The Con Man (13 page)

“Then not another word about it. It’s settled. We’re going to Bermuda.”

“I’d rather…I’d much rather start looking for a place…and… and furnishing it. We could take a short honeymoon, darling, but shouldn’t we—”

“Of course, what an idiot I am! Of course, we’ve got to find a place of our own. My apartment is much too small, especially if we plan on a family later on.” He looked at her as if he’d made a faux pas. “I…I remember your letter…the first one. You don’t like children.”

“Oh, I’d love your children,” she said.

He smiled tremulously. “Well, I…I just wasn’t sure. I…” He cocked his head to one side, as if his emotions were too much for him to bear, as if the pressure of his emotions had forced the movement of his head, the way a tidal wave causes a buoy to bob. “In any case, we’ve still got my ten thousand. That should furnish an apartment, all right.”

“And my money,” she added quietly.

“Your what?”

“The money I brought with me,” she said.

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten completely about it.” He smiled indulgently. “What is it, darling, something like five hundred dollars?”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “You know very well it’s closer to five
thousand
dollars,” she said.

“You’re joking!”

“I’m not. I’m serious.” She grinned, enjoying his boyish surprise, feeling as if she had given him an unexpected present.

“You took…You carried so much
cash
with you?”

“Of course not. Don’t you remember, darling? In one of my letters, I told you I would be closing out my bank account, and you suggested I carry it in traveler’s checks.”

“Yes, but I had no idea…five thousand dollars.”

“It’s really about forty-seven hundred,” she said.

“Still…Honey, you’ve got to put that in the bank right away.”

“Why?”

“So that it can start collecting interest. For God’s sake, why do you need forty-seven hundred dollars in traveler’s checks?”

“You’re right,” she said.

“Tomorrow, early in the morning,” he said, “before the wedding, we’ll open an account for you at my bank.”

“A separate account, do you mean?” she asked.

“Naturally. It’s your money, isn’t it?”

“A little while ago, you said…you said when we were married everything you had was mine.”

“Of course it is. You know that, darling. I meant every word I said.”

“Then aren’t you being a bit unfair?” she asked.

“Unfair? How?” He seemed very troubled. “What have I done, Pris? Have I said something wrong?”

“You said separate account.”

“I don’t understand.”

She leaned across the table, and her eyes held his in a steady gaze. “Tomorrow,” she said, “we’ll be married. I’ll go wherever you want to go and do whatever you want to do. I’ll be yours—forever.
And that means completely. No games, no kidding. Forever. I’ve waited a long time for you, darling, and I expect this to be for keeps. Tomorrow morning, we'll go to your bank. I’ll endorse the traveler’s checks and deposit the forty-seven hundred dollars in your account.”

He was already shaking his head.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

“I can’t allow you to do that,” he told her. “I’m sorry, Pris. I want you,
not
a dowry.”

“But it isn’t a dowry,” she said. “It’s simply a stake in our future together. Don’t you think I have a right to invest in our future?”

“Well—”

“You mustn’t be stubborn about this, darling, really. It’s the least I can bring to you. Besides, I’ll feel as if all those lonely years of working and saving haven’t gone for nothing. They’ll have been worthwhile; they’ll have been building for you…and for me.”

“Well talk about it in the morning,” he said.

“It’s settled, as far as I’m concerned. That’s the first thing we’ll do, before we do anything else.”

He seemed very worried about something.

She squeezed his hand and said, “What is it, darling?”

“I feel like a positive…I don’t know…a…a moneylender or something!” he said vehemently.

“How silly you are,” she said gently.

“To go into a bank with you and stand by while you endorse those checks and then deposit them in my account.” He shook his head. “I’d feel like a…like a gigolo! No, I won’t do it, Pris.”

“Would it embarrass you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll cash them at the hotel, then.”

“I don’t want you to cash them at all,” he said. “But I suppose I’d feel a lot easier if you cashed them there.”

“All right, I’ll have them cashed at the hotel. I’ll have the money in good American currency when you come to call for me. To take me to my wedding.”

He grinned. “I suppose I am being foolish. All right, cash them at the hotel. Then we’ll go to the bank, deposit the money, and away we go. To our wedding.”

“There’s a waiting period in this state, isn’t there?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ll drive out of the state. Look, let’s do it right. I’ll call for you at about ten. You’ll have the checks cashed by then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll go to the bank and deposit them in my account, if that’s what you want, and then we’ll make a day of it. We’ll have lunch downtown someplace—I know some very nice places—and then we’ll drive out of the state. We’ll just take our honeymoon as it comes, shall we? We’ll stop wherever we feel like stopping.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said.

“Good. Let’s have another drink to it, shall we?”

He snapped his fingers for the waiter, and while they waited for him to come to their table, she leaned over and whispered the three most expensive words in the English language.

“I love you.”

And he looked at her with tender guile and answered with the three cheapest words in the English language.

“I love you.”

There was, in Teddy Carella, the constant fear that she didn’t do enough for her husband.

Perhaps it was because she lacked the power of speech. She could not whisper the expensive words or the cheap words or any words. She could only show him how much she loved him, could only invent for him a thousand and one ways to show that she was his. She felt, you see, that she would eventually bore him. She
felt that he would eventually seek a woman who could tell him the things his ears undoubtedly longed to hear—and she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her face told him all he had to know.

Her devotion to invention, however, made her an excellent wife, a wife full of surprises, a wife who constantly delighted Carella and diverted Carella and made his life a day-by-day birthday party. In all truth, Teddy Carella would have been that kind of a wife even if she
could
speak. She was simply that kind of a person. Her ancestry was part Irish and part Scotch, but there was something of the Oriental philosophy in her attitude toward her husband. She wanted to please him. If he were pleased, she in turn would be pleased. She didn’t have to read a book to know that love was a many-splendored thing.

And since her attitude was definitely Oriental, it was not surprising that her mind often returned to the jovial Charlie Chen and to the cherished butterfly design that adorned the wall of his shop.

What would Steve’s reactions be if he came to her one night, found her in a flimsy nightgown, and upon lowering one of the delicate straps to kiss her shoulder, discovered there a lacy, black butterfly?

The prospect delighted her imagination.

The more she thought of it, the better the idea seemed. She was sure that Steve would be pleased. And, too, she was sure that Charlie Chen would be pleased. And, without a doubt, she herself would be pleased. There was something terribly risky and ridiculous about having a butterfly tattoo put on your shoulder. The idea was exciting. Even thinking about it, she could hardly contain her excitement.

But would it be very painful?
she wondered.

Yes, it probably would be very painful. Although, Chen seemed like a man you could trust. Chen seemed like a man who
would not hurt her. And Chen knew how much she loved her husband. That was important somehow. The butterfly would be a gift to Steve, and it should rightfully be tattooed by a man who knew and understood a woman’s love for her man.

Pain be damned,
she thought,
I shall do it!

NOW!

She glanced at the clock. No, not now. Steve would be home for dinner soon, so not now. She went to the desk calendar and flipped the pages. She had a dental appointment day after tomorrow, but she was free all day tomorrow.

Would it really look attractive in a strapless gown?

Yes, if Chen did it delicately, a small black butterfly poised for flight.

She made her mental assignation. Tomorrow, after lunch, she would visit Charlie Chen.

And then, a live, dark butterfly poised for flight, she busied herself around the apartment, waiting for Steve, her secret humming inside her.

The young man had problems of his own.

He walked the streets of the city, and he concentrated on his problems, and he considered what happened to him, the greatest kind of good fortune.

The young man was dressed neatly and conservatively. He looked as if he might have money in the bank. He didn’t look overly bright. He walked the streets of the city, and now that the rain had stopped, it wasn’t so bad at all. People were beginning to appear in the streets, like victims of a siege after the shelling has stopped. The sky was still gray, but the clouds were tearing away in spots like gauzy cheesecloth, and the sun was trying desperately to push its way through. In the gutters, the accumulation of water sped for the sewers, carrying the miscellaneous refuse of the day. The kids rolled up their trouser legs and splashed in the water, stomping their feet. Store owners came out onto the sidewalk, stood looking up at the sky with hands on hips for a
moment, and then went to roll up their awnings. A pair of lovers emerged from a dark hallway where they had stopped to wait out the rain. The girl’s mouth had been kissed hard, and the boy’s mouth carried lipstick, which had been bruised into the skin. Together, they walked briskly up the street, navigating the large puddles that dotted the sidewalk.

Everything stops,
the young man thought.
The rain stops, and the sun comes out, and then the sun stops, and the rain begins. When will my particular problem stop?

A boy on a bicycle rode past, his wheels creating hissing canopies of water as he raced alongside the sidewalk.

The young man watched the boy on the bicycle. He sighed heavily. There were two men standing on the sidewalk near the corner. One of the men was a redhead. The other man was tall, with dark hair, and he wore a dark-blue suit.

The young man gave them a cursory glance. As he approached them, the man in the blue suit stepped into his path.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The young man looked up.

“My name is Charlie Parsons. I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” the young man asked.

“This fellow here,” Parsons said, indicating the redhead, “has a gold coin, and I might be interested in buying it from him. Trouble is, I left my glasses home, and I can’t read the date on it. I wonder if you’d be so kind.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, I’m in sort of a hurry,” he said.

“It’ll only take a minute, and I’d certainly appreciate it.”

“Well,” the young man said, “where’s the coin?”

The redhead produced a large gold coin. “Picked it up in Japan,” he said. “I just got back from there. I was in the Army until last week. Just got discharged.” The redhead grinned disarmingly. He seemed like a simple country boy. “My name’s Frank O’Neill.”

The young man simply nodded and took the coin. “What am I supposed to look for?” he asked.

“The date,” Parsons told him. “Should be on the bottom there someplace.”

“On the bott…Oh yes, here it is. 1801.”

“1801?” Parsons said. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says. 1801.”

“Why, that’s…” Parsons stopped himself.

O’Neill was looking at him. “That makes it pretty old, don’t it?” he asked innocently.

Parsons cleared his throat. Obviously, he had stumbled upon something of real value and was now trying to hide his find. “No, that’s not very old at all. In fact, I’d say that’s a pretty common coin. The only surprising thing about it is that you were able to find a Russian coin in Japan.”

The young man looked at Parsons and then at O’Neill. “Russia once had a war with Japan, you know,” he said.

“Say, that’s right,” O’Neill said. “Bet that’s how the coin happened to be there. Damn, if you can’t pick up all kinds of junk in the interior of that country.”

“I might still be interested in buying the coin,” Parsons said guardedly. “Just as a curiosity piece, you understand. You know, a Russian coin that found its way to Japan.”

“Well,” O’Neill said, “I got it for a pack of cigarettes.” His candid naïveté was remarkable. “That’s all it cost me.”

“I couldn’t let you have more than ten dollars for it,” Parsons said judiciously. In an aside, he winked at the young man.

The young man stared at him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“I’d say you just bought yourself a gold coin,” O’Neill said, grinning.

Parsons reached into his wallet, trying to hide his haste. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to O’Neill. “Do you have any change?” he asked.

“No, I don’t,” O’Neill said. “Let me have the bill, and I’ll cash it in that cigar store.”

Parsons gave him the bill, and O’Neill went into the cigar store on the corner. As soon as he was gone, Parsons turned to the young man.

“Jesus,” he said, “do you know what that coin is worth?”

“No,” the young man said.

“At least two hundred dollars! And he’s letting me have it for ten!”

“You’re pretty lucky,” the young man said.

“Lucky, hell. I spotted him for a hick from the minute I saw him. I’m just wondering what else he’s got to sell.”

“I doubt if he’s got anything else,” the young man said.

“I don’t. He’s just back from Japan. Who knows what else he may have picked up? I’m going to pump him when he gets back.”

“Well, I’ll be running along,” the young man said.

“No, stick around, will you? I may need your eyesight. What a time to forget my glasses, huh?”

O’Neill was coming out of the cigar store. He had got two tens for the twenty, and he handed one of the tens and the gold coin to Parsons. The other ten he put into his pocket. “Well,” he said, “much obliged.” He started to go, and Parsons laid a hand on his arm.

“You said…uh…that you could get all kinds of junk in the interior. What…uh…did you have in mind?”

“Oh, all kinds of junk,” O’Neill said.

“Like what?”

“Well, I picked up some pearls,” O’Neill said. “As a matter of fact, I’m sorry I did.”

“Why?”

“Damn things cost me a fortune, and I could use some money right now.”

“How much did they cost you?” Parsons asked.

“Five hundred dollars,” O’Neill said, as if that were all the money in the world.

“Real pearls?”

“Sure. Black ones.”

“Black pearls?” Parsons asked.

“Yeah. Here, you want to see them?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather bag. He unloosened the drawstrings on the bag and poured some of its contents into the palm of his hand. The pearls were not exactly black. They glowed with gray luminescence.

“There they are,” O’Neill said.

“That bag is full of them?” Parsons asked, taking one of the pearls and studying it.

“Yeah. Got about a hundred of them in there. Fellow I bought them from was an old Jap.”

“Are you sure they’re genuine?”

“Oh, sure,” O’Neill said.

“They’re not paste?”

“Would I pay five hundred dollars for paste?”

“Well, no. No, I guess not.” Parsons looked hastily to the young man. Then he turned to O’Neill. “Are you…are you…Did you want to sell these?”

“I tell you,” O’Neill said, “the Army discharged me here, and I live down South. I lost all my money on the boat took us back, and I’ll be damned if I know how I’m going to get home.”

“I’d be…ah…happy to give you five hundred dollars for these,” Parsons said. Quickly, he licked his lips, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Provided they’re genuine.”

“Oh, they’re real, all right. But I couldn’t let you have them for five hundred.”

“That’s what they cost you,” Parsons pointed out.

“Sure, but I had the trouble of making the deal and of carting them all the way back to the States. I wouldn’t let them go for less than a thousand.”

“Well, that’s kind of high,” Parsons said. “We don’t even know they’re genuine. They may be paste.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t try to stick you,” O’Neill said.

“I’ve been stuck before,” Parsons said. “After all, I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

“That’s true,” O’Neill said, “but I hope you don’t think I’d let you buy these pearls without having a jeweler look at them first.”

Parsons looked at him suspiciously. “How do I know the jeweler isn’t a friend of yours?”

“You can pick any jeweler you like. I won’t even come into the shop with you. I’ll give you the pearls, and I’ll wait outside. Listen, these are the real articles. Only reason I’m letting you have them so cheap is because I don’t want to fool around. I want to go home.”

“What do you think?” Parsons asked, turning to the young man.

“I don’t know,” the young man said.

“Will you come with us to a jeweler?”

“What for?”

“Come along,” Parsons said. “Please.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, all right,” he said.

They walked up the street until they came to a jewelry shop. The sign outside said:
REPAIRS, APPRAISALS
.

“This should do it,” Parsons said. “Let me have the pearls.”

O’Neill handed him the sack.

“You coming?” Parsons asked the young man.

“All right,” the young man said.

“You’ll see,” O’Neill said. “He’ll tell you they’re worth a thousand dollars.”

Together, Parsons and the young man went into the shop. O’Neill waited outside on the sidewalk.

The jeweler was a wizened old man bent over a watch. He did not look up. He kept his brow squeezed tight against the black eyepiece, and he picked at the watch like a man pulling meat from a lobster claw. Parsons cleared his throat. The jeweler did not look up. Together, they waited. A cuckoo clock on the wall chirped the time. It was 2:00
P.M.

Finally, the jeweler looked up. He opened his eyes wide, and the eyepiece fell into his open palm.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’d like some pearls appraised,” Parsons said.

“Where are they?”

“Right here,” Parsons said, extending the sack.

The jeweler loosened the drawstrings. He shook a few of the smoky gray globes into the palm of his hand.

“Nice size,” he said. “Nice sheen. Nice smoothness. What do you want to know?”

“Are they real?”

“They’re not paste, I can tell you that immediately.” He nodded. “Impossible to say whether they’re cultured or genuine Oriental without having them x-rayed, though. I’d have to send them out of the shop for that.”

“How much are they worth?” Parsons asked.

The jeweler shrugged. “If they’re cultured, you can get between ten and twenty-five dollars for each pearl. If they’re genuine Oriental, the price is much higher.”

“How much higher?”

“Judging from the size of these, I’d say between a hundred and two hundred for each pearl. At least a hundred.” He paused. “How much did you want for them?”

“A thousand,” Parsons said.

“You’ve got a sale,” the jeweler answered.

“I’m not selling,” Parsons said. “I’m buying.”

“How many are in that sack?” the jeweler asked. “About seventy-five pearls?”

“A hundred,” Parsons said.

“Then you can’t go wrong. Even if they’re cultured, you’d get at least ten dollars for each pearl—so there’s your thousand right there. And if they’re genuine Oriental, you stand to make a phenomenal profit. If they’re genuine Oriental, you can get back ten times your investment. I’d have them x-rayed at once, if I were you.”

Parsons grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” the jeweler said. He put his eyepiece back in place and bent over his watch again.

Parsons took the young man to one side. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Looks like a good deal,” the young man said.

“I know. Listen, I can’t let this hick get away from me.”

“He’s willing to sell. What makes you think he’ll try to get away?”

“That’s just it. If these pearls are genuine Oriental, he’s sitting on a fortune. I’ve got to buy them before he has them x-rayed himself.”

“I see what you mean,” the young man said.

“The trouble is, I live in the next state. By the time I got to my bank, it’d be closed. This fellow isn’t going to wait until tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

“I guess not,” the young man said.

“Do you live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Do you bank here?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a thousand dollars in the bank?”

“Yes.”

“I hate to do this,” Parsons said.

“Hate to do what?”

Parsons smiled. “I hate to cut you in on such a sweet deal.”

“Would you?” the young man asked, interest showing in his eyes.

“What choice do I have? If I asked our hick to wait until tomorrow, I’d lose him.”

“Fifty-fifty split?” the young man asked.

“Now, wait a minute,” Parsons said.

“Why not? I’ll be putting up the money.”

“Only until tomorrow. Besides, he’s my hick. You wouldn’t have known anything about this if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“Sure, but you can’t buy those pearls if I don’t go to the bank.”

“That’s true.” Parsons’ eyes narrowed. “How do I know you won’t take the pearls and then refuse to sell me my half tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” the young man said.

“I want your address and telephone number,” Parsons said.