1977 - My Laugh Comes Last (20 page)

For a long moment, I sat silent. I looked at this big, impressive man, and I felt a despairing sickness as it dawned on me he was lying. Farrell Brannigan! The man, who, with a wave of his hand, had done so much for me. My mind flashed back to the past few weeks. Marsh murdered. Thomson, murdered. The blackmail threat. Klaus, Benny, Joe and Harry Brett. Glenda pleading for me to tell them how to break into the bank. Her faked captivity. The impish smile from the teenager as she swung on the gate, when she spoke of Harry Brett.

Keeping my face expressionless, I asked, ‘You are saying Glenda relies on me to help you. How can I possibly help you, Mr. Brannigan? Why should a man of your status need my help?'

His eyes shifted from me to the wall behind me, and back to me again.

‘Do I have to remind you, Larry, if it wasn't for me, you would still be a mechanic? Because of me, you now own a flourishing business, and you are regarded as an important citizen in Sharnville . . . because of me.'

I continued to look directly at him, saying nothing.

After a long pause, he went on, 'I need your help, Larry, as you once needed my help. This thing has developed into a dangerous mess. You, and only you, can straighten it out. Both Glenda and I are relying on your help.'

What thing, Mr. Brannigan?'

His fatherly smile became fixed. He rubbed his jaw, pulled at his cigar, then released a cloud of smoke that half screened his face.

‘Larry, we both are relying on you. I brought you from nothing. Don't you think you can return favour for favour?'

'I ask again, Mr. Brannigan, what thing has developed into a dangerous mess?'

A faint flush came to his heavy face. He sat upright. He was now no longer the father figure, but the tough President, up against opposition.

‘We're wasting time, son!' There was a snap in his voice. ‘You know very well what I'm talking about! Don't fence with me! What has happened at the bank?'

Then I knew, just by looking at the hard eyes, that Farrell Brannigan was involved in the bank breakin. By now, I was shockproof, and my mind was working actively.

‘You needn't worry about the bank, Mr. Brannigan,' I said. 'Four evil men are trapped in the vault. There is no possible way for them to get out unless I let them out. I guaranteed to build you the safest bank in the world . . . it is the safest bank in the world.'

Slowly, he crushed out his cigar in the ash bowl. Beneath his heavy golfer's tan, his complexion turned yellow.

'You're telling me they are trapped in the vault?' His voice was now husky. I could see his confidence oozing away.

'It is the safest bank in the world, Mr. Brannigan. When a psychopath, and three morons, one a vicious killer, try to break into your bank which I built, they become trapped.'

He reached for another cigar, and I saw his hand was unsteady, then he changed his mind, withdrew his hand, then looked at me.

'But you can get them out, Larry?'

‘Yes, I could get them out,' I said, ‘but I don't intend to.' I leaned forward, then asked, 'Do you want them to escape, Mr. Brannigan?'

He sat still, and I could see him visibly shrinking. He was now no longer the President of the biggest banking syndicate in California: he was an ageing, fat man whom I could no longer respect.

'They must escape, Larry,' he said finally, his voice a husky whisper.

'They are not going to escape,' I said. 'My next move is to telephone Manson, and warn him there are four bank robbers locked in the vault. Once he has alerted the police, I will go down to the bank, and open the vault. The way I've fixed it, no one, except me, can do this. It is still the safest bank in the world.'

I got up and walked over to the desk and reached for the telephone. As I picked up the receiver, the door slammed open, and Glenda rushed in.

She was now wearing green slacks and a white shirt. In her hand, she held an automatic pistol. She pointed the gun at me.

'Get away from that phone!' she screamed.

There was a mad look of frenzy in her eyes. Her mouth was working, the gun wavered in her hand.

I took two steps away from the desk.

'Glenda!' Brannigan's voice was sharp.

She looked at him, her eyes loathing.

'There is no one now, Glenda, except Larry, who can help us,' Brannigan said, his voice pleading. Don't do anything dramatic.'

I was looking at her, seeing the hard, drawn face, the vicious, angry eyes, and I didn't recognize this woman I believed I loved. That woman whose soft yielding body had received me, whose pleading voice had begged me to save her life, had vanished, to be replaced by this redheaded, dangerous-looking woman whom the teenager's mother had called a whore.

Although I thought I was, by now shockproof, the realization that Glenda had used me so heartlessly and ruthlessly, sickened me.

'What have you done with Harry?' she demanded, her voice shrill. 'What have you done with him, you sonofabitch?'

'Glenda!' Brannigan shouted. 'Go away! Leave this to me! Hear me?'

She looked at him, her big eyes scornful.

‘Don't tell me what to do, you fat sack of crap! Your daughter! That's a laugh! Do you imagine you can talk this smart bastard into believing your lies?' Turning on me, ‘You're going to get Harry out of that vault!' She waved the gun at me. 'If you don't, I'll kill you!'

'Go ahead and shoot me, Glenda,' I said quietly. 'No one but me can open the vault, and the air is running out. In another four or five hours, your Harry, and the rest of them, will suffocate to death. This is up to you. Go ahead and shoot!'

She moved back, her hand going to her mouth.

'Suffocate?'

"There is no ventilation now in the vault,' I said. ‘ Right now, four men are using up the remaining air . . . it won't last long.' I held out my hand. 'I'll get him out, but on my own terms. Give me that gun!'

'You're bluffing, you devil!'

"You called Klaus that, didn't you? Give me that gun!'

'Give it to him!' Brannigan shouted.

She hesitated, then threw the gun at my feet.

'Take it!' she screamed at me. 'You and your cheap love! Harry is ten times the man you are!' and she ran out of the room, slamming the door.

I picked up the gun and laid it on the desk, then moving slowly, I returned to my chair and sat down.

There was a long pause, then Brannigan said uneasily, 'She's hysterical, Larry. You know what women are.'

I looked up, my fists clenched.

Your cheap, stupid love!

That hurt, but now I knew the truth. All along Brannigan had been lying. The scornful way she had said, Your daughter! told me she was his mistress, and the lies he had told me about his secretary had been futile attempts to keep some gilt over his image.

'So, according to you,' I said, 'she loves me. What a liar you are!'

He flinched.

'Is it true these men could suffocate?' he asked.

'At a guess, they have another six hours. Dixon and I built that vault. There is a ventilation fan, but to get out of the vault, I had to cut the electricity. I don't bluff, and I don't tell lies.'

He nodded wearily: an old, fat man, shrunken and defeated.

On the desk was a tape recorder.

'Mr. Brannigan, I want the truth from you,' I said, "No more lies. I am going to take a recording of what we say to each other.'

'Don't do that, son,' he said. 'You're telling me I'm at the end of my road.'

'That's what I am telling you,' and I pressed the start button of the recorder. ‘You told me Glenda was your daughter. That was a lie?'

‘Yes, son, that was a lie. She's my mistress. She has a fatal attraction. Let me tell you, Larry, she's made a lot of money out of me.'

'She told me she was married to Alex Marsh . . . right or wrong?'

'She was never married to him . . . he was her pimp. He was blackmailing me. He had photographs of Glenda with me . . . photographs that were so damning that Merle would have divorced me if she had seen them. Without Merle's money, I am in financial trouble. I paid heavy blackmail to Marsh. Sooner or later, I knew Merle would question me about this steady drain from her fortune. I had to do something to stop Marsh.' Brannigan eased his bulk back in his chair, then went on, 'Marsh was infatuated with Glenda as I was, but he was greedy. Glenda knew he was blackmailing me, but Marsh, like the pimp he was, never gave her a cent of the money he was getting from me.

'Marsh suspected that I could be dangerous. He knew I would try to get the photos, and then have him murdered. A few weeks ago, he came to me. "Mr. Brannigan," he said, "don't get ideas about getting those photos and having me knocked off. Those photos are in a safe deposit box in the safest bank in the world," and he grinned at me. "My lawyer holds the key of the box. If anything happens to me, the box will be opened, and you can then explain the photographs to your wife." I realized there was nothing I could do about this. Marsh had played it very smart.' Brannigan paused to wipe his sweating face with the back of his hand. 'There was no way, even for the President of the bank, to get at Marsh's deposit box.' He stared at me, his eyes dull. You made that impossible.' There was a pause, then he said, 'I could do with a drink, son.'

I got up, went to the liquor cabinet and built him a powerful whisky and soda. He took the glass with a shaky hand, drank, sighed, then put the glass down.

'So my future life,' he went on, 'was locked up in the vault you built, Larry. I desperately wanted to be financially independent, instead of relying on my wife's money. There was a big deal pending, and this could be my chance. By using Merle's credit, I could get in on the ground floor. Then just when I was fixing this deal, Marsh reappeared. He said he had decided to leave the States. He demanded two million dollars as final blackmail payment, and he would give me the photographs and the negatives. He said he would give me two weeks to raise the money, then, if I didn't pay him, he would go to Merle who, he was sure, would pay up to avoid a scandal. She wouldn't have paid up. She would have divorced me and my future would be ended.' He sat forward, his big hands turning into fists. 'Then I realized there was only one possible solution out of this mess. I had to find some criminal who would break into the bank, get me those photographs and murder Marsh. This was my only solution.'

He paused to sip his drink. 'I had no contacts with the criminal world. In my position, I couldn't go around trying to find a bank robber, then I remembered Klaus. Now, Klaus…’

"You can skip that,' I interrupted. ‘ I have it already on tape. Years ago, you and he worked together, you found he had embezzled, and you got him a five-year sentence...right?'

He looked down at his tightly clenched fists.

'That's what happened. At that time, I believed anyone working in a bank must be honest. When there is no pressure, it is easy to be honest.'

'So you found Klaus, and you asked him to break into the bank?'

‘There was no one else I could go to.' He finished his drink. ‘You must understand, Larry, I was now desperate. My whole life depended on getting Marsh off my back . . . to get those photographs. After I had talked to Klaus, I realized he was a mental case. Maybe the years he had spent in jail had eroded his mind. He hated me. I could see his hatred oozing out of him while we talked. He had read all the media about my safest bank in the world. It delighted him that he would break into the bank and make a sham of me. "I'll get your photographs," he said, "but remember, every banker in the world will be laughing at you! I'll cut you down to size!" That was how his sick mind worked.' Brannigan pushed his empty glass towards me. 'I would like another, son.'

I got up and built him another drink, and gave it to him. ‘Thanks.' He sipped the drink, then went on, 'I didn't give a damn about the bank. That's where Klaus made a mistake. He imagined he was punishing me. I had to get those photographs. If there was one man in the world who could break into the bank, it was Klaus. The deal we agreed to was for the men he employed to have the contents of the deposit boxes, for me to get the photographs, and for Klaus to satisfy his pathological hatred of me to prove to the world I didn't own the safest bank in the world.' He lifted his heavy hands and let them drop with a thud on the desk. That's the sordid story, Larry. I've levelled with you. Can you get me out of this mess?'

I thought back to the time when we had first met, when I had fixed his putting and his hook. I thought of his influence that had made me an important citizen in Sharnville. Then, to me, He had been a great man, but not now. Looking at him, seated in the chair, sweat running down his heavy face, Farrell Brannigan ceased to be the god I thought he was.

'You haven't levelled with me,' I said. ‘You know as well as I do Klaus could never have broken into the bank. You knew I was the only man in the world to do that! So you set me up.'

He moved restlessly.

'Now, look, son . . .'

'Don't give me this son routine! Didn't you tell Klaus I was the sucker who could get him into the bank?'

He rubbed his sweating face.

'I guess.' He tried to drag a shred of dignity over himself. 'I did mention...'

"You did more than that! Now, I'll tell you what you did! You knew Klaus hadn't a hope in hell to break into the bank, so you set me up. I was to be the sucker! You and your son routine! You didn't give a damn about me. All you thought of was to hang on to your image. You planted Glenda on me! That crap about Joe going to your place and putting water in your gas tank was just another lie I was fed with. You gambled that I would fall for Glenda, and I did. Her supposed reportage on Sharnville paid off. She not only threw a hook into me, she also alerted Klaus that the Sheriff was dangerous, and Manson was incorruptible. So what happened? The Sheriff was murdered. Don't tell me you didn't know what was happening! Don't tell me you didn't know Klaus was pinning Marsh's murder on me! You once said to me you liked to play God . . . what a god!'

He waved his big hands as if trying to push away the truth.

'I swear to you, Larry! I left everything to Klaus!'