"MacDonald, John - Travis McGee 06 - Bright Orange for the Shroud" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacDonald John D)

"Stebber left soon after that?"

"A day or two later. About then Boo Waxwell began to hang around. He'd drop in without warning. It was obvious to me that he was attracted to Wilma. And she seemed too friendly toward him. When I complained to her, she said Calvin Stebber had said we had to be friendly to him. I tried to find out from Waxwell how things were going, but he'd just laugh and tell me not to sweat."

"When did they ask for more?"

"On August first I got a letter from Crane Watts. It referred to paragraph something, sub-paragraph something, and asked for my check in the amount of thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-three dollars and thirty-four cents at my earliest convenience. I was shocked. I dug out my copy and looked at the paragraph. It said that members of the syndicate could be assessed on the basis of participation to cover additional expenses. I went to see him right away. He wasn't as friendly as before. I hadn't seen his office before. It was north of the city on the Tamiami Trail, and it was just a cubicle in a roadside real estate office. He acted as if I was taking up valuable time. He said that negotiations had progressed to the point where the Kippler heirs had decided they wanted thirty-five dollars option money per acre, which meant the syndicate members had to come up with an additional three hundred and five thousand dollars, and simple mathematics showed that 9.15 percent of that was what he had requested by letter.

"I said that I didn't think I could make it, and that I guessed I'd just have to accept a proportional reduction of my share of the venture. He gave me a funny look and said he could understand my request, but if I had examined the subparagraph immediately following, certainly I'd realize it couldn't be done. I hadn't brought it. He got out an office copy and showed me the paragraph. It said, in effect, that if any participant failed to meet approved assessments, his share of the venture was forfeit, and would be divided among the remaining members in proportion to the interest they held at the time. He said it was perfectly

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legal, and the document had been signed, notarized and recorded.

"I went back to the beach house and it took me quite a while to get it through Wilma's head. Finally she understood that unless I came up with the additional money, we'd lose the two hundred thousand. She said it wasn't fair. She said she would phone Calvin Stebber and get it all straightened out. I don't know where she finally located him. She didn't want me in the room. She said I made her nervous. After she talked to him, she came out and told me that he'd said his hands were tied. If he made any special arrangement for me, the others would raise hell. She said she'd asked him if he'd buy my share out, but he said his cash position at the moment was too low even to consider it at that time. He recommended raising the money, saying it was undoubtedly the last assessment, and he was certain the deal would go through any day. Wilma was agitated for a long time, but finally we sat down and tried to work it all out. I had, at current market, about fifty-eight thousand left in just two stocks. Standard Oil of New Jersey and Continental Can. I was going to have to sell something anyway to meet current expenses, as we had five hundred in the bank and three thousand in unpaid bills. I left twenty thousand in stocks, paid Crane Watts and the bills and put three thousand in the checking account.

"On September first the option price went up to forty dollars an acre, and they asked for exactly the same amount again. By then I had four hundred in the bank and the twenty thousand. But I knew we had to raise it. I'd taken the agreement to another lawyer by then. He said it was ironclad, and only a damn fool would have signed such a thing. That was the time Wilma really cooperated. I thought that she was really beginning to understand the value of money. We sat down together and put everything into the pot. The rest of my stock, the car, my cameras, her furs and jewels. She went over to Miami and sold her stuff. We were just able to get it all together, with about four hundred dollars over. We paid off, and gave up the beach house and moved to a cheap motel room five or six blocks north of the intersection of Fifth Avenue and the Trail, the Citrus Blossom it was called. We cooked on a grill in the room.

She kept asking what in the world we'd ever do if they asked for more. And she'd cry. It was her idea that I should make up a list of old friends who might come in on a good thing. She kept after me. I didn't want to do it. Finally I had a list of thirty-two reasonably successful people who might be willing to trust me. She rewrote my letter several times, making it sound like the greatest opportunity in the world, and we made up thirty-two originals on the motel typewriter and sent them off, asking for a minimum of one thousand each, and any amount up to ten thousand they might want to put in. Then we waited. There were sixteen replies. Eight of them said they were sorry. Eight sent money. Four of them sent a thousand each. Two sent five hundred. One sent a hundred dollars and one sent fifty dollars. Fifty-one hundred and fifty that we put in the joint account. No letters came in the next week. I sent signed notes to the eight friends as I had promised in the original letter. Then I got a call at the motel from Crane Watts. Calvin Stebber was staying at the Three Crowns in Sarasota and he wanted us to come up and see him. Watts said it might be good news. Wilma had such a headache she said I better go alone. We had no car. I took a Trailways bus to Sarasota and got there at five o'clock, and at the desk they told me Mr. Stebber had checked out but he had left a message for a Mr. Wilkinson. I identified myself and they gave it to me. It merely said that it looked as if it might be another six months or so before the deal would go through, and probably before the time was up there would be another assessment, just a small one, for operating expenses. My share would probably not be over eight or ten thousand.

"I just sat there. I couldn't seem to think clearly. I took a bus back. I didn't get to the motel until a little after midnight. My key wouldn't work. I hammered on the door. Wilma didn't answer. I went to the office and the owner came to the door after I'd rung the night bell a long time. He said the lock had been changed and he hadn't been paid for two weeks, and he was holding my clothes and luggage until I paid up. I said there was some mistake, that my wife had paid him. He said she hadn't. I asked where she was, and he said that in the middle of the afternoon he'd seen her and some man carrying suitcases out to a car and driving away, and it made him think we were

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going to beat him out of the rent, so he had put my stuff in storage and changed the lock. He hadn't noticed the car particularly, just that it was a palecolored car with Florida plates. She hadn't left any message for me. I walked around the rest of the night. When the bank opened I found out she'd cleaned out the account the previous morning, when I thought she'd gone grocery shopping and came home with that headache."

Toward the end of it his voice had grown dull and listless. Chook stirred and sighed. A gust of the freshening breeze swung the boat, and some predatory night bird went by, honking with anguish.

"But you found her again, later on," I said, to get him started.

"I'm pretty tired."

Chook reached and patted him. "You go to bed, honey. Want me to fix you anything?"

"No thanks," he murmured. He got up with an effort and went below, saying goodnight to us as the screened door hissed shut.

"Poor wounded bastard," Chook said in a half whisper.

"It was a very thorough job. They got everything except the clothes he had on. They even milked old friendships."

"He hasn't much resistance yet. Or much spirit."

"Both of those are up to you."

"Sure, but try to make it a little easier on him, Trav, huh?"

"She took off in late September. It's late May, Chook. The trail is eight months cold. Where are they, and how much do they have left? And just how smart are they? One thing seems obvious. Wilma was the bird dog. Rope a live one and bring him to Naples. Remember, she got booted off that cruiser out of Savannah. I think there was one on there a little too shrewd for her, so she took a long look at what we had around here. And picked Arthur. Marriage can lull suspicion, and she used sex as a whip, and when she had him completely tamed and sufficiently worried about money, she contacted Stebber to tell him the pigeon was ready for the pot. It was a professional job, honey. They made him ache to get in on it. They made him so eager he'd have signed his own death warrant without reading it."

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