Not My Thing

by James Hadley Chase

  Lepski made a noise like a buzz-saw hitting a knot of wood.

  ‘My father makes noises like that,’ the fat boy said. ‘He has digestive problems.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lepski produced a pad from his desk drawer. ‘Okay, sonny. What’s your name?’

  ‘Frederick Whitelaw, and I would be glad if you didn’t call me ‘Sonny’. My friends call me Fat-ma, but you’re not a friend.’

  Lepski began to drum on his desk.

  ‘That’s right, Freddy Whitelaw, huh?’

  ‘Yes. My father is Hubert Whitelaw who owns the Whitelaw chain of self-service stores,’ the fat boy said complacently.

  Lepski became attentive. Hubert Whitelaw was one of the more important citizens of Paradise City.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, and wrote on his pad. ‘You live at Villa Verbena, on Ocean road… right?’

  ‘That’s where I live.’

  Lepski wrote the address down.

  ‘Okay. What’s this about kidnapping.’

  The fat boy stuck his forefinger up his right nostril, moved it around, but found nothing to interest him.

  ‘I am a bird-watcher, Mr Lepski.’

  Lepski leered.

  ‘I’d have thought you were a bit young to start that.’

  The fat boy sighed.

  ‘Feathered birds, Mr Lepski. The ones that fly. Not those who would interest you.’

  A real smart little alec, Lepski thought, drumming his fingers on his desk.

  ‘So you’re a bird-watcher, huh?’

  ‘Yes. Every morning at seven, I climb a tree in our garden. I’ve built a hide up there, and I watch birds. I see all kinds of birds: mocking-birds, cardinals, painted buntings…’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Lepski interrupted. ‘I have the photo. What’s this about kidnapping?’

  ‘This morning, at a few minutes to eight o’clock, I was in my hide and saw Mrs Sherman Jamison kidnapped.’

  Lepski reacted as if he had been goosed by a red-hot iron.

  ‘Mrs Sherman Jamison?’ he bawled, half starting out of his chair.

  The fat boy nodded complacently.

  ‘That’s right. They live across the road. Snobs. I’ve no time for them. They’re too rich.’

  ‘You saw Mrs Jamison kidnapped at eight o’clock this morning?’ Lepski said, speaking slowly and distinctly.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘How do you know she was kidnapped? Now listen, Freddy, if this is your idea of a joke, you’ll be sorry.’

  The fat boy stuck his forefinger up his left nostril and still found nothing to interest him.

  ‘I can’t do more than tell you, can I?’

  Lepski’s mind began to race. Sherman Jamison’s wife kidnapped! Jesus! This would set Paradise City right back on its rich heels!

  ‘Okay, Freddy. So what happened?’

  ‘I was in my hide. Looking across the road, I saw a car pull up right outside the Jamisons’ gates. A man got out and lifted the hood as if the car had broken down. This interested me, so I watched.’ The fat boy regarded Lepski. ‘Are you getting all this down?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Lepski said, controlling his temper. ‘Keep going.’

  The fat boy shrugged.

  ‘Okay. So I saw Mrs Jamison drive down to the gates. She always goes to church at this time. Because this other car was blocking the gates, she got out of her car and walked to the driver to ask him, I guess, to move his car out of the way. While they were talking, a little guy came out of the stalled car and caught Mrs Jamison around the throat. She collapsed. This little guy carried her to the stalled car, threw her in the back, and the two of them raced off. It took less than half a minute.’

  ‘Right,’ Lepski said. ‘The time, according to you, was before eight in the morning. Now here you are reporting this incident at 18.00. Ten hours after this happened.’

  The fat boy nodded.

  ‘Yes. I was sitting for an important exam. I couldn’t get to you before. I spent all day in the exam room, then I had to walk to you.’

  Lepski suppressed a snort.

  ‘Okay, Freddy. Exams are more important to you than a kidnapping, huh?’

  ‘They sure are. I have to look to my future.’

  ‘I get the point. So you saw two men kidnap Mrs Jamison. Tell me about these men.’

  ‘I was in my hide. It wasn’t easy to see much of them. It happened fast. One of them was tall and thin. The other was small and thin. Both were wearing big sun-hats so I couldn’t see their faces. I was looking down on them, but I did get the number of their car.’

  ‘That was smart of you,’ Lepski said. ‘What’s the number?’

  ‘PC 766880.’

  ‘Hold it a minute.’ Lepski snatched up the telephone. ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Who else?’ Tanner growled.

  ‘Trace car number PC 766880 fast!’

  ‘That number rings a bell. Hang on.’

  Lepski drummed on his desk while he waited, then Tanner said, ‘That car was reported stolen early this morning.’

  ‘Who owns it?’

  ‘The Reverend Owen.’

  ‘Car been found?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Okay, Charlie, put out an emergency alert. We want this car found, and when it’s found it’s to be impounded for fingerprints. It could be a kidnap car. Okay?’

  ‘So at last we’re in business,’ Tanner said. ‘Leave it to me,’ and he hung up.

  The fat boy was listening to all this and he nodded his approval.

  ‘You sure are the best detective on the force,’ he said. ‘Can I go now? I’ll be late for dinner.’

  ‘You’ll have to stay a while, Freddy. Do you want to call your parents?’

  ‘I guess I’d better.’

  ‘Okay. Now, listen, Freddy, if this is a kidnap job, don’t say a thing. Understand? Tell your dad you have met friends and you won’t be home.’

  The fat boy frowned.

  ‘How about my dinner? I’m hungry.’

  ‘I’ll fix that,’ Lepski said, containing his impatience. ‘How about a nice juicy cheeseburger? I’ll tell someone to bring it to you.’

  ‘I’d rather have a double hamburger and plenty of onions.’

  Lepski felt his blood pressure rise. He snatched up the telephone receiver.

  ‘Charlie! Send up a double hamburger with lots of onions and, for God’s sake, don’t make a thing of it!’ and he slammed down the receiver.

  While the fat boy telephoned his home and explained he wouldn’t be back for dinner, Lepski listened, ready to snatch the receiver from him if he said the wrong thing, but the fat boy’s performance was convincing. As he hung up, he said, a little sadly, ‘My ma doesn’t really care. My pa cares less.’

  ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles, Freddy,’ Lepski said, suddenly sorry for this fat boy. ‘Now, let’s get down to business.’

  Lepski listened to the boy’s description of the two kidnappers: one wearing a white suit, the other wearing a T-shirt and dark-green slacks. More than that he couldn’t say.

  Mrs Sherman Jamison, the wife of the richest and most powerful man in the city, kidnapped! The FBI would have to be notified, but first Chief of Police Terrell who was probably in his garden, tending his roses. Then Beigler must be notified. He regarded the fat boy uneasily. If this kid was conning him! But he didn’t think so.

  ‘Look, Freddy, you are quite sure all this is the truth?’

  ‘I’m telling you,’ the fat boy said impatiently. ‘You don’t have to believe me. Where’s this hamburger? I’m hungry.’

  Lepski drew in a deep breath and picked up the telephone receiver. In minutes, he was reporting to Terrell.

  ‘I’ll be right down,’ Terrell said. ‘Keep the boy with you,’ and he hung up.

  A patrolman came into the Detectives’ room, carrying a plastic sack.

  ‘Someone here wants a hamburger with onions?’ he asked, an injured look on his face.

  ‘Give it to him!’ Lepski snarled,
waving to the fat boy. ‘And take that stupid look off your stupid face!’

  The patrolman dropped the sack onto the fat boy’s lap and beat a hurried retreat.

  Lepski telephoned Beigler, knowing he was probably drinking coffee and watching the games on the television.

  The news Lepski told him made Beigler grunt with dismay.

  ‘I’ll be right down. The Chief know?’

  ‘He’s on his way,’ Lepski said, and hung up.

  The fat boy was beginning to munch one of the hamburgers.

  Lepski suddenly remembered that Carroll would be waiting for him to take her to a movie and then to dinner. He looked at his watch, then released a moan. Snatching up the telephone receiver, he called Charlie Tanner.

  ‘Charlie! Call Carroll and tell her I have an emergency and won’t be able to take her out tonight. Call her right away!’

  ‘Not me!’ Tanner said. He knew only too well of Carroll’s explosive temper. ‘I want to keep my right ear-drum intact. You call her.’

  ‘You heard what I said!’ Lepski yelled. ‘Call her or I’ll tear your liver out!’ and he slammed down the receiver.

  The fat boy, his mouth full, nodded his approval.

  ‘You are sure the best detective on the force, Mr Lepski,’ he mumbled. ‘Boy! That’s telling him!’

  Ten minutes later, Chief of Police Fred Terrell, a big, burly man with sandy hair, strode into the Detectives’ room. He took the fat boy into his office and listened to the account of the kidnapping, making occasional notes.

  ‘That’s fine, Freddy,’ he said, when he was satisfied the fat boy had nothing further to tell him. ‘You have been most helpful. I am now relying on you not to say anything about this to anyone. It is vitally important when dealing with kidnappers to keep them guessing.’

  ‘Mr Lepski told me that,’ the fat boy said. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thank you. Would you like to be driven home in a patrol car?’

  The fat boy shook his head.

  ‘No, thanks. My folks don’t expect me back so I guess I’ll go skating.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Terrell, who had a soft spot for children, not having any of his own, took out his wallet and produced a ten-dollar bill. ‘Suppose you have a feed before you go skating?’

  ‘Sure will,’ the fat boy said, his eyes glistening. ‘Thanks.’

  When he had gone, Terrell called in Lepski and Beigler.

  ‘Looks as if we have a kidnapping in our laps,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the kid was speaking the truth. It’s now close on eleven hours since Mrs Jamison was snatched. The chances are Jamison has already received a ransom note. The fact he hasn’t reported to us indicates there was a threat not to contact us. That doesn’t mean we do nothing. The first move is to contact Jamison and get his reactions.’

  Terrell reached for the telephone and asked the operator to connect him with the Jamisons’ residence.

  7

  At 08.30, Ng Vee drove the stolen car down the steep ramp that led to Lucy Loveheart’s underground garage.

  Kling sat by his side. Shannon Jamison’s unconscious body lay on the floor of the rear of the car, covered with a rug.

  ‘I’ll take a look,’ Kling said as Ng pulled up by the elevator door. He slid out of the car, checked no one was in the garage, then nodded to Ng. He went swiftly to the elevator and pressed the down button.

  ‘Move fast, kid,’ he said as the elevator door swung open.

  Ng opened the rear door of the car, grasped Shannon’s ankles and pulled her out of the car. He caught hold of her, lifted her, his right arm around her limp body, his left hand under her knees.

  ‘Want help, kid?’ Kling asked.

  ‘Oh no, sir. No problem.’

  Ng carried Shannon to the elevator, entered and leaned against the wall as Kling got in and pressed the up button.

  Holding Shannon, feeling her scented hair against his face, feeling her round, firm breast in his right hand, and her soft thighs under his left hand, Ng experienced a sensation he had never known before.

  During his teenage life, he never had the money to associate with girls. His mother had warned him girls were always expensive, and to keep away from them. Ng had found this no hardship. There were times when he felt the stirring of sex within him, but because of his way of life and his mother’s repeated warnings, he had crushed down this urge and, up to this moment, women had meant nothing to him.

  The sensation he now experienced as he held Shannon’s limp body against him gave him an extraordinary feeling of pleasure. It was during the elevator’s climb to the top floor, without realizing it, Ng fell in love with Shannon Jamison.

  Kling was speaking, and Ng had to force himself to concentrate on what his master was saying.

  ‘Will she be okay, kid?’ Kling was asking. ‘She looks knocked out.’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Ng said. ‘In less than a couple of hours, she will be fine.’

  The elevator door swung open. Kling moved forward, checked there was no one around, then stepped across the corridor and, using the key Lucan had given him, unlocked the door of the Whipping room.

  ‘Get her in here, kid, and fast.’

  Holding Shannon closely against him, Ng carried her through the open doorway and into the big, luxuriously furnished bedroom. He crossed to the bed and laid her gently down. He stood back, feeling his heart thumping.

  ‘Okay, kid,’ Kling said. ‘You stay with her. I’ll get rid of the car. Take a look around. When she comes to the surface, tell her she’s been kidnapped and she has nothing to worry about. I don’t want her to start flipping her lid. Get the photo?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I got Lucky to stock the refrigerator,’ Kling went on. ‘She’ll be here for at least a week. Look after her, kid. Lucky also bought clothes for her. They’re in the closet. She’s to have the VIP treatment. Jamison might be tricky, and I don’t want her complaining if we release her.’

  Ng stared at him.

  ‘But you will release her?’

  ‘It depends on Jamison. Don’t worry your head about that. You can leave all that to me.’ He handed the key of the apartment to Ng. ‘Lock her in when you leave, and come back to the motel dinner-time.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get rid of the car. Take a taxi back to the motel. Look after her, kid. No rough stuff for the moment.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Ng said huskily.

  ‘You’re great, kid. I’m relying on you,’ and Kling left the apartment.

  When the door closed behind him, Ng turned and regarded Shannon as she lay on the bed. She was wearing a white, simply cut dress and it had rucked up, revealing her long legs and shapely thighs.

  Ng moved forward and gently adjusted the skirt of the dress. He stood for some minutes looking down at her. What a beautiful woman! he thought, and again this sensation of sex and love moved through him. He felt he could stand there and look at her forever, but he made an effort and turned away. He went into the tiny kitchen and inspected the refrigerator which was packed with Quick frozen meals. He grimaced. Dreary food, he thought. He found a coffee percolator and two sacks of ground coffee. He inspected the bathroom and found towels and soap.

  Then he returned to the bedroom and sat down in a lounging-chair, close to the bed. He watched Shannon, and waited, with oriental patience, for her to recover consciousness and as he watched her, his love for her grew.

  He thought of Kling. He had asked Kling if he would release this unconscious woman.

  It depends on Jamison. Don’t worry your head about that. You can leave all that to me.

  He thought of what Kling had done for him and his mother. He had long ago realized that Kling’s way of life was influenced and directed by and for money.

  Ng drew in a deep breath. Money? What was money?

  All his life up to now, money had meant nothing to him except to buy food. Yet money seemed everything to Kling.

  Ng moved restlessly.

  Would Klin
g be so money crazy that he would kill this beautiful woman if her husband wouldn’t give him the money he was asking for?

  Would he? Could he?

  Ng again looked at Shannon. She now appeared to be sleeping.

  He got to his feet and, for the first time in his life, he did something that set the blood moving through him and his heart pounding.

  He gently lifted her hand and kissed it.

  * * *

  As Kling drove up to his motel cabin, Lucan came rushing out of his cabin. He caught hold of Kling’s arm as Kling got out of his car.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded. There was sweat on his face and his eyes looked wild.

  Kling regarded him with contempt.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, relax!’ he said. ‘It went as planned: as smooth as silk. She is now safely in the knocking-shop, and the kid is looking after her.’

  Lucan moaned with relief.

  ‘I’ve been waiting and flipping my lid,’ he said. ‘Anything could have gone wrong!’

  ‘Not with me handling it,’ Kling said. ‘I’ll see Jamison tonight, and get the money out of him.’

  ‘Suppose he won’t pay?’

  Kling gave a sneering laugh.

  ‘He will. I have him over a barrel. Take it easy, Lucky. I’m taking a swim.’

  Lucan began to unwind.

  ‘You really mean this is going to work? I’ll get half a million?’

  ‘That’s it, Lucky. It’s really going to work.’

  ‘Have you fixed this Swiss account for me?’

  Kling gave Lucan his evil smile.

  ‘I can’t do anything like that until Jamison pays up. Take it easy. I’ll fix it.’ Then shoving by Lucan, he went into his cabin and slammed the door.

  Lucan returned to his own cabin.

  A half a million dollars! he thought. Could he trust Kling? Once the money was in Switzerland, he would pack up and leave America. He would settle probably in Monte Carlo. He paced the room, thinking. God! How he wished he could go now!

  He paused by the window to watch Kling, wearing swim-shorts, running down to the sea: his tall, lean body moving with perfect rhythm.

  The time was nearly 09.00. Lucan went into the kitchenette and heated up coffee. Kling had said he wouldn’t be seeing Jamison until tonight. As he sipped the coffee, he thought of the long hours ahead. Kling seemed so sure he could handle Jamison. Could he? Jamison was a tough, ruthless sonofabitch!