Thefts of Nick Velvet

by Edward D. Hoch

  “I like it.”

  “You’re Nick Velvet?” She could have been past thirty, but her face and mane of blonde hair made her look younger.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Jeanne Kraft, I want to hire you.”

  He glanced around to make certain no one could hear. “You know I never steal money or anything of value.”

  She hesitated. “This is money, but—”

  “Then I can’t do it.”

  “—it’s only a penny. A Bermuda penny, to be exact.”

  She took one from the pocket of her slacks and handed it to him. The penny had the identical size and copper color of an American cent, with a likeness of Queen Elizabeth on the obverse together with the words BERMUDA and ELIZABETH II. The reverse had some sort of pig with a curly tail, and the words ONE CENT with the date 1971. A deep gouge ran across the pig’s back, as if the coin had been scratched with a knife.

  “What’s the pig for?” Nick asked.

  “Early Bermuda coins—the first coins struck in North America—were called hog money because of the wild hog shown on them. I think it’s been a tradition on Bermuda coins ever since.”

  “Is this some sort of rare coin that’s worth a fortune?”

  “Not at all. It’s worth one cent in Bermuda and the same here, where it can be passed as an American penny.”

  “And you want me to steal one just like this?”

  “That’s right. The same date and the same sort of scratch on it.”

  “Who from?”

  “A man named Alfred Cazar. He’s in New York now, at the Waldorf. But he’ll be leaving in a couple of days to drive upstate.”

  “Where upstate?”

  “Saratoga Springs, for the August racing season.” She reached out her hand and took back the penny. “A man named Blaze will be with him. He’s a sort of hired traveling companion.”

  “You know my minimum fee is twenty thousand dollars?”

  “Yes. I have a down payment here.” She passed him an envelope. “You’ll get the rest when you deliver the duplicate of this penny.”

  “Where can I contact you?”

  “I’ll be in Saratoga too, at the Grand Union Motel.”

  Nick smiled. “Then I’ll see you there, Miss Kraft.”

  Making contact with Alfred Cazar proved to be the easiest part of it. Nick simply phoned his suite at the Waldorf and asked for an appointment, representing himself as a magazine writer doing an article on the Saratoga racing season. Because he might have to show his driver’s license later, he used his real name.

  When he reached the room, a spry little man in his sixties met him at the door. “I’m Cazar. You must be Velvet.”

  “That’s right.” Nick followed him inside, passing the remains of a room-service breakfast for two. He wondered if there was a girl in the next room, but then he remembered the male companion Jeanne had mentioned.

  “Don’t know how you happened to pick me,” Cazar said as he finished knotting his necktie. “But it’s true—I’ve been goin’ up to Saratoga every August for the past twenty-four years. Used to be a lot different in the old days, of course. You’d get these big-money men and really high rollers from all over the country—bigwigs, Vegas stickmen, nomad hustlers—all comin’ to Saratoga for August.”

  “But not any more?” Nick said.

  “Not any more. The town’s pretty much had it. Hell, in New York State you got off-track bettin’ now. Who wants to go all the way to Saratoga for the action?”

  Nick made a few notes. “Then why do you still go, Mr. Cazar?”

  The little man grinned. “The springs are good for my arthritis. I bathe in them every mornin’ then go to the track in the afternoon. At my age it helps the body and the wallet both.”

  From the beginning Nick’s only problem in stealing the Bermuda penny was in locating it. He doubted if the little man carried it on him—not if it had value to someone—and searching this suite of rooms for an object that small could be a near-impossible task. He had to get the man away from here, where the possessions to be searched would be limited to the clothes on his back and a suitcase. “I’d like to go with you to Saratoga,” he suggested now.

  “Go with me? I’ll be driving up, in a rented car.”

  “I could do part of the driving for you,” Nick offered. “To properly research my article I really should spend as much time with you as possible.”

  “I have someone to do the driving,” Alfred Cazar said. He raised his voice and called, “Hugo, come in here for a moment!”

  A bulky man who looked like an ex-prizefighter appeared in the doorway. Apparently he’d been listening from the next room and Nick didn’t doubt for a moment that he carried a gun under the jacket of his summer suit. “You want me, boss?”

  “Hugo Blaze—Nick Velvet, a magazine writer. He’s doing a story on the season at Saratoga. Wants to drive up there with us.”

  The newcomer shook Nick’s hand with a powerful grip. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Close up, Nick was forced to revise his first impression. Hugo Blaze’s rough features were partly the result of pock-marks that made him look more sinister than he normally would. But his eyes were friendly, and Nick decided maybe he wasn’t carrying a gun under his jacket after all.

  “Are you a gambling man?” Cazar asked Nick.

  “At times,” Nick admitted. “But not so it interferes with my work.”

  “The drive to Saratoga Springs, along the Thruway and the Northway, can be a boring one. You can come along if you’ll join me in a little wagering along the way.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick agreed.

  Cazar motioned to Blaze. “Hugo, bring along some of those sugar cubes from the breakfast table. We may want to picnic along the way.”

  The drive up to Albany, in the air-conditioned comfort of the closed car, was quickly enlivened by Cazar’s betting games. “Now, Velvet,” he said from the back seat, “Call out any two-digit number.”

  “Sixty-three,” Nick responded.

  “Sixty-three. Fine! I’ll bet you twenty dollars even money that none of the first fifty cars to pass us will have a sixty-three as the last two digits of its license plate.”

  It was difficult to see the plates on cars across the dividing mall, but they were going slowly enough so that fifty cars had passed them in the left lane during the first half hour. Cazar won his bet, and Nick passed a twenty-dollar bill to him in the back seat.

  Hugo Blaze, sitting behind the wheel, smirked and said, “Never bet against the boss.”

  Cazar patted Nick on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s stop at the next service area for lunch and I’ll give you a chance to win it back.”

  The service area, about halfway to Albany, was nearly empty when they drove in. Blaze brought out a plastic cloth and spread it over one of the wooden picnic tables while Nick and Alfred Cazar went in to buy coffee and sandwiches. “You can drive the rest of the way to Albany if you want,” Cazar suggested. “Then Hugo will take over from Albany to Saratoga.”

  “Fine.”

  The little man eyed him speculatively. “You know, Velvet, you don’t seem like a writer. A guy I know told me once about a thief named Velvet. You wouldn’t be him, would you?”

  Nick merely grinned. “You seem to be doing the stealing, the way you got that twenty off me.”

  “I’ll give you a chance to win it back.” They’d reached the picnic table by the side of the parking lot where Hugo Blaze waited. “Hugo, have you got those sugar cubes?”

  Blaze dug into his pocket and took out a handful of wrapped sugar cubes from the hotel. He unwrapped two of them and placed them on the tablecloth. “What’s that for?” Nick asked.

  Alfred Cazar smiled. “Picnics always attract flies. You choose one sugar cube and I’ll take the other. I’ll bet twenty, even money, that a fly lands on my cube first.”

  “You’ll bet on anything, won’t you?” Nick said, but he took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet
.

  “Which cube?”

  “The one on the right.”

  Cazar nodded. “Then I’ll move mine over here and we’ll see what happens.”

  While they ate their sandwiches they kept an eye on the twin cubes of sugar, resting about a foot apart. Presently a fly appeared, attracted by the food, and swooped low over the table. But it flew off without landing on the sugar. A second fly came by, hesitated a moment, and then settled on top of Cazar’s cube.

  “You win,” Nick said, handing him the money.

  “Let’s try it again. I’ll give you the other cube this time, just to prove it’s honest. Another twenty?”

  Nick showed his depleted wallet. “I can’t afford it.”

  “Hell, I thought you were a gamblin’ man!”

  “How about if we play for the change in our pockets?” Nick suggested. He emptied out his own pocket, placing a quarter, four dimes, a nickel, and eight pennies on the table.

  “Seventy-eight cents? You want me to gamble for seventy-eight cents?”

  “Sure. Give me a break—you’ve won forty bucks from me already!”

  Cazar produced a little zippered purse which he emptied on the table. “Seventy-one cents. It’s the best I can do. Hugo, you got seven cents?”

  The bulky Blaze flipped a dime onto the pile. But Alfred Cazar had another thought. He reached into a pocket of his wallet and extracted another penny. “My lucky coin—I’ll bet that, too.”

  Nick could hardly believe it would be this easy. There, before his eyes, was the Bermuda penny he’d been hired to steal. Even the scratch was the same as on Jeanne Kraft’s coin. “That’s just a penny,” he said, hoping his voice was under control.

  “A very special one, Velvet. But let’s get on with this. Your cube is on the left this time, and I’ll move mine down to the other end of the table just so the flies can make a clear choice.”

  Nick held his breath and waited. Maybe, just maybe—

  A fly came close, almost landed on his cube, then darted away toward the far end of the table. After a moment’s inspection it came to rest on Cazar’s sugar.

  “Another win!” the little gambler chortled. “You don’t bet against Alfred Cazar!”

  “It certainly wasn’t my idea,” Nick agreed.

  “We’d better get back on the road,” Blaze suggested. “We want to make Saratoga before evening.”

  While Cazar and Blaze went off to the men’s room, Nick drove the car up to the gas pump and had the tank filled. They were an odd pair, and he wondered if Blaze might be more than an employee. At times the two men seemed more like partners—gentle grifters plying their trade on the road to Saratoga Springs.

  Presently he saw them returning to the car. Blaze got in front next to him and explained the automatic shift. He heard Cazar buckle his seat belt in back, then shut the door. “Come on, you two, let’s go!”

  Nick pulled onto the Thruway, taking it easy until he got the feel of the unfamiliar vehicle. “It’s straight ahead about seventy-five miles to Albany,” Blaze advised him.

  “Thanks.” Nick stepped up the speed to the legal 55, then gradually worked it to 60.

  “How about another license-plate bet?” Cazar’s voice asked.

  “I’m broke.”

  “I thought I saw a ten in that wallet.”

  “I need something for Saratoga. Hell, you’ll win more off me than I’ll get paid for this article.”

  Blaze lit a cigarette and smoked in silence, but his boss wasn’t to be shut up. “Come on, Velvet, put up that ten!”

  “No, thanks.”

  Nick lapsed into silence and Cazar did, too. After a few more miles he glanced in the rear-view mirror but he couldn’t see the little man. “Don’t mind him,” Blaze said softly. “If you won’t bet with him he’ll probably doze off for a bit.”

  “You been working for him long?” Nick asked, making conversation.

  “A year or so. He’s a good boss. It’s easy work.”

  They passed two cars and had a clear highway ahead. Before Nick realized it, his speed had slipped past 65, on the way to 70. That was when he heard the siren and glanced in the mirror. “Damn! State Police.”

  Blaze cursed and put out his cigarette. “Take the ticket. Mr. Cazar will pay it.”

  As the trooper strolled up and asked for his license, Nick glanced into the back seat for Cazar. “Where is he?” he asked Blaze. “Is he on the floor?”

  Blaze peered over the seat back. “He’s not there. He’s gone! His seat belt is still fastened, but he’s gone!”

  “What is all this?” the trooper asked.

  “We lost a passenger,” Nick said. He got out on his side and yanked open the rear door. It was true. Alfred Cazar had vanished.

  “You mean you forgot him somewhere?”

  “He was in the car,” Blaze insisted, looking blank.

  “I saw him get in,” Nick agreed. “We were talking to him!”

  Nick bit his lip. His mind had a vision of the Bermuda penny—and his $20,000 fee—flying away from him. “I know! He’s a small man, and some cars have back seats that have access to the trunk compartment. That’s where he’s got to be!”

  He unlocked the trunk, but it was empty except for a spare tire and a jack. Blaze was on his knees, peering beneath the car, and Nick joined him.

  There was no trace of Alfred Cazar.

  “Maybe he jumped out when we stopped,” Blaze said. “But we didn’t hear the door open.”

  The trooper shook his head. “Nobody jumped out when you stopped. Now let’s quit the kidding around. I don’t care how many people vanished from the back seat—you’re still gettin’ a ticket for speeding!”

  As the trooper wrote the ticket, Nick was forced to admit Cazar had vanished into thin air, from the back seat of a closed car going nearly 70 miles an hour.

  For eleven months of the year Saratoga Springs had a quiet village atmosphere befitting its population of less than 20,000 people. Even the one-time fame of its waters and mud baths had declined in recent years, leaving it with the perpetual gloom of an off-season spa. Only in August, during the racing days, was there still a flash of the old glory. It wasn’t quite like the early days, when the racing season brought the country’s biggest mobsters to the spa for wide-open gambling. But enough remained on this fine August afternoon to give Nick a feeling of what once had been.

  He dropped Hugo Blaze at the old Gideon Putnam Hotel and then drove on in search of a room for himself. It was difficult to find one without a reservation, but just then a room for the night was the least of his worries.

  A few horse trailers were parked along Union Avenue, shaded by stately elms, and he discovered to his surprise that the racetrack was quite near the center of town. He might want to visit the track later, but right now he was more interested in seeing Jeanne Kraft. He parked in the lot next to the Grand Union Motel and went inside to find her.

  She wasn’t in her room, but he located her in the hotel coffee shop, munching on a tuna-fish sandwich. “I’m glad you got here,” she said as he slipped into the booth. “Any trouble?”

  “Depends what you mean by trouble. Alfred Cazar has disappeared and taken the Bermuda penny with him.”

  “You mean he’s run off?”

  “I mean he’s disappeared.” He told her everything that had happened. “This guy Blaze is at the Gideon Putnam Hotel, hoping he’ll get some word from Cazar. I’m supposed to see him there later.”

  “It was a trick of some sort,” Jeanne Kraft said. “Cazar used to do some night-club magic, along with being a mimic and impressionist. He showed you the penny to watch your reaction. When you were interested, he must have guessed I hired you. He disappeared to keep you from stealing the penny.”

  “But how? And where do I find him now?”

  “That’s what I’m paying you $20,000 for.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t blame yourself entirely. He’s a clever man.”

  “My only
chance of finding him now is to learn what this is all about—what makes his Bermuda penny so valuable. Isn’t it about time you told me?”

  “I—” She hesitated, glancing around nervously. “All right, I suppose I have to tell you. It started some years back, in Bermuda. My father, Jesse Kraft, was one of the wealthiest men in Hamilton. My mother was dead and I was the only child, so I was naturally very close to him. His one weakness was poker. He’d meet once a week for a high-stakes game with a half-dozen other wealthy men and whoever happened to be visiting the island. Sometimes these Friday night games would go on till Sunday morning.”

  “Did he usually win or lose?”

  “Mostly win. But one night there was a really big game with over a hundred thousand dollars on the table. My father was in it, and Alfred Cazar, and a Canadian named Brian Chetwind. They kept raising each other until everyone was forced to drop out. Then, when my father and Cazar raised Chetwind more cash than he had on him, the Canadian said he’d have to use IOU’s. Anyway, to make the story brief, by the end of the evening my father and Cazar were each in possession of a Bermuda penny on which the Canadian had scratched his mark with a knife. And each of these pennies was an IOU for $60,000.”

  “Why a penny? Why not a traditional IOU?”

  “The pennies were still new in 1971. Bermuda had only adopted a dollar-decimal currency a year earlier. Then too, Chetwind was an important Canadian businessman who couldn’t risk having his name signed to an ordinary IOU. Naturally the marked pennies had no legal standing as collectable debts, but then neither would regular IOU’s.”

  “Why hasn’t the money been collected from Chetwind before this?”

  “My father and Cazar met him here at Saratoga in August of ’71, but he persuaded them to let the gambling debt ride. He promised they could double their money through investments he’d make in Canadian mines. Since they had none of their own money to lose, they agreed. This August full payment is to be made. Each of the two shares is now worth something like $130,000.”