Read Online A Deadly Shade of Gold by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: John D. MacDonald
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Detective and Mystery Stories, Political, Hard-Boiled, Fort Lauderdale (Fla.), Detective and Mystery Stories; American, McGee; Travis (Fictitious character), Private investigators - Florida - Fort Lauderdale
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the narrow entrance to the Borlika Galleries.
The display window was a tasteful arrangement of small items of carved bone and ivory, some of it touchingly quaint. I hunted in my dust-bin mind for that word for that sort of work, and found it. Scrimshaw. Hobby of sailors on the old sailing ships.
I pushed the door open and went in, wondering if I was dressed for the impression I wanted to make. My suit and raincoat were too lightweight for New York in March. No hat. Seagoing tan.
Shirt collar slightly frayed. Scuffed shoes, now slightly sodden.
A cluster of bells jangled as I pushed the door open. It was a long narrow place, meagerly lighted. It had the collection smell, leather and dust, sandalwood and age. In a long lighted display case was an ornate collection of cased duelling pistols. On a long table to my right was a collection of primitive wood carvings.
A young man came toward me up the aisle from the back, with bone-pale face and funereal suit.
It was a hushed place and he spoke in a hushed voice.
"May I help you?" He had taken me in at a glance, and he spoke with precisely the intonation which fitted my appearance, a slight overtone of patronizing impatience.
"I don't know. I guess you sell all kinds of old stuff."
"We have many types of items, sir." He said the sir as though it hurt his dear little mouth. "We specialize in items of anthropological and archeological significance."
"How about old gold?"
He frowned. He was pained. "Do you refer to old coins, sir?"
"No. What I'm interested in is old statues made of gold. Real old. Like so high. You know. Old gods and devils and stuff like that."
It stopped him for a long moment. Finally he gave a little shrug. It was a long slow afternoon.
"This way, please."
He had me wait at a display counter in the rear while he went back into the private rooms behind the store. It took him five minutes. I guessed he had to open a safe or have someone open it. He turned on a pair of bright little lamps, spread a piece of blue velvet, tenderly unwrapped an object and placed it on the blue velvet. It was a golden toad, a nasty looking thing the size of my fist. It had ruby eyes, a rhino horn on its head, and a body worked of overlapping scales like a fish.
"This is the only object we have on hand at the moment, sir. It is completely documented and authenticated. Javanese Empire, close to two thousand years old."
Page 35
It had a look of ancient, sardonic evil. Man dies and gold endures, and the reptiles will inherit the earth.
"What do you get for a thing like this?"
He put it back in its wrappings and as he began to fold the cloth around it, he said, "Nine thousand dollars, sir."
"Did you hear me say I didn't want it, Charlie?" He gave me a baleful glance, a murmured apology, and uncovered it again.
"Lovely craftsmanship," he said. "Perfectly lovely."
"How did you people get it?"
"I couldn't really say, sir. We get things from a wide variety of sources. The eyes are rubies.
Badly cut and quite flawed, of course."
"What would you people pay for a frog like this?"
"That wouldn't bear any relationship to its value, sir."
"Well, put it this way Charlie. Supposed I walked in off the street with this frog. Would I be one of those sources you said you use?"
It put the right little flicker of interest and reappraisal in his indoor eyes. "I don't quite understand, sir."
"Try it this way, then. It's gold. Right? Suppose somebody didn't want to get involved in a lot of crap, Charlie. Like bills of sale and so on. If he wants to make a cash deal, the easiest thing is to melt old frog down."
"Heavens!" he said, registering shock.
"But maybe that way he cheats himself a little."
"A great deal! This is an historical object, sir. An art object!"
"But if the guy doesn't want any fuss, Charlie?"
His eyes shifted uneasily. "I suppose that if... this is just hypothetical, you understand... if someone wished to quietly dispose of something on a cash basis... and it wasn't
The display window was a tasteful arrangement of small items of carved bone and ivory, some of it touchingly quaint. I hunted in my dust-bin mind for that word for that sort of work, and found it. Scrimshaw. Hobby of sailors on the old sailing ships.
I pushed the door open and went in, wondering if I was dressed for the impression I wanted to make. My suit and raincoat were too lightweight for New York in March. No hat. Seagoing tan.
Shirt collar slightly frayed. Scuffed shoes, now slightly sodden.
A cluster of bells jangled as I pushed the door open. It was a long narrow place, meagerly lighted. It had the collection smell, leather and dust, sandalwood and age. In a long lighted display case was an ornate collection of cased duelling pistols. On a long table to my right was a collection of primitive wood carvings.
A young man came toward me up the aisle from the back, with bone-pale face and funereal suit.
It was a hushed place and he spoke in a hushed voice.
"May I help you?" He had taken me in at a glance, and he spoke with precisely the intonation which fitted my appearance, a slight overtone of patronizing impatience.
"I don't know. I guess you sell all kinds of old stuff."
"We have many types of items, sir." He said the sir as though it hurt his dear little mouth. "We specialize in items of anthropological and archeological significance."
"How about old gold?"
He frowned. He was pained. "Do you refer to old coins, sir?"
"No. What I'm interested in is old statues made of gold. Real old. Like so high. You know. Old gods and devils and stuff like that."
It stopped him for a long moment. Finally he gave a little shrug. It was a long slow afternoon.
"This way, please."
He had me wait at a display counter in the rear while he went back into the private rooms behind the store. It took him five minutes. I guessed he had to open a safe or have someone open it. He turned on a pair of bright little lamps, spread a piece of blue velvet, tenderly unwrapped an object and placed it on the blue velvet. It was a golden toad, a nasty looking thing the size of my fist. It had ruby eyes, a rhino horn on its head, and a body worked of overlapping scales like a fish.
"This is the only object we have on hand at the moment, sir. It is completely documented and authenticated. Javanese Empire, close to two thousand years old."
Page 35
It had a look of ancient, sardonic evil. Man dies and gold endures, and the reptiles will inherit the earth.
"What do you get for a thing like this?"
He put it back in its wrappings and as he began to fold the cloth around it, he said, "Nine thousand dollars, sir."
"Did you hear me say I didn't want it, Charlie?" He gave me a baleful glance, a murmured apology, and uncovered it again.
"Lovely craftsmanship," he said. "Perfectly lovely."
"How did you people get it?"
"I couldn't really say, sir. We get things from a wide variety of sources. The eyes are rubies.
Badly cut and quite flawed, of course."
"What would you people pay for a frog like this?"
"That wouldn't bear any relationship to its value, sir."
"Well, put it this way Charlie. Supposed I walked in off the street with this frog. Would I be one of those sources you said you use?"
It put the right little flicker of interest and reappraisal in his indoor eyes. "I don't quite understand, sir."
"Try it this way, then. It's gold. Right? Suppose somebody didn't want to get involved in a lot of crap, Charlie. Like bills of sale and so on. If he wants to make a cash deal, the easiest thing is to melt old frog down."
"Heavens!" he said, registering shock.
"But maybe that way he cheats himself a little."
"A great deal! This is an historical object, sir. An art object!"
"But if the guy doesn't want any fuss, Charlie?"
His eyes shifted uneasily. "I suppose that if... this is just hypothetical, you understand... if someone wished to quietly dispose of something on a cash basis... and it wasn't
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