The New Collected Short Stories Read online

  Nervously, Jake touched his inside pocket to be sure the envelope was still in place. Confident that no one was following him, he no longer bothered to look out of the cab’s rear window. He was tempted to check inside the envelope, but there would be time enough for that once he was back in the safety of his apartment. He checked his watch: 7.21. Ellen and the children wouldn’t be home for at least another half-hour.

  ‘You can drop me about fifty yards on the left,’ Jake told the driver, happy to be back on familiar territory. He cast one final glance through the back window as the taxi drew into the kerb outside his block. There was no other traffic close by. He paid the driver with the dimes and quarters he had shaken out of his daughter’s Snoopy moneybox, then jumped out and walked as casually as he could into the building.

  Once he was inside, he rushed across the hall and thumped the elevator button with the palm of his hand. It still wasn’t working. He cursed, and started to run up the seven flights of stairs to his apartment, going slower and slower with each floor, until he finally came to a halt. Breathless, he unbolted the three locks, almost fell inside, and slammed the door quickly behind him. He rested against the wall while he got his breath back.

  He was pulling the envelope out of his inside pocket when the phone rang. His first thought was that they had traced him somehow and wanted their money back. He stared at the phone for a moment, then nervously picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello, Jake, is that you?’

  Then he remembered. ‘Yes, Mom.’

  ‘You didn’t call at six,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mom. I did, but . . .’ He decided against telling her why he didn’t try a second time.

  ‘I’ve been calling you for the past hour. Have you been out or something?’

  ‘Only to the bar across the road. I sometimes go there for a drink when Ellen takes the kids to the movies.’

  He placed the envelope next to the phone, desperate to be rid of her, but aware that he would have to go through the usual Saturday routine.

  ‘Anything interesting in the Times, Mom?’ he heard himself saying, rather too quickly.

  ‘Not much,’ she replied. ‘Hillary looks certain to win the Democratic nomination for Senate, but I’m still going to vote for Giuliani.’

  ‘Always have done, always will,’ said Jake, mouthing his mother’s oft-repeated comment on the Mayor. He picked up the envelope and squeezed it, to see what $100,000 felt like.

  ‘Anything else, Mom?’ he said, trying to move her on.

  ‘There’s a piece in the style section about widows at seventy rediscovering their sex drive. As soon as their husbands are safely in their graves it seems they’re popping HRT and getting back into the old routine. One of them’s quoted as saying, “I’m not so much trying to make up for lost time, as to catch up with him.”’

  As he listened, Jake began to ease open a corner of the envelope.

  ‘I’d try it myself,’ his mother was saying, ‘but I can’t afford the facelift that seems to be an essential part of the deal.’

  ‘Mom, I think I can hear Ellen and the kids at the door, so I’d better say goodbye. Look forward to seeing you at lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘But I haven’t told you about a fascinating piece in the business section.’

  ‘I’m still listening,’ said Jake distractedly, slowly beginning to ease the envelope open.

  ‘It’s a story about a new scam that’s being carried out in Manhattan. I don’t know what they’ll think of next.’

  The envelope was half-open.

  ‘It seems that a gang has found a way of tapping into your phone while you’re dialling another number . . .’

  Another inch and Jake would be able to tip the contents of the envelope out onto the table.

  ‘So when you dial, you think you’ve got a crossed line.’

  Jake took his finger out of the envelope and began to listen more carefully.

  ‘Then they set you up by making you believe you’re overhearing a real conversation.’

  Sweat began to appear on Jake’s forehead, as he stared down at the almost-opened envelope.

  ‘They make you think that if you travel to the other side of the city and hand over a $100 bill, you’ll get an envelope containing $100,000 in exchange for it.’

  Jake felt sick as he thought of how readily he had parted with his $100, and how easily he had fallen for it.

  ‘They’re using tobacconists and newsagents to carry out the scam,’ continued his mother.

  ‘So what’s in the envelope?’

  ‘Now that’s where they’re really clever,’ said his mother. ‘They put in a small booklet that gives advice on how you can make $100,000. And it’s not even illegal, because the price on the cover is $100. You’ve got to hand it to them.’

  I already have, Mom, Jake wanted to say, but he just slammed the phone down and stared at the envelope.

  The front doorbell began to ring. Ellen and the kids must be back from the movie, and she’d probably forgotten her key again.

  The bell rang a second time.

  ‘OK, I’m coming, I’m coming!’ shouted Jake. He seized the envelope, determined not to leave any trace of its embarrassing existence. As the bell rang a third time he ran into the kitchen, opened the incinerator and threw the envelope down the chute.

  The bell continued to ring. This time the caller must have left a finger on the button.

  Jake ran to the door. He pulled it open to find three massive men standing in the hallway. The one wearing a black T-shirt leapt in and put a knife to his throat, while the other two each grabbed an arm. The door slammed shut behind them.

  ‘Where is it?’ T-shirt shouted, holding the knife against Jake’s throat.

  ‘Where’s what?’ gasped Jake. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t play games with us,’ shouted the second man. ‘We want our $100,000 back.’

  ‘But there was no money in the envelope, only a book. I threw it down the incinerator chute. Listen, you can hear it for yourself.’

  The man in the black T-shirt cocked his head, while the other two fell silent. There was a crunching sound coming from the kitchen.

  ‘OK, then you’ll have to go the same way,’ said the man holding the knife. He nodded, and his two accomplices picked up Jake like a sack of potatoes and carried him through to the kitchen.

  Just as Jake’s head was about to disappear down the incinerator chute, the phone and the front doorbell began ringing at the same time . . .

  OTHER BLIGHTERS’ EFFORTS

  IT ALL BEGAN innocently enough, when Henry Pascoe, the First Secretary at the British High Commission on Aranga, took a call from Bill Paterson, the manager of Barclays Bank. It was late on a Friday afternoon, and Henry rather hoped that Bill was calling to suggest a round of golf on Saturday morning, or perhaps with an invitation to join him and his wife Sue for lunch on Sunday. But the moment he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he knew the call was of an official nature.

  ‘When you come to check the High Commission’s account on Monday, you’ll find you’ve been credited with a larger sum than usual.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’ responded Henry, in his most formal tone.

  ‘Quite simple really, old chap,’ replied the bank manager. ‘The exchange rate moved in your favour overnight. Always does when there’s a rumour of a coup,’ he added matter-of-factly. ‘Feel free to call me on Monday if you have any queries.’

  Henry wondered about asking Bill if he felt like a round of golf tomorrow, but thought better of it.

  It was Henry’s first experience of a rumoured coup, and the exchange rate wasn’t the only thing to have a bad weekend. On Friday night the head of state, General Olangi, appeared on television in full-dress uniform to warn the good citizens of Aranga that, due to some unrest among a small group of dissidents in the army, it had proved necessary to impose a curfew on the island which he hoped would not last for more than