1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  The pattern of their lives changed the following morning.

  Ross didn’t leave the bungalow as usual at ten o’clock. So she had told him! Nor did she leave to go shopping and the red curtains remained drawn. The newsboy arrived and tossed a paper on their porch, but neither of them came out to collect it.

  A sign of nerves?

  I thought so . . . a good sign for me.

  I found it a strain to spend the whole day watching, but I watched. There was no sign of either of them. I had plenty of time to think and I decided to make things tricky for them if they decided to bolt.

  So around one in the morning, when I was sure Mrs. Brody was asleep, I slipped out of the house and made my way to Apple Trees.

  The bungalow was in darkness, but I took my time approaching it. I had had a lot of experience in jungle fighting and I knew how to approach a hostile objective silently and without being seen.

  I reached the carport. The car door was unlocked. I opened the hood. Then using my flashlight, I removed the distributor head which I dropped into my pocket. I closed the hood, then returned the way I had come.

  There would now be no quick packing and bolting, I thought, and undressing I got into bed.

  The following day Beth went off on the motor scooter, but Ross didn’t show nor were the red curtains drawn back. I was beginning to think I had him scared, but I was taking no chances. I kept my bedroom door locked and kept a constant vigil at the window.

  Beth got back in under an hour.

  Two more days to go.

  When Mrs. Brody had gone out, I went into her living room and called Beth’s number.

  When she answered, I said, ‘If lover boy wants a slug in his guts, tell him to come looking for me tonight at the end of the lane. I’ll be waiting,’ and I hung up.

  I was a great believer in a war of nerves.

  I maintained my watch on the bungalow for the rest of the evening, but no one showed.

  After dinner, I typed a message: Only two more days, Beth. It is up to you.

  Around midnight when the lights in the living room of Apple Trees were still on and Mrs. Brody was in bed, I left the house and made a cautious way to the bungalow. On the way there, I found a heavy stone. I tied my note to the stone with a piece of string I had brought with me.

  I approached the bungalow. There was no sound from the television set and the windows were closed.

  When I was close enough, I stood up and heaved the stone at the middle window of the living room. The glass smashed and the stone brushed by the flimsy red curtain and thumped on the floor.

  The Mauser in my hand, I dropped flat and waited.

  There was a long pause, then the lights went out.

  I waited.

  Here was the test. Would Ross show?

  Nothing happened. I lay on the grass and waited. I waited for twenty minutes. No sound came from the bungalow: no lights showed.

  Ross wasn’t coming out for a High Noon shoot up.

  Gutless?

  I edged my way back across the grass, then when I reached the dirt road, I stood up and walked back to my room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  One more day, I thought as I waited for Mrs. Brody to bring my breakfast. The set-up looked good to me. I had turned the screw last night and Ross hadn’t accepted the challenge. Had I been in his place, I knew that stone and the broken window would have been such a challenge, I would have come out fighting . . . but not Ross.

  Yes, it looked good to me.

  As Mrs. Brody set down the tray, she said, ‘I have to go out, Mr. Lucas. A neighbour of mine has been taken ill. Would you mind if lunch is late: I won’t get back before two o’clock.’

  ‘Suppose you leave me a sandwich? Then you needn’t worry to hurry back.’

  She beamed.

  ‘Thank you. That’s real considerate. I’ll leave it in the kitchen.’

  After breakfast, I went to the window and watched. A few minutes after nine o’clock, Beth appeared and went to the car.

  Even from this distance I could hear the engine growling as she tried to start it. Finally, she gave up and went back to the bungalow. I guessed she was telling Ross the car had broken down. Would he show?

  I waited. Some fifteen minutes later, Beth appeared and drove off on her motor scooter.

  So it would seem Ross was still too scared to come out in the open.

  Beth hadn’t been gone more than three minutes when I heard the telephone bell ringing in the living room. I went to my door, unlocked and opened it.

  I heard Mrs. Brody say, ‘Hello?’

  There was a pause, then she said, ‘Who? No one of that name here. . .what name again? Devery? No.’ A long pause, then she said, ‘There’s a Mr. Lucas here.’ Another pause. ‘Yes, that’s right: he’s staying here.’ Another pause. ‘Hold it. I’ll ask him.’

  So Ross, the ex-cop, had found me. I wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. I went out on to the passage as Mrs. Brody, dressed to go out, came from the living room.

  ‘There’s a man asking for you, Mr. Lucas. I must go: I’m late already.’

  ‘Thanks. I hope your friend isn’t too bad.’

  I watched her leave, then I went into the living room and picked up the telephone receiver.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is that you Devery?’ Ross’s voice sounded shaky.

  ‘Suppose it is?’

  ‘I’ve got to talk to you!’

  ‘I don’t need to talk to you, Ross. I talk only to Beth.’

  ‘Listen . . . I’ve got to talk to you! She won’t be back for an hour. This is my chance. I want to come to you.’

  A voice can convey a lot of things. His voice conveyed fear.

  ‘Okay, Ross. I don’t know how good a shot you are, but I’m good. So if you want a shootout, come and have one.’

  ‘I haven’t got a gun! I swear I haven’t a gun!’ He was almost babbling.

  He was either telling the truth or he was a great con man.

  ‘Here’s what you do, Ross. Come to the house. The front door will be open. Come in, walk down the passage and enter the third room on the left. I’ll be waiting with a gun,’ and I hung up.

  I went to the window and watched. Two minutes later, Ross appeared. He was wearing a sweat shirt and cotton slacks. I put the field glasses on him. I couldn’t see any bulge made by a hidden gun. I lifted the glasses and examined his face. As he walked towards me, half-running, half-walking, his face became bigger and bigger in the lenses of the glasses. I scarcely recognized him from the hard, tough cop who had whistled to me when first we had met. This was a wreck of a man: white face, dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes and a slack twitching mouth.

  It seemed my war of nerves had reduced him to pulp.

  I left the front door open and my bedroom door. Then I went into Mrs. Brody’s bedroom, Mauser in hand and half shut the door. I was taking no chances.

  After five minutes or so, I heard him come in. He shut the front door.

  ‘Devery?’ There was a quaver in his voice.

  I waited.

  He walked slowly down the passage and stopped at my door as I moved on to the passage.

  ‘Stay right there, Ross,’ I said, a snap in my voice.

  He froze.

  I moved up to him, dug the barrel of the Mauser into his spine and ran my hand over his body. Satisfied he wasn’t carrying a gun, I shoved him into my room.

  He walked unsteadily to the middle of the room and stopped.

  He didn’t turn.

  ‘I’m quitting, Devery,’ he said. ‘You’ve no quarrel with me. I’ve had enough.’

  I moved away from him.

  ‘Sit down.’

  He went to an armchair and flopped into it. I sat on the bed, pointing the Mauser at him.

  We looked at each other. This was no con trick. Here was a frightened, sweating creep who was only thinking of himself.

  I put the gun down beside me and took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, then tosse
d the pack to him. He fumbled the catch, let the pack fall to the floor, scrabbled for it, then with a shaking hand, lit up.

  ‘Go ahead, Ross,’ I said. ‘Talk.’

  ‘She’s crazy!’ he blurted out. ‘I can’t take any more of her! I’ve been shut up with her now for days. She’s out of her mind! She’s gone down town to buy a gun! She wants me to come out here and kill you!’

  I regarded him, feeling only contempt.

  ‘Don’t you want to kill me, Ross? Think of all that money you’ll have if I’m dead.’

  ‘Money?’ His voice turned shrill. ‘I don’t give a damn about money now!’ He slammed his fists together. ‘I want out! All her talk! She drives me crazy! Listen, Devery, I swear I didn’t know she was planning to murder her husband! I swear it! You’ve got to believe me! The moment I met her I knew she was a nutter, but she was a good screw. I couldn’t keep away from her. I did tell her about your record, but I didn’t know what she was planning. I swear it, Devery! I don’t go along with murder. Not for all the money in the world! When she told me what you and she had done . . . killing Marshall, I flipped my lid. I wanted out, but she showed me how she could involve me. She’s crazy about me, but to me, she’s just a lay.’

  He paused and looked wildly around the room. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I want out but she said if I make a move you’ll shoot me! I don’t want to die! I don’t want her nor her money . . . I want out!’

  ‘You should have thought of that before,’ I said to keep him talking.

  ‘Thought?’ He clutched his head. ‘I’ve done nothing else but think! I want out!’

  ‘Oh, shut up! You knew what she was planning. You wanted the money. You covered up for her. An open and shut case. Remember? It was you who persuaded McQueen to leave her alone. It was you who got me to play killer while you stood on the sidelines, waiting to pick up the money. The problem with you is you’re yellow. So long as you felt safe, waiting to pick up the money, you were happy, but when Beth told you I was gunning for you, you couldn’t take it. Now listen to me: unless Beth agrees to give me five hundred thousand dollars, you’re dead.’ I picked up the Mauser. ‘There are ten slugs in this gun. They are all for you. You either talk Beth into playing or else . . . and I’m not bluffing.’

  His face turned grey.

  ‘I can’t talk her into it! I tell you . . . she’s out of her head!’

  ‘Then it’s too bad for you.’ I stood up. ‘Get out!’

  ‘Devery . . .’ He was shaking. ‘What have I done to you? Give me a break! Let me get away. I’ll go now!’

  ‘Haven’t you got the message, Ross? Without you, I’d never get the money from her. You make one false move and you’re dead. Now get out!’

  He got unsteadily to his feet. He stared at me, started to say something, then stopped.

  ‘Beat it!’ I barked.

  He went, his head down, his shoulders hunched, shaking.

  Lack of moral fibre? Yellow through and through.

  I was at the window when Beth arrived back on the motor scooter. She was carrying a shopping bag and I wondered if she had bought the gun. I was pretty sure Ross wouldn’t have the guts to come here, but she could. She wouldn’t come until it was dark. I would have to sit up all night. I went into the kitchen, found the pack of sandwiches Mrs. Brody had left and returned to my room. I locked the door, ate the sandwiches, then stretched out on the bed.

  The idea of Beth coming here with a gun was a joke. I was sure she had never handled a gun in her life . . . so let her come!

  I was confident I could handle her. I went to sleep.

  When Mrs. Brody brought me my dinner, I had been up for over an hour. There had been no activity at Apple Trees and I didn’t expect any until it was dark.

  I inquired after Mrs. Brody’s friend and was told she was better. Mrs. Brody had brought the evening newspaper.

  ‘You’ve been so busy, Mr. Lucas, I do believe you haven’t heard all the news . . . not that it makes happy reading. I’ve finished it. I thought you would like it.’

  I thanked her. She was right. I had forgotten the world, outside this room and inside Apple Trees existed, but I wasn’t interested. I ate the dinner, then as it was still light, I sat down by the window and glanced through the paper. When I reached the financial page, I received a shock. Charrington and Pittsburgh steel corporations had merged! There was a photo of Jack Sonsan of Charrington steel looking smug. The report said that after six years of secret negotiations, Sonsan had finally persuaded Pittsburgh to take over. The Charrington shares had trebled overnight.

  So drunk Marshall had been right and I had been wrong!

  This was the bitterest blow I had ever experienced. Had I waited before murdering him and let the deal go through both Beth and I would now be worth three million instead of less than one.

  I sat there, absorbing this frustrating and bitter blow. Too late! With me, it seemed it was always to be too goddamn late!

  But at least I would get five hundred thousand out of her, but how hollow that sounded to a million and a half!

  I remained by the window, watching Apple Trees until dark.

  I could hear the TV set in the living room. Mrs. Brody was occupied. Taking the Mauser and leaving my light on, I silently left the house and made my way to Apple Trees. Three quarters of the way up the dirt road there was a clump of shrubs and trees. I paused there. I could see Beth’s bungalow clearly so I got behind the shrubs, nursing the Mauser and prepared for a long wait. I could see the lights were on behind the red curtains in the living room and I wondered what was going on. I was sure Beth would get no help from Ross.

  When fighting in the Vietnamese jungles, I had seen men go to pieces. Ross had gone to pieces and no amount of threats or persuasion from her would stiffen his broken spine.

  So Beth would have to make up her mind either to handle me herself or pay up. One thing I was sure of: she was no quitter so I had to be prepared for her to do something desperate.

  Around 23.30, I heard her coming down the road.

  Trained in jungle warfare, to me, her cautious approach was pathetic. She had no idea how to move silently. She kicked stones, moved too fast, brushed against brambles and did everything I had been trained not to do.

  It was moonless and dark, but I had been sitting there for three hours and my eyes were now accustomed to the dark. I saw her coming. She was wearing black, but her white face was a complete give away.

  I got into a crouching position and waited. Then as she passed me, I jumped her. My hands gripped her arms, my knees slamming into her back. She went down with a stifled scream. It took a moment to wrest the gun out of her hands, then still kneeling on her, I said, ‘Not even a good try, Beth.’

  She lay flat and still.

  I shifted off her and stood up, moving away from her.

  ‘You have until tomorrow,’ I said.

  Slowly, she got to her feet and faced me.

  ‘Don’t go buying another gun,’ I said. ‘You are not using your head. You would never get away with killing me. I’ve left a letter with my bank. It tells the whole story. So don’t try any more of this nonsense. Pay up or I’ll put ten slugs into lover boy.’

  She just stood there, motionless and silent. I wish there had been enough light to see her face. All I could see was a white blob.

  Then moving around her, I started back to Mrs. Brody’s bungalow. The gun I had taken from her wasn’t much: a .22. It could cause damage at close range, but useless at a distance.

  Instinct, born in the jungle, alerted me to look back. She was coming at me like a charging wild cat. Her arm upraised.

  Many Viets had come at me this way. It was too easy. I waited until she was almost on me, then dropped on hands and knees as the knife she was holding slashed harmlessly. Her knees thudded against my shoulder and she went flying, landing with a thud, face down, on the road.

  Going over to her, I took the knife from her.

  ‘You have guts, Beth,’ I s
aid, and meant it. ‘You are way out of my class. Go back to that gutless, yellow cop and tell him how brave you are.’

  Holding the knife and the gun, I continued on down the dirt road, leaving her lying here.

  When Mrs. Brody brought my breakfast, she said she had to spend the day with her sick friend.

  ‘She needs cheering up, Mr. Lucas and I’m good at cheering people up. I’ve left you some cold chicken and ham in the refrig, and tonight, I’ll give you a pot roast.’

  I told her not to worry. I would be busy all the morning and the cold chicken would be fine.

  She left the house soon after 09.00. I now had the place to myself.

  Today was the day.

  Beth had made her try and had failed. Now it was my turn. Pay up or else! While eating my breakfast, I thought about her and Ross and wondered what they were saying to each other. Was she hatching up a new scheme to get rid of me?

  But time had run out for her. I was now confident she would pay up,

  After breakfast, I sat at the table and typed out instructions to her as to how she was to pay the money to me. Five hundred thousand was a lump and I would have to spread it to avoid awkward questions. A hundred thousand could go to the Chase National branch who already had my account. Another hundred thousand could go to Wicksteed. The rest of the money could go to the American Fidelity Bank in Los Angeles where I once had an account.

  Around 10.00, I phoned Beth.

  When she answered, I said, ‘Today is the day, Beth. What’s the answer . . . yes or no?’

  There was a pause, then she said in her cold, flat voice, ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘What’s there to talk about? It’s either yes or no. What is it?’

  ‘Bernstein says the probate is delayed. I won’t get the money for at least another month.’

  ‘Quit stalling! You can get credit. Tell Bernstein you must have five hundred thousand dollars by the end of the week. He’ll fix it.’

  There was another long pause, then she said, ‘He’ll want to know why. What can I tell him?’

  I felt a surge of triumph run through me.

  ‘So the answer is yes?’

  ‘I must talk to you. This is something I can’t discuss over the telephone.’