know most of them who work in this racket, but she's new to me.'

  'Never mind about her.' Girland sat on a nearby table and swung his legs. 'She doesn't interest me. Any idea who shot the film?'

  Benny scratched his ear as he thought.

  'There are six boys in Paris making these films.' He perched himself on a stool and regarded Girland. 'There's big money in this rackets but it's dicey. You never know when you're going to get the flics on your collar, but these boys are ready to take chances so long as they collect. Now take that film we've just seen. At a rough guess, it's . worth thirty thousand dollars. The way this racket works is these boys make the film, run off copies, smuggle them into England and America where they sell around a hundred dollars a spool... sometimes more. We have a big market here, of course. Each boy has his own particular camera technique. I would say Pierre Rosnold shot that film. I can't swear to it, but the lighting and the camera angles have Rosnold's touch.'

  'Where do I find him?'

  'He has a studio on Rue Garibaldi. His front cover is high-class studio portraits for movie stars and society people ... you know the drag, but his folding money comes from blue films.'

  'Do you know him?'

  Benny's fat face wrinkled in disgust.

  ‘I wouldn't be seen with him in the same toilet. I loathe the beast.'

  'And the man in the film?'

  'That's a problem with that hood. Rosnold has a permanent stallion for these movies: Jack Dodge ... he's an American. I've never met him, but I hear he always wears a hood on these films because he doesn't want to be recognised. He works at Sammy's Bar where simply hordes of ghastly American tourists go.' Benny shifted his enormous buttocks on the stool. 'The girl interests me. She's an amateur of course, but she has
great technique. She could be making herself nice money... and I mean nice.'

  'I'm not interested in her,' Girland said. 'There are three other films, Benny. I've got to find them. It looks as if I'll have to call on Rosnold and twist his arm a little.'

  Benny's small eyes widened.

  'Be careful, darling. He's a toughie.'

  Girland slid off the table.

  'So am I.' He grinned at Benny. 'Well, thanks. I'll go talk to Rosnold.'

  Benny rewound the film and gave it to Girland.

  'Anything else I can do, give me a call.'

  They walked together to the door and Benny slid back the bolt.

  As they moved out into the corridor, Vi Martin came from behind the screen. She ran silently across the studio to the dressing room and began hurriedly to dress.

  * * *

  With sweat running down his face, Drina kept looking at his watch. Kovski had promised to rush a man down to where he was waiting, but up to now the man hadn't arrived.

  What was he to do if the man didn't arrive and Girland appeared and drove off in his car? He would be held responsible for losing Girland! He knew Kovski was already displeased with his work. He could get into serious trouble.

  He took off his shabby hat and wiped the sweat off his balding head. He moved from one foot to the other. His heart hammered and his mouth was dry.

  Then he saw Girland come out of the building.

  Drina was unprepared. He shouldn't have been standing in the entrance to the courtyard. He should have concealed himself in one of the many doorways leading into the big apartment block. It was too late now. He lost his head and turned quickly, walking into the street.

  Had he not moved so quickly, Girland wouldn't have noticed him, but that panicky movement alerted Girland. He saw the short, fat man wearing a greasy fur hat dart into the street and Girland's eyes narrowed.

  He had decided, as he had descended the stairs from Benny's studio, that as Rosnold's studio was close by, he would walk rather than chance finding parking space. So he sauntered out of the courtyard and almost cannoned into Drina who wasn't sure whether to dart to the right or left.

  The two men looked at each other.

  Girland too had a photographic memory. He placed Drina immediately: a washed-up, hack Soviet agent of the Security police. 'Pardon,' Girland said, moved around Drina and set off with his long strides towards Boulevard Pasteur.