1944 - Just the Way It Is

by James Hadley Chase

  He raised the blind a few inches so that he could see. There were two doors at either end of the passage. The door on the right led to the room where the men were. The one on the left might lead to the street. He walked down the passage and opened the left-hand door. He had one brief glimpse of the sky and an alleyway, before he realized, with a shock that sent his heart fluttering, that he had walked into Tod Korris.

  Just for a split second they stared at each other, then Joe, with the courage of desperation, swung his fist and hit Korris on the jaw with his left hand. The blow sent Korris reeling back with a startled grunt. Joe jerked up his gun. He covered Korris who backed against the wall.

  ‘Hold it,’ Joe said, softly.

  Korris recovered himself, adjusted his glasses and grimaced at Joe. ‘You nuts or something?’ he said, feeling his jaw with his fingertips. Then he recognized Joe. ‘Schultz’s kid?’ The pale eyes behind the glasses became cold. ‘What do you want here?’

  Joe did some quick thinking. If he could get the girls he could knock Korris out and they’d get away. But it wasn’t going to be easy to let them know what was going on. He knew that Korris was as dangerous as a cobra. It wouldn’t do to take his eyes off him for a second. On the other hand, if he didn’t act quickly, someone might come out of the room at the far end of the passage.

  ‘I didn’t mean to hit you,’ he said. ‘You scared me. I was looking for Schultz and got lost.’

  Korris raised his eyebrows. ‘Could you point that heater somewhere else?’ he asked, politely. ‘It might go off.’

  Joe lowered the gun, but he was very watchful. He didn’t know what to do. ‘You’re bright and early, ain’t you?’ he said, edging a little closer. He thought if he could catch Korris off his guard, he might smack him with the gun butt.

  ‘The early bird gets the worm,’ Korris said, glancing behind Joe and then looking at the boy with a smile. He touched his jaw again. ‘You’ve got quite a punch for a youngster.’

  Something rammed into Joe’s spine and a voice said, ‘Drop the rod, you jerk!’

  Joe shivered, hesitated, but the gun kept grinding into his spine, so he let his .38 slip out of his fingers to the floor.

  He was suddenly jerked round and he found a man with heavy eyebrows and a scar that ran down his cheek to his collar grinning at him. He had time to notice that the man’s teeth were broken and decayed and then the man hit him with his half clenched fist high up on his cheek bone.

  Joe thudded against the wall and slipped to the floor.

  ‘Hello, Biff,’ Korris said. ‘The other boys here?’

  The man nodded. ‘Who’s the punk?’

  ‘Schultz’s boy,’ Korris said, looking down at Joe without interest. ‘Bring him along.’

  The man, Biff, reached down, grabbed Joe by his shirt and coat and jerked him to his feet. Holding Joe so that only his toes scraped the ground, he marched down the passage into a large, smoke-filled room.

  There was a table in the centre of the room, covered with bottles, playing cards, glasses and money. About eight men sat round the table playing poker.

  Biff carried Joe in, gave a heave and flung the boy on to the table. Joe swept the table clean with his body, upsetting two of the men nearest to him

  There was an immediate uproar. Men jumped to their feet, cursing. The two men who had gone over lay stunned for a moment and then joined in the noise.

  Biff bellowed with laughter. He thought it was the funniest thing, Joe scrambled to his feet and backed hastily away.

  There were at least a dozen men in the room. Some he had seen in the various poolrooms in his district, but none that he had ever spoken to.

  Komski, one of the men who had fallen over, a thin, vicious looking fellow with long black hair and an unshaven chin, stepped up to him, swept his hands away and knocked him across the room with a back hand slap on his mouth.

  Joe cannoned into another man, who spun him round and kicked him across the room He fell on his hands and knees and another boot thudded into his ribs, sending him over on his side. He lay there, riding the pain and shivering with repressed rage and hatred.

  As someone else moved over to kick him again, Korris said, sharply, ‘Shadup, you guys!’

  The room became quiet and they all looked in astonishment at Korris. They hadn’t noticed him in the uproar.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Korris said, sitting at the table. He glanced at his watch and eased the muscles in his shoulders. ‘Ain’t one of you lazy punks got some coffee going? I’m feeling half dead. Come on, don’t stand there like a lot of half-gutted monkeys. Get some coffee and bring that guy to me. I want to talk to him.’

  Komski grabbed Joe and pulled him to his feet. When Joe got his balance, he jerked free, jumped away from Komski and snatched up a chair. He smashed it down on Komski before he could get out of the way. The chair flew to pieces and Komski was beaten to his knees.

  The others scattered hastily, leaving a space round Joe, who circled slowly, holding the back of the chair in his sound hand.

  Komski knelt on the floor, holding his head and swearing.

  Biff said, ‘What’s the matter with you? He’s only a kid,’ and went off in a bellow of laughter.

  Komski got to his feet and rushed at Joe, who sidestepped him and hit him on the back of his neck with the chairback. Komski stumbled and then pitched forward on his face.

  Someone standing behind Joe kicked his legs from under him with a strangled grunt of a laugh and then shifted closer and stepped on Joe’s upturned face.

  Korris said, ‘Be careful with him. I want to talk to him.’

  Biff went over to Joe and hauled him to his feet. Joe’s face ran blood where his nose had been flattened. He looked at Biff murderously, but he didn’t struggle. He thought his nose was broken and it hurt him a lot. Biff took him over to Korris.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Korris snapped.

  Joe didn’t say anything.

  Korris looked at Biff. ‘He’s deaf,’ he said.

  Biff grinned. He put his great hand over Joe’s face and pressed. Joe gave a strangled scream, backed away and then Biff caught him again.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Korris asked again.

  ‘I told you,’ Joe said, his voice thick. ‘I was looking for Schultz.’

  Korris waved him away. ‘Soften him, Biff,’ he said. ‘Take him somewhere and get all the dope. I’ve got things to do. Find out what he’s been up to.’

  Biff looked bored, but he grabbed hold of Joe and dragged him to the door.

  Komski had got up by now. ‘Let me do it,’ he said, holding the back of his neck and staring at Joe.

  Biff looked at Korris. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Sure, but you’re not to kill him,’ Korris said. ‘Just soften him up.’

  Komski went over and took Joe by his bad wrist. He twisted it and Joe nearly went out. He hung on to his senses with an effort, but there was nothing much he could do for the moment. He let Komski drag him out of the room.

  While this had been going on, Clare and Lorelli had been waiting on the stairs. They heard Joe talking to Korris and they heard Biff telling Joe to drop his gun. Then they heard them go into the room and shut the door.

  They ran up the stairs and when they reached the back door, Clare saw Joe’s gun lying on the floor. She picked it up. ‘You’re not going to leave him here?’ she whispered to Lorelli.

  ‘Give me that,’ Lorelli said, snatching the gun out of Clare’s hand. ‘You go. I’ll wait here. Get Harry Duke. It’s no good going to the cops. This is Spade’s mob and the cops work for ‘em. Get Harry Duke.’

  Clare hesitated. ‘No, I can’t leave you. I can’t. . .’

  Lorelli shoved her to the door impatiently. ‘I’m okay,’ she said, curtly. ‘You don’t think a bunch of rats like them could scare me, do you? I’ve got the gun. That’s all I need. Get off; otherwise we’re sunk.’

  Clare realized that there was some sense in that. ‘Where shall I find him
?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know where he lives.’

  Lorelli frowned. ‘This Cullen fellow will tell you,’ she said at last. ‘But be quick.’

  Clare said, ‘I’ll do it,’ she squeezed Lorelli’s arm and then slipped out into the alleyway.

  She hadn’t been gone a half a minute when Komski came out, dragging Joe. When the door closed behind him, Joe suddenly went for Komski

  Komski, snarling, began to club Joe about the head with his fists. Joe held on, punching, kicking and biting like a madman.

  Biff put his head round the door. ‘For the love of mike,’ he said, ‘Can’t you handle a little punk like that?’

  Komski threw Joe against the wall and hit him on his nose. Joe gave a thin wail and slithered down to the floor.

  ‘Beat it!’ Komski said, savagely. ‘I’ve only just started on this unprintable this, that and the other.’

  Biff grinned and went back into the room.

  As Komski bent over Joe, Lorelli came up behind him in a silent rush. She hit Komski on the head with the butt of the .38. She hit him as hard as she could and the jar from the blow ran up her arm.

  Komski gave at the knees and folded up on the floor on top of Joe. Lorelli dragged him clear, pulled him over on his back and hit him just above the bridge of his nose. She was so excited that the sharp sound of breaking bone didn’t even make her flinch.

  Joe spat blood. ‘Hit the heel again,’ he said, and fainted.

  That was how the third day began and by nightfall the whole business was finished.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The smell of food woke Harry Duke. He sat up, blinked and then gaped at the Negro who was shaking him gently. ‘Breakfast, boss,’ the Negro said. ‘You said you wanted it early.’

  Harry Duke yawned and sat up. He felt low. ‘Get me a drink, will you?’ he said, looking at the steak and fried eggs with an uneasy eye. ‘Did I order that lot? I must have been crazy.’

  While the Negro went into the hot-room for the whisky Harry Duke swung himself off the bunk and took a shower. He felt a lot better after that and when he had a stiff drink, he felt fine. He sat down and began to eat

  ‘Mr. Kells up?’ he asked.

  The Negro nodded. ‘Yeah, boss, he’s coming in now.’

  A moment or so later, Kells came in. He looked sleepy and the sight of Duke eating made him wince. ‘That’s enough to turn the strongest stomach,’ he said, looking away. ‘Steak at five o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Get him something,’ Harry Duke said to the Negro. He’ll want it before the day’s out.’

  ‘Coffee,’ Kells said. ‘And nothing else.’

  ‘Don’t be a dope,’ Duke returned, spreading mustard on his steak. ‘We’re going to be too busy to bother with food once we get going.’

  The Negro grinned. ‘I’ll fix you with something,’ he said, and went out.

  ‘What’s the first move?’ Kells asked, examining his chin in a mirror on the wall.

  ‘We’ll get over to Cullen’s, pick him up and find out if he’s seen Clare.’

  ‘Clare?’ Kells repeated. ‘Every time you open your mouth you introduce a new character into his business. ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Clare Russell of the Clarion. She’s missing. Did you see her last night? She came to talk to Bellman just before he was murdered.’

  ‘That’s the dame, is it?’ Kells said, then he banged his fist on the table. ‘Holy smoke; I remember now! Schultz and she were leaving when I arrived at the club last night.’

  ‘Schultz?’ Duke threw down his knife and fork. ‘Was he there?’

  Kells got quite excited. ‘I never went near Bellman. Schultz could have killed him! What a dope I am! He had the girl by the arm and he said something about her not feeling well. She looked as if she were going to pass out and he had to support her as she walked.’

  Harry Duke kicked back his chair and stood up. ‘You brainless lug!’ he said angrily. ‘We could have got on to him last night. Come on, we ain’t got a minute!’

  ‘Hey!’ Kells looked alarmed. ‘What about my breakfast?’

  ‘Forget it!’ Duke returned, struggling into his coat. ‘We’ve got to get hold of Schultz.’

  Kells ran back into the hot room to get his clothes, while he was dressing, Duke rang Peter, but after delay, the operator said that there was no reply. He stood waiting for Kells impatiently, eating the last of the steak.

  ‘Fill up,’ Kells said, bitterly. ‘Don’t mind about me.’

  ‘Come on,’ Harry Duke said, impatiently. ‘I couldn’t care less about you.’

  As they left the room, the Negro came in with a tray. Kells grabbed a plate of grilled ham, hastily put the ham between the two slices of bread and butter and followed Harry Duke into the street.

  The Negro gaped after them, his eyes bulging out of his head.

  Duke drove furiously, while Kells munched his sandwich.

  ‘I can’t make out where the hell Peter’s got to,’ Duke said. ‘I ought never to have left him.’

  Kells grunted. He wasn’t interested in Peter. ‘He’ll turn up,’ he said, finishing his sandwich and wiping his fingers on his coat. ‘Don’t you worry about him.’

  ‘Where’s your car?’ Duke asked abruptly.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Car, you dope, thing with wheels and gasoline.’

  ‘In the garage behind Chez Paree.’ Kells looked bewildered. ‘Why?’

  Duke turned off the main street and drove furiously down the street that lay parallel to it. ‘I’ve just thought of something. I want you to take your car and get over to Pinder’s End. Tell Casy how things look and tell him to watch out. I’ll feel safer with you out there.’ He slowed down as they reached the Chez Paree. ‘Okay?’

  Kells got out of the car. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Suppose the guy shoots me?’

  Duke remembered the applejack and pushed the earthenware jar into Kells’ hands. ‘Show him that,’ he said. ‘He’ll know you’re a friend.’

  He drove off, leaving Kells taking a long pull from the jar.

  It took him five minutes of reckless driving to reach Schultz’s house. He didn’t attempt to creep up on Schultz, but nailed the car outside the front door, jumped out and ran up the path.

  The front door was locked, but Duke didn’t hesitate. He took a flying kick and the door crashed off its hinges. He walked straight into the passage, over the door, his coat open and his hand ready to go for his gun. There was a hard look on his face and a frosty gleam in his eye.

  Then in the hall, he stopped short. There were bloodstains on the wall. Long smears as if someone, bleeding badly, had supported himself against the wall.

  He stood still. It was a moment of great revelation to him. He found then what Clare meant to him. He had only seen her twice in forty-eight hours. He had quarrelled with her and he had put her out of his mind in those forty-eight hours. But thinking that this was her blood, he realized how much she meant to him and how empty and thin his life was going to be without her.

  It came as a complete shock to him, as if he had been blindfolded and now he could see. Life had a bleakness that frightened him.

  He didn’t want to go into the house in case he found her. He didn’t want this sudden unexpected and horrible nightmare to come to life.

  And as he stood there, he heard someone run up the path and he heard Clare’s voice say, ‘Oh, Harry . . .’ and he turned, not believing that he had heard correctly.

  She was standing just outside the house, peering in at him. The sun in her hair and her great eyes alive with relief.

  He stood looking at her and then he walked across the fallen door and took her in his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes bewildered and then he crushed his mouth down on hers, holding her against him, so that she couldn’t move and he stayed like that for a long time.

  Clare wanted to get away from him, but he was too strong, then she felt something inside her melting and she wanted never to be out of his arms. She clung to him
, feeling her lips bruising, but wanting him to remain like that.

  He suddenly put her away from him and shook his head as if trying to clear something from his mind. ‘I thought something had happened to you,’ he said, still holding her arms. ‘I thought something horrible had happened to you.’

  She couldn’t say anything, but she just stared at him, not knowing what to think.

  He remembered the bloodstains and looked back over his shoulder at the house. ‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘I won’t be long.’ Then leaving her, he walked into the house again.

  In the sitting room he found Peter Cullen. He was sitting in a chair, the front of his shirt was red and there was a red smear on his mouth. He seemed to be looking up at the ceiling in a frightened, concentrated stare and a fly walked across his open eye as Duke looked at him.

  Duke just stood there looking. He felt no shock. He felt nothing. This wasn’t the Peter Cullen he had known. This was someone who didn’t matter, who was dead and who looked rather horrible. The Peter Cullen he knew was still going about, still worrying over things that need not be worried over, still looking at him in a friendly critical way and telling him that he was wild.

  Then Clare came in.

  Duke was too late to stop her. He just put his arm round her and held her against him while she looked at Peter Cullen. He felt her trembling against him and that made him feel bad.

  She didn’t ask if he was dead. She could see he was. She just held on to Harry Duke and felt the small life she had built round Peter Cullen gradually go to pieces.

  She said, ‘Take me away,’ at last, and he picked her up and carried her out of the house.

  He liked the feel of her against him, the weight of her that tugged at his muscles and the touch of her hair against his face. He put her gently into his car. ‘I’ve got things to do,’ he said. ‘You’ll wait for me . . . won’t you?’ and he went back into the house.

  He walked hurriedly from room to room, not expecting to find anyone and not finding anyone. Then he went back to Peter Cullen and stood looking down at him.

  Peter had been shot at close quarters. There was a burn on his shirt from the flash of the gun. Otherwise, there was nothing to tell Duke how it happened. All he knew was that it must have been Schultz. Somehow, Peter had learned that Schultz had got Clare and had come out after her. He had come out without a gun, Duke reasoned, and Schultz had shot him down.