Two
A little after 10.00 hrs. on this bright May morning, Girland came awake. He came awake by slow degrees, groaning a little, stretching and yawning, then remembering he had work to do, he heaved himself reluctantly from under the sheet and walked with eyes half shut into the shower-room. Still only half-awake, he ran his electric shaver over his face, moaning softly to himself and feeling like a resurrected corpse.
He had had an exhausting evening and the girl who had been him had been young and wildly enthusiastic. He had been glad to see her go, and thankful she hadn't insisted on spending the rest of the night with him.
It wasn't until he had stood under the blast of cold water from the shower for some minutes that he finally came alive, then he discovered he felt fine. He threw on a sweat shirt and a pair of blue hipsters and as he did so, he found he was hungry. He hurried into the kitchenette and peered hopefully into the refrigerator.
A few minutes later two eggs were cooking in a pan of butter and two thick slices of ham were sizzling under the grill.
The coffee percolator was performing and Girland now felt much more with the world.
After breakfast, he cleared the table, dumping the used crockery into the sink. Then lighting a cigarette, he placed a mirror from his dressing-table on the table. He found a pack of playing cards, then sitting down in front of the mirror, he began to shuffle the cards.
This evening he had been invited to a poker game. He knew that two of the players were professional card sharpers: the other six were pigeons to be fleeced, and Girland had no intention of being fleeced himself.
He hadn't played serious poker for some time and suspected that his technique might have become rusty. Watching his hands in the mirror, flicking the cards through with lightning speed, he saw that the manoeuvre of bringing all the aces to the top of the deck would be obvious to a trained eye.
He continued to practise for the next hour until he was satisfied that all his rust had been removed. He then began another manoeuvre which was much more difficult: that of dealing himself Ace, King, Queen after eight hands had already been dealt. He was still working on this, the ashtray now over loaded with cigarette butts when the telephone bell rang.
He put down the cards, hesitated, then shrugging, he crossed the room and picked up the receiver.
'Is that you, Girland?' a voice asked: a voice that sounded oddly familiar.
'If it isn't, some creep is wearing my clothes,' Girland returned. 'Who is this?'
'I shall be with you in ten minutes ... wait for me,' and the line went dead.
Girland replaced the receiver, rubbed the end of his nose and frowned.
'Unless I am very much mistaken,' he said aloud, 'that sounded very much like that old goat, Dorey.'
He looked around the big studio room. It had undergone certain changes for the better since he had lifted several thousand dollars off Dorey. Gone were the canvas deck-chairs that had once served him as armchairs. Now the room sported a deep reclining padded-chair and a big settee which his girl-friends appreciated very much. There was also a splendid Bukhara rag on the floor: its rich colouring did much to give a tone of luxury to this otherwise dark-looking room.
Humming under his breath, Girland put the mirror back on the dressing-table, emptied his cigarette butts into the trash basket, made his bed and then washed up.
Some fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, then the doorbell rang. He opened the door.
Breathing heavily from the long climb, Dorey surveyed Girland, seeing a slimly-built man, thin-faced with black hair, a few scattered white hairs either side of his temples, dark alert eyes that often had a jeering light in them, a thin hard mouth and a pronounced almost Wellingtonian nose.
Girland looked at the movie projector Dorey was carrying, then with his jeering smile, he shook his head.
'Not today, thank you ... I never buy anything at the door.'
'Don't be impertinent,' Dorey said, trying to regain his breath. 'I want to talk to you.'
With a resigned shrug, Girland stood aside.
'Well, come in. This is a surprise. I thought you had retired long ago and were back in the States with your feet up.'
Dorey ignored this. He looked around the room, then eyed the big lush-looking rug, his eyebrows lifting.
'Hmm... that's a nice rug you have there... a Bukhara, isn't it?'
'Yes... thank you very much.'
Dorey looked sharply at Girland who was grinning.
I suppose that means you bought it with the money you stole from me.'
Girland laughed.
'Sit down. Take the weight off your feet. It's a long climb for an elderly gentleman... it even makes me tired sometimes.'
Dorey took off his overcoat, dropped it on a chair, then sat down in the big armchair. He surveyed Girland with disapproval.
'I have a job for you.'
Girland grimaced, then held out his hands as if to push Dorey away.
'No, thank you. If it is anything like the last job you landed in my lap, I'm not interested. I've finally made up my mind, Dorey, I have had enough of your funny little jobs. I'm getting along very well without you and I intend to continue to get along without you. Working for you is nothing but a pain in the neck.'
'This is an unofficial job,' Dorey said, crossing one bird-like leg over the other. He suddenly became aware how comfortable the big armchair was. 'This is a nice chair you have.'
'Glad you like it,' Girland said and smiled. 'Thank you very much.'
Dorey's face suddenly relaxed and he gave his dry, wintry smile.
'You are an amusing rogue, Girland. There are times when I actually find myself liking you. How would you like to pick up ten thousand dollars?'
'Have you been drinking?' Girland lifted his eyebrows. He sat on the settee, then stretched out lengthwise, and eyed Dorey with a shade more interest. 'Ten thousand? Not from you ... that would be too much to believe.'
'Ten thousand and expenses,' Dorey said, sensing that Girland, like a hungry trout, was now beginnng to nibble at his bait.
'Could be you just might end up with fifteen or even twenty thousand dollars. Does it interest you?'
Girland laced his fingers at the back of his head. He stared up at the ceiling for some moments, then said, 'You know something, Dorey? You are not very subtle. You are sure I am for sale. Well, I am not. Every so often you and I get into this kind of huddle and you wave a bait under my nose and I fall for it. So what happens? I pull your chestnuts out of the fire and always land in grief myself. No... I'll get by without your ten thousand dollars. I'm not interested.'
Dorey smiled.
'What's the matter with you, Girland?' he asked. T thought you still had some guts.'
'This kind of talk I love! So now, apart from all this money you're offering, I also have to have guts.'
'Let's stop this fooling!' Dorey said, his voice sharpening. 'Time is running out. Do you want this job which will pay a guaranteed fifteen thousand dollars or don't you?'
Girland studied Dorey thoughtfully.
'Guaranteed?'
' That's what I said.'
'How is this fifteen thousand to be paid?' 'Five thousand tomorrow and ten thousand when the job is done.'
Girland shook his head.
'No, Dorey, I don't go along with that, but I might if you paid ten thousand tomorrow and ten thousand when the job is done. Yes ... I just might be tempted on those terms.'
Dorey snorted and got to his feet. ,
'You've heard my terms. I can get anyone to do this job, Girland. Don't imagine you are the only man...'
