The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  Dax glanced at him sharply as he lit a thin cigarro. “It is not such an easy life being a playboy, whatever your American newspapers seem to think.”

  “I can believe that,” Jeremy said with mock solemnity. “You even have to fuck some broads that you don’t like.”

  Dax laughed. “Even that.”

  “Seriously, what are you going to do? You’re not the sort of man who can sit around doing nothing.”

  “One never knows until one tries.”

  “Marcel would give his eyeteeth if you would come in with him. It would take the public’s eye off him and let him operate more freely. I’m not sure that it wouldn’t be good for both of you.”

  “Marcel told you that?” Dax glanced at him shrewdly.

  “No,” Jeremy confessed, “I haven’t seen him since he got out of prison. Very few people have. He stays locked up in that house on Park Avenue and makes everyone come to him, even his girls.”

  “What made you think of Marcel?”

  “My father. He seemed to think it might be a good idea. He’s ready to talk to Marcel if you wish. You interested?”

  Dax shook his head. “Not really. I can’t quite see myself as a businessman.”

  “The money would be good.”

  Dax glanced at Jeremy and smiled. “I have enough money. I don’t have any ambitions to own everything in the world.”

  “You still should not remain idle. It’s a waste. You’re too young.”

  Dax’s eyes seemed veiled. “Perhaps it’s that I’m too old,” he said quietly, “and I can’t find any more ways in which to fool myself.”

  For a few moments there was a silence between them, then Jeremy broke it abruptly. “Sue Ann’s telling everyone she’s going to marry you.”

  Dax did not answer.

  “Are you going to marry her?”

  Slowly Dax let some smoke drift from his mouth. He held the cigarro in front of him and looked at it critically. “I don’t know. Possibly, someday, if I’m bored enough.”

  Then he looked at Jeremy and Jeremy thought he had never seen such sadness in a man’s eyes before. “In many ways Sue Ann and I are very much alike, you know. Neither of us has any illusions left.”

  13

  Marcel looked through the gate and saw the reporters and photographers. He turned to the guard who was waiting to let him out. “Is there no other way out of here?”

  “There is,” the guard answered with grisly humor, “but I doubt that you’d like it.”

  Marcel gave him a withering look. They were all very funny with their uniforms and petty little bureaucratic ways. It probably gave them a great sense of power to order a man like him around. The guard opened the gate and he walked out.

  The reporters were on him instantly. Flashbulbs exploded in his face as he pushed his way through, trying to reach the curb and the waiting limousine. But it was almost impossible to move.

  “How does it feel to be out, Mr. Campion?”

  “You look like you’d lost some weight, Mr. Campion. How much?”

  “Did the prison food agree with you?”

  “What are your future plans?”

  “Did you know that the immigration authorities have begun deportation proceedings against you?”

  “Do you plan to leave the country?”

  To all of them Marcel kept muttering the same answer as he pushed his way to the car. “No comment, no comment.”

  The car sped away from the curb and he leaned back and closed his eyes wearily. It was then that he first became aware of the faintly musky scent of perfume. He turned his head slowly and opened his eyes.

  Dania sat there looking at him, her large eyes luminous and dark. “You’ve grown thin, Marcel,” she said softly.

  For a moment he did not answer. “Why did you come?” he finally asked, almost harshly. “I wrote that I wanted no one to meet me.”

  “I thought—” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she turned away.

  “What did you think?” he asked. “That I would be so hard up from being in prison I would fall into your arms?”

  Dania didn’t answer.

  “I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. They’ll see. I’ll fix all of them who sent me to prison. My turn will come.”

  “No one sent you to prison, Marcel,” Dania replied in a low voice. “You did it all yourself. You listened to nobody.”

  “It’s not true!” he shouted. “It was a plot. They were all out to get me!”

  Dania’s eyes were dry now and a subtle change had come over her face, a hardness that had not been there before. “They? Who?”

  “Abidijan. Horgan. The others.” A crafty look came into Marcel’s eyes. “They didn’t think I could do anything while I was in jail but they were wrong.” He began to laugh. “Wait until they discover that it was I who has been buying up their stock on the open market. Wait until they find out that I have acquired the controlling interest in Abidijan Shipping and the Caribtex Oil Company. They won’t think then they’re so smart. They’ll come crawling on their hands and knees. And you know what I’ll do?”

  She looked into his face and shook her head.

  “I’ll shit in their faces.” He laughed. “That’s what I’ll do! Shit in their faces!”

  For the first time Dania realized how sick Marcel really was. She waited until he had stopped laughing before she spoke. “You’re tired, Marcel,” she said gently, “run down. Take a vacation before you do anything. Perhaps a cruise. A long rest while you get your strength back.”

  “They already know! They sent you to distract me!”

  “Marcel!” Her voice was shocked. “I knew nothing about it. Not until this moment.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re in it with all of them. You’re all against me!”

  Dania stared at him, shocked.

  “Now I understand why you cling to that decrepit husband of yours. All the time you were only spying on me. For them!”

  “Marcel, that’s not true,” Dania said, almost desperately. “I couldn’t be spying on you. I don’t even know them.”

  “You’re lying, you’re lying!” he shouted. He signaled to the driver through the glass.

  Startled, the chauffeur slammed on the brakes and veered to the curb and Dania almost pitched forward onto the floor. By the time she straightened up Marcel had pushed open the door. “Get out!”

  She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. Her voice was thick with contempt. “You sick little man. Get out? Get out of what—my own car?”

  Marcel glared back at her, his face paling. Then silently he moved around her and through the open car door. In his haste his heel caught and he pitched forward, tumbling into the gutter.

  Dania didn’t waste a glance, just pulled the door shut. “Drive on.”

  It was that photograph, a shot of Marcel sprawled out on his hands and knees in the gutter of an Atlanta suburb staring after the departing limousine, that pushed the Korean War from the front pages of most newspapers the next day. It was taken by a persistent news photographer who had been following Dania’s car.

  ***

  There was a crew of electricians working elsewhere in the house when Schacter was finally shown into the study that Marcel was temporarily using as his office. “What are all these men doing?”

  “I’m having the house wired,” Marcel answered. “They’re installing a burglar-alarm system.”

  “What on earth for?” the lawyer asked. “You’re right on Park Avenue, one of the best-policed areas in the city. Who’s likely to break in?”

  A peculiar look crossed Marcel’s face. “Twice already they’ve tried since I’ve been home.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “Yes. I even asked for extra protection but they only laughed at me. They said to call them if anyone else broke in. I suspect there’s been a payoff.”

  “The police?” Schacter laughed. “Don’t be silly.” He sat down and lit a cigarette. “They couldn’t
care less about your problems.”

  “You forget I’ve been to prison,” Marcel answered stiffly. “That sets them against me automatically.”

  Schacter didn’t answer. There were some subjects one just couldn’t talk reasonably about with Marcel. “Well, so long as you feel better about it.”

  “Much better.” For the first time Marcel smiled. “When I’m finished no one will be able to get into this house without my knowing. Unless they get through the walls by osmosis.”

  Schacter opened his briefcase. “I brought some papers for you to sign.”

  “What papers?”

  Schacter laid the first group on the desk. “That’s the agreement with General Mutual Trust to purchase their holdings in Caribtex at eleven and a half.”

  “I told you eleven,” Marcel said suspiciously.

  “You said I could go as high as twelve.” That was one thing Schacter did not like about Marcel. After he agreed to something he always carped about it.

  “How much does that give us?”

  “Another 421,000 shares. About nine percent.”

  “That’s more than Horgan and his group own?”

  Schacter nodded. “About 42,000 shares more. You now own 26.1 percent, and they have only 25.3 percent.”

  “Good.” Marcel smiled, and swiftly signed the agreements. He pushed the papers back at the lawyer. “What else?”

  “I spoke to De Coyne in Paris this morning. They say they can’t renew the note. The money market over there has gone very tight.”

  Marcel’s face flushed with sudden anger. He slammed the desk with his fist. “They’ve turned against me, too.” He stared at the lawyer. “I have half a mind to go over there. I’d make them change their minds!”

  “You can’t and you know it,” the lawyer answered, “so long as Immigration has a deportation case pending against you.”

  “They might as well have kept me in jail.”

  Schacter was silent. He thought about the steel bars that had gone up on all the windows in Marcel’s house last week. And now the burglar alarm.

  “Did you talk to the Boston banks about taking over the note?”

  “Yes. They’re not interested.”

  Marcel glared at him. “I started the Israeli lines. I was the only one who was willing to take the risk. The De Coynes were so anxious for me to do so they all but fell over themselves to lend me the money. Now that those Jews see a way to make more money I’m being pushed out.”

  Schacter returned his gaze steadily. “I don’t think being Jewish has anything to do with it,” he said steadily. “The De Coynes are bankers. They know how far you’re stretching yourself on your other deals. You can’t have everything, you know.”

  “Why not?” Marcel asked. “Who has a better right?”

  14

  It was late and the party was beginning to break up. Suddenly Dax looked around. Only he and Marcel and a few girls were left. He caught Marcel’s eye. Marcel left the blond girl he had been talking with and came over to him. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Dax answered, “but it’s getting late. I promised to go out early tomorrow morning on Jacobsen’s yacht. I’d better be leaving.”

  “What for?” Marcel asked. “It’s early; the best part of the evening is coming up.”

  “The best part? But everyone has gone.”

  Marcel smiled secretively. “The girls are still here.”

  Dax looked at him, then around the room. There were still five girls left, and every now and then he had noticed one of them glancing at him speculatively.

  “They’re all on my payroll.”

  “They work in your office?” Dax’s voice was incredulous. They didn’t look like the type.

  “Of course not.” There was a faint note of triumph in Marcel’s voice. “But they do work for me. The tax laws are getting so strict about expenses it’s cheaper to put them on a salary. That way they’re deductible.”

  “Oh.”

  “A man has to keep on his toes every minute,” Marcel said. “They’re always out to get you.”

  Dax didn’t answer.

  “Now that the others are gone,” Marcel continued, “we can go upstairs to my suite. I can promise you won’t be bored.” He turned to the girls. “Allons, mes enfants.”

  Silently Dax followed them up the staircase to the second floor, where Marcel stopped in front of a door. He took a key out of his pocket and inserted it into a slot. In a moment there was a soft whir from above.

  “The only way to my suite is by elevator,” he said. “I had the stairways taken out.” He opened the door. “We’ll go up first with two of the girls. Then I’ll send the elevator down for the others.”

  “But the servants? How do they get to their quarters?”

  “There’s a stairway in the back, but I’ve had the entrance to my floor closed off with brick.” They got out of the elevator, and Marcel turned and pressed a button on the wall. “I have a button in each of my rooms up here. No one can get up unless I release the elevator.”

  A moment later the other three girls got off the elevator and Marcel led them all into a large sitting room. There was a table already laid with hors d’oeuvres, caviar, and a pâté. Several bottles of champagne were cooling in buckets, and in the corner was a completely equipped bar.

  The girls seemed to know what was expected of them and disappeared through a door on the far side of the room. “That’s the guest room,” Marcel said. “My room is on the other side. How about a drink?”

  “I’ve about had enough.”

  “You must,” Marcel urged with a peculiar smile, and took Dax by the arm. “Come.”

  Marcel pressed something under the bar. A panel slid open, revealing a television set, and a moment later it came on. What appeared on the screen was the guest room. The girls were milling about, and in a moment the sound of their voices came through the speaker.

  One of them was taking off her dress. “What a drag,” she said, in a disgusted voice.

  Marcel smiled. “The newest thing—closed-circuit television. They don’t even realize we’re watching. I’m thinking of putting one in every room of the house. That way I’ll know exactly what’s going on.”

  Marcel seemed completely absorbed. Most of the girls were undressed by now. One of them walked over to a closet and pushed back the sliding door. “Well, kids, what’ll it be tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” another replied. “What did we wear last time?”

  “The white virgin bride outfits.”

  “Then how about the slinky black bit? It’s been a long time since we did that one.”

  One of the others had moved over to the closet. She had unfastened her brassiere and her rather large breasts pushed free.

  “That one does a fantastic trick.” Marcel was speaking in a half whisper as though they might hear. “She holds your balls between her tits while she nuzzles you and massages your prostate with her finger. She’s a terrible liar, though. She doesn’t realize that I know all about the boyfriend who comes to her apartment. Sometimes I feel like throwing her out but they’re all alike. You can’t trust any of them.”

  “How do you know she has a boyfriend?”

  Marcel smiled his secretive smile. “I know everything. Their telephones are tapped; I even have bugs planted in the springs under their beds.” He laughed, turning back to the screen. “You should hear some of the tapes!”

  Dax looked back at the screen. The girls were mostly dressed by now. They were all wearing the same costume. Black lace see-through brassieres and garter belts to which were attached long black mesh opera hose. One of the girls turned toward the camera and suddenly the screen went dark. Automatically the panel began to close.

  “There’s a switch under the rug just in front of the door. It turns the set off automatically the moment anyone starts to leave the room.”

  Dax looked at Marcel. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

  ***
/>
  It was almost four o’clock in the morning when Dax finally got around to leaving. Marcel watched owlishly from the couch between two of the girls as Dax said his good nights. He was more than a little drunk. Like most Frenchmen he had no tolerance for hard liquors, and had consistently drunk Scotch all night. He struggled to his feet. “I will go downstairs with you. I have something I want to talk about.”

  Dax followed him into the elevator. Marcel smiled. “What do you think of my little employees, eh?”

  Dax laughed. “I must say they’re very experienced. But kind of expensive, I imagine.”

  “You pay for experience. But it doesn’t matter, I can afford it.”

  When they left the elevator and walked downstairs, Marcel said, “Come into my office a moment.”

  Dax followed him into the library. Marcel closed the door behind them and sat down behind his desk. “I suppose you wonder why I wanted to see you?”

  Dax didn’t answer.

  “I think el Presidente was very foolish to treat you as he did. Someday he’ll regret it.”

  Dax shrugged noncommittally.

  Marcel stared at him. “But that is not what concerns me. You must be very bored.”

  “Not really. How can I be bored when I have friends like you?”

  Marcel smiled. He was pleased. Then his face went serious. “But how many girls can you fuck? Sooner or later you must wish you had something else to think about.”

  “I don’t know,” Dax replied, “it seems to me that I’ve spent most of my life thinking about other things. What good has it done me?”

  “But there must be many things you want to do,” Marcel persisted.

  “I haven’t thought of any yet.”

  “Have you ever considered going into business? Indirectly you’ve made a lot of money for others. Isn’t it about time you made some for yourself?”

  “I haven’t felt the need of it.”

  “You are very much like your father,” Marcel said. “He never thought about himself either, he put other things first. I remember when I first came to work for him I was amazed. I had never encountered a man like him before.”

  “You will never meet another.”

  “But that was why he died a poor man.”