The Predators

by Harold Robbins

  Paul looked at me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “The only problem is, I can’t afford it.”

  “I have an idea that might help you,” he said. “Can I meet you at your garage tomorrow morning?”

  “I can arrange a pass for you,” I answered.

  “Good,” he said. “Then we will discuss my proposition. If you would like you can spend the night here and I will pick you up in the morning.”

  I turned to Giselle. “Is that all right with you?”

  “It’s okay with me,” she said. “After all, Paul owns this apartment and if it’s good with him, it’s okay with me.”

  I was right—it was Paul’s apartment. “I appreciate what you are both doing, but I think it would be better if I went back to the barracks tonight,” I said. Then I turned to Paul. “We will meet in the morning. I’ll need to give you directions.”

  Paul laughed. “I know where you are. After all, I am French and I know everything that goes on in my territory.”

  “Your territory?” I asked curiously.

  “I’m Corsican,” he said. “Everything is always fine with us.”

  I turned to Giselle. “Are you Corsican also?”

  She laughed. “No, I am Lyonnaise. That’s real French.”

  I held out my hand to her. “I’m just curious. Who will be my landlord, you or Paul?”

  Paul interrupted. “She will, of course.”

  I still held out my hand. “Then, I thank you, madame.” I didn’t know it then, but later I learned that the Corsicans in France were like the Mafia at home. They were in control of almost everything.

  * * *

  Paul met me the next morning at the garage. He was very interested in the way we repaired the jeeps. He wanted to know if they looked like new when they were repainted. I took him to the field where we stored many of the jeeps we had cannibalized for parts when we were restoring the better jeeps.

  He turned to me. “Jerry, who is in charge of all the jeeps you use to restore the others?”

  “Actually the colonel is in charge,” I said. “He stays in Paris most of the time at the American headquarters. He just signs the junking orders that I send him.”

  “That is the officer that your friend Buddy brought into my club?” he asked.

  I was surprised. It was true he knew everything that went on in his club. “Yes,” I said.

  “Then he will not be in your way,” he said with authority. “I know many men who need cars for their business. If you could arrange to repair some of those jeeps we can get a good price for them.”

  “I’ll have to use some of the specialists in the platoon, but Sergeant Felder is in charge of that and he is a friend of mine,” I said.

  “With twelve thousand francs for each car you’ll be able to persuade the ones you need.”

  I looked at him. Twelve thousand francs was equal to two thousand dollars. “And what would you get out of it?”

  “Twenty-five thousand a car.” He smiled. “But you probably should be able to keep most of the money for yourself. And then you can afford Giselle’s apartment.”

  I laughed. “I like the idea. I just don’t want to get caught.”

  “You can’t get caught,” he said. “I will arrange all the contacts with the customers. They’re French. They don’t talk to anyone, especially about contraband.”

  “I’ll check it out,” I said. “If everyone is in agreement, I’ll let you know. Then I can move into the apartment.”

  Paul pressed my arm with his hand. “You can move into the apartment without any problem. We are friends. We don’t need a business affair to stand between us.”

  “Thank you,” I said to him. “But I’ll feel better if I can pay my share of the apartment. As soon as I can put everything together I’ll let you know.”

  He smiled and he walked down the street. I watched him until he turned the corner. But there was something in the way he pressed my arm that worried me. Maybe it was because I knew that he was queer that it worried me. I didn’t want him to have any ideas about me.

  5

  The first jeep was ready for sale in less than two weeks. It wasn’t easy. We had to file off all the numbers on the parts so they could not be traced. Sergeant Felder, who was in charge of the junked jeep field, told me if I could get him two more men to help him he could repair one jeep each week.

  “You’re a real Henry Kaiser,” I said, and laughed.

  “More like Henry Ford.” He laughed. “Now I want to work with you, but I’m not getting enough for the risk I am taking. I might get my ass in a sling.”

  “There’s not going to be a problem,” I said. “We are giving each of the men twenty thousand francs. When you add two more men, we have to pay more money. That adds up to eighty thousand francs. We can’t get enough money to go around.”

  “I want fifty thousand francs for myself. I take all the responsibility. Besides, I’m not stupid. The French are hungry for cars. They’ll pay any price. They are desperate.”

  I looked at him. “Felder, you’re a schmuck. You might blow the whole deal.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” he said. “I can get that money just selling parts to the frogs.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And you’ll really wind up in the can.”

  “Then how much do you think I can get?” he asked.

  I was glad. At least he was bargaining. That’s something I learned from Buddy. If they are ready to bargain, you have the upper hand. “Let me see what we can get for the first car,” I said. “Then we’ll know better how we can split it up.”

  I drove the first jeep off the base about midnight. Only Felder and I were there. We wanted to make sure that no one else would see us. Felder padlocked the gate behind me. “Be careful,” he said. “There’s no army license plates on the car. Watch out for MPs.”

  I took the dark, narrow back streets to the back door of the Blue Note. I left the car in the alley and knocked on the door.

  A big Frenchman opened the door. “Who are you?” he asked in passable English.

  “I want to see Monsieur Renard,” I said.

  He looked at me. “Monsieur Renard doesn’t see anyone at the stage door.”

  I took out a five-hundred-franc note and passed it to him. “He’ll see me,” I said.

  Just that moment Giselle came down the circular stairway from the dressing room. “Jerry!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing back here?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Paul here,” I said. “But maybe he has forgotten about it.”

  Giselle nodded and turned to the doorman. She spoke quickly in French to him. He nodded his head and ran off.

  She looked at me. “I’m going on stage in a few minutes. You will be able to watch me.”

  “I’m sure I will be able to stay. As soon as I finish my business with Paul,” I said.

  “Is it the jeep?” she asked.

  “You know?” I asked.

  “Paul told me. He likes you.” She laughed. “Can I see the car?”

  “Of course,” I said. “But it’s cold outside.” I looked at her costume. What there was of it was not enough to keep her warm.

  Paul appeared with the fat man right behind him. “You have the car?” he asked excitedly.

  “The first one we finished,” I answered.

  Giselle spoke to him. “Can I see it?”

  “Get her a cape,” Paul said to the fat man.

  There was a rack near the door. The fat man took a cape from a group of overcoats and placed it around Giselle’s shoulders. Then we all went out to look at the car.

  “It’s beautiful,” Giselle said. “I never saw a white jeep before.”

  “We’re painting the jeeps different colors,” I said. “We don’t want them to look like they are still army property.”

  Paul turned to the fat man. “Cover the car with a canvas. I don’t want anyone to see it without my okay. Before the morning put it in the garage next door
.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” the fat man answered, and opened the door to let us go back into the club.

  Paul smiled. “Come into the club.”

  Giselle laughed. “I’m going on in a few minutes. I’ll be disappointed if you are not in the audience.”

  “He’ll be there,” Paul said to her, and then he turned to me. “Let’s go in and have a drink.”

  I followed him through the hallway which led into the club. I looked around. It was Tuesday and the club was not very busy. Only the homosexual side of the runway was fairly filled up. Paul’s table was set so that he could observe everything going on in the room. He ordered a pastis and I had a beer.

  He looked at me. “Were there any problems?”

  “Only money. Felder wants more money for himself and wants me to assign two more men to him. He says that he can turn out a car a week.”

  “What did you tell him?” he asked.

  “I told him that the money is tight. But he knows the market because he sells parts to auto mechanics.” I took a swig of my beer. “But if we give him what he wants there won’t be that much left for us.”

  “We can do it,” Paul said. “We just charge more for the cars. If the cars all look as good as the white one, there will be no problem.”

  “There’s only one other problem,” I said. “We’re Americans. They all want dollars.”

  Paul stared at me. “That’s not easy. Everybody wants to keep the dollars for themselves.”

  “If they want a car bad enough, the money will not be important,” I said, feeling confident. I knew that he took in a lot of dollars. After all, half of his clients at both of his clubs were American soldiers.

  “We’ll work on it,” he said. Then he smiled at me. “Giselle is coming on. Watch her. She is really very beautiful.”

  I didn’t realize that they put on a different show at one o’clock in the morning than they put on at eleven at night. Paul explained that to me. “In the early show, there are more straight couples. At this later show the homosexuals want something more exciting. You will see why they love Giselle so much.”

  The music began and I watched her entrance. It was wild. She wore leather everything. A leather truck-driver cap, a tiny leather brassiere with brass and diamondlike stones outlining her breasts, a short, short skirt almost up to her hips which almost revealed a diamond-studded leather bikini underneath it. Black opera stockings with seams that began from the heel of her six-inch-stiletto-heeled shoes, which were also diamond-studded.

  The music reached a rhythmic crescendo just as she stopped at the brass pole and posed seductively with one knee up and slightly open to the audience. The queers went crazy. They screamed and applauded and threw money on the stage before she even began to dance. From the darkness of the floor beneath her she picked up a long snakelike whip. Each time she would crack the whip another piece of clothing would come off. By the time she laid down the whip she was completely nude except for a diamond on each nipple and a big diamond on the high point of her shaven pussy. Then the queers really went crazy, calling her back many times for an encore. But all she did was come out and smile and bow to the audience in appreciation. After a while, when she would no longer return, the audience quieted down. Then the show was over and the music started and the dancing for the audience began.

  The French dancing was different than the Americans’. Queers would be dancing together. Some of the men and women would just be dancing by themselves. And then the straight couples joined in with everyone on the stage. It was another world.

  Paul placed his hand on my arm. “Jerry,” he said, smiling, “isn’t she marvelous?”

  I smiled at him. “Do they react to her every night like that?”

  He nodded.

  “She is something else,” I said.

  “She’s a good girl,” he said, lowering his voice. “She’s not a whore.” He lit a cigarette. “That’s why we love her. She does not try to change us.”

  I looked at him. “Why are you telling me so much about her?”

  He looked serious for a moment. “Because she likes you,” he said. “I don’t want you to hurt her. After the war I want to give her back to her family as good as when she came here.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t move into the apartment with her,” I said. “But she said she didn’t want a lover.”

  “Women can change their mind, no?” he said. “She likes you, and I like you; we both trust you.”

  “But I look at her,” I said. “I don’t know if I can be with her and not get crazy.”

  He laughed. “You Americans are crazy. You all think that if you fuck you are in trouble.” He ordered another pastis for himself and a beer for me. “She’s a healthy girl. A fuck would be good for her, as well as for you.”

  “You’re really a pimp, Paul,” I said.

  He laughed. “I just want my friends to be happy.” He held up his glass to me. “À votre santé.”

  I held up my beer. “Cheers.”

  “Giselle will be here in a few minutes,” he said. “She is expecting you to go home with her.”

  “But I haven’t said anything to her,” I said.

  “Yes, you did. She heard what you said before. You said you would move into the apartment when you could afford it,” he said. “Well, you can afford it now. One car a week will make you a rich man.”

  6

  When the show was over, Giselle sat down at a table on the other side of the runway. I turned to Paul. “She’s going over there with that table of guys.”

  “They’re all queer,” he said. “They are big fans of Giselle and she always sits with them for a while after the show. It’s good for business. It’s not only the money they throw on stage, but when she sits down they start ordering bottle after bottle of champagne.”

  I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after two. “How long does she stay with them? Don’t forget I have to be at the garage at seven in the morning.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It depends on her. When they are buying she stays around. When the night is slow, then she leaves earlier.”

  “Then her job is really hustling the wine?” I asked calmly.

  He laughed. “Don’t be so American. It is a job. All of the girls do that. They know that whatever they do after hours is their own time. In this club I do not take any of the girls’ extra money.”

  “But Giselle said she doesn’t go out after hours. She is always with the fags,” I said. “What does she do for extra money?”

  “She doesn’t want extra money. All she wants is the war to be over so she can go home,” he said.

  “If she doesn’t need money, then why does she want me to move into the apartment?” I asked.

  “She is a very honest girl and the rent is high,” he said. “I told her she could have it for nothing, but she insists that she pay me.”

  “Does she really want to share the apartment with me?” I asked. “Or is this your idea?”

  “Let’s say it is both our idea,” he said, and smiled. “She saw you several times in the club. She liked the way you looked. And I am a businessman, but I liked you, too. I knew you were not in my game, so business is business. This way everybody is happy.”

  “I need a real drink. Do you have a real whiskey?” I asked. “I still really don’t have an understanding of the French world.”

  He ordered me a double scotch and soda. By the time I drank that, I didn’t care what time it was. Giselle finally came to the table and we walked from the club to the apartment. It was almost four o’clock in the morning. I was glad the apartment was only three blocks away. I followed her up the stairs. I watched her open the door with a key. I went into the apartment and walked directly to my room. I fell on the bed with my clothes on and passed out.

  * * *

  “Jerry, Jerry!” I heard her voice in my ear. It sounded like “Chéri,” the way she pronounced it. I heard her again. Slowly, I rolled over and sat up. I was still dressed.
>
  “What is it?” I asked, still half-asleep.

  “It is six o’clock,” she answered. “I heard you had to be at the garage at seven. I have café au lait and baguettes.”

  I sat up straight now and looked at her. She was wearing an old-fashioned flannel nightgown. But it looked as if it were molded to her body. And the body was pure sex. Not like the average French girl, skinny and flat-chested. “You look beautiful,” I said groggily. It was the only thing I could think when I looked at her. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little,” she said. “But once we get into a routine, you’ll be able to go to work and I will sleep till my normal time. Noon.”

  I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. I didn’t look very good. I needed a shave and a change of uniform before I would look normal. Then I went into the kitchen and had my coffee and bread and jam. I checked my watch. Six-fifteen.

  I got out of the chair. “I’ll have to run. It will take me a half hour to get to the base.”

  “When you get off duties,” she said with her French pronunciation, “you can bring your things over here.”

  “I’m off at seven o’clock,” I said. “I don’t want to bother you.”

  She smiled. “I’ll be here. I do not go to the club until ten o’clock.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Then the doorbell rang. I looked at her. “Who is it?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Probably Paul. He told me that he wanted to see you in the morning.”

  It was Paul. He entered smiling. “Ah, my children, did you get a good night’s sleep?”

  “You have to be out of your fucking mind,” I said. “We didn’t get back here until after four in the morning. I passed out the minute I walked through the door.”