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There was no enjoyment in it. I kept thinking of his body
lying down there somewhere crushed under the tons of water.
We didn’t catch anything to speak of, which was good. I
wouldn’t have to fight off the photographers. I explained we’d
have to cut the first day short because I had an important
business call to make, and we were back at the dock at three.
That was two p.m., New Orleans time. I called from the
motel.
“Chris? Chapman. How are you making out with that
Warwick?”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Chapman,” he replied. “The fishing all
right?”
“Lousy,” I said shortly. “But about that oil stock—?”
“Hmmm. Let’s see. We unloaded six thousand shares of it
yesterday, at two seven-eighths. It went to three-quarters, and
we disposed of two more at that price. It sold off to fiveeighths
at closing, and has been hanging there and at a half
all day. So we still have two thousand.”
“Right,” I said briskly. “Just let it ride until we can get
three-quarters.” I made a rough calculation. “Now, look. My
cash position must be around thirty thousand at the moment,
or a little better? That right?”
“Ye-es—I think so. I haven’t got the exact figures, but it
should be in the neighborhood of thirty-four thousand.”
“Fine. Now here’s what I want you to do. I came in from
fishing early so I’d catch you in time, since tomorrow’s
Saturday. Send me a check for twenty-five thousand, airmail
Special Delivery, care the Clive Hotel, Miami. That’s C-l-i-v-e,
Clive. Get it off this afternoon, without fail. I’ve run into
something here that’s beginning to look terrific, if I can get it
at my price, and I think I can. But I’m going to need some
cash to hit ’em with, either for an option or as earnest money
when I make the offer.”
“Real estate?” he asked. I could sense disapproval. The
securities men and the land dealers shared a deep mutual
distrust of each other’s “investments”. Then I realized it ran
deeper than that; he didn’t have a great deal of faith in my
judgment. I’d got where I was in the stock market by riding
on Marian Forsyth’s back, and now that I’d ditched her there
was no telling what would happen. That was fine. What I was
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doing was right in character. “Excuse me,” he went on. “None
of my business, of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Not at all,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it is real estate.
Highway frontage on US 1. And it’s big. If I can get it, I could
net a quarter million, after taxes in eighteen months. It’s
going to take a sizable chunk of cash, but I’d worry about that
after I hit ’em with the offer. And you’d shoot that check out
to me right away, huh?”
“Yes, sir. It’d be in the mail tonight. Airmail Special.”
“Thanks,” I said. “G’bye.”
I hung up, breathed a quiet sigh, and poured a drink of the
Scotch. We were rolling.
Next I called the reservations desk at the Clive and asked
for a room Sunday night, and added, “I’m expecting a very
important letter that’ll probably get there before I do. Be sure
to hang on to it.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Chapman. We’ll hold it.”
I took out some stationery and a pen and practiced writing
the signature for a solid hour, striving for perfection and at
the same time trying to condition myself to signing Harris
Chapman so it would be automatic and I couldn’t slip and sign
Jerry Forbes some time when I was thinking of something
else. It occurred to me that in the short time I’d been in
Florida I had been three different people—George Hamilton,
Jerry Forbes, and now Chapman, and that in another ten days
I’d go back to being Forbes again. A little more of this and I
wouldn’t really know who I was.
I compared the results of the practice with the originals on
the traveler’s checks. To my eye, they were indistinguishable;
presumably an expert could tell them apart, but there was no
reason the question should ever arise. I tore up the sheets
and flushed them down the John.
Around six I showered and shaved, and dressed in one of
Chapman’s suits. The trousers were about two inches too
large in the waist, but it didn’t show with the jacket buttoned.
Wearing his clothes made me feel queasy, but it had to be
done. I found a surprisingly good restaurant and had dinner,
after two Martinis at the bar, but it was necessary, for
strategic purposes, to ruin the steak beyond the semblance of
flavor. Chapman always ate them incinerated, so I ordered it
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well-done. When the waiter brought it out, I cut into it just
once, beckoned peremptorily, and told him to take it back and
tell the chef to cook it.
He returned with it a few minutes later. I cut into it,
scrutinized it carefully, and gave him a glacial stare.
Tm sorry,” I said, “but this steak is still raw. Maybe if I
wrote the chef a note—”
The place was crowded, and people at nearby tables were
turning to stare. I stared back at them, completely
unperturbed. The waiter would have liked nothing better than
to poison me, but he removed it once more. This time I ate it
when he brought it back. It was like charcoal.
I paid with one of the traveler’s checks. The cashier glanced
at the signature, and as she counted out my change she said,
“I’m sorry about the difficulty with your steak Mr. Chapman.
We’ll do better next time.”
It had been quite successful.
I called Coral Blaine around eight, and it went off
beautifully. I was discovering again how right Marian had
been. She’d said I wouldn’t have much trouble with her. She
was such a featherbrained chatterer she’d probably never pay
any great attention to anything I said. I got her started on
some of her upcoming “parties” and let her rattle. It was only
towards the end that I mentioned the real-estate deal and said
I’d probably be going back to Miami in another day or so.
The next day I raised and landed a sail, but told Wilder to
release it. It was Saturday, of course, so I didn’t have to talk
to Chris. I called Coral. It was becoming routine by now.
When there was a pause in the flow of her gossip, I asked,
“How would you like to live in Florida, angel?”
“Heavens, darling, what are you talking about?”
“Just an idea,” I said. “We might move down here some day.
Not for a few years, of course, but it’s worth thinking about.
This is a big-time country, and there’s real money to be made
here. I’m feeling out a deal right now that could put a quarter
of a million in our pocket. That’s a lot of mink stoles, angel.”
“Gracious, Harris, anybody would think I was marrying you
for mink. But about moving to Florida—I’d have to think about
that. With all the dear friends we have here.”
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Well, she had one more dear friend there than she’d had
yesterday. Marian Forsyth would have arrived in Thomaston
this morning.
I’d hardly hung up when the phone rang. It was Fitzpatrick
at last. “Well, Mr. Chapman, how’s the fishing been?”
“Not too bad,” I said. “I released a six-foot sail today.”
“Fine, I’m glad to hear it. But you want to come down in
January some time and hit ’em off Palm Beach when they’re
schooled up. Magnificent fishing.”
I smiled. Fitzpatrick was one of the good ones. He’d
probably never fished in his life, but he’d talked to a
fisherman before he’d called me.
“But I’ll get right to what I called you for,” he went on
easily. “The owner of that piece of highway frontage dropped
by today and we talked about it a little. Now he didn’t say so
in so many words, but I’ve just got a hunch he might be open
to an offer.”
“Hmmm,” I said thoughtfully. “It’d take a lot of cash to
swing a deal like that— What kind of financing did you say it
had on it now?”
“One of the Miami banks has a first mortgage for a hundred
and fifty thousand. But I could almost guarantee that if you
wanted to refinance, you could get two.”
“And he’s asking three seventy-five?”
“That’s right. But as I say, you can always try with an offer.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’m coming back to Miami
tomorrow for a few days, and I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Good. Ah, where’ll you be staying, Mr. Chapman?”
“Clive Hotel,” I said.
* * *
We fished with indifferent success until shortly after noon the
next day, and came in. I checked out of the motel around twothirty
and drove to Miami. The Clive was a large hotel on
Biscayne Boulevard and very convenient to everything
downtown. The doorman called the garage to send a man
after the car. I followed the boy in to the desk, and when I
asked for my reservation the airmail Special from Webster &
Adcock was waiting for me. I slit it open and looked at the
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check for twenty-five thousand dollars. This was just the first
trickle, to break the dike.
After I’d registered, I stepped over to the cashier’s window
and cashed three more of the traveler’s checks. There was no
use letting them go to waste, and I was going to need plenty
of cash before I was through. We went up to the room. It was
one of the expensive ones, looking out over the waterfront
park and the bay. As soon as the boy was gone, I put through
the call to Coral Blaine. I was always jittery while that was
hanging over my head. And it was time, too, to give her the
first little nudge.
“I’m back in Miami, angel,” I said. “At the Clive Hotel, if you
have to reach me for anything the next few days.”
She was in a kittenish mood tonight. “I just hope you’re
behavin’ yourself
“I am,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m working. That realestate
deal with Fitzpatrick.”
“Darling, you’re supposed to be on vacation.”
“I’m never on vacation when there’s money to be made. You
know that, honey. Oh, say, I saw Marian Forsyth on the street
this afternoon. Did you know she was in Miami?”
“You couldn’t have. Dear, she’s right here in Thomaston.
Don’t you remember, I told you—”
“Sure. I know you said she’d told Bill she was coming back
Saturday. But I could have sworn this was her. She went past
in a car.”
She became considerably cooler. “Maybe you just miss her,
Harris. Or you’re thinking about her.”
“Cut it out, Coral. You know better than that. The only thing
I’m thinking about her is that I don’t trust her. But you’re sure
she’s there?”
“Of course, dear. I saw her myself, just this morning.”
”Well, you watch out for her. She’s probably spreading lies
behind my back. By God, what does she want, didn’t I offer
her half a year’s pay?”
“Darling,” she said wearily, “you’ve been more than fair
with her. But do we have to talk about Mrs. Forsyth?”
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“Of course not, honey. And I’m sorry. It was just somebody
that looked like her. Let’s talk about the future Mrs.
Chapman.”
When we’d hung up, I got Fitzpatrick’s card out of the
wallet and called him at his home. I caught him in.
“Chapman,” I said. “You remember—?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Chapman. How are you?”
“Just fine. I was hoping you could help me out with
something. I want to open an account in a local bank, and
wondered if you could recommend one. I thought you might
have connections—”
“I sure have. The Seaboard First National. Go in and see
John Dakin. He’s the Assistant Cashier, and a good friend of
mine. I’ll call him as soon as they open in the morning.”
“Thanks a million.”
“You given any more thought to that piece of frontage we
were looking at?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I drove up that way
this afternoon, when I came up from the Keys.”
“You’re at the Clive now?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d be glad to drive down and talk it over with you a little
more. Unless you’re busy, that is.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not doing anything this evening. I might
be in the dining room, but I’ll leave word at the desk.”
“Fine,” he replied. “I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”
The dining room was just dim enough. He was one of the
people they’d be certain to question afterwards, or at any rate
one of the shrewdest. I couldn’t take too many chances with
him. The other time I’d been wearing the dark glasses except
for the few minutes in his office when I first met him, he
wouldn’t get much of a look at me here, and this was the last
time I’d see him. I took a table for two along the wall, and was
just finishing the soup when he came in. I stood up and we
shook hands. “I forgot to ask if you’d had dinner.”
“Yes, thanks, I’ve had mine.”
“Well, have a drink, anyway.” I beckoned the waiter over. He
ordered a bourbon and water. When the waiter returned with
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it, I said, “Would you take this knife away and bring me a new
one? It looks dirty.”
“Yes, sir.”
We talked real estate in general for a few minutes. The
waiter brought my entree. I’d ordered roast beef. There was
gravy on it.
“No, no,” I said. “I don’t want that gravy on it, waiter. Would
you change that, please?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
He departed. “I don’t know why they ruin meat that way,” I
said to Fitzpatrick. “All that damned grease to give you
indigestion.”
“Yes,” he replied easily. “I know exactly what you mean.”
We’d just resumed our conversation when the waiter came
back with the new order of roast beef. I looked at it, and then
at him, and shook my head. “We don’t seem to get together at
all. I don’t like to create an international incident, but I’m
positive I said all outside slices, well-done.”
”Yes, sir.” He was silently raging now, but he took it away
again.
I addressed Fitzpatrick. “Sorry to create a fuss, but by God,
the prices you pay, the least you can do is get what you
order.”
He smiled. “Not at all. If more people had that attitude,
service would be a lot better than it is.” Fitzpatrick was a
smooth article.
I ate some of the dinner, ordered coffee for myself and
another bourbon for Fitzpatrick. While we were waiting for it
to come, I took one of Chapman’s pill-bottles from my pocket,
shook out a pill, and swallowed it with some water. I had no
idea what it was, but it probably wouldn’t hurt me. Then I
stuck a cigarette in the holder, and lit it with the butane
lighter. Fitzpatrick, I thought, should be able to give them a
pretty good description of Chapman.
The drinks came. “All right, let’s get right to the point,” I
said. “I want to make an offer on that piece of frontage, but
there’s no use wasting your time and mine. Three hundred
and twenty-five thousand dollars. What do you think?”
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He lit a cigarette. “Ethically, of course, I couldn’t say, even if
I knew. We represent the seller, and the only price we know
anything about is the one he tells us. But let’s put it this way;
I’ve been in the business a long time and I never saw anybody
get hurt making an offer.”
“Okay,” I said. “Here’s the deal. I’m on vacation, of course,
and all I have with me is traveler’s checks. I can’t give you a
check on my bank at home, but I called my broker in New
Orleans on Friday and told him to send me some money. It
just came.” I took out the Webster & Adcock envelope and
dropped it on the table. “As soon as I open that account in the
morning, I’ll give you a check for five thousand dollars to
submit with the offer. Could you have one of your men pick it
up here at the hotel?”
“Of course. We’d be glad to.”
“Good. Tell the owner if he’s really interested in a deal he’d
better let me know tomorrow, because if he does accept I’ve
got to raise the balance of a hundred and seventy thousand
dollars cash to complete the transaction, and nobody’s got
that lying around in a banking account. I don’t want to call off
my vacation to go home and raise it, but it happens I can
swing it by liquidating securities in my account with Webster
& Adcock, and I can do that by telephone. It’ll take a few days
for my deposits to clear New Orleans, of course, before the
bank here will honor any checks on the account, but it’ll still
be the simplest way to handle it.”
He nodded. “That would be fine all round.”
I stood up. “Okay, then. You can have somebody pick up my
check here at the desk around ten-thirty in the morning. And
call me right away when you hear from the owner.”
I went back up to the room. All this jockeying around with
offers was a nuisance, and it was going to cost us five
thousand dollars, but for purposes of verisimilitude it was
absolutely essential. I mentally went over our timetable. We
were right on schedule, and doing beautifully. It was time now
to start lining up the girl.
I went out and took a cab, and told the driver I was alone in
town and wanted to see some of the night life. He had nothing
better to offer than a cheap night club. I had a drink, and
departed in another cab. The driver of this one had a more
sophisticated outlook, or fewer scruples. He looked over my
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identification. I voiced some preferences. He drove me back
to the hotel, and I gave him my room number.
It was around ten-thirty when she knocked on the door.
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Ten
She wouldn’t do at all; I could see that within the first ten
minutes. She was dark and rather pretty, particularly with her
clothes off, but she was a good-natured, somewhat
unimaginative girl with no particular tensions or any
animosity toward anything or anybody. I didn’t like flying in
the face of psychiatric dogma by saying there was such a
thing as a well-adjusted prostitute, but that was exactly what
she was. She was lazy, the hours were good, and she earned
considerably more than the average nuclear physicist. And
she’d lived around Miami for years, and was crazy about it.
She was out.
I completed the transaction with her, more as a gesture of
conformity than from any particular interest in her, gave her
the fifty dollars she asked for, added ten more for no reason
that I could think of, and she left. I’d have to try again
tomorrow.
I awoke around seven, went through that first terrible
instant of remembering that left me sick and shaking, and
then tried to appraise it clinically to see if it was any better or
worse than on preceding mornings. It appeared to be about
the same. Well, it would go away in time.
I had coffee and orange juice sent up, and put in an hour’s
practice on the signature. From now on, it was dangerous.
The traveler’s checks didn’t mean anything; nobody ever
bothered to look at the signatures unless they’d been
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reported stolen. But now it was banks, who were notoriously
touchy on the subject. Then I reminded myself for the
hundredth time that I was being silly. I was overlooking the
point of the whole thing, the real beauty of it.
The only thing I was going to forge, aside from a receipt
which would be filed without even a glance, was the
endorsement of a check. And who ever looked at that unless
there was some question it was the payee who had cashed it?
It was just as she had pointed out to me the first time. As far
as anybody in the world knew—except the two of us—I was
Harris Chapman. I acknowledged receipt of the check, told
the man who’d sent it to me that I’d cashed it, and that was
the end of the line. And as for getting the money out of the
bank—that was the real honey of the deal; I wouldn’t be
trying to copy a signature, because it would be my own. Not
my name, of course, and it would be only my version of Harris
Chapman’s signature, but it would be what was on the
signature card, because I’d opened the account. No, if we
ended in disaster, it wouldn’t be this forgery thing that
tripped us.
It went off without a hitch. I arrived at the bank shortly
after it opened, and inquired for Dakin. He was at one of the
desks behind a railing at one end of the main lobby, a
nervous, self-consciously hearty, and overworked man who
couldn’t have described me ten minutes later if I’d been
wearing a monocle and a sharpened bone through my nose.
“Oh, yes. Yes. Mr.—” His eyes swept toward the memo pad
to verify his old friend’s name. “Mr. Fitzpatrick called. Glad to
have you as a depositor, Mr. Chapman. And we know you’ll
like Miami.”
I filled in the form, signed two copies of the signature card,
endorsed the check, and gave it to him. He carried it off to
one of the tellers’ windows and returned with my deposit
receipt and a check-book. He assured me it wouldn’t take
over three or four days for it to clear New Orleans. I went
back to the hotel, wrote out a check for five thousand dollars,
borrowed an envelope from the cashier, and left it at the desk
to be delivered to anybody from Fitzpatrick Realty.
Up in the room again, I got out the list of securities, opened
the Herald to yesterday’s closing stock prices, and made a
rough outline of what to sell. It would just about clean out the
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account; there’d be less than twelve thousand dollars left in
it. I put through the call to New Orleans.
“Hello, Chris? Chapman—”
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Chapman. I see Warwick opened at
two and a half again this morning, so we may not—”
“Never mind that,” I cut in brusquely. “It’s chicken feed. I’m
on my way now on that deal I told you about—oh, incidentally,
the twenty-five thousand dollars was here when I checked in
at the Clive last night. Thanks a million. I opened an account
and deposited it this morning. The deal’s going through at my
price, beyond any shadow of doubt, and I’m going to need a
hundred and fifty thousand dollars within the next few days.
You got my list handy, and a pencil?”
“Yes, sir. But you’re not going to—?”
I paid no attention. “Sell the Columbia Gas, the PG &E, that
DuPont Preferential, Champion Paper Preferential, and the
AT&T— That should be pretty close to a hundred thousand.
Now, let’s see—”
“But, Mr. Chapman, those are all good, sound issues. I hate
to see you sell them.”
“What?” I asked absently. Then I did a take, and barked into
the phone. “Goddammit, Chris, I’m not interested in being on
the defensive. There’s no way to stand still in this economy;
you keep going ahead, or you’re eaten alive by ducks. Let’s
face it. The bull market’s dead, and I’m not interested in
making four cents in dividends and giving three of them to
the Government. I want to make money, and right now Florida
real estate’s the place to make it; not in the stock market.
When the market starts to move again, I’ll get back in, but for
now I’m going to put that money to work.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He didn’t like it, but there was nothing he
could do about it. We went on with the list.
“All right,” I concluded. “The largest block in there is a
thousand shares. You can unload it all in an hour without even
a ripple. Get the check off to me as early as you can this
afternoon, registered airmail, care of the Clive Hotel, so I’ll
have it by the time the banks open in the morning. It’s going
to take several days to clear. Got it?”
“Yes. I have it all.”
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“Fine,” I said. “G’bye.” I hung up, and breathed softly with
relief.
That much of it was past now; the Chris phase was
complete, and he’d never suspected a thing. It called for a
drink, in spite of the hour. I was just pouring it when the
phone rang. It was Fitzpatrick.
He was in high spirits. “Well, Mr. Chapman, it looks as if
you’ve got yourself a deal. I talked to the owner a few minutes
ago, and I think he’s about ready to accept.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’m raising the money now.”
A woman’s voice cut in on the line. “Mr. Chapman, I’m sorry
to interrupt. This is the hotel switchboard—”
“Yes?” I asked.
“We have a very urgent long-distance call from Thomaston,
Louisiana.”
“Oh.” I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I mean—put it
on.”
“Harris! Thank God they located you.” It was Coral Blaine.
“I’ve been trying for over an hour, but I’d forgotten what hotel
you said. This whole place is in an uproar—”
“What is it?” I broke in.
“We’ve got to have the combination of that old safe, and
you’re the only one who knows it. Barbara says you’ve got it
written down somewhere in your office, but we can’t find it.”
I could feel the whole thing caving away beneath us, but I
had to try. “Get hold of yourself!” I snapped. “What old safe
are you talking about? And what’s happened?”
“Harris! The one that was moved out of here about six
months ago when you bought the new one. It was stored in
the warehouse, remember? And just before you left you told
Mr. Elkins to sell it to the junk yard—”
Someone knocked on the door.
“ . . . Well, yesterday afternoon he and some more men
moved it outside on to the loading platform, but the junk man
forgot to pick it up. It was unlocked. And this morning about
eight-thirty, some first-graders on the way to school—”
I could feel myself growing sick. “Oh, Jesus, not that!”
“No,” she interrupted. “Not one of the children. A dog. Judy
Weaver’s miniature poodle—”
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My knees bent, and I sat down. “Well, don’t tell me the
whole goddamned town—”
There was another knock on the door.
“Harris! will you please stop swearing! That silly girl is
practically out of her mind. They’ve got her under a sedative
now, but when she wakes up she’ll start all over again. The
Humane Society is driving me crazy. Mrs. Weaver says they’re
going to sue you. Everybody in town is simply furious, and
people have been calling up here until I’m ready to scream.
Some machine shop has drilled a hole in the safe so the stupid
dog can breathe, but they can’t get him out. The radio news
got hold of it, and now the New Orleans papers are calling up.
Barbara says you’ve got the combination—”
Maybe it would help, I thought bitterly, if she told me that
again. Whoever it was in the corridor was banging on the
door again. I had to get away from that voice and try to think.
“Hold it,” I said. “Somebody’s at the door.”
I put down the phone and answered it. It was a porter.
“Telegram, sir,” he said. I handed him a coin of some kind,
and took it.
I closed the door and leaned against it. We’d had it. It
wasn’t on the tapes; I knew that. I’d been through everything
in the wallet. The little address book! I grabbed it out of my
pocket and flipped madly through it. Nothing but addresses.
I looked at the phone lying on the desk. This was the way it
ended. You learned everything there was to learn, you took
care of every contingency, you memorized, you rehearsed, you
perfected—and then some kid locked a dog in a safe a
thousand miles away and you were done.
I still had the telegram in my hand. Through the little
glassine window I could see some figures, and Brindon, La.
I’d never heard of it.
Louisiana!
I slashed it open and stared at the text.
RIGHT THIRTY-TWO LEFT TWO SLANT NINETEEN RIGHT
THREE SLANT SIX REPEAT RIGHT THIRTY-TWO . . . TAPED
BENEATH PENCIL DRAWER.
I sighed, and pushed myself off the door on watery knees.
Picking up the phone and holding it a little way from my face,
All The Way — 106
I said, “Sit down, and I’ll be right with you, as soon as I deal
with this crisis.”
I spoke into it. “Coral? You there? That combination is taped
to the bottom of the pencil drawer in my desk. But, hold on,
I’ll give it to you. Write it down—” I repeated it off the
telegram.
“Thank Heavens—”
I interrupted crisply. “One of you go see Mrs. Weaver right
away and see if you can smooth this over. Mrs. English,
maybe; she’s good with people. Buy Judy the biggest stuffed
toy you can find, one of those thirty-five dollar jobs. And,
Coral, I hate to be crabby, honey, but I’m working on a real
big deal down here—”
“Darling, I am sorry about it.”
When I’d hung up I went over and lay down on the bed. I
could have used a drink, but I doubted I could pour it.
She’d heard about the uproar and driven to some nearby
town to send the telegram, probably from a pay phone. I
closed my eyes, and I could see her so vividly it hurt. When
they made her, I thought, they made only one.
It wasn’t only that she’d saved us this time; she’d put the
thing on ice once and for all. I could make mistakes by the
dozen from now on and it wouldn’t matter in the slightest.
Only Chapman could have known that combination.
* * *
Her name sounded like something dreamed up by a cheap
press-agent. Justine Laray. Not that it mattered. What did
matter was that I was sure I’d found what I was looking for.
She knocked on the door around eleven p.m., and when I
opened it and she came in, she sized me up, appraised the
luggage and the fat wallet lying on the dresser—all in one
glance and without even appearing to—and gave me a bright
smile that promised unimaginable ecstasies and almost
concealed the contempt she felt for any jerk who couldn’t get
a woman without buying one.
It would be a hundred dollars, honey. And when I fatuously
agreed to this overcharge it merely increased her contempt. I
was sweet, and much better-looking than a lot of those fat
expense-account creeps—ugh! Not that she’d ever done much
All The Way — 107
of this, of course. She was really in show business. A song
stylist.
“That right?” I said heartily. I slapped her on the behind.
“We’re going to get along fine, sweetie. I always like people
with talent. Never had any myself, except for making money.
And women.”
It might have been a little cruder than usual, but she’d
heard the tune. “You don’t mind if I get it now, do you?”
“Hell, no,” I waved a hand toward the wallet. “Take it out of
there. Why not take two while you’re at it, and stay all night?
Christ, if you don’t get it the Government will, and they don’t
even kiss me. I’ll mix us a little drink, huh?”
I’d been cashing the traveler’s checks at a steady rate, and
the wallet held close to three thousand dollars now. The rest
of the checks were lying beside it.
“You know, I just might do that,” she said archly. She took
four fifties from the wallet.
She was around twenty-five, a rather slender girl with nice
teeth, short dark hair, and eyes that were almost black. There
was nothing of the Latin about her, however. Her skin was
dead white, and the eyes were cold. I put ice and Scotch in
two glasses and set them on the dresser.
“Come on, sweetie, get out of those hot, sticky clothes and
into a cold highball. You still got to meet the Credentials
Committee.”
We went to bed. I’d had more fun in dentists’ offices. She
probably had, too; but at least she was being paid to endure
it. If she drank enough, she might talk about herself.
“You’d never think I was thirty-nine years old, would you?” I
said. “Come on, you’d have said thirty-two, wouldn’t you? Hit
me in the stomach. Hell, go on; hit me. . . .”
I went to Notre Dame. No, I didn’t play football. I didn’t
have to; my old man had plenty of money. But don’t think I
was one of those pantywaists that had it all given to me. I
made it myself. Radio stations, newspapers, real estate. I was
going to be around here at least a week, on a real-estate deal.
Stick with me, if you can stand the pace, and we’ll have a ball.
Feel the muscles in that stomach, Marian. Like the old
washboard, huh?
All The Way — 108
She drank; she had to, to stand me. She began to get a little
tight.
Miami, hah! And Miami Beach. Brother, you could have ’em.
What a girl had to put up with from those fat expense-account
types that think they’re better”n she is, the hairy pigs. Vegas
was for her. Or L.A. She could go to work tomorrow. Did I
know she was a song stylist? Brother, the crummy breaks
she’d had in this crummy place. That agent of hers—Hah! this
was an agent? He couldn’t book Crosby. And that room-mate
running off with three of her best dresses. Imagine, stealing
from another working girl. . . .
Hey, where you get this Marian routine? My name’s Justine.
I already tolja that three times already. Sure, you called me
Marian. Three times, for Crissakes. Whatta you carryin’ a
torch, or something? Look, don’t call me Marian, or Sweetie,
or Hey You. I got a name, just like anybody else. And you use
it, buster. You think I’m some cheap tramp that you just grunt
or point or something and hand me ten bucks and I fall
over. . . .
In the morning she gave me her telephone number so we
could eliminate the middleman. I gave her an extra fifty.
“You call me, honey,” she said, putting on lipstick and giving
me an arch glance. I was a crude, repulsive, egocentric blowhard
who couldn’t even remember her name, and she
detested me, but oddly enough I seemed to have nearly as
much money as I boasted I had, and I threw it around.
* * *
The registered airmail from Webster & Adcock arrived at
nine-thirty. I slit it open, and looked at the check for a
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Five minutes after the
bank opened, I endorsed it, wrote out a deposit slip, and
added it to the account.
Back at the hotel, I called Fitzpatrick. He’d already notified
me, shortly after noon yesterday, that the owner had accepted
the offer.
“Fitzpatrick,” I said now. “I just received the money from
my broker, and deposited it. I’ll be able to give you a check for
a hundred and seventy thousand dollars by Friday. Or
Monday, at the latest.”
All The Way — 109
“That’s fine, Mr. Chapman. Just fine.”
“In the meantime I’m going to take a good look at the whole
South Florida real-estate picture, and may get into it a little
deeper. Keep me in mind.”
“Yes, sir. As a matter of fact, we have a number of other real
good listings I’d like to show you-”
“Thanks. But I think I’ll run over to the Naples area for a
day or so. I’d keep in touch. G’bye.”
I called Chris and told him the check had arrived and that
I’d deposited it. He was cool, but polite. I was still a client, if a
rather shrunken one. The public stenographer in the hotel
addressed an envelope for me and I signed the receipts and
mailed them back to him. Next I called Captain Wilder in
Marathon. He was out in the Stream, but I left a message with
his wife that I’d got tied up on a business deal and would have
to cancel the other three days’ fishing.
Coral Blaine was next. She started to tell me of some
trouble at the radio station. There’d been an FCC violation of
some kind. I cut her off. I was in the saddle now.
“Tell Wingard to take care of it,” I said shortly. “Authorize
him to order anything he needs. I’m up to my ears in this realestate
deal. In fact, I’ve canceled the rest of my fishing
reservations, and I’m going to spend the balance of the trip
looking over the situation down here.”
“Darling, I wish you wouldn’t work so hard.”
“I like to work. So aside from the FCC, everything’s serene
there? No more dogs locked in safes?”
She laughed sheepishly. “I am sorry about that. Wasn’t it
the silliest thing?”
“It could have been serious as hell. And I’m not so sure it
was an accident, either.” The dog thing had been a break we
hadn’t counted on, but it was too good to waste.
“Harris, what do you mean? Of course it was an accident.”
“Maybe. But, look-Suppose somebody was trying to cut my
throat? Give me a bad name, and make me lose advertisers? A
thing like that could ruin me—people going around saying
Chapman’s a sonofabitch that’d leave an unlocked safe
around where kids can play in it. Suppose she’d actually—I
mean, suppose it had been one of the kids? Instead of just a
dog—”
All The Way — 110
“Harris, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Oh, I guess it’s silly,” I said, abruptly changing tone. ”Well,
angel, I’m off to Naples to look over some property. I’ll call
you later.”
* * *
I arrived in Naples early in the afternoon, and checked in at a
motel. After driving round a while I called a few real-estate
people on the phone, introduced myself, and made some
inquiries. I plugged in the tape recorder, and began erasing
the tapes, running them through the machine on “Record”
with the volume turned all the way down. It was a slow
process, as each took nearly an hour. I finished three of them.
Once, I put one of them on “Play Back” for a few minutes just
to hear her voice. I sat on the floor with my eyes closed, and I
could almost imagine she was there in the room.
Around ten that night I was sitting at the bar in a very dimly
lighted cocktail lounge. Among the eight or ten customers at
the tables behind me was a dark-haired girl in her late
twenties. She was sitting at a table for two, with a man about
my size. I watched them from time to tune in the mirror. After
a while her escort excused himself and went to the men’s
room. I stuck a cigarette in the holder, lit it, and got off the
stool as if to go out. Then I saw her, and stopped. I walked
over to her table.
“Look, Marian,” I said angrily, “what are you doing here? I
know you’re up to something. Why don’t you leave me alone?”
She was too amazed even to speak. People nearby turned
and stared.
“Spreading lies behind my back!” I went on, beginning to
shout. “Well, you’re wasting your time, Marian. Everybody
knows how fair I was. I was more than fair—”
She had recovered now. “What’s the matter with you?” she
asked coldly. “I never saw you before in my life.”
The bartender was on his way; and so was her escort, just
emerging from the John. I straightened, and looked blankly
around, and then at her. “Oh,” I said in confusion. “I—uh—I’m
sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”
Her escort wanted to swing on me, but the bartender broke
it up. He put his hand on my shoulder in friendly fashion and
All The Way — 111
we walked to the door. “Easy does it, Jack.” Just as the door
was closing, I heard him say to someone at the end of the bar.
“Mother, dear. You never know. I’d have sworn he was cold
sober.”
The next day I drove up to Fort Myers. I spent several hours
driving round and talking real estate, mostly over the
telephone, and finished erasing the tapes so I could dispose of
them. Even if they were ever found, they’d be harmless.
I called Coral Blaine. I told her how much I missed her, and
that I’d probably be home a little ahead of schedule. “The
minute I clean up that real-estate deal on Monday, I’m going
to start back.”
“That’s wonderful, darling.”
“I wonder if I ought to hire detectives to watch her?” I said.
“Watch who?” she asked, puzzled.
“Marian Forsyth!” I said angrily. “Good God, Coral, she
can’t fool you that easily, can she? Don’t you know she’s up to
something? She’s dreamed up some kind of grudge she thinks
she has against me, and there’s no telling what she’ll do. You
keep all my papers locked in the safe every minute. And
especially my income-tax records—”
“Dear,” she broke in wearily, “I wish we could stop talking
about Marian Forsyth. I’m sick of her. I don’t trust her any
more than you do, but I don’t see what she could do to you.”
”All right, angel,” I said. “Maybe you’re right. I hope so.”
Late that night I threw the blank tapes and the recorder
into the Caloosahatchee River. Thursday afternoon I was back
in Miami, at the Clive. I called Justine Laray. She was glad to
hear from me; she thought she’d lost me.
All The Way — 112
Eleven
Chumps of my caliber didn’t come along every day, and she
was beginning to get bigger ideas. She didn’t ask for the
money in advance this time, and she did a better job of hiding
her contempt and being professionally gay in the face of my
crudities and oafish bragging about money, sexual prowess,
and stomach muscles.
It now appeared that this crummy room-mate had stolen all
her clothes.
“I could go back to work in night clubs tomorrow if I had
the wardrobe,” she said, lying naked in bed with the highball
glass and a cigarette. “But, God, you got no idea, honey, what
those gowns cost—”
“Where’s the strain?” I asked. “Hell, at a hundred bucks a
jump—”
She was very brave about it. She never told anybody, as a
rule, but I was so understanding and, well, sort of nice—
There was her little boy, see. Oh, yes, she’d been married.
And this lousy bas— Her husband had died, that is, after a
long and expensive illness. . . .
The Carthaginian B-girls had probably used more or less the
same version during the Punic Wars. “Gee, that’s rough,” I
said. “And he doesn’t even know? I mean, all the money you
send him at that school, he thinks you’re a big-shot singer?
Well, how about that?”
All The Way — 113
“So if I can just get back on my feet—”
“You just stick with me, Marian,” I said expansively. Maybe
we’ll do something about this gown business. Maybe
tomorrow, huh, if I can get free for a few minutes from this
deal. Say, did I tell you I stood to clean up about eighty
thousand? Not bad for a little over a week, huh, baby?”
In the morning I gave her three hundred dollars, slapped
her on the rear, and winked. “We got to stab Uncle for a little
business expense some way, don’t we, kid?”
Sure, I still had her phone number. And if I got a chance I’d
pick her up and we’d go shopping.
* * *
As soon as she left, I checked out of the hotel, had the car
brought around and the bags loaded, and drove over to Miami
Beach. I left it in a parking lot six or eight blocks away, and
walked to the apartment. It was hot and intensely still with
the air-conditioner turned off. The minute I opened the front
door and stepped into the room where we’d spent so many
hours she was all around me, as if the slender elegance, and
color, and grace of movement were physical things that could
reverberate in an empty room like sound waves and keep on
echoing long after the person who had set them in motion was
gone.
I tried not to look at the water-stained spot on the rug.
I changed into flannels and a sports shirt, left off the
glasses and the hat, put my own wallet in my pocket, walked
back to Collins Avenue, and took a cab to Miami. At another
car-rental agency I rented a pick-up truck, using my own
name and driver’s license, and took off for the Keys. On the
way out of town I watched closely for that roadside curio
place where I’d stopped before so I’d have its exact location
fixed in my mind.
I had a large-scale map, and a pretty good idea of where I’d
find the type of place I was looking for, but it was a long way
down the small Keys and interminable bridges of the
Overseas Highway. On Sugarloaf Key, some hundred and
thirty miles from Miami, there was a back-country road that
took off through the mangroves and salt ponds and ran along
an outer line of small keys parallel with the highway. It was a
All The Way — 114
wild area with practically no houses and plenty of places a car
could be hidden.
Shortly after two p.m. I found just the spot I wanted, and
checked the mileage back to the nearest bus stop on the
highway. I started back. Just before three, I stopped at a
roadside place on Big Pine Key and called the bank. Marian
had said that on an amount that large they’d rush collection,
but I had to be absolutely sure. I got hold of Dakin. He asked
me to hold on, and checked.
“Yes, sir. Both your deposits have been collected. The
second one came through this morning.”
“Thank you very much,” I said.
All I had to do was write a check Monday morning for a
hundred and seventy thousand dollars. We were ready for the
last act.
* * *
It was after dark when I got back to Miami Beach. I put the
pick-up truck in the garage at the apartment, changed back
into Chapman’s suit and the glasses and hat, and went over
and picked up the Cadillac. I drove to Hollywood and checked
in at the Antilles Motel. It was one of those I’d spotted before,
an older type built when land was cheaper, with carport
spaces between the units. It sat back off the street on US 1
not too far from the center of town.
The woman in the office was a spry and chatty type of about
fifty. I signed the registry card, and told her I’d be there three
or four days at least. I was working on a real-estate deal, with
Fitzpatrick. Oh, yes, she knew the firm. They were quite nice.
I paid her for three days, and said I’d like to have a unit as far
back as possible, away from the highway noise. She took me
back to the next to the last unit in the right-hand row. It
would do nicely, I said. In addition to the front door, there was
a side door opening into the car park. The bath was a
combination tub-and-shower arrangement, with a curtain rod
and plastic curtain. There was a telephone. I asked her what
time she closed the switchboard in the office. “Eleven p.m.,”
she said.
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