1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  My heart began to race. If I took him up on this, I would be right next to Beth and that was what I wanted, but I warned myself not to appear too eager. I mustn’t let him suspect what Beth meant to me.

  ‘I appreciate this, Frank,’ I said, ‘but Ryder wants me to be his partner. I’ve been considering his offer. He wants me to have his business when he retires.’

  Marshall squinted at me.

  ‘A one horse business in a one horse town. Use your head, Keith. You throw in with me and you’ll be hitching your wagon to a star. Okay, you start small with me, but you’ll grow as I am going to grow. Do you know anything about accountancy?’

  For a long moment I hesitated, then I said, ‘Before I was drafted into the army, Frank, I worked with Barton Sharman.’

  He gaped at me.

  ‘You mean the stockbrokers?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You worked with them?’

  ‘I handled fifteen percent of their most important clients.’

  His bleary eyes narrowed.

  ‘Well, for God’s sake . . . what are you doing teaching creeps to drive?’

  ‘That’s a good question.’ I smiled at him, my hands moist, my heart thumping. ‘Vietnam unsettled me. I spent two years killing Viets and sweating it out in the jungle. When I returned to my desk, I couldn’t settle. I found money didn’t mean much to me. I got the urge to go footloose. . . so I went footloose. It’s as simple as that.’

  He brooded for so long I thought he had fallen asleep.

  Finally, he came to the surface and said, ‘I could use your brains, Keith. Come on . . . forget Ryder. Seven hundred to start and we work together . . . how’s about it?’

  I could see the drink I had made him was the finalizer.

  ‘Suppose we talk about it tomorrow, Frank?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah. A good idea.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t seem able to keep my goddamn eyes open.’ He heaved himself to his feet.

  ‘Come on. Let’s go to bed.’

  He lurched out of the room and up the stairs. He paused outside the room in which Beth and I had made love.

  ‘That’s yours. We’ll talk tomorrow.’ Moving slowly and heavily, he walked to the end of the corridor, opened a door, turned on the light, went in and closed the door.

  I stood in the corridor, my hand on the doorknob and wondered where Beth was. My lust for her raged through me, but I told myself, it would be asking for trouble to tap on doors, trying to find her. Drunk as he was, Marshall might not be drunk enough.

  I walked into the room and snapped on the light.

  She was lying on the bed, her hands behind her head, her white see-through wrap scarcely concealing her nakedness.

  We looked at each other, then I shut the door and turned the key in the lock.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The clock below stairs woke me as it began to chime seven. The sun was coming through the open window, making a hot patch on the big bed. For some moments, I lay there, feeling utterly drained, then remembering, I looked to my right where she had lain, but she had gone. I threw off the sheet and groped for a cigarette.

  When I had joined her on the bed last night, my hands reaching for her, she had said sharply, ‘No . . . not yet. I was listening. What are you going to do, Keith? Are you going to accept his offer?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  We spoke in whispers.

  ‘You’d be a fool if you didn’t.’

  ‘And I’m no fool.’

  That malicious little smile lit up her face.

  ‘But remember, Keith, don’t underestimate him. He’s no fool either.’

  ‘You told me,’ and my hand dropped on her flat belly and moved further down.

  End of the conversation.

  During that wild night we came together three times. Each time when we reached the top of the hill, she rammed her mouth against my neck to cut off her wild cry. Both of us were very aware that Marshall was sleeping not thirty yards away.

  Now, lying on the bed, the cigarette smouldering between my fingers, I reviewed the situation. It looked good to me. I had dropped into a situation I hadn’t thought possible. I was inside the fort whereas all those creeps in Wicksteed, thirsting to get their fingers on some of Marshall’s money, were strictly on the outside. Now, I told myself, I would have to play my cards carefully. She had twice warned me not to underestimate this fat drunk. Well, okay, I was warned. So first I must probe.

  I wanted to satisfy myself she knew what she was saying and I hoped she didn’t.

  I spent the next half hour thinking about the situation, then I heaved myself off the bed and went along the corridor to the bathroom. Showered and shaved, I returned to the bedroom and dressed, then I went down and into the living room.

  The smell of grilling bacon reminded me I was hungry. I walked into the kitchen.

  Beth was by the stove, the grill on, the bacon spitting, eggs in the frying pan.

  We looked at each other and she gave me her remote smile.

  ‘Did you sleep well, Mr. Devery?’ The red light was on.

  ‘Fine, thank you. That smells good.’

  ‘How do you like your eggs?’

  ‘As they come.’

  She had such a hook in me that I longed to grab her and let my hands slide down that long, beautiful back until I cupped her buttocks, but her remote eyes warned me off.

  ‘Hi Keith!’

  Startled, I turned.

  Marshall was standing in the kitchen doorway. Considering the state he had been in the previous night, he looked pretty good. He laid a heavy hand on my arm.

  ‘While we eat, let’s talk.’ He beamed at Beth. ‘Ready soon?’

  ‘Coming up.’

  I went with him into the dining room. The table was laid, coffee in a percolator was ready. There was toast and as we sat down, she came in and put plates of eggs and bacon before us.

  ‘I told you,’ he said, grinning at me. ‘Look at this! My wife’s reliable.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I have a job to do in the garden, Frank,’ she said in her deep, sexy voice. ‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ and she went away.

  ‘She never stops working in the garden,’ he said pouring coffee. ‘Well, Keith, are you throwing in with me?’

  ‘I’d be stupid if I didn’t, wouldn’t I?’

  He regarded me, then began spreading butter on his toast.

  ‘That’s for sure. Okay. I want you to drive me to the station, I’ve got business in Frisco this morning, but I’ll be back on the 12.30 express. Meet me. We’ll have lunch and then I’ve got to talk to Olson.’

  ‘Okay, and I’ll have to talk to Ryder.’

  He dismissed this with an airy wave of his hand. He was already acting as a millionaire.

  ‘You have all the morning.’

  I began my probe.

  ‘An idea struck me this morning, Frank,’ I said. ‘Would you be interested in buying Ryder out? From what I’ve seen of his business, it’s sound and could make you a decent profit. If you like the idea, I could get figures and we could talk about it tonight.’

  He shovelled eggs and bacon into his mouth.

  ‘Not interested. Now, listen, Keith, I’m going big. Ryder’s pissy little business doesn’t interest me.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then there’s another proposition, Frank. The Planning committee. . .’

  ‘You heard about that?’ He grinned. ‘Their pissy amusement park? They can shove that. I don’t want anything to do with Wicksteed . . . that’s strictly out.’

  Don’t underestimate him.

  ‘I just thought you might be interested.’

  ‘Sure. I want you to feed me ideas, but Wicksteed is out.’

  ‘Well, it’s your money, Frank.’ I paused to sip my coffee, then went on, ‘This amusement park could turn into a hell of a good investment. I’ve swung deals like this before when
I was with Barton Sharman.’

  ‘Okay, so it could be a hell of a little investment, but I’m not interested.’ He bit into his toast. ‘I’ve been around, Keith. Real estate is my business. I know what a million dollars can produce. Repeat. . . I don’t want anything to do with Wicksteed.’

  As she had said, he was going to be difficult to handle. Again the thought came into my mind: Do me a favour. . . drop dead.

  ‘You’re the boss, Frank.’

  ‘That’s it.’ He shoved back his chair. ‘Let’s get going. I’ve a hell of a day ahead.’

  Without seeing Beth again, I drove him to the station, then I drove to the Driving school. Although it was only 8.45, Bert was already at his desk.

  I explained the situation. I said Marshall wanted me to be his chauffeur and he was offering me seven hundred and wanted me to grow with him. I put the cards on the table because I liked Bert and didn’t want to play tricky.

  ‘Bert, you know my situation. Frank knows about it (a lie) and this is a chance I should take.’

  He looked at me, his eyes showing his disappointment.

  ‘I understand, Keith. Well . . .’ He lifted his hands. ‘Tom will handle the driving lessons. I guess I won’t retire now for a while.’ He shook his head. ‘We all have to plough our own furrow. If that’s what you want, I understand.’

  ‘I told you, Bert, I’m footloose.’

  He nodded and that was that.

  Maisie shook my hand and Tom Lucas patted my shoulder. I was half-sorry to quit: these were decent people.

  As I started towards the car, I suddenly realized it was no longer mine to use. I was standing there, wondering what to do when Tom Mason pulled up in his dusty Ford.

  ‘Hi Keith! You look as if you have a problem.’

  I walked over and leaned against his car.

  ‘No problem, Tom. How are you?’

  ‘Me? I can’t grumble. Do you want to go someplace?’

  ‘Not right now.’ I went around and slid into the passenger’s seat, ‘but I want a word with you.’

  ‘Say on.’ He looked inquiringly at me.

  I gave it to him straight. I told him Marshall had hired me to be his chauffeur, that as soon as he got his inheritance, he planned to quit Wicksteed, that I had suggested he could do a lot worse than to invest some of his money in the amusement park and how he had reacted.

  ‘So there it is, Tom,’ I concluded. ‘Maybe I can do something later . . . talk sense into him, but right now, it looks bad.’

  His face expressed his disappointment ‘But would you want to be his chauffeur, Keith? I understand that Bert has offered you a partnership.’

  ‘That’s right, but I’m footloose. I’ll go along with Marshall for a while. It could be interesting.’ I opened the car door. ‘I wanted you to know. Tell Joe and Mr. Olson.’

  I left him and walked down the street to the cab rank, aware everyone on the street was watching me. I told the cabby to drive me back to Marshall’s home.

  Beth was in the garden, cutting roses as the cab pulled up. I paid off the cabby and waited in the hot sun until he had driven away. By this time she had gone into the house.

  I found her stripping off in my bedroom. I was out of my clothes as she dropped across the bed.

  We grabbed each other and her wild cry ran through the silent house.

  I parked Marshall’s Plymouth in the station yard a few minutes to 12.30. He hadn’t bothered to get the car fixed since he had had the accident. It had a crumpled wing and a smashed headlight, but it still ran.

  As I was getting out of the car, Deputy Sheriff Ross materialized. He surveyed the car, then looked me over, his little cop’s eyes bleak, his mouth still puffy.

  ‘That’s not fit to be on the road,’ he said, pointing to the bust wing.

  ‘You take it up with Mr. Marshall, this town’s millionaire,’ I said. ‘I’m just the hired hand,’ and moving around him, I walked up the slope to the railroad station.

  ‘Hey, Mac!’

  I paused, turned and stared at him.

  ‘Lay off me, Ross,’ I said quietly, ‘or if you want to make something of it, we’ll go to the cop house and talk to McQueen.’

  ‘I’m reporting this car,’ he said, then putting his thumbs into his gun belt, he stalked away.

  The Frisco express was pulling in as I reached the platform.

  Marshall was one of the first to get off. His face was flushed, but he seemed sober enough.

  ‘Hi Keith!’ He threw his arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s been a heavy morning. Okay with you?’

  ‘Fine.’ My mind switched to Beth. ‘All fixed.’

  ‘Let’s eat.’ He came out into the sunshine and walked over to the Plymouth,

  ‘Frank. . . I’ve had Deputy Sheriff Ross on my tail. He says this car isn’t road worthy and he’s putting in a report.’

  Marshall regarded the car and grimaced, nodded and dropped into the passenger’s seat. There were some twenty to thirty people coming out of the station and they were all trying to catch his eye, smiling and waving at him, but he ignored them.

  As I drove off, he said, ‘Get another car, Keith. Something top class. I’ll leave it to you. I’ve got credit now. The sky is the roof.’

  ‘Don’t you want to handle it, Frank? Buying a car is important.’

  ‘I’m busy.’ He scowled. ‘Let’s eat. We’ll go to the Lobster Grill.’

  I had heard of this restaurant. . . the best in town.

  It took us only five minutes to reach the restaurant and only two minutes to be bowed to a corner table. The grapevine was working. The Maître d’ and all the waiters showed they were dealing with millionaire material. Marshall loved it.

  We ate our way through a complicated dish of lobsters and sole. He didn’t talk, but kept frowning as he shovelled the food into his face. I could see he was far away in his thoughts and probably didn’t even know what he was eating.

  When we were through, he shoved aside his plate, then looking at his watch, he said, ‘I’ve got a date with that creep Olson. You go buy a car, Keith.’

  ‘But what kind of a car?’

  He got to his feet, settled the check, then started to the door.

  ‘Buy something right. I’ll leave it to you. A status symbol.’

  So I drove him to Olson’s office, left him there and then drove to the Cadillac showroom.

  When I said I was buying on behalf of Mr. Frank Marshall, the salesmen practically got down on their knees.

  They said they had something very special: a hand built job that had just come on to the market. It was a sleek drophead in cream and blue with every gimmick a car builder could dream up. They were so anxious to sell it, they didn’t even ask me to sign anything. I screwed them for the Plymouth, told them to contact Mr. Marshall for payment, then getting into this beauty, I floated her out on to Main Street and that caused a sensation.

  I was sitting in her, listening to the stereo radio when I saw Marshall come out of Olson’s office. I tapped the horn. It gave off a soft, melodious sound, then I waved to him.

  He came swaggering across the sidewalk while people stared.

  He paused, then walked slowly around the car while I held the passenger’s door open. He went around the car three times. He practically stopped the traffic. Everyone now was staring and cars drew to the kerb so the drivers could also stare.

  On his third walk around, I said, ‘Is it okay, Frank? We can get rid of it if you hate it.’

  He gave his great bellowing laugh.

  ‘Keith! You’re my people! This is my car! Where the hell did you find it?’

  Aware that there was now quite a crowd staring, I eased him into the passenger’s seat, shut the door, ran around and slid under the driving wheel.

  ‘You asked for a car . . . you’ve got it.’ I started the motor, turned up the stereo radio and drifted away, leaving the crowd gaping after us.

  ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is a car!’

&nbs
p; I touched the gas pedal and the car surged forward with all the power that eight cylinders can give out, then I throttled back. I was having as big a ball as he was.

  ‘What did it cost, Keith?’

  I told him.

  ‘Chick feed.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘A million dollars! Goddamn it . . . I could buy ten of these cars if I wanted to.’

  ‘But you don’t.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘I could do with a drink.’

  As if I hadn’t thought of that. I opened the glove compartment and took out a half of Scotch and handed it to him.

  He clamped the bottle to his mouth and drank the way a baby sucks milk.

  He had killed the bottle by the time I had reached the house.

  There was no sign of Beth. I helped him out of the car. He lurched up the steps and I watched him enter the house, then I drove the car into the garage. I sat for some minutes, fingering all the gimmicks, wishing the car belonged to me.

  Do me a favour . . . drop dead.

  I got out of the car, then as I was about to close the garage swing down door, I saw the length of the car was just that much longer than the Plymouth and the door wouldn’t close. I got back into the car, started the motor, then edged the car forward until the front bumper touched the end wall. Leaving the motor running, I got out of the car to check if the door would now close. It did, but only just. I slammed down the garage door, then as I walked back along the length of the car to turn off the motor, I became aware of the smell of fumes from the exhaust.

  Even while I had been checking the garage door and then shutting it, the buildup of fumes was surprising. I leaned into the car, turned off the motor, then opening the side door that led into the kitchen, I moved into the house.