The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (8 page)

"Listen, I'm not born yesterday, I know what
it's worth now and when I know it's insured for two hundred thousand
smackers, listen, Skyros, I don't go along with no piddling deal like
ten G's! Particularly when I got to cut it with you. You set it up
with my kid brother, so O.K., but I'm handling both our affairs now
just like it allus was, and you're dealin' with me now. She's got no
choice— she wants the stuff, she pays."

"But, my friend, she is the only customer!"

"That don't necessarily mean she can set the
price. She takes it or leaves it. You say she wants it damn bad.
O.K., then she pays." The phone slammed down at the other end.

Mr. Skyros cast his eyes to heaven and swore several
oaths in two languages. He was a fool ever to have got mixed up in
this business. And it had looked so easy, so casual, to start with—
money dropping from heaven! All, you might say, for a few kind words
spoken. Nothing to it at all. This crazy female— this crazy idea
about the insurance. A thousand devils, she'd get them all in jail
with her if she tried that! And try to talk to her! Sure, sure, the
ordinary thing, the diamond necklace, the bearer bonds, it's just
another little deal, you keep it, easy— the insurance company
can't prove anything. But a deal like this, just not good sense. The
customs— Two hundred thousand—

For that matter, try to talk to Donovan, who was just
as crazy. These low-class robbers, no understanding of finesse, not
the most rudimentary cunning. It was a simple matter of supply and
demand, couldn't he see that? Here was a thing almost impossible for
a fence to dispose of in the underworld market: no fence would take
it off his hands, much less give him ten thousand for it. And here
was a buyer willing to pay that. One could not be too greedy: it
never paid in the end. One had to sell goods for what one could get.
And now, because Donovan got this crazy idea in his head—

Mr. Skyros swore again. He had the dreadful feeling
that this thing, which had looked so little, so easy, was putting him
in personal danger. He had always been so careful (like Bratti, and
one thousand curses on him too) to keep clear of the business on the
surface, stay looking respectable. If any of this came out at all . .
. And Domokous had come very close to connecting him. Inevitable that
he'd had to appear in that business, and it had been a brilliant
inspiration, to try for two birds with one stone, involve Bratti in
the death— but had it come off? He hadn't dared say more. He was
confident in any case that Domokous was written off safely.

 
But he felt as if he was walking a tightrope
between Donovan and this crazy woman. Just because both of them were
so greedy. The love of money, reflected Mr. Skyros unhappily, is the
root of all evil. Indeed.

And about that time his
bookkeeper came in to tell him that the  police had been there
asking questions about Domokous, and gave him something else to worry
about.

* * *

"Listen, I don't like it, Jackie," said
Denny Donovan anxiously to his brother. "Ask me, the quicker
we're out from under this one the better. Why, hell, it's all gravy
anyways— only luck I got the stuff first place— "

“
I ain't no flat wheel," said Jackie Donovan
obstinately. "Who was it had sense enough find out how much it
is worth, 'stead o' taking this Skyros' word for it? Anybody crazy,
pay two hundred G's for that, but that's what the guy said, I told
you. So O.K., we don't let go for less 'n twenty."

" 'S bad luck," said a dreamy voice from
the other side of the room. "Allus bad luck, anythin' to do with
an ace o' spades— bad luck. Don't want mess with it, Jackie. Get
shut o' the hot stuff, an' shut o' the ace o' spades."

"What the hell!" said Jackie. "So what
if she's an ace o' spades? I ain't so damn superstitious. You guys
lost any sense you had since I got sent across, ain't been here keep
an eye out, fix deals for you. Angelo never did have much, but look
at him now-out on a sleigh ride half the time— "

"I quit any time I want, Jackie," said
Angelo in the same dreamy voice, "any time. Don't matter.
Smarter'n some guys, before or after a Ex, me— never got inside on
a taxi, I didn't."

"You just shut up! And you just as bad, Denny—
lost your nerve, gone to pieces! Don't tell me ain't all your fault
the kid brother got it— if you'd held things together like, kept
it steady 'n quiet like I allus did, Frank wouldn't never've got onto
that lay, my God— sure there's money in it, but you got to draw a
line somewheres! So Angie thinks it's bad luck get mixed up with an
ace o' spades, so O.K., me, I think it's bad luck get mixed up with
pushers! But here's the deal thrown into our laps, and only sense to
get what the traffic'll stand!"

"I tell you, Jack, you kinda lost track o'
things while you been in."

Denny was nervous, criticizing. "It just ain't
so easy no more, make a living. Don't pay near so good, account o'
the cops are different, sort of, even worse 'n just fifteen years
back. You can't blame Frank— just the breaks, it was— besides,
Jack, like I said I don't figure it was awful damn safe, go out to
that museum place like you did— I mean, hell, they ain't got
nothing to lose, they mighta called the cops right off— "

"My God, you ain't seen no sign of it, have you?
So O.K., they didn't bite on buyin' the stuff under the counter like
I maybe thought, it was just a try, anybody's crooked give 'em the
chance not get caught, even professors or— So it didn't come off,
but that guy told me what it's really worth, didn't he? Insured for
two hundred G's, he said— Oh, the hell with it! You just gone soft
in the head, Denny. Listen, you remember just how it used to be, see,
just let ol' Jackie do the brainwork for you, boyo. Don't worry about
nothing, just do how I say, and everything'll be O.K., see?"
Jackie Donovan banged him on the shoulder and made for the door.

"Where you going'?"

"None o' your business where— you hear what I
just say? Way it used to be, Denny— ol' J ack's the brains o' the
outfit, you just leave it to him and don't ask no questions, see?"

Denny watched him out uneasily. "I still don't
like it," he said half to himself. "Ask me, something fishy
about the whole deal, anybody pay so much as a sawbuck for that
stuff. Lot o' dirty old stuff you couldn't even— "

"Ask no questions, you get tol' no lies,"
said Angelo. He rolled over on the sagging old couch in the corner of
the shabby room and smiled sleepily at Denny. "Jackie, he get
some older inside, don't he? Maybe forget a li'l bit, how things go.
Maybe not the same ol' Jackie, fifteen years back, you guess?"

"I— well, kinda, I guess," said Denny
unwillingly. He fidgeted around the room. "Sure, I guess— only
natural, for a little while— you know, Angie, away that long—
only natural. He get back on an even keel, O.K., couple of months
maybe."

"Sure. Maybe. Look a lot older, Jackie."

"Well— fifteen years," said Denny. "I—
you know something crazy, what really bothers me— that damn car!
Crazy fool thing. This perfeckly good almost brand new Caddy I get
for him, a present, an' he says he can't handle it— goes off like
that an' stalls her, an' that place too— comes back with this piece
of old junk, my God, pickin' up a thing like that— stickin' me with
a hot short to get rid of! Says he can't get the hang o' these new
models, dashboard like a airplane or something— Jackie! Don't make
sense. Well, fifteen years . . . So O.K., maybe he's got something,
get all we can, but I don't like the setup. That Greek— well, I got
no grudge on him for bein' Frank's boss, he acted real sorry, he
allus treated Frank O.K., I guess, but— "

"Not Skyros watch out for. The ace o' spades.
Bad luck."

"Oh, damn it to
hell!" said Denny. "I wish to God I'd never picked that
damn place to knock over!"

* * *

"He quotes proverbs at me," said Madame
Bouvardier, "so I too remember one, Berthe. When in Rome one
behaves like a Roman."

"Yes, madame," said the maid stolidly.

"So— so!" Madame Bouvardier could not
think in silence; indeed, she seldom did anything in silence; and she
kept her excellent Berthe, though she was not chic or very
intelligent, because Berthe was utterly loyal and it did not matter
what one said before her. "Since I have no longer a husband to
arrange these affairs, I am pleased enough that this Skyros offers
himself, as a compatriot and a sympathizer, to help me come in touch
with these robbers. But no, I am not a fool, and I have now thought
twice. Since when should a Skyros be so obliging for no profit? I
think perhaps he gets a little piece of that money, and when I agree
at once to the price, they think I am so anxious I will pay anything!
Well, they must think again. Berthe, I will have another glass of
wine."

"Yes, madame."

"It is true I am anxious to have it— in his
dotage, my father was, heaven rest him— to think of selling it in
America! Sacrilege! These precious relics of our nation's past— of
course it is also true that for the moment it would perhaps be unsafe
that the collection remain in Athens, so close to these
never-enough-to-be-cursed Russians, who knows what enormity they
conceive next? But it should not be in America, for these uncouth
strangers to own! We shall see that it is taken out safely, Berthe. I
say we, for you are the seamstress, and I have thought of an
excellent way to carry it. It shall all be sewn in the hems of my
clothes— piece by piece— well wrapped, of course, and only a few
in each, lest the weight make the customs officers suspicious. But
this is for the future. Before, there is this Donovan." She
sipped wine reflectively. "Skyros need not think I am so
ignorant. I have seen on the Elms how it is here, with the gangsters.
Quite like the war, Berthe, This little gang and that little gang,
and bitter rivalries between. And the police are not at all like the
police in Paris, intelligent and honorable men— they are quite as
bad as the gangsters, everyone knows that. They would not interfere
if they were paid— but only if it is necessary, I do not want to
pauperize myself in this affair. We shall see, about that. For the
rest, well! This red-haired woman of Donovan's— this Alison Weir—
has told him my message by now, he has one more day to take the
offered price. If he does not— " She got up and paced back and
forth to the window, to the little wine-table, sipping again. "Ah,
let him try to give me the stall— I know a trick for that too!
These gangsters, one may hire them. One goes to them and says, such a
one I wish shot, and the bargain is made.
Voil
á!
And I even know one, or at least the name, I remember one small thing
Skyros says— it is as if to himself, but I hear the name. Italian—
all gangsters are Italians. Except a few like this Donovan who are
Irishmen. I have not made up my mind whether I have him shoot Donovan
or this red-haired woman— Answer the door, Berthe."

When the maid came clumping back into the suite she
bore a card.

"It's the man who was here before, madame.
Monsieur Driscoll."

“
Ah, how annoying! But I must be very polite to
them, until they have paid me the money. Very well, let him come in."
 

SEVEN

Jackie Donovan sat on a bench in Pershing Square,
watching the pigeons, and smoked cigarettes nervously. Pigeons! he
thought, savage at himself. Him, Donovan, two weeks out and he sat
watching pigeons in the park. The hell of a lot of things he'd kept
thinking about, wanting, if promising himself for when he got out,
and what the hell was wrong with him, he couldn't just go and—

All different, somehow. He felt he couldn't get a
hold on anything. Like the car. Damn good of Denny, have it all ready
and waiting like that. Handling cars since he was a kid, God, the
first job he'd got dropped on for was hopping shorts— but it was
different. Kept reaching for the clutch, just habit; my God, he'd
driven a couple those first automatics that come out, couple years
before he was sent across this time, he ought to catch on quicker.
And tell the truth, these freeways, they scared the bejesus out of
him. They had different kinds of signals too, those little green
arrows, first off he couldn't figure them out. Oh, hell, give him a
little time, things bound to be kind of strange at first. That was
the longest stretch he'd done, after all. Fifteen years.

The women looked different too. Wearing skirts short
again, well, that was 0.K., but most of them, it looked like, with
these funny short haircuts too— crazy— straight, like a man's,
left just anyhow, not curled.

But things like that he'd kind of expected. Bound to
be changes. Have to get used to things outside again.

What he hadn't expected, what made him feel funny
inside, was this— this not being sure. Him, Donovan! Always the
brains— ask Jackie, Jackie'll know just how— and God, he didn't,
no more. Things in the business changed too, all kinds of the
business, names he didn't know, all the old fences gone, new fellows
all over. He felt kind of still out of everything.

And some things he'd pulled— Jesus, a ten-year-old
kid swiping stuff off dime store counters'd know better— Him,
Donovan. Been on the list of Ten Most Wanted, once, he had. A
big-timer.