McNally's Gamble

by Lawrence Sanders

  I suspected Nettie was inspired by my tale of the Franklin abduction but I didn’t mention it to Barney.

  “You must realize, Archy,” she continued, “Walter’s sister has a great deal of influence over him. He can’t seem to resist her intensity. She’s always been able to convince him to do what she wants, and sometimes what she wants is not in his best interest.”

  “No excuse,” I said angrily. “He’s an adult and should have a mind of his own.”

  “He does,” Barney said. “A very good mind. But he is not assertive and in personal relationships he prefers to take the path of least resistance. You may call him wimpish but I prefer to think of him as tractable.”

  “Well, he’s on the wrong tract now,” I said—a lousy pun if ever I heard one. “I’m calling a halt to this cockamamy scheme right now.”

  She sighed. “Please believe me when I say I’m glad. I didn’t want to get involved, knowing how his mother would be affected by his disappearance, but he pleaded and I agreed. I’ll always be ashamed of it.”

  “There’s enough blame to go around,” I said. “May I speak to him now, please?”

  “Ruby!” she called, and when her companion appeared at the doorway she said, “Please ask Walter to come down for a moment.” Ruby nodded and left.

  “She really made a ridiculous accomplice,” I told Barney. “I never heard a vicious criminal say ‘Okey-doke’ or ‘’Bye now.’”

  “Don’t make fun of Ruby. She just tried to say what Walter told her to say. He wouldn’t let me talk because he feared his mother might recognize my voice. Archy, don’t be too hard on him.”

  “Hah!” I said. “Flaying alive is what I have in mind.”

  Walter took one step into the conservatory, saw me, and staggered back one step. “Archy,” he said in a choky voice.

  “You idiot!” I said disgustedly. “Just what kind of a rotten trick do you think you’re pulling? Your mother is home weeping. Can’t sleep. Going out of her mind with worry. Did you give a single thought to how you’re hurting her?”

  “Natalie—” he started, then stopped. I was happy he had. He was about to hold his sister responsible for the cruel farce but then he acknowledged his own guilt. Maybe there was hope for him.

  “Useless!” I practically shouted at him. “All the stupid plotting by your sister and you was useless. Look at this!” I showed him the color photo of the Coronation Egg. “That’s the objet Fred Clemens was trying to sucker your mother into buying. It’s owned by the Forbes Magazine Collection in New York. Now Clemens is in the pokey and the swindle is kaput.”

  He continued to stare at the picture. “Did you discover this?” he asked.

  “I did. And went to the police, who took Clemens out of circulation. So your moronic scheme was completely unnecessary.”

  “Does Mother know about it?”

  “She does. I told her an hour ago. And you know what her reaction was? She said, ‘Oh thank you, lord. Now I have half a million dollars to rescue my dear son.’ The purpose of your insane plan, wasn’t it?”

  “All we wanted was to keep Clemens from stealing it.”

  “With no consideration whatsoever of how your disappearance would cause your poor mother to suffer.”

  He hung his head, shuffled his feet. “I’m so ashamed,” he said faintly.

  “You should be,” I said sternly. “What you did was unconscionable. Infamous is not too strong a word.”

  I was inordinately pleased with myself. I had never before fully appreciated what a joy it is to excoriate the moral turpitude of others. Preachers must derive great satisfaction from their calling.

  “What should I do now, Archy?” Walter asked timidly.

  “What you should do,” I told him, “is pack up whatever you brought with you. Then I’ll drive you back to Palm Beach. I’ll let you out a block or two from your home. You will continue on foot, make a triumphant entrance, and tell your mother you managed to escape from your captors by using a clever stratagem I leave to your imagination.”

  “Will mother believe me?”

  “Of course. She is a credulous woman with an inexhaustible capacity for accepting the outlandish as gospel. You may tell Natalie the truth since she was your partner. As for Helen...”

  “She won’t care one way or another,” he said coldly. “Nettie was here earlier this morning and said Helen doesn’t even know I’ve disappeared. The hell with her!”

  I didn’t know if his rejection of his wife was heartfelt or if his love for her had been corrupted by his sister’s venom. He left to gather his belongings and I turned to Barney Newfield.

  “I’m sorry your home was the setting for such a nasty scene,” I said. “I apologize for my harsh language.”

  “He deserved it,” she said, “and I deserve just as much for agreeing to aid him,”

  “You acted through friendship. I can’t fault you for that.”

  “I hope, Archy, this won’t end our relationship. I’d enjoy it if you’d be willing to visit me again.”

  “It would give me great pleasure,” I assured her. “I might even sing an old song for you. I’m certain you’ve never heard it.”

  “Oh?” she said. “What is it called?”

  “‘My Barney Lies Over the Ocean.’”

  “Surely you’re joking!”

  “Surely I am not.”

  She was still laughing when Walter and I departed a few moments later.

  CHAPTER 33

  AFTER DINNER ON WEDNESDAY evening I asked my father if I could speak to him in re my Discreet Inquiry. He agreed and led the way into his study, where he invited me to pour myself a noggin of his second-best cognac. He had a glass of port and I wished him “Salud!” for the case he had recently purchased was definitely corky.

  I told him the entire story. Well, perhaps not the entire story since I bowdlerized those portions I knew would offend him, such as my merrymaking with Natalie Westmore.

  I related the downfall of Clemens Investments and the end of the attempted swindle by Fred and Felix, the former now in custody, the latter being sought by the gendarmerie. I explained how the con game had led to the murder of Sydney Smythe and I detailed the role I had played in the solution of that brutal crime.

  Finally I told him of the false kidnapping engineered by the Westmore siblings and how I had brought it to naught. I must have spoken for almost an hour, interrupted occasionally by his questions. When I finished I waited in silence for his judgment, betting on “Scandalous!” or maybe “Abominable!” But he one-upped me.

  “Reprehensible!” he said. “Archy, I never cease to be amazed by the depth of human wickedness and the just plain stupidity of Homo sapiens. It does not bode well for the future, does it?”

  “No, sir,” I said, finishing my brandy. “But all is not gloom and doom. In this case, as an example, justice has not scored a total victory but it has certainly run up an estimable score against the forces of darkness.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “You are quite right and we must constantly strive to look on the bright side. For instance, I assume you kept an accurate record of the billable hours you spent defending the interests of our client, Mrs. Edythe Westmore.”

  “I did indeed, father. I’ll deliver my tally to the Accounting Department tomorrow.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “And my congratulations on a difficult job well done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, and backed from the room since I had read somewhere it is not de rigueur to turn one’s dorsal surface to one’s sovereign.

  I went upstairs intending to add concluding notes to my journal and close out a record that began with the first mention of a Fabergé egg. But the phone was ringing when I entered my suite and I plucked it up hoping Connie was calling from Miami to share an intimate chat.

  “Hi, Archy!” Natalie Westmore said brightly.

  “Hello, Nettie,” I said in the dullest tone I could muster.

  “Isn’t it wonderful the w
ay everything turned out!” she bubbled on. “I’m just so happy. Listen, Archy, I’d love to see you and thank you personally for all you did.”

  “Not necessary,” I said stiffly. “I’ve already told Walter how I feel about your—your escapade.”

  “I know and it’s why I must see you. What we did was not as awful as you think. And if I could see you I could explain our motives and I know you’ll understand. Please, Archy, can’t you come over even for a short time? I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing what you must think and not having a chance to explain. Please?”

  “Very well,” I said. “I can’t see how you can possibly justify your conduct but I don’t wish to be adamant. Where are you now?”

  “At my studio. Come as soon as you can. And thank you for being such a darling.”

  She hung up and I combed my hair and dabbed my jowls with a few drops of “Obsession.” “Darling” or not I was determined to repeat to her my scathing remarks to Walter. She might be deliriously happy but I would not allow her mood to mollify my denunciation of her shameful behavior. Almost glowing with self-righteousness, I danced downstairs, bid Hobo farewell, and started out.

  When I entered the grounds of the Westmore estate I slowed to a crawl for I saw the portico of the main house was brilliantly illuminated. The lavender Riviera was drawn up on the driveway close to the steps, and set near the front door were two large suitcases. It did not look like an arrival to me; it looked like a departure.

  I parked far back in the semidarkness and made my way on foot to Natalie’s studio, gleaming through the foliage. Before I knocked on the closed plank door I glanced again at the lighted porch but saw no signs of activity.

  The studio door was flung open and Natalie greeted me with an animated smile. She immediately grabbed my arm, hauled me inside so forcibly I almost tripped over the heavy lantern on the floor.

  “Oh, Archy,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here! We have so much to talk about!”

  I was scarcely listening, for my firm resolve to upbraid her received a kick in the gluteus maximus when I saw how fetching she looked. She was wearing her usual raggedy denim cutoffs with a faded blue tank top. Her bare legs had never before seemed so tender, her slender arms so chewable.

  But more than her physical appeal caused my intention to scold to simply drain away. She was vibrant with delight, could not stop smiling, grasped my hands to draw me close. She smelled fresh and young. I could feel my resoluteness weaken and become flaccid as base lust, which seems to lurk in my bloodstream like an inexpugnable virus, gained control.

  “You do forgive me, don’t you, darling?” she asked softly.

  I wasn’t quite ready to surrender completely. “What you did was wrong,” I said—a very tepid condemnation compared to the accusations I had hurled at her brother.

  “I know,” she said cheerily. “But we had to do it because there was no other way to rescue Mother from Clemens, that oily crook. You do see we were forced to do it, don’t you? Archy? You agree?”

  I nodded dumbly. When it comes to a violent conflict between my will and my glands, I’ll give you one guess as to which usually emerges victorious.

  “But everything has turned out just super,” she nattered. “Mother has all the money she saved and she is so happy Walter is safe and sound she has agreed to finance a year of exploration in Africa. He’ll be leaving in about a month.”

  I found it difficult to believe. “She’s giving him the money, Nettie?”

  “Well, not exactly. She’s lending it to him at only twelve percent interest.”

  “Ah,” I said, reassured Edythe Westmore had made a quick recovery from her nearly disastrous venture into high finance and had reverted to her penurious ways. “And is Helen going with Walter?”

  “To Africa?” Natalie said. “Are you off your rocker? They’re getting a divorce. Helen is leaving tonight. Those are her bags on the porch. Good riddance!”

  I remembered what Barney Newfield had said about Walter acceding to his sister’s wishes and marveled at how her intensity overwhelmed what might be his divergent desires. To be quite honest, I thought Natalie’s moral rudder was unhinged and her brother was a fool to let a vixen dictate his behavior.

  “Now let’s talk about us,” Nettie said. “I really do owe you so much, Archy, for what you’ve done.”

  “I am happy I was able to be of some assistance,” I said haughtily.

  “And you must be rewarded!” she cried gaily, stooped, and switched off the lantern. We stood in pitchy darkness for a sec or two. It was obvious she meant to present me with an unexpected Christmas gift. Unwrapped. I considered my options and my proper role in this opéra comique.

  I cannot to this day fully explain my motives; I can only beg for your sympathy and understanding. To be brutally frank, I rejected the lady’s offer. I know it was out of character and even at the time I wondered if I was being a saphead. But if the flesh was willing the spirit was weak. The prospect of strumming the springs of the steel cot was enticing but I could not conquer my fear of resuming an intimate involvement with this perverse and inconstant woman.

  “Ah, what a shame,” I said as lightly as I could. “But I really must run. I’m already late for choir practice and I promised to sing the baritone solo in ‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht.’ So off I go.”

  I pushed open the door and stepped outside. Natalie followed wailing, “Archy! Archy!” She succeeded in clutching my arm, halting me. At that moment Felix Katz came out of a deeper shadow. He had what appeared to be a huge automatic pistol gripped in his right hand. He moved the muzzle slowly back and forth between Nettie and me.

  She was the first to speak. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Santa Claus,” he said laconically. “My reindeer are parked at the gate.”

  “Well, I’ll thank you to get out of here at once,” she said fiercely. “If you don’t I’ll call the police.”

  “How?” Katz said. “There’s no phone in this shack.”

  “Then I’ll start screaming,” she threatened.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “And get a slug in your belly.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Oh, shut your yap!” he said.

  “Shut my yap?” Natalie repeated, and was so outraged she stamped her foot. I had read of people doing that from anger or frustration but had never seen it actually done. I was impressed.

  Natalie whirled, went back into the studio, slammed the door. Katz laughed, I had listened to their exchange with fear for our safety and awe at her courage. What a feisty woman she was!

  “Hey,” Felix said to me, “that’s some twist. She’s got fire. And I’d like to put it out.”

  I sought to divert his mind from Natalie. “Your weapon looks more effective than Droopy’s,” I said.

  “Droopy? Who’s he?”

  “Your emissary at the restaurant parking lot.”

  “Oh, that loser,” he said. “I met him in the clink and he showed up a few weeks ago looking for a handout. So I gave him the job. But I guess he didn’t have the moxie for it. I have. Now here’s what we do: You walk to the gate with me right behind you ready to blast your spine if you try any tricks. The Riviera is there with Helen behind the wheel. You and me will get in the back seat and then we’ll all go for a little trip. Short for you, long for us.”

  “Does Helen know I’m going to accompany you?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “But that tramp will do what I tell her to do.”

  “You’re not speaking as politely as you did at the Pelican Club,” I commented.

  “I was playing a part then,” he said. “Not bad, huh? Now move!”

  He had maneuvered behind me and we both had taken only a step or two when it happened. The studio door crashed open and Natalie came out like a whirlwind. She was carrying the heavy lantern by the steel loop handle and with a mighty overhand heave she swung it at the head of Felix Katz.

  He had started to whirl whe
n the door banged open, and when he caught a glimpse of the descending lantern he tried to dodge, but it was too late. It crunched into his crown with the sound of an ax splitting an oak stump. He went down as if his legs had suddenly been amputated. I thought it likely his skull had been crushed.

  Natalie was preparing to take another swing at the fallen thug when I caught her arm and took the lantern from her grip, prying her fingers loose to do it. “Enough,” I said. “He won’t revive for a while. Now you run to a phone and call nine-one-one. Tell them to send the police to pick up a killer they’ve been looking for. His name is Felix Katz. And ask them to inform Sergeant Rogoff. Got all that?”

  She nodded and began sprinting toward the main house. I watched her go, admiring the way she moved: a graceful loping gait with no elbow-flapping. Then I lighted the lantern (dented but still working) and crouched to examine Katz. His mouth was open and he seemed to be breathing shallowly. There was less blood than I expected. I stood and nudged the automatic farther away from his body with the toe of my shoe. Then I lighted a cigarette. My hands weren’t trembling but my knees had all the tensile strength of tapioca pudding.

  The following hour was a period of organized confusion. Two police cars showed up first, soon followed by two more, an ambulance, a fire-rescue truck, and finally Sgt. Rogoff in his pickup. Meanwhile the audience had been increased by Edythe, Walter, the houseman, and the cook.

  Natalie and I repeated our stories at least three times to the police and family members. Felix Katz was hauled away still unconscious and the lantern was temporarily confiscated by the officers. Everyone congratulated Nettie and me on our narrow escape and I was unstinting in my praise of her bravery and fearless attack upon an armed hoodlum, Al Rogoff winked at me and murmured, “Happy Holiday.”

  Oh, one other thing happened you may find as amusing as I did. Helen Westmore apparently learned of the bludgeoning and capture of her criminal paramour, for the Riviera returned to park in front of the Westmore home. I watched as the car door was opened, Helen extracted her two suitcases and lugged them back into the house. A very practical lady. Would she smooth things over with Walter and the two of them be reconciled? I didn’t know and didn’t much care.