Suspended Sentences

But that was long ago, as he kept reminding her.

Presently Clayton took down the loupe and glanced furtively in her direction. “It’s a beautiful stone..shame you have to part with it…How much did you have in mind?”

“I want a quick sale. And I need cash. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

He gave her a sharp look. He knew damn well it was worth more than that. He picked up the satin-lined little box. “Why don’t you take it back to Henry Cushman? They’d probably give you more.”

“That’s my business, isn’t it?”

“I may not have that much cash on the premises.”

She reached for the box. “If you don’t want the ring, never mind —”

He said, “No, no,” accepting the rebuff. “Of course it’s your business. I’m sorry.” He got to his feet. “I’ll see what I’ve got in the safe. If you’ll excuse me a moment?”

She gave him her sweetest smile and settled into a leather armchair while the man slipped out of the office. He left the ring and the box on the desk as if to show how trustworthy he was.

She knew where he was going: a telephone somewhere. She could imagine the conversation. She wished she could see Henry Cushman’s face. “That’s my ring all right. What’s the woman look like?”

And the manager Clayton describing her: this tall elegant auburn-haired woman who looked like Morristown gentry from the horsey fox-hunting set. In her fantasy she could hear Cushman’s pretentious lockjaw drawl: “That’s the woman. I saw him put the ring on her finger. That’s her. Wait — let me think this out…”

She waited on. Patient, ever patient, and Joy shall be thy share.

Henry Cushman would be working it out in his mind — suspicion first, then certainty: by now he’d be realizing he’d been had. “They set it up. They’ve stuck me with a bum check.”

She pictured his alarm — a deep red flush suffusing his bald head. “They must have emptied out his bank account Thursday evening just before the bank closed. They knew I’d inquire about the account. But the check’s no good, don’t you see? I’ve given them one of the best stones in the islands and they’ve got to get rid of it before the bank opens. If you let her get away… by Monday morning they’ll be in Hong Kong or Caracas, setting up the same scam all over again. For God’s sake stall her. Just hold her right there.”

She smiled when Clayton returned.

He said in an avuncular wheeze, “I’m afraid this is going to take a few minutes, madame.”

“Take your time. I don’t mind.”

Breck sat in the back seat of a parked taxi, watching the building. He saw the police car draw up.

Two uniformed officers got out of the car. They went to the glass door of the building and pressed a button. After a moment the door was unlocked to permit them to enter.

After that it took not more than five or six minutes before Breck saw Vicky emerge from the shop, escorted by a cop on either side of her. She was shouting at them, struggling, forcing them to manhandle her. With effort the cops hustled her into the police car. It drove off.

In the taxi, Breck settled back. “We can go now.”

Henry Cushman looked up at him. Cushman’s eyes were a little wild. The smooth surface of his head glistened with sweat.

“A terrible blunder, Mr. Baldwin, and I can only offer my most humble apologies. I’m so awfully embarrassed…”

On the desk were the diamond ring and Breck’s check.

Breck impaled him on his icy stare. With virulent sarcasm he mimicked Cushman’s phony accent:

“Your awful embarrassment, Mr. Cushman, hardly compensates for the insult and injury you’ve done to my wife and myself.”

The quiet calm of his voice seemed nearly to shatter Cushman; the man seemed barely able to reply. Finally he managed to whisper:

“Quite right, sir.”

Breck stood in front of the desk, leaning forward, the heels of both hands against its edge; from his great height he loomed over the jeweler.

“Now let’s get this straight. You called the bank this morning…”

“Yes sir.”

“And you found out my check’s good.” He pointed to it. “Isn’t it? The money’s in the bank to cover it.”

Henry Cushman all but cringed. “Yes sir.”

“But because of your impulsive stupidity, my wife was arrested…Do you have any idea what it’s like for a woman of Mrs. Baldwin’s breeding to spend a whole night locked up in whatever you call your local louse-infested women’s house of detention?”

Cushman, squirming, was speechless.

Breck was very calm and serious. “I guess we haven’t got anything more to say to each other, Mr. Cushman.” He wheeled slowly and with dignity toward the door. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

“Please — please, Mr. Baldwin.”

He stopped with his back to the jeweler, waiting.

“Mr. Baldwin, let’s not be hasty. I feel sure we can find a solution to this without the expense of public litigation…”

With visible reluctance Breck turned to face him. Very cold now: “What do you suggest?”

“No, sir. What do you suggest?”

Breck gave it a great deal of visible thought. He regarded the check, then the ring. Finally he picked up the ring and squinted at it.

“For openers — this belongs to me.”

He saw the Adam’s apple go up and down inside Cushman’s shirt collar. Cushman said, “Yes sir.”

“And I can see you haven’t deposited my check yet. So here’s my suggestion. You listening?”

“Yes sir.”

“I keep the ring — and you tear up that check.”

Cushman stared at him. Breck loomed. “It’s little enough for the insults we’ve had to suffer.”

In acute and obvious discomfort, Cushman struggled but finally accepted defeat. Slowly, with a sickly smile, he tore up the check.

It earned the approval of Breck’s cool smile. “You’ve made a sensible decision. Saved yourself a lot of trouble. Consider yourself lucky.”

And he went.

She said, “Don’t you think we make a good team?” She said it wistfully, with moonlight in her eyes and Remy Martin on her breath. “Don’t you remember the time we sold the same Rembrandt three times for a million and a half each? I remember the Texan and the Iranian in Switzerland, but who was the third one?”

“Watanabe in Kyoto.”

“Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten. The one with all the airplanes around the pagoda in his yard.”

A breeze rattled the palm fronds overhead. He looked down into her upturned face. “I’ve got a race next week in Palm Springs, which means I’ve only got a few days to get the car in shape. Besides, you still need to learn a man doesn’t like paying alimony. It feels like buying gas for a junked car.”

“Don’t talk to me about that. Talk to my lawyer,” she said. “Are you going to kiss me or something?”

“I don’t know. I seem to remember I tried that once. As I recall it didn’t work out too well. Turned out kind of costly.” He began to walk away.

“Hey. Breck.”

Her voice pulled him around.

She said, “King’s X?”

He threw up both arms: his eyes rolled upward as if seeking inspiration from the sky. And shaking his head like a man who ought to know better, he began to laugh.

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