‘I like Frank,’ he said, rolling his cigar around in his mouth. ‘He drinks a hell of a lot too much, but he has financial flair. Do me a favour, will you?’
Surprised, I stared at him.
‘What favour?’
‘He has taken to you. I get the idea he isn’t happy with his wife. You’re living with them. You can see the photo. I also have an idea she would be glad to be rid of him . . . I could be wrong, but watch him, Devery. If something that looks like trouble starts, let me know . . . huh?’
I felt a cold creepy feeling run up my spine.
‘Trouble? What do you mean?’
He stared thoughtfully at me.
‘If he could keep sober, he could turn his million into three million and more. He has a flair. Suppose you try to stop him from drinking? Suppose you keep his wife out of his hair? He told me he wants you to grow with him. If you want to grow, and you could grow with him, look after him. He needs looking after.’
Giving me a curt nod, he got out of the car and walked across the sidewalk to his office block.
Did he suspect something? He had never seen Beth. So why had he said he had an idea she would be glad to be rid of Marshall? Something Marshall had said? Did Marshall suspect something?
With a growing feeling of uneasiness, I drove back to the motel.
‘What did you think of Bernstein?’ Marshall asked as I looked into his cabin. He was working at a table, papers spread out, the inevitable bottle of whisky at hand.
‘Smart,’ I said, lingering in the doorway.
‘You’re right . . . dead smart. He’s going to swing this credit deal for me with Merrill Lynch.’ He grinned. ‘I start buying tomorrow.’
Although my heart skipped a beat, I kept my face expressionless.
‘What does Mr. Bernstein think of this deal, Frank?’
He laughed.
‘Harry knows as much about making money as you do. I don’t need his advice.’
‘Well, it’s your money. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frank.’
‘Take time off.’ He waved me away. ‘See you around eight o’clock.’ He winked. ‘We might have some night fun. Let’s look at the whores, huh?’
‘Fine,’ I said and left him.
Shutting myself in my cabin, I telephoned Merrill Lynch’s branch office and asked to speak to a broker.
‘Sanderstead,’ a voice said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘My name is Tom Jackson,’ I said. ‘I’m thinking of investing thirty thousand dollars. I had a tip to buy Charrington steel for a big rise. There’s talk of a merger with Pittsburgh. What do you think?’
A pause, then he said, ‘We have no information about a merger, Mr. Jackson, and we regard Charrington steel as highly speculative. In fact, we wouldn’t recommend this stock. Can I interest you . . .’
I had heard all I wanted to hear. If Merrill Lynch considered Charrington steel as highly speculative and didn’t know of any merger, my own opinion was confirmed. I replaced the receiver.
I sat still, asking myself how I was going to stop this drunken fool from throwing away the money that was to come to Beth and to me.
The idea of spending a night with him and whores sickened me. I decided I would beg off, tell him I had a stomach upset.
If he didn’t like it, he could go to hell.
I lay on the bed, my mind seething. I began to wonder if I could kill him right now before he bought the stock, but no safe ideas came to me. Finally, around 18.00, I went into his cabin ready to tell him I was sick, but as I entered the cabin, I saw there was no need.
He lay on the bed, the whisky bottle empty by his side and he was dead to the world: so dead looking I wondered, with a surge of hope, if he had died.
Going over to him, I shook him. He muttered something, groaned, then became unconscious again. I dragged open his collar, then stood back, staring at him. He looked bad. I had him at my mercy, but this wasn’t the time. Crossing to the telephone, I asked the booking clerk to get a doctor.
‘Mr. Marshall isn’t well.’
The word had reached Frisco that Marshall was now worth a million dollars so I got service. After a while a doctor arrived: lean, alert, youngish.
‘There’s nothing I can do for him,’ he said after a careful examination. ‘Get him undressed. He will sleep it off. Would you like me to send a nurse?’
‘I can manage,’ I said. ‘I look after him.’
He produced some pills.
‘Give him these tomorrow.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘If he continues to drink like this, he will kill himself.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ I said woodenly.
When he had gone, I decided it would be smart to call Harry Bernstein. When I got him on the line, I told him what had happened and what the doctor had said.
‘Do you want me to come over, Devery?’ he asked. He sounded worried.
‘No, there’s no need. He usually pulls out of it,’ I said. ‘He could be as bright as a goddamn cricket by tomorrow morning. I’ll watch him.’
‘I hope he is. We have two important business meetings to handle tomorrow. Telephone my home around eight tomorrow morning will you?’ and he gave me a number.
I said I would and hung up. I took another look at Marshall.
He was still dead to the world. I looked around the cabin, saw his big briefcase and crossed over to it, but it had a substantial lock. Nothing short of busting the lock would open it without a key and I didn’t feel like going through his pockets.
I spent the rest of the evening watching TV with the sound turned down and with half an eye on the unconscious man.
Around nine o’clock his breathing settled to a heavy snore and I reckoned he would be all right if I left him.
I went along to the restaurant, had a prawn salad, then after looking at him and finding him still sleeping, I went to bed.
I had been asleep for three or four hours when the sound of my door opening brought me awake. I flicked on the light.
Marshall was standing in the doorway. He looked like hell, his hair mussed, his face enflamed, his eyes watering.
‘Get me a drink,’ he snarled. ‘Don’t lie there, staring. I want a shot.’
I remembered Bernstein’s words. Suppose you try to stop him drinking. If you want to grow with him, and you could grow with him, look after him.
But I knew I could grow much, much faster without him.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a bottle in the car. I’ll get it.’
‘Get it and get it fast,’ he growled, then staggered away back to his cabin.
I put on my shoes and in pyjamas, went to the car park and got the Scotch from the glove compartment. It was a hot, still night, and the only light showing came from Marshall’s cabin.
He was standing in the doorway as I reached him. He grabbed the bottle, then slammed the door in my face.
Go ahead, you sonofabitch, I thought, drink yourself to death.
At 07.45 the following morning, I went to his cabin, knocked and walked in.
I was half expecting to find him up and dressed, but he was still in bed and he looked bad. The bottle of whisky, half empty, stood on the bedside table.
‘Are you okay, Frank?’ I asked, pausing in the doorway.
‘I feel like hell.’ There was a whine in his voice. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I tried to get up but I can’t stand. You’d better call a quack.’
‘Right. Just take it easy.’
I went back to my cabin and called Bernstein at his home number. When I had explained the situation, not mentioning that I had given Marshall whisky at three o’clock this morning, Bernstein cursed softly, said he would come and for me to get the doctor.
He and the doctor arrived at the same time. They seemed to know each other. They went into Marshall’s cabin. I decided to keep out of it so I stood around in the hot sunshine and waited.
After half an hour, they came out and the doctor shook hands with Bernstein, nodded t
o me, got in his car and drove away.
Bernstein joined me.
‘Frank wants to go home,’ he said. ‘Dr. Kersley thinks it’s the best thing. Now listen, Devery, if there is any liquor in the house, get rid of it. Kersley says it is essential Frank doesn’t have a drink for at least two days. I’m leaving it up to you. If he has another drinking jag, he’ll be dangerously ill. Understand?’
‘Is he fit to travel?’ I asked, thinking at least Marshall wouldn’t buy Charrington steel this day, and a day gained was a day won.
‘Kersley has given him some pills. Don’t drive fast. He’ll be all right. When you get him home, call me at the office. Get him to bed. Let him have warm milk, no solids and no, repeat no, liquor.’ He looked at his strap watch. ‘Goddamn it! I’m already late. Look after him, Devery,’ and he hurried off to his car and drove away.
I went to my cabin, packed my bag, then went to the reception clerk and paid the check. I found Marshall sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The bottle of whisky had vanished. I guessed he had been crafty enough to have put it out of sight so the doctor couldn’t take it from him. I got him dressed with difficulty. He seemed dopey, probably the pills were working. He didn’t say anything until I had finished packing his bag, then he said, ‘I’ll be okay once I get home.’
‘Sure, Frank. Let’s go.’
He reached under the bed and produced the half bottle of Scotch.
‘Put it in the glove compartment, Keith.’
I had to help him walk to the car. He dropped into the passenger’s seat and watched me while I put the whisky in the glove compartment.
‘This is a hell of a time to get ill,’ he muttered as I started the motor. ‘I’ve so much to do.’
‘Take it easy.’ I drove out on to the highway. He fell asleep after I had driven a couple of miles and he was sleeping when I pulled up outside the big, lonely house.
A police car stood in the driveway. The sight of it gave me a shock. I got out of the Caddy and walked up the steps and pushed open the front door.
Standing in the hall was Deputy Sheriff Ross. Standing in the living room doorway was Beth.
I stared first at Beth, then at Ross. He was holding his Stetson by his side. There was a pause, then he moved forward, slapped the hat on his head, walked around me and down the steps towards the police car. I turned and watched him. He paused by the Caddy and looked at Marshall who was snoring, then he got into the police car, backed down the drive, then went shooting of down the dirt road.
‘What’s he doing here?’ I asked Beth, my voice husky.
She grimaced, then shrugged.
‘Checking on the Plymouth. He wanted to know if Frank had had it repaired. What are you doing back here? Frank said he would be away for four days.’
The fact that Ross had been here somehow scared me.
‘Didn’t Ross know the Plymouth was sold?’
‘Obviously not. Why else should he have come? Is Frank with you?’
‘He’s ill. He’s sleeping in the car.’
‘Ill?’ She regarded me with her black remote eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘He drank too much last night. I’ll get him in.’
‘Is he bad?’
We stared at each other.
‘Not bad enough.’
Again she grimaced, then went into the living room and shut the door.
I had a struggle getting Marshall out of the car and up the stairs to his room. He flopped on the bed. I got his clothes off and got him into his pyjamas. He rolled under the sheet and as I stood over him, he stared up at me.
‘Get me a drink, Keith.’
‘No drink, Frank. The doctor said. . .’
‘Get me a drink!’ A mean expression came over his face.
‘Not now, maybe later, Frank.’
‘Hear me?’ He half sat up. ‘I don’t give a goddamn what any quack says. I want a drink!’
‘Okay.’
Leaving him, I went down the stairs and into the living room. Beth was standing by the window. The clock in the hall struck six.
‘How is he?’ she asked without turning.
‘He wants a drink.’ I went to the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky, half full, a glass and charge water. I went into the kitchen and added a little tap water to the bottle, then I went upstairs and put the bottle, charge water and glass on the bedside table. As he grabbed the bottle, I went out and down to the living room. Beth still remained, her back turned, looking out of the window. I called Bernstein’s office number.
‘I got him home all right, Mr. Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s resting right now.’
‘Fine. Keep him away from liquor, Devery. Call me tomorrow if there’s any change. Have you a doctor handy?’
‘No problem, Mr. Bernstein. I think he’ll be okay tomorrow.’
‘Look after him,’ and Bernstein hung up.
Beth had come away from the window and was watching me, her dark eyes remote.
‘We do it tonight, Beth,’ I said. ‘If he hadn’t drunk so much last night he would have bought Charrington steel this morning. We can’t afford to let him live any longer.’
I waited for some reaction, but her expression remained deadpan.
‘How will you do it?’ Her voice was low.
There’s something I have to fix first before we talk,’ I said, and going through the kitchen I went into the garage. I found a thick strip of wood and after hunting through the toolbox I found a wood axe. I made two wedges. I tried one of them under the door leading into the garage. The wedge was too thick. After chipping off more wood, it fitted. I did the same with the second wedge so it fitted under the swing up door.
Leaving the garage, I went through the kitchen, through the hall and out into the garden. Going to the closed swing up door, I pushed in the wedge and kicked it home. Then I returned to the garage via the kitchen and shoved against the swing up door. It held firm against the wedge. I drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. The wedge still held it firm.
Satisfied, I went into the kitchen.
‘Beth!’
She came quickly.
‘I’m going into the garage and I’m shutting the door,’ I said.
‘I want you to put this wedge under the door when it is closed and kick it home.’
She stared briefly at me, then took the wedge. I went into the garage and shut the door. She did exactly what I had told her to do. When I heard her kick the wedge home, I turned the door handle and slammed my shoulder against the door. It held.
‘Okay. Get the wedge out,’ I said.
She had trouble getting it out, but she got it out. I opened the door and joined her in the kitchen. I took the wedge from her and dropped it in my pocket.
‘Let’s go in the garden.’
By now it was 19.20 and it was getting dusk. The air was still and hot with a hint of an approaching storm. We went together away from the house and we sat on the grass bank.
‘What are you planning?’ she asked, her voice tense.
‘This may not work,’ I said. ‘If it works, it is safe. If it doesn’t work, we must think of something else, but if it doesn’t work we are still clear of trouble.’
‘Don’t talk in riddles!’ There was an edge to her voice. ‘Tell me!’
‘Last night, he had me up at three o’clock demanding whisky. He told me to get the bottle from the glove compartment of the car. I’m gambling on the same thing happening tonight. If it does, then we’ve fixed him. If it doesn’t, then as I said, we must try something else, but I’m pretty certain he’ll need a drink sometime tonight when we are both supposed to be in bed. The idea is, sometime before we go to bed, I’m starting the car engine and I’m putting on the car heater. If he goes down to the garage to get the bottle, I’ll be waiting and I’ll wedge the door so he can’t get out. There will be enough buildup of carbon monoxide in the garage to kill him. We’ll find him missing in the morning, hunt, find him in the gar
age. The picture will be obvious. He came down in his pyjamas, got in the car, found the bottle, felt chilly, turned on the engine and the heater and decided to stay until he had finished the bottle. Before he could do so the fumes fixed him. That’s the plan, Beth. What do you think?’
She sat motionless. I didn’t hurry her. After several minutes, she said, ‘Yes, but will he come down?’
‘That’s the gamble, but if he doesn’t we are still in the clear. We will have to think of some other way, but this is the safest.’
‘Then let’s try.’
Again as if we were planning to drown a cat. No emotion, no nothing. Once more the cold dead finger went up my spine.
‘The Sheriff will be up here, Beth, and Ross who is a troublemaker although it was lucky he was out here when we came back. He saw how drunk Frank was. Now listen, we must both say the same thing. We tell the Sheriff we heard nothing during the night. I went to bed soon after nine-thirty. I was tired after sitting up with him the previous night. You read until ten-thirty and then you went up. You looked in to see how he was.
He was asleep and snoring. I intended to look in during the night, but I was so bushed I didn’t wake until seven. When I found he wasn’t in his bed, I woke you and we looked around and found him in the garage. We try to revive him. We call Dr. Saunders and the Sheriff, but Saunders first. I want him on the scene before the Sheriff arrives, then I call Bernstein.’
She nodded, then said, ‘But he hasn’t got probate yet.’
‘We can’t wait. It’ll be all right. You have his will. You inherit everything from him. Bernstein is tricky. He could be the danger man unless you handle him right. Your line is to play helpless. You need his advice. He’ll like that. Show him the will and ask him if he will represent you. You’re going to be a millionairess. You’ll be important people to him and once he knows he is going to act for you, he’s not going to be tricky. Get all that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, let’s go over the details.’
We spent the next hour working on the plan. I threw the kind of questions the Sheriff might throw at her and she came back word perfect. I could see I didn’t have to worry about her performance. She was as cold and as calm as the original ice woman. Finally, I was satisfied and found I was hungry.
1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead Page 12
