1977 - My Laugh Comes Last (2 page)

'My address and telephone number are on the back of the estimate.'

'Thanks for the game . . . best I've played.' Then nodding, he left me.

I got the green light from Dixon after three hellish days in my bedsitter, waiting to hear.

'You mean it's on?' I said, scarcely believing what he was saying.

'They've okayed everything. I have a letter signed by F.B. authorizing you to buy on their behalf. Pick it up at my office tomorrow, and you're in business.' He paused, then went on, 'Congratulations, Larry.'

It took me four weeks of non-stop work to get the bank equipment organized. Farrell Brannigan's name acted as an open sesame. I.B.M., Apex and even B.E. & C. fell over themselves to give me credit. I had no problems. My commission, once the deal was finalized, would be impressive.

As soon as I had all the equipment for the bank ready for delivery, I moved to Sharnville. I took a two-room furnished apartment in a modest complex. Manson, Bill and I worked non-stop, and we made a good team.

One night, while Bill and I were sharing hamburgers together, he said, 'What do you know about electronic security, Larry?'

'What there is to know. I specialized in that at the university.'

'I think F.B. will let you install the security if you can convince him. He's rather like a big kid so make your ideas fancy. Really give him the works... money no object.'

So that was my next job. I got estimates, suggestions and consulted the top experts. By the time I was through and got my ideas on paper, I was sure I could give the bank the finest security gimmicks that could be put together.

Brannigan called me.

'Bill says you have security ideas, son. I'd like to hear about them. Let's play golf.'

After the game, and this time I didn't let him beat me, but made it a close run thing, we sat in the clubhouse bar and I told him about my ideas.

'Mr. Brannigan,' I concluded, 'if you accept this equipment, I will guarantee you will never have security trouble. Your bank in Sharnville will be the safest bank in the world.'

He stared at me, and his face lit up.

'The safest bank in the world!' he exclaimed, then slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. 'The safest bank in the world! I like that. By God! I like that! We could use that as a slogan! The safest bank in the world! That's really something. We'll hit the headlines!' Then he paused and looked hard at me. That's no idle boast, son? If we advertised, and really went to town with a slogan like that, would it stand up?'

'Mr. Brannigan,' I said quietly, 'Sharnville bank will be the safest bank in the world.'

'There's a board tomorrow. Come along and tell the story. I don't know a goddamn thing about electronics, but all you've told me sounds fine.'

So I went along to the bank's boardroom and gave ten stony-faced directors a presentation on how to make a bank secure. I produced gimmicks, blueprints and told them the cost.

They listened, and when I had finished, F.B. nodded, gave me a broad grin and said I would be hearing from them.

As I left the boardroom, I heard his gravelly voice say, 'The safest bank in the world. Goddamn it! What a slogan!'

Three days later, Dixon telephoned me to tell me I had the green light.

'That must have been a great show you put on, Larry. They loved it. There is going to be worldwide publicity. The safest bank in the world! F.B. is having a ball.' He paused, then went on, 'You realize what this means, don't you? F.B. is planning to open other branches, and you will automatically get the equipment and the security jobs for all future branches, and I'll get the job of building them. I've been looking at the estimates. Your commission . . . '

'I've already worked that out,' I said.

'Suppose we talk about this, Larry? You and I could work together. I've money too.'

So we talked about it. We agreed to become partners, but before we committed ourselves, we went along to Brannigan and told him what we had in mind. He liked the idea, and gave us his blessing which meant a lot. He said he would steer business our way. So we set up a firm to be called Better Electronics Corporation, and decided to make our headquarters in Sharnville. We rented a small office. We worked all day and half the night. We got a small, expert staff together.

After six months, the 'safest bank in the world' opened with a flourish with a world press coverage, TV cameras on the scene as important people arrived. The President of the United States looked in for a brief ten minutes, arriving on the roof of the bank in a helicopter. Nothing went wrong.

F.B. and his board were happy.

From then on, Sharnville grew fast. I was there to supply the office equipment and security, and Dixon was there to build. We moved into bigger offices. Farrell Brannigan's name gave us the green light as more and more industrial corporations opened in Sharnville. The saying was: 'What's good enough for F.B., is good enough for us.' We got all the business, and it was plenty.

So at the beginning of our fourth year, we moved to even bigger offices and employed a staff of fifty. We had become big fish in a big pond.

Although I worked nine hours a day at the office, and took work back to my apartment, I kept my Sundays free for golf. I joined the Country club, and every first Sunday in the month, Brannigan drove up and we played golf. I had no trouble in finding a partner for the remaining Sundays, Everyone at the club was friendly, and playing golf with Brannigan gave me a status symbol.

But the seeds of disaster sown on that June Sunday four years ago had germinated, and during my four years of success, they grew fast into this nightmare of blackmail and murder.

On this Sunday, an equally hot June morning, the evil fruit was ripe to be picked. I was getting ready to leave for the golf course when Brannigan telephoned to say his car had broken down.

'God knows what's happened to the goddamn thing, but it won't start. I've called the garage, but it's Sunday. By the time I get someone up here, it'll be too late.'

I decided to play golf anyway and take potluck in finding a partner. I arrived soon after 08.15, and asked the pro, not too hopefully, if anyone was wanting a game.

'There's a young lady on the putting green, Mr. Lucas, who is looking for a game. She's a stranger here, but watch it!' He grinned. 'She looks like a golfer to me.'

That's how I met Glenda Marsh: a tall, slim redhead with big green eyes and a personality that was electric. She made a big impact on me as I introduced myself.

'Imagine!' she exclaimed as she shook hands: a good, firm grip. 'I was going to call on you tomorrow.' she went on to explain that she was a freelance photographer and was here to do a photographic reportage on Sharnville. 'I was told you are the electronic wonder man, and I hope to get shots of your setup and you.'

This was flattering when she told me she had been commissioned by The Investor, an important financial monthly with a big circulation.

Remembering I had a heavy programme for the following day, I said if she liked to come to my office at 18.00, I would be happy to see her. She said she would.

We played a round of golf together, and she was good. I had to work at it to beat her. As we played, I kept looking at her, and the more I looked, the more I liked what I saw.

She was really some woman!

I had fooled around with a lot of girls, but during the past j few years I had had no time for fooling. Now, not working j under such pressure, I was ripe for a woman. I wondered about her as we walked side by side down the fairway. There f was something about her that warned me she was no easy, casual lay. She had a 'hands-off' air about her that made her much more intriguing to me than any other girl I had known.

After the game, I suggested we went to the clubhouse for a drink, and I would introduce her to some of the important I members, but she shook her head.

'Thank you, but I have a date. Thanks for the game, Mr. Lucas. I'll see you tomorrow.' Smiling, she left me.

I watched her walk to her Mini-minor.

While I had been with her, this day had been in technicolour, now it turned to black and white as she drove away.

chapter two

T
hat’s it,' Glenda said, 'and thank you. I hope I haven't taken up too much of your time.'

She had arrived at my office at 18.00 and it was now 19.35.

She had taken shots of our showroom, our small factory, with close-ups of our four engineers who smirked happily while they worked at their benches. She had taken some twenty shots of me at my desk. She had been efficient and impersonal, but now, as she put her Nikon into her camera bag, she relaxed and gave me that friendly, dazzling smile.

'No problem,' I said, getting to my feet. 'I had cleared my desk before you came. I hope you have what you want.'

'Not quite: I would like some personal information about you, but perhaps you would like to set up another date. I understand Farrell Brannigan gave you your start. I would like to hear about that. It would make a great story.'

'Suppose we go into that over dinner?' I said. There was something about her that hooked me. I wanted to keep her with me as long as I could. 'There's a place down the street that serves a decent meal.'

She nodded.

‘Let's do that.'

After our game of golf, and after she had driven away, I had had her on my mind. Usually, I had a snack at the clubhouse and mixed with the other members, but this time, I wasn't in the mood, and had driven down to the beach, had a swim, then lay alone in the sun and had thought about her.

There is some mysterious chemistry that no one has yet explained that takes place when a certain man and a certain woman meet. Some call it love at first sight. Whatever it is, it is a sudden fusion, and being an electronics man, I saw it as getting the right electrical connection and turning on a switch.

This had now happened to me. Glenda Marsh, at first sight, had become the woman I really wanted. Fate, destiny, call it what you like, had brought us together, and the switch, for me, had been turned on.

But had the turned-on switch done anything for her?

Maybe her chemistry hadn't responded as mine had. This was something I had to find out.

I had walked with her to the Mirabeau restaurant where I often dined. She was one of those rare women who didn't dither when studying a menu. She took one brief glance, then said she would like the clam chowder. It was a good choice. I went along with it.

'Now tell me about yourself,' she said, resting her elbows on the table and regarding me with those big green eyes.

So I told her about my father, my golf, B.E. & C. and Brannigan. We had nearly finished the meal by the time I had finished my life story.

'Are you married, Mr. Lucas?'

'No.' I smiled at her. 'But as soon as the pressure is off, I want to get married.'

'Any particular girl?'

'There is a vague chance I have found one, but I'm not sure yet.'

She regarded me, then looked away. Her lips curled into a little smile. I had the idea she got the message.

While I was ordering coffee she lit a cigarette, and when the waiter had gone, she said, 'A real success story, Mr. Lucas. Congratulations.'

'It happens. I had the knowledge, but then I had luck.'

'But you had to have the knowledge. Tell me . . . is it a fact that the Sharnville bank is the safest bank in the world or is that just a publicity stunt?'

'It is the safest bank in the world. I should know: I installed all the security equipment... it is no publicity stunt.'

She looked impressed.

‘It would make a great news story. Tell me about it.’

'Sorry, that's not for me to talk about. Before I got the job, I had to sign a paper not to talk. If you want the story, talk to Alec Manson who runs the bank, but I don't think he will tell you much. The bank's security is top secret.'

‘Well, I can try.' She smiled her dazzling smile. ‘Would you give me an introduction to Mr. Manson?'

'No problem. Now, tell me something about yourself. Where are you staying in Sharnville, and how long will you be here?'

'At the Excelsior, and I'll be here at least a month.'

'Do you like the Excelsior?'

She grimaced.

‘Does anyone like staying in a hotel?'

'Would a two-room furnished apartment with a kitchen interest you?'

Her green eyes sparkled.

'Would it not! That would be marvellous!'

'Then I can fix it for you. There's an empty apartment in my complex. I can fix it for you to have for a month.' I signalled for the cheque. 'Like to see it?'

'Why, thank you, Mr. Lucas.'

I looked directly into the big green eyes.

'Make it Larry, Glenda,' I said. 'We are going to be neighbours. My apartment is across the corridor.'

The following morning, she had moved into the apartment. I called Alec Manson and told him about her, explaining she was doing a reportage on Sharnville for The Investor, and she would like to talk to him.

In his dry, clipped voice, he said she could come any time, so I called Glenda and told her to go ahead, and if she had nothing better to do, why not let us have dinner together this evening?

This time I took her to a seafood restaurant. While driving her along the coast road, I asked how she had made out with Manson.

She raised her slim hands and let them drop, in her lap.

'Like interviewing an oyster. He allowed me to shoot the outside of the bank and the lobby. When I asked him about the security, he stayed dumb. I have no story, Larry.'

'I warned you. After all, Glenda, if he let you into the secrets of the bank security, it would no longer be the safest bank in the world, would it?'

She laughed.

‘You have a point, but what a story!' She looked at me.

'But you can tell me.'

'I could, but I won't. Brannigan has plans to open four more banks along the coast, and I get the security job. I want that contract. Brannigan is a very smart cookie. He would know at once I had been talking. Sorry, Glenda.'