1955 - You've Got It Coming (14 page)

Glorie ran into the other room, poured a stiff whisky and came back with it.

“Drink this, darling.”

Harry gulped down the whisky, shuddered and put down the glass.

“I can't believe it,” he muttered. “To think those punks had me cold, and they didn't do anything about it. They had me! They had only to take my prints and I was sunk.”

“Why should they?” Glorie said. “They can't take everyone's prints. Why should they think you were Harry Green?”

“Yeah, that's right. He looked at her, then reached out and pulled her down beside him. “I didn't mean what I said just now, baby. You know that, don't you? I was scared. I didn't know what I was saying. I'm sorry, Glorie, honest, I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. I know how you felt. I was scared too. Oh, darling, let's stop this before it's too late. We can mail the diamonds to Ben and then we're free of them. Let’s do it first thing in the morning. If s the only way. Please, Harry.”

He pulled away from her, got up and went over to the table and poured himself another drink.

“No. I got away with it, didn't I? I'd be a mug to pass up a million and a half bucks: that's what I should get for them. Think of it! Think what we can do with that much money. I'm going ahead with this and no one's going to stop me.”

She made a little movement of despair, then shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, all right, Harry: just as you say.”

II

T
he Far Eastern Trading Corporation had offices that spread over four floors of the National and Californian State Building on 27th Street.

The smartly-dressed, well-groomed girl at the reception desk looked at Harry with a kindly, patronizing smile that is usually reserved for simple-minded children when they have asked for the impossible.

“No, I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin, but Mr. Takamori never sees anyone except by appointment,” she said. “Perhaps Mr. Ludwig could help you? I'll see if he is disengaged.”

“I don't want Mr. Ludwig,” Harry said. “I want Mr. Takamori.”

“I'm sorry but that is quite impossible.” The kindly smile began to fade. “Mr. Takamori . . .”

“I heard you the first time,” Harry said, “but he'll see me.”

He took a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Give him that. You'll be surprised how anxious he'll be to have me walk in.”

She hesitated, then, lifting her shoulders, she touched a bell push. A small , boy in a fawn uniform with blue facings materialized from a nearby room and came to the desk.

“Give this note to Miss Schofield,” the girl said. “It's for Mr. Takamori.” As the boy went away, he went on to Harry, “Please sit down. Miss Schofield may be able to see you.”

Harry sat down, took out a cigarette and lit it. He was hot and nervous and jittery, but he managed not to show it.

It was now five days since the robbery. He and Glorie had been living in a small hotel in New York. He had left her there while he had returned to Los Angeles for this all-important interview with Takamori.

He had racked his brains for a safe method of dealing with Takamori, but without success. It had slowly and reluctantly dawned on him that if he were to get his hands on a million and a half dollars, he had to approach Takamori as himself, and not to attempt to go to him under a false name or in disguise.

That amount of money couldn’t be hidden. Even if he spread the amount over a dozen banks, he still couldn’t hide it. He would get into trouble with the tax people, and then the police would get after him. He had no alternative but to deal openly with Takamori. He had to gamble on Takamori wanting the diamonds so badly that he would be prepared to work with Harry and not with the police. If the gamble didn't come off, then Harry would be in trouble, but the way he was planning it, he wouldn't be in serious trouble and he felt the risk was worth it.

But Glorie had been horrified when Harry had outlined his plan to her. She had begged him not to go ahead with it. By now, Harry was getting tired of her opposition, and he had curtly told her not to interfere. Okay, he admitted it: it was a risk, but what did she expect if they were going to make that kind of money?

He sat in the deep armchair, his feet resting on the thick pile of the carpet and waited. There was a constant stream of men with brief cases coming to the desk. The girl handled them with the kindly, patronizing smile that made Harry itch to smack her.

She passed them on to various small boys who took them away down the corridor and out of Harry's sight. Still he sat there, smoking.

Thirty-five minutes and four cigarettes later, the boy who had taken his note came down the long corridor and went over to the girl at the reception desk. He said something to her, and Harry, who was watching her, saw her eyebrows shoot up.

“It's okay for you to see Mr. Takamori,” she said and smiled.

The smile was no longer patronizing. She was friendly and startled.

“I told you, didn't I?” Harry said and went after the boy who took him to a small elevator, whisked him up three floors, then conducted him down a passage to a solid walnut door before which the boy paused. He seemed to be gathering his strength and courage before he knocked. When he had knocked, a faint sound came from beyond the door. The boy turned the handle and let the door swing open. He stood aside, and Harry walked into a vast, luxurious office, panelled with polished walnut. He felt the pile of the carpet tickling his ankles as he crossed the room to the big desk behind a huge window that looked out on the east side of Los Angeles.

At the desk sat a little yellow man in a black coat and black-and-white check trousers, his greying hair slicked down, his small, compact face as expressionless as a hole in a wall.

He looked at Harry and waved a small, perfectly groomed hand towards a chair by the desk. Harry sat down, put his hat on the floor beside him, and blew a cloud of cigarette smoke towards the ceiling.

“It is Mr. Griffin—Harry Griffin?” the little man at the desk said, looking at Harry with bright, bird-like eyes.

“That's right,” Harry said. “You are Mr. Takamori?”

The little man nodded, reached out his hand and picked up Harry's note.

“You say here that you want to talk to me about diamonds. He dropped the note on his desk and sat back, folding his hands on the snowy white blotter. “What do you know about diamonds, Mr. Griffin?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “I happened to see in the newspaper a few days ago that you had persuaded the U.S. Consulate to allow you to export three million dollars’ worth of diamonds. The following morning I saw in the paper that the diamonds had been stolen. I thought you might be interested in getting them back.”

Takamori looked thoughtfully at him.

“Yes, I should be interested,” he said.

“I thought you would be.” Harry paused to flick ash off his cigarette, then he went on. “A day after the robbery, I happened to be driving to Sky Ranch airport on business and about two miles from the scene of the robbery I got a flat. I fixed it. I had some sandwiches with me and I thought I might just as well have lunch as I had stopped as to wait until I reached the airport. I went over to a sandhill and sat down. Half hidden in the sand was a square-shaped steel box. I had a little trouble in opening it as it was locked, but I got it open after a while. It was full of diamonds. There was also an invoice in the box that told me the diamonds came from the Far Eastern Trading Corporation and I realized they were the stolen diamonds. From the way the box was lying, it seems likely the thieves lost their nerve and threw the box out of the car window. I was going to hand the diamonds to the police, but the idea came to me that you and I might do a deal.”

Takamori leaned forward to stare at Harry.

“You actually have the diamonds?” he asked. His voice was as unexcited as if he were asking Harry the time of day.

“I actually have them,” Harry said.

Takamori sat back. He rubbed the side of his small, yellow nose with the forefinger of his right hand.

“I see,” he said, “and you thought you and I might do a deal. That is interesting. What kind of a deal had you in mind, Mr. Griffin?”

Harry stretched out his long legs. He stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal glass bowl on the occasional table at his side. He took another cigarette from his case and lit it. All the time he was doing this he stared into the dark, glittering eyes of Takamori.

“A business deal,” he said. “It seems to me—and correct me if I am wrong—that when someone has something that another party wants very badly, the someone would be a mug to hand it over for nothing.”

Takamori picked up a paper knife and examined it as if he had never seen it before.

“That is the basis of business, Mr. Griffin,” he said mildly, “but I understand in this country such a formula does not apply when dealing with stolen property. I understand it is not only the duty but the obligation of the finder to return what he has found and accept the reward. Is that not so?”

Harry smiled. He was feeling more at ease now, but he wasn't fooled by Takamori's mild manner.

“I guess that's right,” he said, “but I had another angle on this particular setup. I understand these diamonds are insured and that the brokers are covering you.”

“The brokers will cover me, Mr. Griffin, when they are quite sure the diamonds are not going to be recovered.”

“Yeah, that's the usual way the brokers work. They keep you waiting for your money, but that shouldn't bother you. From what I hear you have a lot of money, but what you haven t got is recognition and honours from your government. I’ve been digging into your background. It seems you've done quite a lot of good work for your country without much reward.”

Takamori laid down the paper knife “Should we keep to the point, Mr. Griffin?” he said, a slight rasp in his voice. “You were talking about finding the diamonds. I take it you propose to sell them to me.”

Harry leaned back in his chair.

“That's the idea.”

“And how much would you want for them?

“It's not as easy as that,” Harry said. “Taking cash presents difficulties. I want you to finance an idea of mine. It would be less tricky for me to make an arrangement like that.”

Takamori went back to his inspection of the paper knife.

“What would the amount involve, Mr. Griffin, always supposing the arrangement interested me?”

“It would run out at about a million and a half. The way I’ve planned it I couldn't take less.”

“That is a lot of money,” Takamori said, testing the point of the paper knife on the ball of his thumb. He seemed to find it sharp for he frowned and examined his thumb to see if he had drawn blood: he hadn't. “It has occurred to you, Mr. Griffin, that Chief of Police O'Harridan could not only persuade you to hand over the diamonds for nothing, but even arrange for you to remain in prison for some considerable time.”

Harry shrugged.

“He wouldn't persuade me to hand over the diamonds. I have them in a place where they won't be found. I agree he might be able to put me in prison, but I doubt it. It would be your word against mine, wouldn't it?”

“Not entirely,” Takamori said. “This conversation is being recorded on a tape machine. I have only to hand the tape to O'Harridan and he would have no difficulty in prosecuting you.”

Glorie had warned Harry that the conversation might be recorded and he had laughed at her. Now he knew she was right, he still wasn't flustered.

“Okay,” he said, leaning forward, “you have enough on your recorder to put me in prison. I admit it. Now suppose you turn it off so we can talk off the record. If my proposition doesn't suit you, send for the police, but at least listen to what I have to say. I'm not talking until you turn the recorder off.”

Takamori laid down the paper knife, again scratched his nose with the forefinger of his right hand, then he leaned forward and pressed down a button on his desk.

“The recorder is now no longer working, Mr. Griffin. What is your proposal?”

“Mind if I convince myself that it isn't working?”

Takamori opened a drawer in his desk.

“By all means.”

Harry got up, peered at the recorder, nodded and sat down again.

“Right. Now let's talk business. You have taken eighteen months to collect the diamonds and to get permission to export them. For this you are being received by your Emperor and he will honour you. I was in Japan, Mr. Takamori, during the war. I know a little of the background of your race, and I know you prize an audience with your Emperor pretty highly. You won't get the audience if you don't produce the diamonds. Okay, you can sick the cops on to me, but if you do, you'll never get the diamonds. There are plenty of other guys who can handle the diamonds and will be glad to take them off me. I had nothing to do with the robbery. My crime is finding the diamonds and asking money for them: that'll rate about three years; maybe if I come up against a tough judge, I'll draw five. I'm twenty-eight. In five years' time I shall be thirty-three, still young enough to enjoy the money I shall get for the diamonds when I sell them. In five years' time you'll be around seventy-three: you won't have all that time to enjoy an honour your Emperor may or may not give you if you dig up another batch of diamonds if—repeat if—the authorities here let you export them which I can't see them doing.” He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another while he stared at the expressionless, yellow face. “Rather than disappoint your Emperor and lose face, rather than wait to see if you can dig up another batch of diamonds, I think you'd be smart to deal with me. The way I see it, you will not only have the diamonds and your honour, but you will also clean up a profit of a million and a half bucks, and that sounds a pretty sound proposition to me.”

Takamori leaned back in his chair, his black, glistening eves resting on Harry's face.

“You have a persuasive manner, Mr. Griffin. How do you suggest I should make a profit on the deal?”

“It's obvious, isn't it? The diamonds are insured. The brokers eventually will pay up in full. You will get three million bucks within a year. You will have the diamonds. You don't have to tell the brokers you have got them back. You will finance my company for a million and a half and the other million and a half goes into your pocket. Simple, isn't it?”