Just Another Sucker

by James Hadley Chase

  She was wearing powder blue slacks and a white pleated shirt. Her black hair was caught back by a white bandeau. She looked very desirable as she curled herself up on the settee.

  ‘You should never jump to conclusions, little man,’ she said and smiled. ‘You mustn’t ever take any woman for granted. You amused me the other night, but you don’t amuse me tonight.’

  This was my moment of truth. I could have killed her. I could have taken her by force, but those words put a picture of myself in a frame. They were needles, pricking a balloon.

  I sat down. With an unsteady hand, I lit a cigarette.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not your father,’ I said. ‘That’s one thing I’m really glad about.’

  She giggled, drawing smoke down into her lungs and expelling it through her pinched nostrils.

  ‘Why bring my father into it? You’re just mad at me because I’m not the easy toy you thought I was.

  They all say the same: stupid, unsuccessful men with the sex itch.’ She smoothed down her dark hair as she stared mockingly at me. ‘Now we have got over all that, shall we talk business?’

  I hated her then more than I thought it possible to hate anyone.

  I had trouble in opening my briefcase and taking out the papers on which I had written my questionnaire. My hands shook so badly, the papers made a rustling noise.

  ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ I said, my voice scarcely under control, ‘you give me the answers.’

  ‘You don’t have to get upset, little man,’ she said. ‘You’re being very well paid.’

  ‘Shut up!’ I snarled at her. ‘I don’t want any of your cheap remarks,’ then I began to fire questions at her. ‘Why did she go to the Pirates’ Cabin?’ ‘What was the room like in which she was imprisoned?’

  ‘What was the woman like who fed her?’ ‘Did she see anyone else besides this woman while she was in the farmhouse?’ and so on and so on.

  Her answers were slick and smooth. Not once did she hesitate nor make a mistake.

  We kept at it for over two hours. During those hours of intensive questioning, she never once put a foot wrong.

  Finally, I said, ‘You’ll do. Just so long as you don’t alter the story and you watch out for traps, you’ll do.’

  She gave me a small, mocking smile.

  ‘I’ll watch out fop traps… Harry.’

  I got to my feet.

  ‘Well, okay, then we’re ready for Saturday. I’ll be at the Pirates’ Cabin at nine-fifteen. You know what to do.’

  She uncurled herself off the settee and stood up.

  ‘Yes, I know what to do.’

  We looked at each other, then her expression softened, and smiling, she moved towards me, that thing in her eyes.

  ‘Poor little man,’ she said. ‘Paw me if you want to. I don’t really mind.’

  I waited until she was in range, then I slapped her face, hard. Her head jerked to one side. Then I slapped her again.

  She stepped back, her hands going to her flaming cheeks, staring at me, her slate eyes glittering.

  ‘You stinker!’ she said shrilly. ‘I’ll remember that! You rotten stinker!’

  ‘Get out!’ I said. ‘Before I hit you again!’

  She moved to the door, swinging her neat hips. At the door she paused and turned to stare at me.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not your wife,’ she said. ‘That’s one thing I’m glad about,’ then she suddenly giggled and turning, ran out into the moonlight and scampered away across the hard, damp sand.

  I felt such a heel, I could have cut my throat.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I

  When I got up on Saturday morning, there was a hint of rain in the air. I was nervous and uneasy. All my doubts about this job came crowding up out of my sub-conscious. It was only the thought of the money that stiffened my jittery nerves.

  ‘I’ll be late tonight,’ I told Nina who was preparing breakfast. ‘This is the last night of the traffic count.’

  She looked anxious at me.

  ‘Will you be seeing John today?’

  ‘I’ll see him on Monday. If he had any news for me he would have telephoned.’

  She hesitated, then asked, ‘Are you going to take the job, Harry?’

  ‘I think so. A lot depends on what they will pay.’

  ‘John said the salary would be good.’ She smiled at me. ‘I’m so glad. You really have been worrying me.’

  ‘I’ve been worrying myself,’ I said lightly. ‘I’m taking the car tonight. It’s going to rain.’

  ‘There’s very little gas, Harry.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll fix it.’

  Later, I went down to the beach cabin. I had just got into my swim trunks when Bill Holden appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Hello there, Mr. Barber,’ he said. ‘Are you keeping the cabin on for another week?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘Maybe not for the whole week but at least until Thursday.’

  ‘Would you like to settle for this week?’

  ‘I’ll settle tomorrow. I’ve left my wallet at home.’

  ‘That’s okay, Mr. Barber — tomorrow’s fine.’

  I stared out at the grey, heavy sky.

  ‘Looks like rain. I guess I’ll have a swim before it starts.’

  Holden said he thought it would hold off until later, but he was wrong. I had just come in from the swim when the rain started.

  I settled down in the cabin with a paper-back. The beach was now deserted. That suited me. I hoped the rain would go on all day.

  Around one o’clock, I went over to the restaurant which was empty and ate a hamburger and drank a beer, then I returned to the cabin. As I pushed open the door, the telephone bell rang.

  It was Rhea on the line.

  ‘Is everything arranged?’ she asked. There was an anxious note in her voice.

  ‘On my side, it’s arranged,’ I said. ‘I’m ready to go. Everything now depends on Odette.’

  ‘You can depend on her.’

  ‘Well, fine. Then at eight-forty-five, I’ll start things moving.’

  ‘I’ll telephone you tomorrow at eleven o’clock.’

  ‘I want some money,’ I said. ‘I have to pay for the rent of this cabin. Maybe it would be better if you came down here tomorrow morning. I’ll be here.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ she said and hung up.

  I remained in the cabin for the rest of the day. The rain beat down on the roof. The sea turned slate grey. I tried to concentrate on the paper-back, but it was impossible.

  Finally, I got up and prowled up and down and smoked endless cigarettes, watching the time and waiting, waiting and waiting.

  When at last the hands of my wrist watch showed eight-thirty, I left the cabin and ran across the wet sand to the Packard. It was still raining, but more lightly. I drove to a drug store in the main street of Palm City. By the time I had parked and had walked through the drizzle to the drug store, it was close on eight-forty-five.

  I called Malroux’s residence.

  Almost immediately the call was answered.

  ‘Mr. Malroux’s residence,’ an English voice announced. ‘Who is this, please?’

  ‘I want Miss Malroux,’ I said. ‘This is Jerry Williams.’

  ‘Will you hold the line, Mr. Williams? I’ll see if Miss Malroux is available.’

  I held the line, aware that I was breathing over-fast.

  There was a longish delay, then Odette’s voice said brightly, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is anyone listening?’

  ‘No. It’s all right. Hello, Harry.’ There was a caress in her voice. ‘You’re the only man who has ever dared to hit me. You are quite a character.’

  ‘I know. Watch it I don’t hit you again. You know what to do? I’ll be at the Pirates’ Cabin in twenty minutes. The Packard will be parked on the far right-hand side of the parking lot. The dress will be on the back seat. You haven’t forgotten any of the details?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ />
  ‘Then get moving. I’ll be waiting for you,’ and I hung up.

  It took me a quarter of an hour, driving fast to reach the Pirates’ Cabin. The parking lot was pretty full, but I managed to park the Packard where I had told her it would be. There was no parking attendant and that suited me. Someone was playing a squeeze-box and singing. I could see through the windows that the bar was crowded.

  I sat in the Packard and waited. I was pretty tense. Every car that came into the park made me stiffen.

  At twenty-five minutes after nine, I saw a white T.R.3 slide through the gates and park within twenty yards of my car.

  Odette climbed out. She was wearing a white plastic mack over a scarlet dress. She paused beside the T.R.3 and looked in my direction.

  I leaned out of the Packard and waved to her. The thin drizzle of rain was now becoming heavier. She waved back, and then walked quickly to the restaurant and entered the bar.

  I got out of the Packard and crossed over to her car. There was a suitcase lying on the passenger’s seat. I looked to right and left, satisfied myself no one was watching me, then took the suitcase over to the Packard.

  Through the bar windows I could see Odette. She was speaking to the barman. He shook his head at her and she moved away from the bar and out of my sight.

  I looked at my wrist watch. The plane to Los Angeles left at ten-thirty. We had plenty of time. I had made her reservation by telephone in the name of Ann Harcourt. I had told the clerk she would pick up and pay for her ticket at the airport. I had also telephoned and reserved a room at a small hotel in Los Angeles that I had once stayed at. It was quiet, and away from the centre of the town; I felt sure she would be all right there.

  I saw Odette come out of the bar. My heart skipped a beat when I saw she wasn’t alone: there was a man with her.

  She began to walk towards the Packard. The man caught hold of her arm, pulling her back. I couldn’t see much of him. He was short and fat, and he was wearing a light coloured suit.

  ‘Come on, baby,’ he said in a loud, wheedling voice, ‘let’s have a party. I’m on my own: you’re on your own; let’s be lonely together.’

  ‘Get away from me!’ Odette said. ‘Take your hands off me!’

  She sounded scared.

  ‘Aw, come on, baby. Let’s have some fun together.’

  If she couldn’t handle him, we were in trouble. I didn’t dare show myself. He might not be as drunk as he seemed. If things turned sour, he might remember me.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Odette repeated and she started once more towards the Packard. The drunk hesitated, then came after her.

  I moved around to the off-side of the car. I wanted to yell to her to keep away from the Packard. He might remember the car, but she kept coming.

  The drunk staggered after her, caught hold of her arm and swung her around.

  ‘Hey! Don’t get snooty with me, baby. Come on back. I’ll buy you a drink.’

  She slapped his face. The sound her hand made as it contacted his face was a minor explosion.

  ‘Okay, so you’re tough,’ the drunk snarled and grabbing her, he tried to kiss her.

  I had to do something now. She was struggling, but I could see he was too strong for her. She had enough sense not to cry out.

  In the glove compartment of the Packard I always kept a heavy flashlight. I grabbed hold of it. It was a foot long and made a good club.

  It was pretty dark, and we were away from the single spotlight above the gates. I circled around so I could come up behind him. I was so jittery, my breath was whistling through my clenched teeth.

  As I came up, Odette managed to break free. The drunk became aware of me and spun around.

  I slammed him over the head with the flashlight, driving him to his knees. I heard Odette catch her breath in a strangled scream.

  Cursing, the drunk made a grab at me, but I hit him again: this time much harder, and with a grunt, he spread out, face down at my feet.

  ‘Take my car!’ I said to Odette. ‘Get going! I’ll follow in your car!’

  ‘Have you hurt him?’ She was staring down at the drunk, her hands to her face.

  ‘Get going!’

  I ran over to the T.R.3, got in and started the engine. If anyone came out of the restaurant and found this guy lying in full view, we would be in a hell of a jam.

  As I reversed the little car, I heard the Packard start up. I let her drive out of the parking lot, then I followed her.

  She had enough sense to head for the beach road. After we had driven a mile or so, I overtook her and signalled her to stop.

  The road was deserted. The rain was now streaming down. I got out of her car and ran back to where she had stopped the Packard.

  ‘Get changed!’ I said. ‘Then follow me to Lone Bay car park. Hurry!’

  ‘Did you hurt him badly?’ she asked as she reached into the back of the car for the dress.

  ‘Forget it! Never mind about him! Get changed! Time’s running out.’

  I ran back to the T.R.3 and got in. I sat there, sweating and watching the road, praying no stray car would come along and spot us.

  After about five minutes — the time seemed an eternity — I heard her tap the horn and I looked back.

  She waved to me. I started the little car and drove fast to Lone Bay. She followed.

  I kept looking at my wrist watch. We still had plenty of time to reach the airport. It was two miles beyond Lone Bay. I kept thinking of the drunk, wondering if I had hit him too hard. But now it was over, I realised perhaps it hadn’t been such a bad thing to have happened. If Odette ever had to face up to a police investigation, it would strengthen her story: just so long as I hadn’t hit him too hard or he hadn’t one of the egg shell skulls one is always reading about.

  Lone Bay car park served a colony of bungalows. The residents used the park as a permanent parking place, and it was always full of cars. I felt pretty confident the T.R.3 could be left there without anyone spotting it. As I approached the park, I signalled to Odette to stop, then I swung the sports car into the park.

  There was a narrow aisle between the parked cars, and I drove slowly down this aisle, my headlights on, looking for a vacant place.

  Then suddenly, without warning, a car backed out into the aisle. It hadn’t its lights on. It came out fast and I hadn’t a chance to avoid it. Its rear bumper thudded into my off-wing, and there was a grinding sound of crushed metal.

  For a brief moment, I sat paralysed. This was the one thing I hadn’t thought of: an accident. This stupid ape would want my name and address: he would take the number of the car and it would immediately be traced to Odette. What was I doing — driving her car?

  While I sat there in a panic that stood my hair on ends, the driver got out of the car.

  It was fortunately dark in the parking lot. As he came up to me, I turned off my headlights. I could see he was a small man with a bald head, but I couldn’t see much of his features and that meant he couldn’t see much of mine.

  ‘I’m sorry, mister,’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘I didn’t see you coming. It’s my fault. I’m entirely to blame.’

  A large woman got out of the car. She opened an umbrella and joined the little man.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Herbert!’ she said angrily. ‘He shouldn’t have sneaked up like that. Don’t you admit anything. It was an accident.’

  ‘Get your car forward,’ I said. ‘You’ve locked my front wing.’

  ‘Don’t you move the car, Herbert,’ the woman said. ‘We’ll get a policeman.’

  Cold sweat was running down my back.

  ‘You heard what I said!’ I bawled at the little man. ‘Get your goddam car forward!’

  ‘Don’t you speak to my husband like that!’ The woman exclaimed. She was staring hard at me. ‘This is your fault, young man! You don’t intimidate me!’

  Time was running out. I didn’t dare exchange names and addresses with these two. I did the only thing left to me. I engag
ed gear, twisted the steering wheel and trod down hard on the gas.

  As the little car jumped forward, there was a grinding noise and the other man’s bumper came away.

  Part of my wing came away too. I kept going as I heard the woman scream: ‘Take his number, Herbert!’

  I drove fast to the far end of the parking lot, found an empty space, swung the car into it and jumped out. I was wearing gloves so I didn’t have to stop to wipe off the steering wheel. I looked back down the aisle.

  The woman was staring after me. The little man was trying to lift the fallen bumper.

  There was an exit just ahead of me. I ran for it. Would they go to the police? It was his fault. There was just a chance they would let it go. If they didn’t, the T.R.3 would be traced to Odette. The police would want to know who the man was driving the car.

  As I sprinted towards the waiting Packard, I realised with a sudden sinking feeling of fear, that my highly organised arrangements weren’t working the way I had planned them to work.

  First the drunk: now this car accident.

  What else was going to go wrong with this zany idea of mine?

  II

  The next morning I was woken out of a heavy sleep by the sound of the telephone bell ringing.

  I sat up in bed with a start, only half awake, and I looked at the bedside clock. The time was twenty minutes to eight.

  I could hear Nina talking to someone, and I forced myself to relax back on my pillow. I reached for a pack of cigarettes on the night table.

  As I lit the cigarette, my mind jumped to the events of the previous night. I had seen Odette off at the airport. I hadn’t told her about the car accident. There was no point in upsetting her nerves. It was bad enough for my nerves to be upset without involving hers. She had gone off happily enough, having got over the shock of the drunk. She had the resilence of youth. During the drive to the airport, I had assured her I hadn’t hurt the guy and once she was convinced, she was able to dismiss him from her mind. But I couldn’t: nor could I dismiss from my mind the car accident.

  During the drive from the airport, I tried to convince myself it was going to work out all right. The drunk who I had knocked on the head, knowing he had tried to assault Odette, was pretty certain to keep his mouth shut. The man and the women who owned the car that had crashed into the T.R.3 might not tell the police, knowing it was their fault that the car had backed into mine.