Come Easy, Go Easy

by James Hadley Chase

  Instead, he shambled over to the hole and knelt down, staring at it.

  "Well, someone's been digging here." He pushed his dirty, claw-like hand into the loose earth. As if it recognised co-operation, the dog came up, wagging its tail and whining, then it began to dig again.

  Impatiently, Ricks shoved it away.

  "Maybe Carl has buried his money here," he muttered. "He would be fool enough to do just that. How about taking a look? Got a spade?"

  I was now in a hell of a panic. I moved forward and there must have been an expression in my eyes that told Ricks I meant trouble. He straightened up hastily and backed away.

  "Okay, okay, fella, no need to get mad," he whined, still backing away, his dog following him. "Just a thought that dropped into my mind. Think nothing of it."

  "Get out and stay away from here!" I shouted at him, "Go on! Get out!"

  "How about lending me five bucks?" he whined, still backing away, he was now out in the hot sunshine.

  "You're getting nothing out of me," I said, moving after him. "Beat it!"

  By now he was close to his battered car. He paused, his hand on the car door and he squinted at me.

  "Okay, if that's the way you want it, fella," he said, a sudden rasp in his voice. "I'm going to talk to the cops! I'm going to tell them to look for Carl! You and that whore, cuddling and kissing . . ."

  I jumped him. My fist slammed against his jaw, sending him flat on his back. I was so mad I didn't notice a trucker had just pulled up by the gas pumps. It was only when he yelled at me I got control of myself. I was about ready to give this skinny vulture the hiding of his life.

  As soon as the dog saw its master sprawl in the dust, it fled, shivering into the car.

  The trucker got out of the truck and hurried over, his expression aggressive.

  "Hey! If you want to hit a guy, pick one your own age and size!" he bawled at me.

  I felt tempted to take him, but I knew it would be bad for business. Truckers talk together. I choked down my rage and stepped back as Ricks crawled unsteadily to his feet.

  "Okay, okay," I said to the trucker. "You're right. I guess I blew my top and I'm sorry, but this punk comes scrounging here week after week and he drives me nuts."

  The trucker lost his aggressive look.

  "Well, yeah . . . but to hit an old guy . . ." He stared at Ricks, then grimaced. "A scrounger, huh?"

  "You said it. He never stops putting the bite on me."

  He relaxed, nodding.

  "Sorry I pushed my oar in. My father-in-law is the same. I could do with some gas."

  "Sure. I'm coming."

  He went back to his truck. Ricks got slowly and painfully into his car. He was holding his jaw and mumbling to himself.

  I took from my wallet a ten dollar bill and shoved it at him.

  "Here . . . take this and beat it," I said.

  He had started the car engine. With a shaking hand, he took the bill, then crumpling it, he threw it in my face.

  "I'll fix you for this!" he snarled, his face vicious with rage. "I'm going to talk to the police."

  He stamped down on the gas pedal and the car shot crazily away.

  Then I knew I had made a dangerous mistake hitting him. I had imagined he was so spineless and such a scrounger I could pay for that punch with a ten dollar bill.

  I picked up the bill and put it back in my wallet. There was chill of fear around my heart.

  I walked over to the waiting trucker and filled his tank. He looked curiously at me. He had seen Ricks throw the money at me, but he didn't say anything.

  When he had gone, I went into the repair shed and dragged the workbench away from Jenson's grave. Working fast, I filled in the hole dug by Ricks's dog and levelled the ground. Then drawing from a pile of rusty scrap that stood against the far wall, I made a great heap of it on the grave.

  The job took me half an hour, but when I was through, there was no chance of the dog pulling the same trick on me again.

  While I worked, I wondered about Ricks. Would he go to the police? In the vicious mood he was in, he probably would, but would they pay any attention to him? If they came out here investigated and me I was sunk. Should I pack up and get out while the going was good?

  Still trying to make up my mind, I left the repair shed and over to the lunch room.

  I saw a dusty Lincoln beside the gas pumps. I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts I hadn't seen it arrive.

  There was a man sitting at the wheel, and there was something familiar about him.

  He got out of the car and came towards me. He was wearing a shabby, wrinkled suit. A slouch hat that had seen some years' hard wear rested at the back of his head.

  I recognised him, and my heart skipped a beat and then began race.

  The man walking towards me was Roy Tracey.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I

  Roy recognised me at the same time as I recognised him. He came to an abrupt halt and I saw him change colour.

  We stood staring at each other.

  He was the first to recover. The colour came back to his face, his mouth twisted into that old cynical grin I knew so well. He started towards me at a run.

  "Chet! Is it really you? Am I glad to see you!"

  We were shaking hands and thumping each other. It wasn't until this moment that I fully realised how much I had missed him: how lonely I had been these months for his company.

  "You son of a gun!" I said and hugged him. "Is it good to see you again?"

  He caught hold of my shoulders and shoved me back at arm's length while he stared searchingly at me.

  "What are you doing here? I thought you were out of the country?"

  "I hope the police think so too," I said. I was so pleased to see him I felt like crying. "Come on in and have a drink." I grabbed him by the arm and led him into the lunch room. "Where did you drop from?"

  "Little Creek . . . what a dump that is!" He sat on a stool by the counter and looked around. "But what are you doing here?"

  I began to make two highballs.

  "It's the perfect hide-out, Roy. I work here now."

  "It sure is, but wouldn't it be better if you were in Mexico or Canada?"

  I gave him one of the drinks.

  "Easier said than done. I hadn't any money. I was lucky to find this place."

  "You really think you're safe here?"

  "I can't be really safe anywhere in the jam I'm in."

  He reached over and patted my arm.

  "I read about the escape. That took guts! I've never ceased to think about you. I never thought I'd see you again."

  I grinned at him. "That makes two of us."

  He looked at me, his hand sliding down my arm and gripping my wrist.

  "This is the first chance I've had, Chet, to thank you for what you did for me. I'll never forget it! The way you covered me . . ."

  "Forget it. You would have done the same for me."

  "You're damn right I would, but it's something I'll never forget. When they caught you . . ." He blew out his cheeks. "What a sweat I was in! I thought they were bound to pick me up. You' a pal: a real pal."

  "You were a lot smarter than I was," I said. "Why should we both go into the hole? If I had gone with you instead of panicking . . ."

  He took a long drink.

  "You weren't the only one in a panic. Gee! I nearly blew my top! I guess we were nuts to have pulled that job. I've never stopped regretting it."

  "Me too. What are you doing here anyway? What brings out here?"

  He finished his drink, then pushed the glass towards me. I made two more drinks as he said, "I'm on the road. That's a laugh, isn't it? This is the big squeeze. They want me out of the lousy firm now. They have an idea I was mixed up in that business with you. Franklin hinted that the big wheels upstairs were pretty sure I was in it with you. They knew what pals we were, and someone let out I was in the hole for five hundred bucks. So I taken off safe work. They said they thought it was a soun
d idea for me to get some experience selling these goddamn safes instead of repairing them. They gave me a list of customers that have old models, and my job now is to persuade them to buy new ones." He took from his pocket book a slip of paper. "Point of No Return. Carl Jenson, proprietor. Is that right? He has an old Lawrence safe here. It's my job to sell him a new one. Is he your boss."

  At that moment a Cadillac pulled up by the gas pumps and the driver hit the horn impatiently.

  'I'll be right back," I said, glad of the interruption. I wanted a few moments to decide just how much I was going to tell him.

  While I served the Caddy, my mind was busy. I decided I couldn't tell Roy the whole story. I couldn't tell him about Jenson's death. That was Lola's secret, not mine.

  I decided to tell him the story I was telling everyone else: that Jenson was away, looking for another filling station, and he wouldn't be back for a couple of months.

  I returned to the lunch room.

  Roy was smoking and wandering around staring at everything as I came in.

  "This is certainly a swell set-up, Chet. I envy you. It must be a little gold mine."

  "It's not so lousy," I said. "Carl Jenson's away. I don't reckon he'll be back for a while."

  Roy pulled a face.

  "You mean I've come all this way for nothing? How about his wife? Could she buy a safe?"

  "Not a chance. Jenson is the boss around here. You're out of luck."

  He finished his drink, then leaning forward he carefully deposited ash into the ash tray on the counter. "I'll tell you something. I'm a lousy salesman. I've been on this job now seven weeks and I haven't sold one goddamn safe yet." He looked at me, frowning. "At the end of the month my sales report is going to look like a hole in the ground, and then the axe will fall. I'm not kidding myself. I'm going to be out of a job pretty soon."

  "You should worry. It beats me why you let them push you around. Why don't you go to Garringtons or Haywards? Their safes are miles ahead of Lawrences, and they would jump at you."

  He shook his head.

  "That's where you're wrong. They would want to know why I had quit and Franklin would give them the hint. He wouldn't say I had been mixed up in that business, but he could and would say I wasn't considered a good risk, and that would be that."

  I stared at him.

  "But they can't prove it, Roy."

  "They don't have to. All they have to do is to drop a hint."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "I don't know. I'm a good safe man and I can fix locks, but I'm not much good at anything else. Besides, I'm thirty-five. It comes tough to change your job at that age and get away with it." He looked at his watch. "Getting on for lunch time. I'm hungry. How about something to eat?"

  I gave him the menu as two truckers came in. They sat on stools away from us and ordered hamburgers.

  As I was preparing the hamburgers, Roy asked how the fried chicken was.

  "Okay," I said. "You have that with green salad and the cranberry pie and you'll know you have eaten."

  "Fine."

  A boy and a girl drove up in an M.G. sports and came in. The boy asked if the lunch was ready.

  I said there was fried chicken and they settled for that

  Every so often I looked through the window for the sight of Lola. As I was dishing up the chicken I saw the Mercury come over the hill.

  I put the plate of chicken before Roy.

  "Mrs. Jenson is coming now," I said, and lowering my voice, I went on, "I'm known here as Patmore, Roy. Don't forget it."

  He nodded and winked.

  Lola drove around to the back and I heard her come in through the kitchen entrance. I went into the kitchen.

  "I'm a little late," she said. "Are you all right? Anyone wanting food?"

  "It's under control." I put my arm around her and kissed her. "Something's blown up, Lola. A guy I knew in the past dropped in. It's okay. I can trust him. He wanted to do business with your husband. I've told him he won't be back for a couple of months."

  Lola looked startled.

  "Are you sure you can trust him, Chet?"

  "Yes, he's my best friend. It's okay."

  I heard someone tapping impatiently on the counter of the lunch room.

  "I'd better get back. We can unload the stuff later."

  I left her and returned to the lunch room.

  There was a guy standing at the counter: short, fat and wearing a fawn seersucker suit.

  "I have a party of twenty outside," he said. "Can you feed them?"

  "Sure," I said. "Wheel them in."

  Through the window I could see a luxury rubberneck bus parked by the pumps. It was loaded with tourists.

  I put my head around the kitchen door and warned Lola there was a rush on the way. She nodded. No rush ever fazzed her.

  The lunch room got crowded, and although Lola and I worked at top pressure, there was some delay. Then a couple of trucks pulled up and the truckers honked for gas.

  Roy had finished his meal and was watching me trying to handle the rush. He slid off the stood and came over to me.

  "How about me helping out?" he said. "I can handle pumps. Okay?"

  "Fine—go ahead."

  I reached under the counter and gave him the satchel containing the change. "You'll get the price off the pumps—they are automatic."

  He took the satchel and went out to the pumps.

  For the next hour and a half we were all kept hard at it. Finally, the tourists left, and the place suddenly became empty. I had been busy I hadn't had time to see how Roy had been making out. Now I went to the window as Lola came out of the kitchen.

  Roy was on the job. He had three cars in a row waiting for gas. He worked quickly, washing the windshields as the pump was working.

  Lola joined me.

  "What goes on?" she asked, watching Roy. "Who's that?"

  "That's Roy Tracey: the guy I was telling you about, he offered to help out. Looks like he's doing pretty well."

  "He certainly does."

  There was a note in her voice that made me look at her. She was studying Roy, her green eyes slightly narrowed.

  "He wouldn't want a job here, Chet?" she said. "We need help, and if you can trust him ..."

  I put my arm around her and gave her a little hug.

  "I was going to suggest it. That guy and I are like brothers. We can trust him, Lola. I told him Jenson was away. We can tell him he's gone off with some woman and you and I are living together. He'll understand. But maybe he wouldn't want to stay on here. He's restless. Maybe it would be too lonely for him." I grinned at her. "At least, he won't make any passes at you. Since his marriage broke up he isn't interested in women."

  She looked at me.

  "He's coming now. Ask him, Chet."

  The screen door pushed open and Roy came in. He paused in the doorway and stared at Lola. I saw a surprised look come into his eyes. Even in her soiled overalls she was still a woman to stare at, but that didn't bother me.

  "Roy, this is Mrs. Jenson," I said "Lola, this is Roy Tracey."

  "I see you have been helping out, Mr. Tracey," Lola said, smiling. "Thanks. We had quite a rush on."

  Roy grinned at her.

  "I'll say you did! I enjoyed helping. Nice place you have here, Mrs. Jenson."

  "You like it?"

  "I certainly do."

  "How about staying on then, Roy?" I said. "There's a cabin across the way. You can have that. The job's worth forty a week. How about it?"

  Roy looked from me to Lola, his grin widening.

  "Are you sure you want me?" He was speaking to Lola. "If you do, I'd jump at it."

  "We were only saying the other day we would have to get help," Lola said

  "Then it's a deal."

  A Ford station wagon rolled out of the dust and pulled up by the pumps.

  "Want me to take care of it, boss?" Roy said, grinning at me.

  "I'll handle
it," I said. "You two get acquainted." I looked at Lola. "This guy went to school with me. Treat him nicely. We're like brothers."

  Roy gave me a light punch on the chest.

  "That's right." He looked directly at Lola. "Like brothers."

  II