1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

‘Then, unless you want to make him mad at you, you’ll have to have more driving lessons.’

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s what I was hoping you would suggest. That’s why I agreed to take lessons.’

  ‘He doesn’t know you can drive?’

  ‘No.’

  Mario came over with two plates of food. He set them before us and stood back, looking anxiously at her.

  ‘How’s that, Beth?’

  She regarded the food, touched her plate and shrugged.

  ‘You don’t improve, Mario.’

  He lifted his hands helplessly.

  ‘The meat’s the best.’

  ‘That’s something. Where’s the beer?’

  ‘Pronto.’

  As he hurried away, I said, ‘You’re a little rough with him, aren’t you? This looks good.’

  ‘Eat it before the fat congeals.’

  So we ate.

  Mario brought the beers, smirked at me and went away.

  She was right. Before we were half-way through, the plates were a mess of white fat. We both pushed them away and both lit cigarettes.

  ‘Some people never learn. I’ve told him, shown him, yelled at him, but he never will learn that hot plates are as important as good cooking. He’ll never learn. Still, we’re not poisoned. Coffee?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She snapped her fingers and Mario, back to cutting sandwiches, nodded.

  There was a pause, then he came hurrying over with two cups of coffee. He looked at the half-finished meal, grimaced, gathered up the plates and went away.

  ‘That false start you made when you went into drive instead of reverse was an act?’ I said as I stirred sugar in my coffee.

  She half smiled.

  ‘I like men with quick reactions. You were very quick.’

  ‘I earn a living as a driving instructor. I have to be quick.’

  She studied me for a long moment, her black eyes remote.

  ‘Have you always been an instructor, Mr. Devery?’

  ‘I am what Mr. Olson calls a rolling stone. Do you know Mr. Yule Olson?’

  ‘My husband’s attorney. I haven’t met him.’

  We sipped the coffee which was surprisingly good.

  ‘So you once worked here?’ I looked around and nodded approval. ‘Quite a lay out.’

  ‘Turn a stone and find a worm.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not bad.’ She flicked ash on the floor. ‘I met my husband here.’

  This interested me, but I was careful not to let her see that ‘And you don’t want to drive him to the station?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s lost his driving licence for three months. He has hired me to teach you to drive. Okay, I could give you six or maybe ten driving lessons and if you’re not driving by then it will make me look a lousy instructor.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette.

  ‘I don’t think so. It’ll make me look like an idiot.’

  ‘And he knows you are not.’

  Aware we were embarking on a conspiracy, I felt my pulse rate increase.

  ‘I am not going to drive my drunken husband to the station every morning and I am not picking him up at the station every evening. That’s for real!’

  Looking at her, I saw her black eyes were glittering.

  ‘Why not tell him driving scares you? I could tell him for you.’

  She considered this, frowning.

  ‘Yes, that could be a solution, but I wonder. . .’ She paused.

  ‘What do you wonder?’

  She pushed back her chair and stood up. That sexy body smell came distinctly to me.

  ‘I want to talk to Mario for a few moments. His wife is a good friend of mine. Would you mind waiting, Mr. Devery?’

  I watched her walk across to the bar where Mario was polishing glasses. I lit another cigarette.

  Her talk with Mario lasted less than five minutes. From time to time I looked at them. She leaned against the bar, her back to me. He stood, a glass in hand, gaping at her. Then she turned away and returned to our table and sat down.

  ‘You were saying, Mrs. Marshall that you wondered . . .’ I said.

  She looked directly at me.

  ‘Call me Beth.’

  My heart skipped a beat.

  ‘What were you wondering Beth?’

  ‘My husband has no interest in anything except his business and drinking, Keith. I haven’t interested him for more than two years.’ She paused, then went on, ‘There is a vacant cabin across the way. Mario is understanding.’ She half smiled, her eyes questioning. ‘I was wondering . . .’

  Right then I should have jumped to my feet, run out to the car and left her, but, of course, I didn’t. A surge of lust swamped the red light that began to flash in my mind.

  ‘I don’t need to wonder,’ I said, my voice husky. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  She gave a little nod, stood up and walked to the swing door.

  As I followed her, I looked at Mario. He was watching, and as I caught his eye, he shook his head in a warning gesture.

  Again the red light flashed up and again I ignored it.

  I went with her into the hot sunshine and across to the row of cabins. My heart was hammering and I was having trouble with my breathing as she inserted a key into the lock of cabin and opened the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Parking on Main Street was tight, but I spotted a man about to get into his car a few yards from Joe’s saloon. I flicked down my trafficator, braked and stopped. The driver of a car behind me hooted, then passed, giving me a frustrated glare. The parked car moved into the stream of traffic and I manoeuvred into the hole.

  As I got out of the car, Deputy Sheriff Ross came stalking down the sidewalk. His small cop eyes were bleak, his lips swollen and there was a bruise on his jaw. Marshall had certainly belted him. You don’t get those puffed lips from a kiss.

  We both ignored each other.

  Locking the car, I walked over to Joe’s saloon.

  The reception committee was waiting: Joe Pinner, Yule Olson and Tom Mason. They were sitting at a corner table, away from the bar.

  As I joined them the city clock struck six.

  ‘Hi there, Keith!’ Pinner boomed, beaming at me. ‘What’ll you drink?’

  The way I was feeling, I needed a treble whisky, but I wanted to continue to create a good impression, so, seeing they were all drinking beer, I said, ‘A beer would be fine, thanks,’ and I dropped into a chair beside him. Then looking at the other two, I said, ‘Gentlemen.’

  ‘Hi, Keith,’ Mason said, nodding and smiling.

  More reserved, Olson said, ‘It is my pleasure, Mr. Devery.’

  You three stuff shirt hypocrites! I thought as Pinner signalled to Joe. There was a pause while Joe opened a bottle, poured and came over. He set the beer in front of me as he said, ‘Hi, Mr. Devery.’

  There were some half dozen men propping up the bar and they were all looking towards us, concentrating on me. I guessed the whole town knew by now that I had met the mysterious Mrs. Beth Marshall.

  Unable to contain himself, Pinner said, ‘Well Keith, how did you find her?’

  The three of them leaned forward expectantly.

  How did I find her?

  I wasn’t going to tell them that she was the best lay I had ever had, that I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when we had arranged to meet again, for a repeat performance. I wasn’t going to tell them that, as we laid side by side in the cool little motel room, she had told me in that deep sexy voice of hers that the moment she had peered at me through the curtain when I had brought her husband back from the station I had set her on fire. Nor was I going to tell them that there was something about her that spooked me: that sent the feeling of a cold dead finger up my spine even when we were coupled together, and even when we had reached the top of the hill, exploded and slid down into sweating, dazed exhaustion. I wasn’t going to tell them any of that.

  Instead, I sat back, frowning and appeared to hesi
tate, then I said, ‘A bit of a screwball. I guess you could call her an introvert. She scarcely spoke a word.’ I looked at Pinner with my most beguiling smile. ‘I tried to make contact. . . nothing so far.’

  Their faces showed their disappointment.

  ‘So you got no idea how she reacts to our town?’ Pinner asked, tugging at his moustache.

  I certainly had, but I wasn’t going to tell them what she had said about Wicksteed and everyone who lived in the town. Her scathing comments had even surprised me.

  ‘The opportunity didn’t come up,’ I lied. I drank some beer, then went on, ‘But it could . . .’ and let it hang.

  The three sat forward.

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Mason asked.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I shifted my chair forward, then lowering my voice, I said, ‘Strictly in confidence, I doubt if Mrs. Marshall will ever learn to drive. Some women are too scared to drive. Some women haven’t the concentration to drive. Some women have a blind spot when at the wheel of a car. From what I’ve seen of Mrs. Marshall’s efforts so far, I’d say the chances of her passing the test is more than remote.’

  The three looked at each other.

  Olson said, ‘So what is the position, Mr. Devery?’

  ‘I’ve been worrying about it, Mr. Olson. I want to be helpful. I realize how important it is to you to know how she reacts to Wicksteed.’ I paused and looked at the three of them, then went on, ‘It seems to me there are two alternatives.’

  Pinner said sharply, ‘And what are they?’

  ‘Well, I guess, the honest thing to do is to tell Marshall that his wife is not capable of passing the test and so save him the cost of further lessons. If I tell him that I lose contact with Mrs. Marshall and I won’t be able to get the information you want.’ I paused to let that sink in, then went on, ‘The other alternative is for me to go on giving her lessons and hope she will unwind.’

  Olson said, frowning, ‘Unwind? What does that mean?’

  ‘I mean for her to relax. Once she relaxes, I could ask her how she reacts to Wicksteed. I might even persuade her to confide in me about her future plans if her husband died.’ I looked straight at Pinner. ‘That’s the information you want, isn’t it?’

  Pinner tugged at his moustache as he nodded.

  ‘That’s what we want, Keith,’ he said. ‘You go on giving her driving lessons. You do that.’

  Olson shifted uneasily.

  ‘Just a moment. If Mr. Devery is so certain she won’t be able to drive . . .’ He paused and looked at Mason. ‘I’m not sure I approve of this. Frank is my client. If Mr. Devery is satisfied that Mrs. Marshall can’t pass the test, I think Frank should be told.’

  Before Mason could express an opinion, I said, ‘Fine. I was only trying to be helpful. Okay, Mr. Olson, as soon as Frank gets home tonight I’ll telephone him and tell him how it is.’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ Mason said hastily. ‘Don’t let us rush this. We want to know Mrs. Marshall’s attitude to our town. Let me ask you a question, Keith. Are you absolutely certain that Mrs. Marshall won’t pass the test?’

  I nearly laughed. This was exactly what I was hoping he would say.

  ‘Can anyone be absolutely certain of anything. No - she just might, but I doubt it.’

  ‘So why don’t you give her a few more lessons and while you are with her, ask a few questions?’ Mason asked. ‘How’s about that?’

  I looked at Olson.

  ‘I’m only too happy to help. You tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.’

  Pinner slapped his hand down on the table, making the glasses jump.

  ‘Tom’s got the solution!’

  Olson hesitated, then nodded.

  ‘There can be no harm in giving her a few more lessons. Yes, why not?’

  Mason put his hand on my arm.

  ‘You go ahead, Keith. Suppose we all meet here Friday evening. That’ll give you three days. Then, if you are sure she won’t be able to drive, you tell Frank.’ He smiled at me, knowingly. ‘But in the meantime, try to get the information we want.’

  ‘You can rely on me, gentlemen.’ I finished my beer. ‘So here Friday at six.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Pinner said.

  This is supposed to be my day off.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’m taking a swim if you’ll excuse me.’ I smiled at them. ‘Friday then.’ We shook hands all round, then waving to Joe at the bar, I walked out to my car.

  The last thing I wanted was a swim. All I longed to do was to flop on my bed and hope my body would come together again.

  Making love to Beth was like getting entangled in a cement mixer.

  The following morning, still feeling rough, I arrived at the Driving school at 09.00 to be told by Maisie that I was booked solid for one hour driving lessons until 15.00.

  I told Bert that I had spent half my day off giving Mrs. Marshall her first driving lesson. I could have saved my breath.

  He already knew. The grapevine in this town was fierce.

  ‘That was mighty good of you, Keith,’ he said. ‘It’s good business. We can charge Marshall double time with you going up to his house and back.’ He looked inquiringly at me. ‘How does she shape?’

  I didn’t tell him that her shape, when stripped off, was sensational. Instead, I said it was early days, but she didn’t shape up too well.

  ‘Never mind. It’s good money.’ He began to open his mail.

  ‘Did you think any more about my proposition, Keith?’

  Proposition? I stared at him blankly, then remembered he had offered me a partnership.

  ‘Not yet, Bert. What with one thing and another. . .’

  He looked sad, then shrugged.

  ‘There’s time. I just hoped you would have thought about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Bert. I will.’

  ‘Tom will be back tomorrow.’

  Tom?

  I pulled myself together. Marshall and his money plus Beth had blotted everything else from my mind.

  Tom Lucas, I now remembered, was Bert’s driving instructor before I had arrived on the scene.

  ‘So he is coming back?’

  ‘That’s it, Keith. He’s okay now and he’ll ease the pressure.’

  Maisie looked in to tell me my first pupil was waiting.

  Although I kept busy, the morning dragged. At lunchtime, I went to a call booth, found Marshall’s home number and dialled.

  A pause, then she said, ‘This is Mrs. Marshall speaking.’

  ‘I can’t be with you until five. When will he be back?’

  ‘He is staying the night at Frisco.’ A pause, then she said, ‘Do you want to spend the night with me?’

  Did I want to? Did I want to grab Marshall’s million dollar inheritance? But the red light flashed up and this time I paid attention.

  ‘Let’s talk about it, Beth,’ and I hung up.

  As I walked across to Joe’s saloon for a sandwich and a Coke, I decided that, much as I wanted to spend the night with Beth, it was too dangerous. How would I explain to Mrs. Hansen that I wasn’t sleeping this night in my room? I had already had a session with her, telling her that Mrs. Beth Marshall seemed a little odd, that she was unfriendly and that she scarcely said a word. Obviously disappointed, Mrs. Hansen had shaken her head as she said, ‘I don’t like the sound of her.’

  Reluctantly, I decided I couldn’t spend the night with Beth.

  The grapevine was too fierce. It would have to be a quick screw and then au revoir.

  Around 16.45, I drove up the dirt road and into Marshall’s garage. I closed the garage doors, then walked up the steps and as I was about to thumb the bell, the front door jerked open.

  She was ready for action. She was naked under the see-through white wrap. Catching hold of my wrist, she pulled me up the broad stairway and into a bedroom: probably a guest room. Her fingers were already unbuttoning my shirt as I kicked the door shut.

  It was a repeat performance. Only this time, she was at home. She had no inhibition
s. When we reached the top of the hill, she gave a wild cry that echoed through the still, lonely house.

  This time, the slide down the hill was slower, but the feeling of being fed through a cement mixer remained.

  We dozed the way satiated lovers always doze. The room was cool, the light dim. The rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound to come through the open window.

  After a while we surfaced. I found my pack of cigarettes, gave her one, took one myself and lit up for both of us.

  ‘You’re a marvellous lover,’ she said drowsily.

  ‘You are the best ever.’

  Lying on the bed, inhaling smoke, my eyes closed, I wondered how many times these banal words had been said by other lovers.

  ‘Will you stay the night, Keith?’

  That was what I wanted to do. She had thrown a hook in me.

  Sexually, she was the most exciting woman I had ever known, and, in the past I had known a lot of women. She had now such a hook in me that I hesitated before saying, ‘No. I want to, Beth, but it’s too dangerous. You may not know it, but the whole goddamn town is watching me. I am the first to contact you . . . you who are the second most important person to them. Everyone is watching me. Did you know that?’

  She moved her long body on the crumpled sheet.

  ‘I could be the first most important person, not the second most important person,’ she said so quietly I scarcely heard her, but I did.

  I looked at her.

  She lay there, naked, a cigarette between her long, slim fingers, her eyes closed, her face as expressionless as a death mask.

  ‘Say that again.’ I raised myself up and looked down at her.

  ‘Nothing.’ She must have known I was leaning over her, but her eyes remained closed. ‘Women talk . . . nothing.’

  She moved her hand. Hot ash fell on my chest.

  ‘When am I seeing you again, Keith?’

  I brushed off the ash.

  ‘Do you know he is going to be worth a million dollars when his aunt dies?’

  She moved her long legs, opening them, then bringing them together.

  ‘Know? Why else do you imagine I married him?’

  I thought of Marshall: fat, a drunk and then looking at her: lean, long: a lioness.

  ‘Yes. There could be no other reason.’