1944 - Just the Way It Is

by James Hadley Chase

  O’Malley thanked him. Duke’s tips were the McCoy.

  ‘Listen,’ Duke went on. ‘Never mind racing for a moment. I want to trace a car.’ He gave O’Malley the licence number. ‘Can you get it fast?’

  ‘How fast?’ O’Malley asked cautiously.

  ‘I’ll wait for it.’

  Duke heard O’Malley groan and he grinned. ‘What’s the matter? Tired of getting my tips?’ he asked.

  ‘You hang on. I’ll do it for you, Harry, only — well, you ain’t going to make a practice of this, are you?’

  ‘Go get it, you lazy Mick, and stop yapping.’

  There was a long silence and then O’Malley came back on the line. ‘One of Vardis Spade’s cars. What’s the trouble?’

  When O’Malley said ‘Spade’, Duke’s lips pursed into a soundless whistle. ‘No trouble,’ he said. ‘There was a judy driving who caught my eye.’

  O’Malley struggled with his feelings. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ he said, savagely, ‘you got me to turn up that number because of a dame?’

  ‘She was a nice dish, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered you,’ Duke returned and hastily hung up.

  FOUR

  Peter Cullen had just fixed his tie when he heard the stuttering roar of the old Ford engine which died abruptly as Clare switched off the ignition.

  He grabbed his coat, touched the sides of his thick hair with a hairbrush and ran to the door.

  As he reached the landing, he heard the Ford door slam and a moment later the sound of heels clicking down the passage. He hung over the banisters, anxious for his first glimpse of her.

  Clare Russell meant a lot to Peter. It wasn’t because of her beauty. He had known a lot of beautiful women in his time and had grown tired of them. He believed that he was in love with her efficiency. She was so unlike the Usual girl in Bentonville or Fairview for that matter.

  They had met quite casually when she called in at one of his filling stations for a minor repair to the Ford. He had been checking the books at the time and seeing her wandering up and down while the mechanic was working, he had gone out to her.

  He found Clare friendly and he knew that she had liked him immediately she saw him. He was not slow and when she drove away, he had her telephone number in his notebook.

  They met fairly regularly after that. He knew she was lonely and he knew too that she felt buried alive in Fairview. It was really easy for him as he took her about, liked the things that amused her and had a common interest in books and the theatre.

  Now, Clare would come out every evening after work and they would either go to a movie or to a restaurant to talk.

  Looking over the banisters, Peter caught a glimpse of her small glossy head as she came up the stairs.

  He whistled softly and she looked up. Her big, dark eyes lit up when she saw him and she smiled, breaking into a run.

  ‘I’m not late, am I?’ she asked, coming to an abrupt halt when she reached him.

  He looked down at her. ‘It’s striking eight now,’ he said, taking her elbows in his hands and drawing her a little closer to him. ‘It’s swell to see you. How are you?’

  She raised her face and they kissed. ‘Oh, I’m all right. A little tired perhaps.’ She straightened his tie. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, leading her into his room. ‘Come in a second. I’m nearly ready.’

  She looked round the bright untidy room and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘I like it in here,’ she said. ‘All this is so like you, Peter.’ She glanced up at him, smiled and put his arm gently from her. She walked over to the big armchair and sat down, curling her long legs under her. ‘Sam was kidding me about you this evening,’ she said. ‘He’s found out about you.’

  Peter began to put a variety of things into his pockets. ‘Has he?’ He glanced back to her. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m glad. Sam’s been very good to me, Peter. I don’t know what I should have done without him.’

  ‘You’ve got me now.’

  ‘I know. It’s horrible to be lonely . . . especially for a girl. I don’t want any more of that.’

  ‘If you’ll only be sensible and marry me, you never will have to say that again.’ Peter glanced in the mirror, satisfied himself on his appearance and came over to sit on the arm of Clare’s chair.

  ‘No!’ Clare held up a long, thin finger. ‘Not tonight, Peter. We went all over that last night. I told you I’m not sure. I’ve been so long on my own. I’ve had to look after myself for so long that. . . well, I just don’t know.’

  Peter touched her hair lightly. ‘All right. So long as I know there’s no one else. You know, darling, I could be horribly jealous of you.’

  She shook his hand. There won’t be anyone else,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t talk like that. You must be sure of me. I like men who are sure. I don’t like men who feel inferior because I’ve got a nice figure, big brown eyes and a pretty dress.’

  Peter grinned down at her. ‘Who said you had a nice figure, anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t you think so?’

  ‘I’m in the motor business. I never pass judgment on something I haven’t seen.’

  ‘And now, Mr. Cullen, you are becoming worldly.’

  ‘Certainly not. I’m merely running to type.’

  ‘In that case, I had better be very cautious and’ sit by the window where I can call for help if necessary.’

  ‘I’m glad you add if necessary.’ He smiled at her. ‘But, seriously Clare, I wish you’d marry me.’

  ‘And seriously, Peter, I wish you wouldn’t talk about it just now. Do you mind very much?’ She slipped her hand into his.

  For a moment his face showed his disappointment, then he smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Clare. Tell me what you’ve been doing today.’

  ‘Oh, it’s been thoroughly tiresome from the moment I arrived at the office. I was hoping to get material for an article on the Fairview slums. Do you know Pinder’s End, Peter?’

  ‘I think so. Isn’t that the place just outside Fairview . . . a few bungalows and a lot of poverty?’

  ‘Hmm. That describes it very well. It’s a disgrace to the town. I feel so sorry for the people living there. They are almost like those dreadful characters in Tobacco Road. The Town surveyor has been threatening to clear them out for the past year and everything was fixed at the last Municipal session. Now, it has been shelved.’

  ‘Well, I should imagine the people living there are glad. Where would they have gone?’

  ‘They would have been looked after. It had all been arranged and worked out. And now, for no apparent reason, they’re not going ahead with the scheme.’

  ‘Just like the authorities.’ Peter took out his cigarette case and offered it.

  ‘I wanted to kick up a row in the Clarion about it, but Sam wouldn’t hear of it,’ Clare went on, accepting a light. ‘Sometimes I wonder if Sam isn’t too cautious. Ever since that man Korris threatened him he has laid off all politics and hardly prints anything about Bentonville.’

  ‘I remember that business. Didn’t Korris threaten to burn the Clarion building or something?’

  Clare shrugged. ‘As if that meant anything.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong there. Korris is powerful in Bentonville. His mob sticks at nothing.’

  ‘It’s an absolute disgrace. Why don’t the police clear him out?’

  ‘Now, come, Clare! You know as well as I do the politicians make a good thing out of Korris. They wouldn’t dream of getting rid of him.’

  ‘Do you think there is such a person as Spade?’ Clare asked abruptly, after a pause.

  ‘Spade? You mean the racket boss? I suppose so. I really don’t interest myself in that side of the town.’

  ‘But you should, Peter. If everyone took an interest and brought pressure to bear at election time, this gang would be run out of town.’

  ‘Or else we’d get our teeth kicked in,’ Peter said, looking serious. ‘These people have got a
grip on Bentonville, Clare. They won’t give up in a hurry.’

  ‘Oh, Peter, I know what I wanted to ask you. Do you know a man called Timson?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘He’s over at Fairview. Sam says he’s from Bentonville and he’s looking for property. I believe he’s going to buy land out there.’

  ‘Oh, surely not,’ Peter laughed. ‘There’s nothing in Fairview that would be worthwhile to a refuse man. I can’t believe that. What’s he going to do . . . buy Pinder’s End?’

  ‘He wouldn’t be so stupid. . .’ Clare stopped and stared at Peter. ‘Oh, but he couldn’t. Surely . . .’

  ‘Now, what’s the matter?’

  Clare slid out of the armchair. ‘Do you mind if I use your telephone?’

  Peter looked at her with amused bewilderment. ‘What’s got into that smart little head of yours?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. It’s rather a coincidence that Timson should be in Fairview looking for property and the Pinder’s End scheme should be shelved on the day he arrived,’ Clare returned, dialling.

  ‘Who are you ringing?’

  ‘I’m going to ask Hill, the town surveyor.’ She turned back to the telephone. ‘Is that Mr. Hill? This is Clare Russell of the Clarion. I understand, Mr. Hill, that Pinder’s End has been sold. Is that correct?’

  There was a startled exclamation at the other end of the line. ‘Sold?’ Hill spluttered. ‘Who said so?’

  ‘I have information to that effect,’ Clare returned, in her most businesslike manner, ‘I would like confirmation.’

  ‘I have nothing to give to the Press,’ Hill snapped.

  ‘Then you don’t deny the story?’ Clare persisted.

  ‘I tell you I have nothing to say,’ Hill returned, and hung up on her.

  Clare put the receiver on its cradle gently and looked at Peter. ‘He won’t talk. It looks as if Timson’s bought Pinder’s End.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem possible,’ Peter said. ‘What in the world would anyone want with that dump? I expect Hill’s just being obstinate.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, and picked up the telephone again. She called Sam and told him, but Sam wouldn’t believe it.

  ‘You leave Pinder’s End to me,’ he said, briskly. ‘I’ll see Hill first thing tomorrow. Now go and enjoy yourself. You’re holding up my dinner,’ and he rang off.

  Clare shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t do anything about it tonight,’ she said, regretfully. She looked over at Peter. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  Peter snapped his fingers. ‘I’d almost forgotten, darling. We are going to the Chez Paree and you’re going to meet that notorious character, Harry Duke. I’ve asked him to dinner.’

  Clare’s eyes lost a little of their sparkle. ‘I wanted to spend the evening alone with you,’ she protested. ‘I don’t feel like being nice to your friends.’

  ‘You don’t have to be nice to Harry Duke,’ Peter said. ‘In fact, I should hate you to be.’

  ‘Honesty, Peter, can’t we put him off? I’m not in the mood for mixed company.’

  Peter gave her a quick look and saw that she was serious. ‘Why, I’m sorry, Clare. I suppose I could put him off, but he’s been waiting so long to meet you and he is my best friend.’ He stood looking at her, undecided.

  Clare wandered over to the window. ‘Don’t be sorry, Peter,’ she said. ‘You weren’t to know how I was going to feel.’ After a moment’s silence, she went on. ‘I’ve heard a lot about Harry Duke. I don’t really think I want to meet him. After all, he is one of the Bentonville gamblers, isn’t he?’

  Peter laughed uneasily. ‘You mustn’t believe all you hear. Harry’s swell. We’ve known each other a long time and he’s been good to me. Of course, he is a little wild, but that doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘He’s a gambler, a gunman and a bad citizen.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ Peter said, a little sharply. ‘He’s a gambler, but then so are thousands of other guys.’

  ‘I suppose thousands of other guys are gunmen and bad citizens, which makes Harry Duke just a nice ordinary fellow.’

  There was another pause, then Peter said quietly, ‘Okay, Clare, I’ll put him off.’

  Clare swung round. ‘I’m sorry, Peter, I’m being stupid. I’ll take a leaf out of your book and I won’t pass judgment on someone I haven’t seen.’

  Peter looked at her searchingly. ‘Do you mean that?’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. Now I come to think about it, I ought to meet Harry Duke. If I don’t like him and if I think he is undesirable, I shall do all I can to break up your beautiful friendship.’ She smiled, but her dark eyes were serious and worried.

  Peter felt that the evening was going cold on him. ‘Come on, Clare,’ he said, reaching for his hat. ‘We talk too much, instead of just enjoying ourselves as everyone else does. We talk, analyse and worry. Life’s too hollow to stand up to that kind of treatment. We’ve just got to accept it, otherwise we’ll never get anywhere.’

  ‘I call that muddle philosophy,’ Clare returned, going just ahead of him down the stairs. ‘But never mind. We won’t talk, we won’t analyse and we won’t worry. Then we’ll have a beautiful evening with the bad Mr. Duke.’

  Peter opened the car door. ‘You won’t let your waspish nature off the lead, will you?’

  ‘Have I a waspish nature?’ Clare settled herself under the wheel and reached for the ignition switch.

  ‘I think you must have.’ Peter smiled down at her.

  ‘Then I’ll be very careful and I won’t say one word to offend your poor Harry Duke.’

  ‘That’s swell. I might as well warn you that Harry’s got quite a line in wasps himself. So don’t blame me if you get stung.’

  Clare engaged the gear and the Ford moved slowly into the centre of the road. ‘I can hardly wait for the meeting. It sounds too marvellous. I can see us all sitting round the table, hating and stinging each other and pretending we’re having a lovely evening. Anyway, it’ll be quite a novelty.’

  ‘If you go on like this, Clare Russell, I’m going to take you home. You want a good shaking.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr. Duke will give it to me.’

  ‘I’ll give it to you myself.’

  ‘Then I really will be horrid,’ Clare said, edging the Ford into the stream of downtown traffic. ‘I think I’d like to be shaken by you.’

  Peter raised his hands in mock despair.

  FIVE

  Harry Duke watched them come in from his corner at the end of the bar. He looked at Clare curiously, then he put his glass down slowly on the polished counter. She was standing in the doorway with Peter just behind her and he saw her face turned at an angle and at the same time he saw the strange thing about her. And as he looked at her he felt a thickness in his throat.

  When they saw him and came across, he was careful not to stare at her, although he wanted to. He kept his eyes on Peter, ignoring her until they reached him and then he looked at her, meeting her dark, serious eyes and then looking away.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ Peter said, looking like a dog with two tails. ‘Harry, this is Clare. I want you two to like each other.’

  Clare was startled. She hadn’t expected Duke to be like this at all. She could see now why Peter admired him. It irritated her to find him so untrue to type. The short black hair and close-clipped moustache were unexpected. So were the steady green eyes that looked through her so searchingly. She was offering her hand before she realized her mistake and he had taken it.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.’

  For the first time in her life, she felt shy and awkward. She was furious with herself and a little angry with Peter, although she knew that this was unfair.

  She felt Peter’s amused eyes on her and that made her more embarrassed. She must say something. She couldn’t stand there staring at this big broad-shouldered man like
a fool.

  ‘Peter has talked about you so much,’ she said, groping wildly for words. ‘But, I - I didn’t quite expect you to be like – I mean. . .’ she broke off and looked helplessly at Peter.

  ‘Obviously she’s a little overcome by your beauty,’ Peter said, with a grin.

  ‘It’s not that,’ Clare said hastily. ‘But. . . well, I’ve heard all sorts of things about you and I was expecting a . . . gangster.’

  Harry Duke looked mildly surprised. ‘I hope you’re not disappointed,’ he said. ‘I can understand why Pete hasn’t introduced me before.’ He glanced at Peter. ‘I don’t know how you do it. What’s the secret of your charm?’

  Peter beckoned to the barman. ‘She’s just a dope,’ he said, pleased. ‘It’s easy with her.’

  ‘The drinks are on me,’ Duke said, as the barman came up, ‘What’ll you have?’

  When the drinks had been set up, Peter said, ‘This is a pretty nice place. I’ve never been in here before.’

  Duke grunted, ‘It’s all right. Bellman’s been in the game for years. He’s got a gambling room upstairs.’ He glanced at Clare. ‘Would that interest you?’

  ‘No.’ Clare held the thin-stemmed glass near her lips and spoke over the amber liquid. ‘I don’t gamble.’

  ‘Everyone gambles,’ Duke said, looking at her with intent eyes. He found she was oddly disconcerting. ‘Not always for money, but everyone gambles.’

  She looked away. ‘Do they?’ she said. Her voice had gone a little flat.

  ‘Of course. They gamble for happiness, they gamble for position, for their homes, for their jobs. Surely you believe that?’

  Peter said, ‘Harry’s got a theory, but you mustn’t take him seriously.’

  She said. ‘The people you’re talking about have the gamble forced on them. They are not the same as the people upstairs, who deliberately risk their money.’

  ‘You don’t approve of gambling?’ There was a faint irony in Duke’s voice.

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘You mustn’t forget that Clare is a crusader. Don’t you read her column in the Clarion?’ Peter said, calling for another round of drinks.