Harry hesitated. Was Takamori going to slick the cops on to him: have him arrested? If that was his intention he could do it when Harry called on him.
“I'm at the Ritz, room 257,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Mr. Griffin. I'll tell Mr. Takamori.”
III
Borg moved ponderously across the room and settled his vast bulk in the armchair facing Ben Delaney's desk. He pushed his black slouch hat to the back of his head, and taking out a dirty handkerchief, he wiped his forehead while he breathed asthmatically, his great chest heaving as he struggled to get more air into his lungs.
“Now look, Borg,” Ben said, resting his hands on his blotter and leaning forward, “forget what I said on the telephone the other night. I was rattled. Okay, so I've been taken for a ride. I've lost fifty grand. Sooner or later anyone with dough gets taken: I don't care who it is. I've decided to write it off to experience. Even if I got the diamonds now, they'd be too hot to handle. O'Harridan is really working on this thing. I'd have to sit on those rocks for five or six years and even then I'd be sticking my neck out. Killing the guard fixed it, and to make matters worse, one of the passengers on the aircraft was a senator, and he's really riding O'Harridan ragged.”
Borg thrust a long, dirty fingernail inside his right ear and began to work it around, his small, hard eyes cloudy. He didn't appear to be listening with much interest.
“So I'm writing off the loss and forgetting it,” Ben said. “I want you back here, Borg. You've got the setup organized. I know I got pretty tough on the telephone, but I was rattled. Well, forget it. The boys haven't been the same without you to chase them. From the way they have been lying down on the job, I could lose a damn sight more than fifty grand wasting time trying to find this punk Green. He'll cut his own throat. Just let him try to put those rocks on the market and see how quick he'll get picked up.”
Borg removed his fingernail from his ear and inspected the lump of wax he had pried loose. He wiped his finger on his dirty trench coat and drew in another long, laboured breath, but he didn't say anything.
Ben moved restlessly. He was worried. Without Borg at the helm, the organization had taken a knock. The boys weren't working and the takings had dropped. There had been a couple of fights, and some small-time punk had tried to hold up one of his nightclubs. All because Borg hadn't been there to watch his interests. Ben knew he was getting old. He didn't want to be bothered with the administration of his organization. All he wanted now was the money and the time to spend it. He realized he had talked out of turn to Borg, and now he was getting as close as he had ever got to apologizing to anyone.
“So look Borg, just take over and forget Green. There's a lot of work for you to do. It keeps piling up. Mitski wants talking to. He pulled a knife on Little Joe last night. We can't have that sort of thing happening. See what you can do about it, will you?”
Borg felt inside his coat, took out a limp pack of cigarettes and fed a cigarette into his mouth. He lit it with a worn, brass lighter that had flared up like a bonfire, and he had trouble in putting it out.
“Not me,” he said, staring at Ben. “It's time I had a vacation. I've been working for you now for two years. All that time I've never had ten minutes to myself. I've got all the dough I want and I don't need work. I'm quitting for a while.”
Ben's face tightened.
“You can't do this to me. You can't get out of the racket, and you know it. Okay, so you can use a little more money. I'll raise your cut to twenty-five per cent of the gross. How's that?”
Borg shook his head.
“I told you: I've got all the dough I want. What I’m after now is a little excitement and looking for Green is going to provide it.” His fat face creased into what was supposed to be a smile, but its effect made a chill run up Ben's spine. “Before you turned into a businessman, Mr. Delaney, I had the work I liked. You told me to take care of a guy and I took care of him. Know what my idea of a good time is? I'll tell you. I like to sit in a car on a dark, wet night, waiting for a guy to come out of his home. That's what I like. I like the waiting with a rod in my hand knowing I can't miss, hearing the bang of the gun and seeing the guy take it, and then the quick getaway. That's what I like, but it doesn't happen anymore. We're acting like a lot of financiers. All we think about is making a fast, but safe buck. I'm fed up with it. Green double-crossed you, but you don't care. You've got too much money. Two years ago, you wouldn't have told me to find him, you'd have found him yourself. Okay, if that's the way you want it, that's the way you want it, but it isn't the way I want it.”
“Those days are over,” Ben said. “You should know that. Two years ago you could get away with the rough stuff, but you can't now. You're nuts to think . . . “
“Yeah, maybe I'm nuts,” Borg said, “but I get a lot of fun out of it I'm going to look for Harry Green. I don't care how long it takes, but I'm going to find him. I'm going after him for the fun of it. He doesn't owe me anything. He didn't double cross me, but he's a smart punk who needs stopping. You can keep your women, your money, your soft bed and your big house. That's not my idea of fun. Give me a guy to hunt; someone who is as smart as I am, who'll turn when I've cornered him so I have to be quicker on the trigger than he is. That's my idea of spending a vacation, and that's what I'm going to do.”
Ben knew from experience it was no use arguing with Borg.
“Okay, I can't stop you,” he said. “When you've got this out of your system, will you come back here?”
“Sure,” Borg said. “This is a vacation. When I've found and killed him I’ll be glad to come back, but I've got to find him first. His thick lips lifted off his teeth. “And I've got to kill him.”
“If the cops can't find him, how do you expect to find him?”
Borg lifted his black eyebrows.
“You said a smart thing, Mr. Delaney, when you told me to check on Glorie Dane,” he said. “I have an idea that where she is Harry Green will be. They have fifty grand of your money to spend. Maybe they won't get rid of the diamonds, but fifty grand is big enough money to make a noise when a couple like Green and Glorie Dane start throwing it around. I've got good ears. I'll find them.”
IV
There was nothing now to do but wait, and waiting made Harry nervous. To while away the time, he had gone to a movie, but although the film was a good one, his mind was too preoccupied to take any interest in it.
He had planted the seed, but whether it would germinate or not remained to be seen. Takamori had given nothing away.
Harry had had dealings with the Japs during the war and he knew they were tricky. But he was sure that his argument had been psychologically sound. Takamori wanted the diamonds more than he wanted anything else in the world, and a guy with all his money got the things he wanted. It wasn't likely that Takamori would turn him over to the police. Harry felt confident about The real danger would be when Harry handed over the diamonds. That's when Takamori might try a double cross It was after nine when he left the movie house. It was a dark wet night, and he walked along the street towards his hotel, his hands deep in his coat pockets, his hat pulled down low over his He didn't notice a long, black Cadillac that was parked a few yards from the entrance to the hotel and as he passed it, he heard his name called softly.
He stopped abruptly and looked towards the car A chauffeur in fawn uniform with blue facings sat at the wheel. He was Japanese. He looked stolidly in from of him motionless like a little yellow image Takamori sat at the back of the car he looked through the window at Harry and waved to him.
Harry crossed the sidewalk to the car.
“If you have the time, Mr. Griffin, perhaps we could have another talk?” Takamori said. “Will you get in?”
Harry grinned. He felt sure then that he had won. Takamori would never have come like this, he told himself, without a police escort, unless he was ready to play.
As Harry sank into the luxurious seat beside Takamori, he thought with a surge of excitemen
t that before very long he would own a car like this. A million and a half bucks! That was a lot of money. Even after buying two kites, he would still have plenty to throw around.
“I thought it would be more convenient to talk in the car, Takamori said, “than to talk in my office where we might be overheard. My chauffeur speaks only Japanese, so you need have no fear of being overheard by him.”
“That's okay,” Harry said. “Did you read the papers I left you?”
“I looked at them,” Takamori said. “I can't say I read them as aeroplanes don't interest me. I admit they are a means of transport and a sign of progress, but I am prejudiced in favour of ships. As a trader, Mr. Griffin, you can appreciate that ships are more useful to me.” He took the envelope that Harry had given him from his pocket and dropped it into Harry's lap. “As an investment, Mr. Griffin, I doubt if it would interest me. No, I'm afraid your suggestion that I should finance such a company has fallen on stony ground—that I believe is the phrase?”
Harry looked sharply at him. This was unexpected and it jarred him.
“Well, okay,” he said and slipped the envelope into his pocket.
“If you're not interested in having ten per cent, then you're not. That won't stop me going ahead. I'm sold on this idea. I know I can make a go of it if I get the capital. You're willing to put the capital up, aren't you?”
“I don't think so,” Takamori said. He played with the tassel on the hand-grip hanging near his head. “I only finance companies if I have a controlling interest in them, and this idea of yours doesn't appeal to me.”
Harry felt a hot surge of rage run through him.
“Are you telling me you don't want the diamonds?” he demanded.
“Of course I want them,” Takamori said and smiled, “but as they are my property I have no intention of paying for them.”
“Yeah?” Harry said, his face red and his eyes gleaming. “Okay, then you can whistle for them. I'll find someone else who'll take them. Stop the car and let me out.”
“I would be obliged if you would listen to me for a few moments,” Takamori said politely. “When you called on me, you had the advantage of—what was the phrase you used?—diggin into my background I believe it was. You came to me as I complete stranger, and I was forced to listen to your proposal at a considerable disadvantage. You assumed that I was a dishonest man. That, Mr. Griffin, was a grave mistake to make of anyone you don't know intimately. You suggested that I should swindle the insurance companies for one and a half million dollars. If I had agreed to do that, you would have felt in a safe position because you would then have been in the position to blackmail me if I didn't make good my promise to you concerning this air-taxi business of yours. But I have never allowed myself to be placed in a position to be blackmailed, and I would most certainly not do so late in life. But—and here you were right, Mr. Griffin—I do need the diamonds. I need them very badly.”
“Well, I'm not stopping you having them. The price is one and a half million dollars,” Harry said. “No money, no diamonds.”
“I felt you might take that attitude,” Takamori said mildly. “Tell me, Mr. Griffin, if you had the choice between that sum of money and death, which would you choose?”
“Look,” Harry said, twisting around in his seat to glare at the little man, “let's cut this out. Do you want the diamonds or don't you?”
“Certainly I do. My question is do you wish to go on living?”
Harry stiffened.
“What the hell do you mean?”
“What I say. Let me continue, Mr. Griffin, and then you will understand your position as it is now and not as it was this morning. You had the advantage of making enquiries about my background. Since this morning, I have had enquiries made about yours. I have learned that you were employed by the Californian Air Transport Corporation four weeks ago. That made interesting news. I hear you were to fly the aircraft that carried the diamonds had you not been discharged for drunkenness and for molesting one of the air hostesses. You knew about the consignment The man who planned the robbery called himself Harry Green He was a larger man than you, older, with a scar, and he was going bald. Anyone clever enough could disguise himself to look older and larger, and it would be simple to fake a scar. Harry Green knew where he could land the aircraft safely in the desert and that suggests to me he had flown over the route a number of times and had familiarized himself with the terrain as you must have done, Mr. Griffin. It seems to me that Harry Green and Harry Griffin are one and the same, and I believe that Harry Green is wanted for murder.” He paused, then went on, “That’s why I asked you if you wished to go on living. As far as I can see your chances of survival are slight. What do you think?”
Listening to the soft voice, Harry felt a cold knot of fear tightening inside him. His hand slid inside his coat and his fingers closed around the butt of his gun.
“You're crazy!” he said huskily. “I told you! I found those diamonds! I had nothing to do with the robbery.”
“I see.” Takamori lifted his shoulders. “Well, I admit I could be mistaken, but it is easy enough to prove. The police have Harry Green's fingerprints if one is to believe the newspapers. Shall we drive to police headquarters and let the police compare your prints with those of Green's?”
“Listen, you yellow snake,” Harry snarled, jerking out his gun and ramming it into Takamori's side, “you don't scare me. If you give me away to the police, you'll never see the diamonds. I promise you that.”
Takamori looked down at the gun.
“There's no need for violence, Mr. Griffin,” he said. “Please put that gun away. Reckless as you are, I can't imagine you should shoot me in a crowded street like this.”
Harry hesitated, then shoved the gun back into its holster.
He realized the jam he was in. The gamble had failed to come off. He was out in the open. He had thrown away the cover Glorie had given him. He had only one card to play now. He had the diamonds.
“Well, okay,” he said, “I admit you've got the edge of the bargain. I'll cut my price. Give me five hundred thousand and you can have the diamonds.”
Takamori shook his head.
“I told you, Mr. Griffin, I never pay for something that belongs to me. I will exchange your life for the diamonds. That is to say if you hand over the diamonds, I won't tell the police what I have found out about you.”
Harry glared at him. His dream of owning a million and a half dollars was fading so rapidly that the disappointment and the frustration turned him sick.
“Do you think I'd be crazy enough to trust you?” he said furiously. “If I gave you the diamonds you could still give me way to the police. I don't trust you.”
“And yet you have no reason not to,” Takamori said quietly.
'I am not interested in you nor in helping your police. This isn't my country and I have no duties as a citizen. All I am interested in is getting the diamonds back. This is what you must do. Pack the diamonds and send them to me by mail so that they reach me without fail the day after tomorrow. If they do not arrive by that time I shall tell the police what I have found out about you. It won't take them long to pick you up. If, however, the diamonds arrive by first post the day after tomorrow, then I give you my word to say nothing to anyone about you. That is the only deal I will make with you. I don't expect you to decide now. Think it over.” He leaned forward and tapped on the glass partition. His chauffeur touched his cap, slowed down and pulled up by the kerb. Takamori opened the car door.
“I must ask you to get out, Mr. Griffin,” he said. “Think about what I have said. I am sure you will see on reflection that my suggestion is the only one open to you.”
Harry got out of the car. He was stunned by the way the talk had gone.
“Good night, Mr. Griffin,” Takamori said, and as the big Cadillac pulled away, he raised his hand in a courteous salute.
V
Borg paused below the fire escape that ran up to the bathroom window of Glorie's ol
d apartment. He had been told by his man that the door to Glorie's apartment was bolted on the inside, and the escape was the only way by which he could get in. The alley at the back of the building was deserted and Borg hooked down the escape and climbed it. As he passed one of the lower windows he heard a radio blaring in the apartment. He was careful not to let his shadow fall across the window. He finally reached the bathroom window and he stopped beside it, wheezing noisily as he listened for any sound coming from the room. He heard nothing, nor did he expect to hear anything. He pushed up the window and squeezed his bulk into the bathroom.
He searched the three rooms, methodically and carefully, looking through the drawers and cupboards. He found the apartment just as Glorie had left it ten days ago. Even the dirty dishes still lay in the sink and the bed was unmade.
He was interested to find a man's suit in the wardrobe, and a man's hat with the initials H.G. in the sweat band. In one of the drawers of the chest there were five white shirts, also with the initials H.G. on the collar bands, and he scratched the back of his thick, fat neck while he brooded over the discovery. H.G.—Harry Green? He remembered Delaney had told him that Glorie had said she didn't know much about Harry Green, but that didn't mean anything. He returned the shirts to the drawer and took out his limp pack of cigarettes. He lit a cigarette before renewing his search. He found a railway timetable in the trash basket. It opened easily at the New York section. A midday train to New York had been ticked in pencil. He remembered Taggart had lost Glorie somewhere in the vicinity of the station. It was possible she had spotted Taggart and had taken fright. New York was a likely bolthole.
He remained in the apartment for more than an hour, but he didn't discover anything else of interest, and finally he let himself out, re-locked the door and plodded down to the next floor.
Borg was enjoying himself. This was a nice, easy and interesting job: a lot better than driving around for Delaney or sitting at a desk listening to the dreary lies from Delaney's collectors.
1955 - You've Got It Coming Page 12
