Try This One On For Size Part 1

Try This One On For Size.

James Hadley Chase.

1980.

chapter one.

Claude Kendrick, owner of the Kendrick Gallery, back from his August vacation, sat at his desk making plans for another prosperous season.

The heat and the humidity that turned Paradise City, the billionairesa playground, into a dead city was now in the past. September had arrived, and the city was coming alive with the rich, the jet set and the tourists.

Recognized as a character in the city, Kendrick was a tall, enormously fat queer who resembled a dolphin without, it had been said, the amiable expression of a dolphin. There were times when he resembled a man-eating shark.

Although immaculately dressed at all times, Kendrick, bald as an egg, wore an ill-fitting orange-coloured wig and pale pink lipstick. When he met a lady client on the street, he would raise his wig as if it were a hat. In spite of his enormous bulk and his eccentricities, he was considered in the art world as an expert in antiques, jewellery and modern paintings. His gallery was known and patronised by the worldas collectors. What was not known was that Kendrick was one of the most important and active fences in the United States, and was in constant touch with all the expert art thieves where art treasures were to be found.

Many of Kendrickas clients had their own private museums for their eyes only. It was with these clients that Kendrick did most of his lucrative business. A client would see some art treasure in some museum or in some friendas house and would covet it with that l.u.s.t only fanatical collectors have. Eventually, unable to control the gnawing urge to possess this particular treasure, he would come to Kendrick and drop a hint: if the so-and-so museum or Mr. so-and-so would sell this particular treasure, money would be no object. Knowing the treasure was not for sale at any price, Kendrick would discuss a price, then say he would see what he could arrange. The collector, knowing from past dealings with Kendrick that the affair would work out to his satisfaction, would return to his secret museum and wait.

Kendrick would alert one of his many art thieves, discuss terms and also wait. Eventually the art treasure would mysteriously disappear from the so-and-so museum or from Mr. so-and-soas collection and arrive at the collectoras secret museum. A large sum of money would arrive in Kendrickas Swiss bank in Zurich.

Having spent the month of August on his yacht, sailing the Caribbean sea, in the amusing company of male ballet dancers, Kendrick, refreshed, heavily suntanned, took pleasure to be, once again, seated at his desk, turning his expertise and his crooked mind to making money.

Louis de Marney, Kendrickas head salesman, slid into the vast room with its picture window and its antiques in which Kendrick worked.

Louis was thin and could be any age from twenty-five to forty. His long thick hair was the colour of sable. His lean face, close-set eyes and pinched mouth gave him the appearance of a suspicious rat.

aSurprise!a he exclaimed in his high-pitched voice. aYouall never guess! Ed Haddon!a Kendrick stiffened.

aHere?a aWaiting!a Kendrick laid down his gold pencil. His fat face moved into his shark-like smile.

Ed Haddon was the King of art thieves: a brilliant operator who appeared to live the immaculate life of a retired businessman, paying his taxes, moving to his various apartments in Fort Lauderdale, the South of France, Paris and London.

Although he had been operating for some twenty years, organising some of the biggest art steals, he had so covered his tracks that the police of the world had no suspicions of his nefarious deals. He was the mastermind who planned, organised and directed a group of experts who did his bidding.

It was seldom that he worked with Kendrick, but when he did, the profit for Kendrick was always substantial.

aHurry, stupid,a Kendrick said, lumbering to his feet. aSend him in.a Louis fluttered away, and Kendrick - at the door to greet Haddon, his smile oily, his hand thrust out.

aEd, darling! What a lovely surprise! Come in, come in! You are looking splendid, but then when donat you?a Ed Haddon stood in the doorway and regarded Kendrick, then he took and shook the offered hand.

aYou donat look so lousy yourself except for that G.o.d-awful wig,a he said, moving into the room.

aItas my trademark, Ed, dear boy,a Kendrick t.i.ttered. aNo one would recognise me without it.a Still holding Haddonas hand, he led him to a big comfortable chair. aSit down. Perhaps a gla.s.s of champagne?a Haddon could have been mistaken for a Congressman or even a Secretary of State. His appearance was impressive - tall, heavily built, with thick iron-grey hair, a florid, handsome face, steel-grey eyes and a benign smile which would have earned him a ma.s.s of votes had he considered running for Congress. Behind this facade was a razor-sharp brain and a ruthless and cunning mind.

aScotch on the rocks,a he said, taking out a cigar case and selecting a cigar. aWant one of these? Havana.a aNot this early,a Claude said, pouring the drink. aI am really delighted to see you after all this time. Itas been too long, Ed.a Haddon was looking around the vast room. His eyes examined the various pictures on the silk-covered walls.

aThatas nice,a he said, pointing to a picture above Kendrickas desk. aNice brushwork. Monet, huh? A fake, of course.a Claude brought the drink and set it on a small antique table by Haddonas side.

aOnly you and I know that, Ed,a he said. aI have an old trout, with too much money, nibbling.a Haddon laughed.

aAfter Monet, huh? Just to cover yourself.a aOf course, dear boy.a Claude made himself a dry martini, then went behind his desk and sat down. aItas not often you come to our fair city, Ed.a aNot staying long.a Haddon crossed one leg over the other. aHowas business, Claude?a aA little slow. Itas the beginning of the season. The antiques will be moving soon. The rich will be back next week.a aI mean . . . business,a Haddon said, his steel-grey eyes probing.

aAh!a Claude shook his head. aNothing right now. As a matter of fact I could handle something if it came my way.a Haddon lit his cigar and puffed smoke for a long moment.

aIave been trying to decide: whether you or Abe Salisman.a Claude flinched. The name Abe Salisman was always like a drop of acid on his tongue for Salisman was without doubt the biggest fence operating in New York. Many a time he had beaten Kendrick to a big deal. The two men hated each other as a mongoose hates a snake.

aCome now cheri,a he said. aYou donat want to deal with a cheap shyster like Abe. You know you can get a better price from me. Have I ever cheated you?a aYouave never had the chance, nor has Abe. This is a matter of big, fast cash. Itall run to six million.a Haddon puffed smoke. aI want three.a aSix million isnat impossible,a Claude said slowly, his shark-like mind active. aDepends on the goods, of course. There is a lot of money around for something special, Ed.a aThereas not all that money right now in New York. Thatas why Iam giving you the first offer.a Claude put on his dolphin smile.

aAppreciated, dear boy. Tell me.a aThe Hermitage exhibition.a aAh!a The look of greed faded from Kendrickas eyes. aVery nice. I have the catalogue.a He opened a desk drawer and produced a thick, glossy brochure. aYes, very nice. Beautiful items. A gesture of detente. The Russian government lending some of its finest exhibits for the citizens of the United States of America to admire.a He flicked through the pages of coloured ill.u.s.trations. aMagnificent. Thousands taking advantage of this splendid cooperation between two of the most powerful countries.a He looked up and eyed Haddon who was smiling. aYes, but strictly not for you and strictly not for Abe and strictly not for me.a He sighed and laid down the catalogue.

aHave you finished shooting off with your mouth?a Haddon asked.

Claude took off his wig, stared at it, then slapped it crookedly back on his head.

aJust thoughts, dear Ed. I often think aloud.a aLook at page fifty-four,a Haddon said.

Claude licked his fat thumb and turned the pages of the catalogue.

aYes. Very nice. What does it say? Icon, date unknown, thought to be the earliest icon in existence. Known to be Catherine the Greatas most treasured possession.a He regarded the ill.u.s.tration. aMade of wood, painted, showing some unknown Russian saint. Excellent state of preservation. Size 8 by 10 inches. Not everyoneas choice. The mob would pa.s.s it by. Very interesting as a collectoras piece.a aIn the open market, it would be worth twenty million dollars,a Haddon said quietly.

aIall accept that, but obviously the Russians wouldnat sell, dear boy.a Haddon leaned forward, his steel-grey eyes like the points of ice picks.

aCould you sell it, Claude?a Kendrick found that in spite of the air-conditioning, he was sweating slightly. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

aIt is possible to sell anything, but this icon could cause trouble.a aNever mind the trouble. Itas yours for three million,a Haddon said.

Kendrick finished his martini. He felt in need of another.

aLet me refresh your drink, Ed. This needs a little thought.a He plodded over to the liquor cabinet and made two more drinks, his mind very active.

aI havenat much time,a Haddon said, accepting the drink. aThe exhibition closes in two weeks. Itas either to be you or Abe.a Claude returned to his desk and sat down.

aLetas look closely at this, Ed,a he said, aI visited the Fine Arts Museum when I was in Was.h.i.+ngton a year ago. It seemed to me then that their security precautions were impressive. I understand from what Iave read that the security precautions for this exhibition have been tightened and the chances of a steal there are nil.a Haddon nodded.

aOh, sure. Iave gone into all that. Not only have the museum guards been increased, but the Feds and the CIA and plainclothes cops are swarming all over. Not only that but the Russians have supplied five of their own cops to add to the merry crowd. All visitors are checked. No man nor woman is allowed to take in a bag or a handbag. All visitors go through the electronic screen. Yeah, I admit they have done an impressive job.a Claude lifted his fat shoulders.

aSo . . .a aYeah. I like handling impossible steals, Claude. I have never failed to get what I want, and Iam telling you if you can sell the icon and pay me three million bucks into my Swiss account, the icon is yours.a Claude thought back on the various big steals Haddon had organised. He remembered the five-foot high Ming vase that disappeared from the British Museum. That had been a masterpiece of organisation, but he hesitated. This was something different: the political angle would be dangerous.

aLet us suppose you get the icon, Ed,a he said cautiously. aI donat have to tell you this will cause an international incident or let us say an explosion. The heat will be very fierce.a aThatas your funeral, Claude. Once I give you the icon, you cope with the heat, but if you donat want to handle it, say so and Iall talk to Abe.a Kendrick hesitated, then the thought of a three-million dollar profit overcame his caution.

aGive me three days, Ed. I must talk to a client or two.a aFair enough. Iam at the Spanish Bay hotel. Let me know not later than Friday night. If you can find the right client, youall get the icon the following Tuesday.a Kendrick wiped the sweat off his face.

aJust to rea.s.sure me, dear Ed, tell me how you are going to get it.a Haddon got to his feet.

aLater. You get the client first, then weall have a talk about ways and means.a He stared long at Kendrick. aIall get it. You donat have to worry about that. See you,a and he left.

Kendrick sat thinking, then he opened one of the desk drawers and took out a leather-bound book in which he kept the names and addresses of his richest clients, all of them with secret museums.

Louis de Marney came fluttering in.

aWhat did he want, darling?a he asked. aBusiness?a Kendrick waved him away.

aDonat bother me,a he said. aDonat let anyone bother me. I have to think.a Knowing the signs, Louis left silently, closing the door. Big money was in the pipeline, and as Louis had a fifteen percent share in Kendrickas illegal operations, he was content to wait until his a.s.sistance was required.

It took Kendrick well over an hour to decide which of his clients he should approach. He needed someone interested in Russian art and who could raise six million dollars at short notice. Discarding name after name for one reason or another, princ.i.p.ally because of their lack of interest in Russian art, he finally turned to the Ras.

Herman Radnitz!

Of course! He should have thought of him at once.

Herman Radnitz had once been described by a journalist working for Le Figaro as follows: aRadnitz is Mr. Big Business. Suppose you want a dam built in Hong Kong. Suppose you want to launch a car-ferry service between England and Denmark. Suppose you want to install electrical equipment in China. Before you even begin to make plans, you consult Radnitz who would fix the financial end. Radnitz is in practically everything: s.h.i.+ps, oil, building construction, aircraft, and he has strong connections with the Soviet government, and he is on first name terms with the President of the United States of America. Heas probably the richest man, outside Saudi Arabia, in the world.a Yes, Radnitz, Kendrick thought, but this would have to be handled very carefully.

After more thought, he put through a call to the Belvedere hotel where he knew Radnitz was staying. After talking to Gustav Holtz, Radnitzas secretary, Kendrick was granted an interview at 10.00 the following morning.

During the month of August, crime in Paradise City had been practically non-existent. Apart from a few stolen cars and old ladies reporting the loss of their dogs, the police in this humid, sweaty city had little to do.

Chief of Police Fred Terrell was on vacation. Sergeant Joe Beigler, left in charge of the Cop house, spent his time in Terrellas office, drinking coffee and chain-smoking. Being an active man, he would have liked nothing better than a big jewel robbery or some such thing, but the thieves and the conmen didnat arrive until the rich and the jet set returned towards the middle of September.

In the Detectivesa room, Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski, tall dark and lean, had his feet on his desk while reading the comics. At another desk, Detective 2nd Grade Max Jacoby, four years younger than Lepski, dark and powerfully built, hammered out a stolen car report on his ancient typewriter.

The activity in the Detectivesa room, compared to six weeks ago, was as animated as the cityas morgue.

Jacoby yanked the paper and carbons from his typewriter and sat back.

aThatas that,a he said. aWhat else is there to do?a aNothing.a Lepski yawned. aWhy donat you go home? No point in both of us sitting around.a aIam doing the s.h.i.+ft until 22.00, worse luck. You go home.a Lepski gave a sly grin.

aOh, no. Iam not that crazy in the head. If I go home now, Carroll will insist I cut the lawn, and who wants to cut a G.o.dd.a.m.n lawn in this heat?a Jacoby nodded agreement.

aYou have a point. Phew! This heat kills me. We should have air-conditioning here.a aTalk to the Chief. You could persuade him. Anyway, itall be cooler in another few days.a aHow about your vacation, Tom? Youare off next week, arenat you? Where are you going?a Lepski released a laugh that would have frightened a hyena.

aMe? Iam going nowhere. Iam staying home. Iam going to sit in the garden and read a book.a aA book?a Jacoby gaped. aI didnat know you read books.a aI donat, but what the h.e.l.l? Itall make a change. I want to find out if Iam missing anything. From the look of the pictures on some of the books, I just could.a Jacoby thought for a long moment, brow rung.

aHow about Carroll?a he asked finally.

Lepski looked s.h.i.+fty.

aThereall be a little trouble, but I will handle it,a he said, unease in his voice. aYou know something? Carroll has crazy ideas. Right now, she is reading travel brochures. She wants us to tour California in a coach. Imagine! You know what these travel thieves want to take you all over California? Three weeks for three thousand dollars! Crazy! Anyway who wants to travel with a load of finks in a lousy coach? Not me!a Jacoby considered this.

aWell, itas a way of seeing the country. I wouldnat mind it. Carroll would have a ball. She likes chatting up people.a Lepski released a snort that fluttered the newspaper on his desk.

aListen, Max, no can do. Iam up to my eyes in hack payments. Every time I walk into my bank the teller stares at me as if I were a heist man. Tonight, Iam going to explain the situation to Carroll. Iave got out a balance sheet. Okay, sheall scream the house down, but figures are facts. Sheall have to sit on the lawn and read a book like Iam going to do.a Jacoby, who was a close friend both of Lepski and his bossy wife, Carroll, hid a grin.

aCanat see Carroll agreeing to that,a he said.

Lepski glared at him.

aIf thereas no money, thereas no vacation. Iave still to pay for that hairdryer she bought. Iam late on the car payments.a He drew in a long breath. aThen Iam late on that G.o.dd.a.m.n TV set she wanted. So . . . no money . . . no vacation.a aIam sorry, Tom. You and Carroll need a vacation.a aSo what? Weall have to do what thousands of finks are doing . . . stay at home.a Lepski got to his feet and wandered into the Chiefs office where he found Sergeant Beigler dozing behind Terrellas desk.

Beigler, freckled with sandy hair, yawned, rubbed a powerful fleshy hand over his face and grinned at Lepski.

aHow I hate this month,a he said. aNothing doing. Youare off next week on vacation . . . right?a aYeah.a Lepski prowled around the office. aAs soon as I go, I bet action starts. Listen, Joe, Iam not going away. Iam staying home, so if you want me, for G.o.das sake, call me.a aNot going away? Whatas Carroll going to say?a Beigler, like Jacoby, knew Carroll.

aNo money: no vacation,a Lepski said firmly, although he experienced a qualm. Carroll and he often fought although they wouldnat have been parted for the world. Unfortunately for him, Carroll always seemed to win their fights, and of this he was acutely aware. But this time, he kept telling himself, she must accept facts and be reasonable.

aYouare a betting man. Tom,a Beigler said with a cunning smile. aIall bet you ten to one you do take a vacation.a Lepski became alert.

aMake that in hundreds and youare on,a he said.

Beigler shook his head.

aTo win a hundred off me, youad break a leg, you Shylock.a The telephone bell rang. Charley Tanner, the desk sergeant, was having trouble with a rich old lady who had mislaid her cat.

aGo and help him, Tom,a Beigler said wearily. aItall help pa.s.s the time.a At 18.30, Lepski signed off. The air was cooler, and he decided this was the right time to talk to Carroll, and even cut the G.o.dd.a.m.n lawn. First, he decided, he would do the lawn, then have supper, then explain carefully to Carroll just why a vacation this year was not on.

He arrived at his cosy bungalow with his usual screeching of brakes. If nothing else, Lepski was a showoff, and he liked to impress his neighbours when he returned home. The finks, as he called them, were, as usual, in their gardens. They all gaped as Lepski got out of his car. This was something he liked, and he gave them a condescending wave of his hand, then he paused, and it was his turn to gape.

His lawn looked immaculate. When he had left home in the morning, the gra.s.s had been two inches high. Now, it looked like a billiard table: even the edges of the lawn had been trimmed: something he never did.

Carroll?

He pushed his hat to the back of his head. That wasnat possible. Carroll was a dimwit when handling the power mower. Only once had he persuaded her to have a try, and the result had been a damaged front gate and the loss of one of the rose beds.

Puzzled he walked up the path, opened the front door, and immediately his nose twitched. The smell of cooking that wafted out of the kitchen brought his gastric juices to attention. Usually, the smell coming from the kitchen to greet him made him wonder if the bungalow was on fire. Although Carroll was an ambitious cook, her efforts invariably ended m disaster.

The smell that was now greeting him came as a shock.

Cautiously he entered the small lobby and peered into the living room. Here again, he experienced a shock. On one of the small tables in the centre of the room was a vase filled with long-stemmed roses. Usually, Carroll cut the rather red looking roses from the garden, but these, in the vase, were the kind of roses some sucker would give a movie star in the hope of dragging her into his bed.

A sudden chill ran through Lepski. Was this day an anniversary he had forgotten? Lepski was hopeless about anniversaries. Had it not been for Max Jacoby who kept a birthday book and reminded Lepski,a"Carrollas birthday would have been forgotten.

What anniversary? Lepski stood gaping at the roses, trying to remember the date of his wedding anniversary. He knew it couldnat be Carrollas birthday. Only five months ago, Jacoby had saved him from disaster. But what anniversary?

Carroll was very touchy about any missed anniversary.

Lepski thought she was a nut about such dreary affairs. She considered it of vital importance that he should remember her birthday, his birthday, their wedding anniversary, the day he got promoted to First grade, the day they moved into their bungalow. If forgotten, she would make Lepskias life miserable for at least a week.

Lepski braced himself. He would have to play this off the cuff. He wished to G.o.d he could remember the date of their wedding anniversary: that was the important one. If he had slipped up on this one, he knew he would be in the doghouse for a month.

Then he heard Carroll, clattering pots and pans in the kitchen, burst into song. Her rendering of You, Me and Love set his teeth on edge. Carroll was no singer, but she had lots of lungpower.

Dazed, Lepski moved to the kitchen door and stared at his dark, pretty wife, wearing an ap.r.o.n and dancing around the kitchen, beating time to her singing with a wooden spoon.