The Two Faces of January

  “You may have a better source for them. If so, don’t take mine. Not that it’s mine, I just know the people,” Rydal said.

  “I have no better source,” Chester said.

  “Darling, I think he’s doing us a big favor!” Colette said, standing up. “And I don’t mind saying thank you.” She looked at Rydal, her hands close under her chin now, holding the scarf. “Thank you.”

  Rydal smiled despite himself. “You’re welcome.”

  “What do you want, extra little photographs?” Colette asked, going to her pocketbook on the bureau.

  “No, the ones from your passports now. The perforations have to be matched,” Rydal said. “It’s easier.”

  “Oh, of course. How stupid of me. I saw a movie where they did that. I hate this photograph, but I guess I’m stuck with it. This trip around, anyway.” She handed Rydal her passport. “You can probably get it out better than I can.”

  “Yes.” They were tightly glued in, Rydal knew. Chester was reaching for his, in his inside jacket pocket.

  “Good thing I asked the clerk to let me have these things back when we came in from dinner,” Chester said as if to himself. “I told him we were checking out early tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, that’s another thing,” Rydal said. “The plane to Crete leaves at ten forty-five. I think that’s the best thing for you to take. Unless you’ve any better ideas.” Rydal took the passport Chester was holding out.

  “No, no, Crete sounds fine,” Chester said, spreading his hands palms down, pacifically. He looked very worried.

  Rydal’s mouth twitched a little in contempt. Glancing at Colette, he saw that she had seen it. She wasn’t stupid, Rydal thought. “And the money. Have you five thousand in cash?”

  “Got it in traveler’s checks,” Chester said.

  Rydal shook his head. “I don’t think many people will be wanting to handle traveler’s checks signed Chester MacFarland after tomorrow.”

  Chester nodded, with absurd seriousness, glanced about, then went to a new canvas and leather suitcase in a corner of the room. He carried the suitcase into the bathroom, and closed the door.

  Rydal knew exactly what he was doing, getting some greenbacks from a compartment, probably sewed into the suitcase lining and probably sewed in by his wife. Rydal kept his cash in the lining of his suitcase, too. He had eight American tens and about ten singles left there now. Chester probably had a fortune. Colette was looking at him sidewise, standing behind the armchair, dancing her fingertips along its back.

  “Where’re you from in the States?” she asked.

  “Massachusetts,” he said.

  “I’m from Louisiana. But so long ago, I haven’t any accent, I think.”

  She had a faint Southern accent, and Rydal had noticed it. He said nothing, only stared at the back corner of the armchair by the floor, as if he awaited the appearance of her black suede pumps and her shapely but quite solid ankles there. Then they appeared, and Rydal’s eyes moved upward from the ankles to her calves, to the swell of her hips, her breasts, and fastened on her eyes, as Chester opened the door.

  Chester looked from one to the other of them, then set the suitcase on the floor with a thud. His hand was full of new green bills. “So—here we are,” he said.

  “Would you like to come with me and meet Niko?” Rydal asked in a polite tone.

  Chester was wary. “Where?”

  “I’m meeting him on a street corner not far from Syndagma. Near Constitution Square. Maybe you know Niko. He sells sponges out in front of the American Express.”

  “Oh.” Chester smiled, weakly at first, then his smile became real, with a twinkle. “Yes, sure I do. Bought a sponge from him. I like him.”

  Why, Rydal wondered? For the things they had in common, maybe, a mutual crookedness. “We’d better take off and catch a taxi.” Chester was still half holding out the money to him. Rydal ignored it, looked at Colette and said, “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she replied. She had a pleasant but quite high-pitched voice, and her final consonants came out sharp and clear.

  “How long do you think this will take?” Chester asked, pushing the greenbacks into his jacket pocket.

  “Oh, less than an hour. Forty-five minutes at most, if you take a taxi back,” Rydal said.

  Chester looked at his wristwatch and said, “Back a little after eleven, honey.” He put both hands on her sides, above her waist, and kissed her uplifted lips.

  Then Colette looked at Rydal, and Rydal turned to the door.

  There was silence between them as they went down the stairs, silence in the first block they walked before Rydal, who had been trying all the while, hailed a taxi that stopped. Silence in the taxi. Rydal was inspired to be both open and above board and knowledgeable and sinister, but the result of this was silence, too.

  Niko was waiting on the corner where he said he would be, slowly tramping up and down, due to impatience or the cold. They were seven minutes late, Rydal saw by his wristwatch.

  “Ah, yes, there we are, the fellow in the gym shoes,” said Chester, beaming with recognition, letting Rydal pay for the taxi.

  “Kalispera,” said Niko as they approached.

  “’Spera,” said Rydal, and he continued to speak in demotic. “What’s up with Frank in Nauplion?”

  “Oh, he can do it, just like I said,” said Niko.

  “May I present Mr. Chester MacFarland, who has already purchased a sponge from you,” Rydal said, motioning to Chester.

  Niko said, “Enchanted and highly honored.” And, to Rydal, “Between sponges and passports there is no difference to a true Greek.”

  “Well said. Mr. MacFarland has both his and his wife’s passports with photographs.”

  “What’s happening?” Chester asked. He was plainly enjoying the business, rocking on his heels and looking at Niko with amusement as if Niko were merely a tool, an underling whom he could please with a good tip.

  Rydal gave Niko the two passports, and said to Chester, “Now you may give him the five thousand dollars.”

  Chester sobered a little and, his pink jowls folding over his white starched collar, swung his overcoat open and got the money from his jacket pocket. He handed it to Niko.

  Niko accepted it with a nod, moved under the light of a street-lamp, and began to count the money.

  Rydal folded his hands behind him and looked up at the street-lamp. Chester glanced over at the opposite pavement, where a young man and woman were walking with arms about each other, paying them no heed at all. Niko was about fifteen feet away. After he had counted the money, with an air of handling such sums every day, he ambled back, wiping a running nose with a finger, and said to Rydal, “Okay. And five thousand on delivery and—eight hundred for me, okay?” The only English word in it was “okay”.

  “I thought a thousand for you,” said Rydal, smiling.

  “Okay,” said Niko gaily, and his lead-framed tooth gleamed dully, the gap beside it black as night.

  “What time is Frank getting here?” Rydal asked.

  “Seven in the morning,” Niko replied positively.

  “Can he finish the passports by ten-thirty tomorrow morning?”

  Niko spread and waggled his hands, then shook his head. “No. Not that fast.”

  “What are you asking him?” asked Chester.

  “If he can get the passports to us by the time you have to catch the plane. The answer is no. But you don’t have to show passports going to Crete.”

  “I know,” said Chester. But his blue eyes were a bit wider. “When can he get them to us?”

  “By plane the next day, I’m sure. Thursday,” said Rydal. He said to Niko, “We’ve got to have them by Thursday, okay? You take the plane and fly with them. The ten forty-five plane to Iraklion, okay?” br />
  “Okay,” said Niko.

  It would probably be his first plane trip, Rydal thought. “And you take your fare from the thousand you’re paid, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Niko.

  “If this language consisted in ‘okay’,” Chester said, “I’d be okay.” He was reaching in his wallet for another bill.

  Rydal started to stop him and didn’t. If he wanted to tip, if it made him feel better—

  “What about those pearls,” Chester said. “You know, those pearls, the bracelet you showed me.”

  Niko knew the word pearls. He jumped as if he had received an electric shock. “Wants to buy the pearl bracelet?” he asked Rydal in Greek.

  “Depends on how much. Let’s see it again,” said Rydal.

  “It’s home. You saw it,” Niko said.

  “I know, but what’re you asking? Go and get it, you’ll sell it, I just want to know how much.”

  “Fifteen thousand drachs,” said Niko.

  “Five hundred dollars?” said Rydal skeptically. “Let’s see the pearls again, Niko.”

  Niko held up a thick, dark finger. “Twenty minutes.” Then he checked the snaps on his American army waist-length jacket pockets, where the money and passports were, and dashed off at his top-speed gait. His feet splayed, it was neither a walk nor a trot, and he gave the impression of walking on the inside of his ankles.

  Rydal folded his arms, held his head high, and waited until a dumpy little figure of a woman had passed by with a small, stuffed shopping bag. “So you’re interested in the pearl bracelet?”

  “Yes. For five hundred,” Chester said. “They looked real to me.”

  Rydal nodded. They were real, and a bargain at five hundred. Soon they would be around Colette’s plump, slightly freckled wrist. She would give Chester a big kiss and a bit more for that bracelet, Rydal supposed. “By the way, I don’t know if you understood our transaction,” Rydal said. “You’ll give Niko five thousand more when he delivers the passports Thursday in Iraklion. Niko asked eight hundred for himself. I suggested a thousand for him. That’ll cover his telephone calls, his ticket to Crete and back and . . .” Rydal paused.

  “And?”

  “Since Niko’s now your confederate, I think it’s better to have him a bit overpaid than underpaid or merely adequately paid,” Rydal said somewhat stuffily.

  Chester’s smile was naïve and understanding. “I agree. I know what you mean.”

  They were silent for a few seconds. Rydal expected the question, “And how much are you getting or what would you like for yourself?” But the question didn’t come. Rydal turned up the collar of his overcoat against the fine mist that was drifting down. The edges of his collar and lapels were getting threadbare, he could feel it with his cold fingertips. He sensed Chester’s awkwardness, his lack of courage about mentioning money, possibly his stinginess, and, for all his threadbare clothes, Rydal felt quite superior to Chester MacFarland.

  “We’ve time for an espresso somewhere,” Rydal said. “Shall we get out of this fog?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  Rydal found a café around the corner that was full of small, mostly empty tables. Rydal was hungry, and could have eaten one of the white plates of yoghurt or tapioca that were displayed behind the glass counters, but he ordered only espresso black, and Chester a cappuccino.

  “How will he know where to meet us in Crete?” Chester asked.

  “You can meet him at the airport in Iraklion Thursday around one in the afternoon. That’s the simplest,” Rydal said. “The plane comes in between one and one-thirty. Niko’ll be going right back to Athens.”

  “Um-m.” Chester watched the waiter’s hands serving them glasses of water, then their two coffees. “You think the passports’ll be passable,” he said, and gave an apologetic or nervous smile.

  “Yes, I’d say so. I’ve never seen any of Niko’s friend’s work, but he seems to get business,” Rydal replied, as if they were discussing the merits of a tailor. He looked calmly at Chester.

  Chester’s large, manicured hands were restless on the edge of the table, as if he hadn’t enough to do with them between smoking a cigarette and lifting his coffee cup. His pale blue eyes were slightly bloodshot. He gave off an aroma of Scotch, mingled with some unsweet, masculine toilet water or after-shave lotion. Rydal tried to imagine Chester with his father’s brown beard along his lower jaw and rising up near his chin to join his moustache. It was easy to imagine Chester with his father’s beard. It was easy to imagine that Chester was his father, at forty or so, without the beard, because his father hadn’t started the beard until he was forty-odd. Rydal realized that Chester’s resemblance to his father was the main reason why he had so suddenly and spontaneously helped Chester with the corpse in the corridor this afternoon—if one could assign a reason to an act of such unreason. It implied, Rydal thought, a lurking respect for his father. He did not like that thought.

  “You’ve been in Athens quite a while?” asked Chester.

  “Two months or so.”

  Chester nodded. “Picked up the language, eh?”

  “It’s not difficult,” said Rydal, and shifted in his chair, remembering his father introducing him to Greek at the age of eight, or maybe even younger, at any rate after he had reached a “reasonable proficiency” in Latin, and then, at fifteen, demotic Greek, in preparation for the European tour that his father intended to make in the late summer with his wife and three children. It would have been Rydal’s second trip to Europe, but it never came off, because he met Agnes that spring. He felt Chester’s eyes on him, more intense now, and involuntarily Rydal leaned to one side and glanced into the mirror which covered the wall just behind Chester. His short, dark hair was combed, a bit shiny with damp, no smudges on his rather pale face, his eyes and mouth serious and composed as usual. Chester was probably thinking he was a very reserved type for a crook, or someone who drifted on the fringes of criminals. It was of no interest to Rydal what Chester thought. “You’re in the investment business?” Rydal asked suddenly, lighting a cigarette.

  “Well—” Chester’s fingertips lifted from the table and hovered in the air. “I am in a sense. I arrange business for several other people. Adviser, you might say,” Chester added heavily, as if he had just found the word. “Stocks. You know.”

  Rydal thought he knew. “What kind?”

  “Oh—” There was a long hesitation. “Matter of fact many of them are pretty secret just now, not on the market yet officially. One stock, for instance, is being launched on an invention that hasn’t yet even been completed. Universal Key. Works on a magnetic principle.” His voice was gathering conviction. He looked Rydal in the eye.

  Rydal nodded. Chester was getting onto home ground now, and Rydal could imagine how he operated. He was a con man, and probably a very good one, the kind who convinced himself, fell himself under the spell he wanted to throw over a prospective customer. Rydal sensed that he lived in an unreality. No wonder the reality of the corpse this afternoon had given him a jolt. “Well, I’m not exactly in a position to buy any,” Rydal said.

  “No. Well.” Chester smiled easily. “Position to buy any. I was going to mention . . . uh . . . a little reimbursement for your trouble in arranging these passports. What would you—”

  “I didn’t mean financial position,” Rydal said, putting on a smile also. “I meant I’m not interested in stocks, and don’t know anybody I’d be passing secrets on to.” The reimbursement situation was making Chester nervous, Rydal saw. Chester wanted it over with, wanted to know if he were in for blackmail or not. Rydal took a deep breath and sighed, and finished his coffee. He looked at his wristwatch. They were due to meet Niko in five minutes.

  “Well, in regard to reimbursing you, what do you think would be fair? I’d like to give you something. Or . . . have you arranged that with Niko?
”

  “No,” Rydal said casually. “Thanks very much. No need for reimbursement.”

  “Oh, come now. I don’t mean to insult you . . . didn’t mean to, but surely . . .” He was like a man protesting to get the bill and not really wanting it.

  Rydal shook his head. “Thanks.” He lifted a finger for the waiter, and reached for his money to pay the tabs which had come with the coffees. “To be businesslike, you should wait anyway to see if the passports are satisfactory. All I’ve done for you is deprive you and your wife of your passports and five thousand dollars, you might say.”

  “Oh!” Chester smiled. “No, let me get this. You got the taxi.” Chester put his own money down and left a hundred per cent tip. “You also did me a great favor in the hotel,” Chester said more quietly, “by offering to give me an alibi, if the police arrived.” He had been looking down at the ashtray, and now he looked up at Rydal. “If you’d like to come to Crete with us, I’d be glad to take care of expenses. That’s the least I can do. Give you a small trip and—especially if you’re still willing to provide that alibi, in case I’m questioned.” It was an effort for him to get the words out. He brushed away some beads of perspiration on his pinkish brow.

  Rydal was considering. He had been planning to go to Crete soon. But that was no reason, no reason he was interested in Chester’s offer. Would it be wise or unwise? The unwisdom was plain, the wisdom not, yet Rydal sensed its presence. He was drawn towards Chester in a way he could now only attribute to curiosity. And he was attracted to his wife, though he hadn’t the slightest intention of trying to start an affair with her. The situation had its dangers, but was that crude attraction really it? He had hoped for adventure in the lavender dusks of Athens, in the rosy-fingered dawns that touched the Acropolis, and he hadn’t as yet found it. Was he destined to find it in the liquor-rosy face of a con man who looked like his father? Rydal smiled to himself.

  “Well? Need some time to make up your mind?”

  “No,” Rydal said. “No, just thinking. Yes, I’d like to go, I think. But I was going to Crete, anyway, and I have the money to pay my way.”