Not My Thing

by James Hadley Chase

  Breakfast finished, he went into his study, carrying the newspapers. Smyth, slightly bewildered, arranged with the Hertz rental service for a Mercedes to be brought to the villa at exactly ten fifteen.

  Jamison settled in his desk chair and nodded to himself. This morning, he would meet again this man, Lucan. He was certainly not going to drive up to this man’s motel in his Rolls, with the give-away number plates SJ1. He wanted to remain anonymous. He had no idea, of course, that Lucan had made inquiries about him, and now knew who he was. If Lucan didn’t come up with a serious proposition, then Jamison told himself, he would shop elsewhere.

  As Smyth was clearing the breakfast-table, he saw Shannon’s car arrive. He hastily went into the kitchen and prepared Shannon’s simple breakfast of orange juice, two slices of toast and cherry jam. He waited a few minutes, then getting in the elevator, went to Shannon’s living-quarters that consisted of a large sitting-room, a bedroom, bathroom and a wide veranda, looking onto the sea.

  ‘Good-morning, madam,’ Smyth said as he entered the living-room. ‘I trust you had a good night.’

  Shannon was staring out of the open French windows. She turned, and he was shocked to see how ravaged she looked. He could see she had been weeping. Her face was pale and her eyes dark rimmed.

  ‘Thank you, Smyth,’ she said listlessly, and moved to the small table. ‘Punctual as ever.’

  Smyth set down the tray.

  ‘For today, madam. Lunch? Dinner?’

  ‘No.’ Shannon sat down at the table. ‘I would like a light lunch, please. A salad or something. We won’t be dining in.’ She looked up and forced a smile. ‘Look after the staff, Smyth, please. I leave you to arrange that.’

  ‘Of course, madam. Then a light lunch for you at one o’clock.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Smyth moved to the door, then paused.

  ‘Excuse me, madam, but I understand you will be playing the Saint-Saėns concerto tonight.’

  Shannon looked up, startled.

  ‘Why yes. It’s at a tiny hall. How did you know?’

  ‘If Mr Jamison does not require dinner, madam, I would very much like to attend the concert.’

  Again, Shannon registered surprise.

  ‘I didn’t know you were interested in music, Smyth.’

  ‘For a number of years, and when it was possible, I have attended your recitals. I have a ticket for this concert. Will it be in order if I attend or will Mr Jamison need my services?’

  ‘He will be dining at his club. Look, Smyth, come with me in my car. You can help me with my cello. Shall we say seven thirty tonight?’

  Smyth bowed.

  ‘It will be a great pleasure, madam.’ Again, he made for the door, again he paused. ‘May I take a liberty, madam?’

  She smiled.

  ‘I regard you as the perfect major-domo, and also as a friend. We have known each other for eight years. I have come to rely on you so much.’

  Smyth bowed.

  ‘I just wanted to say that unforeseeable things do happen. I would like you to know, madam, that I will always be at your service should you need me.’

  He bowed again and left the room.

  Shannon pushed aside the breakfast-tray and, burying her face in her hands, she began to weep.

  * * *

  Ted Conklin, Jamison’s chauffeur, stepped back to admire the Rolls Royce, a large feather duster in his hand.

  Conklin had had an extensive course at the Rolls Royce chauffeurs’ school before Jamison had hired him. He had been with the Jamisons’, like Smyth, since they had married.

  Conklin was a short, squatly built man pushing forty-five. He had light sandy hair, a good-natured fattish face, and he and Smyth were good friends. He lived above the five-car garage in a pleasant little three-room apartment and preferred to cater for himself, seldom joining the rest of the staff for lunch or dinner.

  He was utterly in love with the Rolls. He spent hours cleaning, polishing, adjusting the engine performance, checking continually the electric controls, knowing all this work was unnecessary, but loving it.

  He paid some attention to Shannon’s Caddy, and to the Porsche, but there was no love in his work for these other cars, the Rolls had his complete love.

  Seeing Smyth approaching, he paused with a final flick of his feather duster, stood back to admire the gleaming coachwork.

  ‘Hi, Charlie,’ he said as Smyth came up. ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’

  Smyth was bored with Conklin’s adoration of the car.

  ‘Very nice. Does you credit. Mr Jamison will not be needing you this morning, Ted.’

  ‘Isn’t he going out then?’ Conklin was disappointed. Nothing he liked better than to drive the glittering Rolls along the boulevards, noting the looks of envy from other drivers.

  ‘I’ve just ordered a Hertz rental car for him,’ Smyth said, dropping his bombshell as gently as he could.

  Conklin was outraged.

  ‘What for? A rental? What’s the matter with the Rolls or the Porsche?’

  While crossing the tarmac to the garages, Smyth had also wondered about this odd order. Being astute, he decided that Jamison’s two cars which both carried the SJ1 plates were too conspicuous. Jamison was obviously going somewhere where he didn’t want to be recognized. He explained this thought to Conklin.

  Conklin nodded.

  ‘Yeah. I guess that’s about right. Oh well, it’s his business. So I have the day off?’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t say if he wanted you this evening, so you’d better stay around.’

  ‘That’s him!’ Conklin scowled. ‘No consideration. I could have spent the whole day on the beach.’

  ‘You still could. I will ask him if he needs you tonight.’

  Conklin’s face brightened.

  ‘Do that, will you, Charlie? Let me know. There’s a chick who sells ice cream on the beach who keeps giving me the eye. Something there might develop.’

  ‘Ted, I think their marriage is going on the rocks,’ Smyth said quietly. ‘Keep this to yourself. I heard him last night demanding a divorce.’

  ‘I’ve seen it coming for the past two years,’ Conklin said. ‘A pity. He wants a son. I understand that. Mind you, I like her, and I don’t like him, but when a guy has all this loot, he naturally wants a son.’

  ‘She’s not going to give him a divorce.’

  ‘I saw that coming too. She being an RC.’

  ‘Yes. I picked up she is offering him a legal separation.’

  ‘That won’t get him anywhere. He’ll want to find some other woman who can give him a son, won’t he? He’ll want to marry her. All nice and ship-shape.’

  ‘That’s the problem.’

  The two men stared gloomily at the big villa, then Conklin said, ‘I can’t see Mr J. taking no for an answer. He’s a ruthless sonofabitch.’

  ‘Mrs J. is a devout Catholic. He’ll have to take no for an answer,’ Smyth said uneasily. ‘I think it would be best for her to pack up and leave him. Get a legal separation, and let him get on with it.’

  Conklin scratched his head.

  ‘Can’t see Mr J. standing for that.’

  ‘Look, Ted, you and I have been good friends for eight years. If Mrs J. leaves, I’m going with her. I wouldn’t want to stay here with Mr J. Would you?’

  Conklin stared at him.

  ‘Go with her? Now, come on, Charlie, you’re not thinking straight. What would she need with a goddamn butler? She will move to some small place and play her cello. She won’t want you nor me.’

  ‘She’ll need me,’ Smyth said quietly. ‘She’ll have plenty of money if that’s bothering you, Ted. She’ll need someone like you to look after her car and do the garden. I want you to come with me.’

  ‘And leave this beauty?’ Conklin turned to stare at the Rolls. ‘I couldn’t, Charlie. I just couldn’t. Anyway, let’s wait and see. There could be some other way out which we haven’t thought of. Let’s wait and see.’

  3
>
  At 10.15, Sherman Jamison, a briefcase under his arm, came down the steps of the villa where the rented SE 350 Mercedes was parked.

  Smyth was waiting and opened the door of the driver’s seat.

  ‘I understand, sir,’ he said, as Jamison settled himself behind the driving-wheel, ‘that you will not be back for lunch nor for dinner.’

  Jamison scowled at him.

  ‘Then you understand wrong!’ he snapped. ‘Will Mrs Jamison be in for dinner?’

  ‘No, sir. She is playing at a concert.’

  ‘I won’t be back for lunch. I’ll be back for dinner. Bring me a tray of cold cuts to my study at eight o’clock, and tell Conklin to return this car to the Hertz people on my return.’

  Smyth concealed his dismay. He would now be unable to attend the concert, nor would Conklin have a night off.

  With a stiff little bow, he closed the car door.

  ‘Very well, sir,’ he said.

  Jamison drove to his bank.

  The teller behind the counter inclined his head as Jamison put the briefcase in front of him.

  ‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said. ‘What may I do for you?’

  Jamison was the Bank’s richest and most important client. He always received the red-carpet treatment.

  ‘Put five thousand in one-hundred-dollar bills in the case,’ Jamison snapped, ‘and be quick about it!’

  The teller took the briefcase.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  He filled out a withdrawal form and gave it to Jamison to sign, then he quickly put the money in the case.

  Minutes later, with the briefcase locked in the car’s trunk, Jamison drove along Sea Boulevard, turning onto the highway, and at exactly 11.00 he pulled up outside the Star Motel which was the most de luxe of the number of motels built along the beach road, facing the sea.

  For the past half hour, Lucky Lucan had been standing outside his motel cabin, anxiously wondering if Jamison had changed his mind. He had taken precautions that he considered necessary should Jamison appear. Hidden, in the motel’s living-room, was a tape recorder which was activated at the sound of voices. Lucan told himself that if he was going to get involved in a murder, he must be able to prove that he was only the go-between if the operation turned sour. With a tape of the conversation, Jamison would be as deeply involved as Kling.

  He was relieved, although still uneasy, when he saw Jamison pull up outside the motel.

  So Jamison was playing crafty, he thought. A hired car. He still imagines I don’t know who he is.

  He hurried to the car.

  ‘Good-morning, sir,’ he said, opening the driver’s door. ‘Please come in. We can talk quietly, and without interruption in my cabin.’

  ‘We will talk on the ground of my choosing!’ Jamison said, his voice harsh. ‘Get in the car!’

  ‘But…’

  ‘You heard what I said!’

  Lucan walked around the car to the passenger’s door and sat by Jamison’s side. He slammed the door, venting his well concealed frustration that there would be no tape recording.

  Jamison set the car in motion.

  ‘Well, sir, I…’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Jamison barked. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  Man! Lucan thought, this sonofabitch is a real tough cookie. He recalled what Sydney Drysdale had said: He’s VIP and goddamn dangerous. He found the palms of his hands were damp and he wiped them on the knees of his trousers.

  Jamison, his hard, rock-like face expressionless, drove along the beach road, then turned down a narrow lane, leading directly to a vast stretch of sand, sand dunes and the sea.

  At the end of the lane there was a turn-around. He pulled up and got out of the car. He surveyed the deserted beach. About a quarter of a mile away where the sand was firm, there were sun-bathers and people swimming in the sea. Their distant shouts faintly reached the two men.

  Jamison nodded and got back into the car.

  ‘Now we talk. What have you arranged, Lucan?’

  Lucan again wiped his hands on the knees of his trousers.

  ‘I’ve found the man who will do the job, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Who and what is he?’ Jamison demanded, turning to stare at Lucan with his cold, hard eyes.

  ‘His name is Ernie Kling. He is connected with the Mafia. When the price is right, he will do private jobs,’ Lucan said. ‘I’ve asked him if he is free, and he is. Before taking this further, sir, I thought it best to consult you.’

  With blunt-shaped fingers, Jamison drummed on the driving-wheel of the car while he thought, then he said, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He lives down-town Washington.’

  ‘You telephoned him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but I gave him no details. I told him a job might be coming up, and was he free for the next three weeks. He said he was. So if you want to use him, he is available.’

  ‘How reliable is this man?’

  ‘I assure you, sir, you couldn’t find a better man for this kind of job. He has worked for the Mafia for years, and there’s never been a blow-back. To my knowledge, he has done six or seven private jobs, as yours is. No blow-back. He has no police record. He is utterly reliable.’

  ‘What are his methods of operation?’

  ‘That I don’t know, sir. This is not my scene. You will have to talk to him yourself.’

  Jamison stiffened.

  ‘I will have nothing to do with him! It is your job to find out his method of operation. You are my go-between. Understand?’

  Lucan shifted uneasily.

  ‘It would be more satisfactory if…’

  ‘See this man! Tell him what needs to be done, hear what he has to say, then report to me! Is that understood?’

  This was something Lucan didn’t want. He wanted to put Jamison and Kling together, pick up some money and duck out.

  ‘I thought that if I introduced you to him, sir,’ he said, ‘I could then withdraw. This is not my scene.’

  Jamison glared at him.

  ‘Wrong thinking, Lucan. If you want this money, you are damn well going to earn it. Understood?’

  Lucan hesitated, but his greed over-rode his caution.

  ‘I understand, sir. If you want me to act as your go-between, you can rely on me.’

  Jamison gave him a hard, sneering smile.

  ‘Right. So it is agreed for two hundred thousand this man will arrange a foolproof lethal accident and you will act as my go-between.’

  Here’s the crunch, Lucan thought, and licked his dry lips.

  ‘Well, sir, I did ask Kling what his going rate was for a perfect job.’ Lucan began to wipe his sweating hands on the knees of his trousers. ‘He said four hundred thousand, take it or leave it.’

  ‘You’re not trying to be tricky with me, are you, Lucan?’ The bark in Jamison’s voice made Lucan flinch. ‘If you are, you’ll live to regret it.’

  ‘I’m telling you what he said. Four hundred thousand and expenses and a perfect job.’

  Jamison stared through the dusty windshield at the sea while he thought.

  To be rid of Shannon, he wouldn’t hesitate to pay a million or even two million dollars. He thought of Tarnia. With her as his wife, giving him a son, how different his life would become!

  ‘What does expenses mean?’ he demanded.

  ‘To be a perfect job, Kling will have to stay here for two or three weeks. I would say one or two thousand would cover it.’

  ‘I will pay four hundred and five thousand dollars for a perfect job,’ Jamison said. ‘No more. Is that understood?’

  Lucan drew in a deep breath. This would mean he would clear a hundred thousand for himself.

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  ‘How soon can you begin this operation?’

  ‘I will arrange for Kling to come here tomorrow. We will discuss the operation. I will have his views for you the day after.’

  Jamison nodded.

  ‘Then the day after tomorrow, I will pick you up at your motel
at eleven o’clock, and we will finalize this.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Jamison removed the car ignition keys and handed them to Lucan.

  ‘Unlock the trunk,’ he said. ‘You will find a briefcase. Take it. It contains five thousand dollars for necessary and immediate expenses.’

  Lucan relaxed. He was about to ask for money to get Kling to Paradise City.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He left the car, opened the trunk and took possession of the briefcase.

  As he returned to the car, hugging the briefcase, Jamison said, ‘Now listen carefully to me, Lucan. Don’t ever attempt to play tricks with me.’ He leaned forward and, with his thumb, he smeared a gnat that was flying against the inside of the windshield. ‘I will smear you like that, Lucan, as I’ve smeared that gnat. I have a long arm. Remember that.’

  Lucan stared into the bleak, cold eyes and flinched.

  ‘Yes, sir. There will be no problem. I assure you.’

  In silence, Jamison drove Lucan back to the Star Motel.

  ‘The day after tomorrow at eleven o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Lucan got out of the car and walked quickly to his cabin to telephone Kling.

  * * *

  As Jamison drove up the sandy road that led to the Golf Club, he thought of his meeting with Lucan.

  He had expected Lucan would have upped the price, and he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, if Lucan had agreed to the original offer of two hundred thousand, Jamison was going to drop him. A man who couldn’t strike a bargain was of no use to him.

  Well, he thought, the first step forward. Everything now depended on what this professional killer had to suggest. If he didn’t come up with a convincing foolproof method of getting rid of Shannon, Jamison assured himself, he could still duck out. Then he thought of Tarnia. She had granted him a month. Time was pressing. He had to be free of Shannon within the month.

  As he pulled into a parking slot outside the clubhouse, Jay Wilbur came over.

  ‘Hi, fellow!’ Wilbur exclaimed. ‘Just the right kind of day for a great game of golf.’

  Jay Wilbur was the Chairman of the National & Californian Insurance Corporation. A short, rotund man of Jamison’s age, and, although not in Jamison’s wealth bracket, he was wealthy enough. He came to Paradise City in the season, mainly to play golf. He and Jamison had known each other for some years and they got along well together. Both men played to +4, and always had an even struggle on the course.