I'll Get You for This

by James Hadley Chase

  Still want to be mixed up in this?” I asked Davis.

  He looked surprised. “Why, sure,” he said.

  “I’m asking you because from now on there’ll be no backing out. It’ll be a fight to the finish.”

  He scratched his head, then shrugged. “I’ll stick.”

  I looked across at Tim.

  “And you?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s fine,” I said, and meant it.

  I went to the door. Davis followed me.

  2

  Coppinger was a little guy, about forty years old, with a leathery face and a black moustache. His eyes were blue, sharp and cold. He looked sleepy, but there was something about him that told me he knew more than most guys awake.

  “She’s in a spot,” he said, when he finally got seated. I don’t know what they’ve done to her, but they’ve done plenty.” He shook his head, and took out a bag of Bull Durham smoking tobacco and a packet of brown papers. He rolled himself a cigarette. “She acts like she’s already dead.”

  The hair on the back of my neck bristled. “What did she say?”

  He lit the limp cigarette, let it dangle out of the side of his mouth.

  “She said she killed Herrick,” he told me in a flat voice. “That’s all she did say. Although I was alone with her, although I kept telling her I was working for you, she just wouldn’t bite. ‘I killed him,’ she kept saying. ‘Leave me alone. I killed him and there’s nothing you can do about it.’” He shook his head again. “She’s a goner, Cain. There’s nothing I can do for her. We can plead not guilty, but we can’t make a fight of it.”

  “Okay,” I said, “stick around. See her as much as you can, and keep working on her. I wanted to be sure we couldn’t beat the rap. Now, I know what to do.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully.

  “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “You’ve got a reputation. It won’t get that girl anywhere if you try violence. They’re going to bring her to trial. If she looks like sliding through their fingers, she’ll meet with an accident. I know Killeano and Flaggerty. Those boys won’t stop at anything, and I mean anything. The election’s too close. They’ve got to clean up Herrick’s murder before then. So be careful how you step.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Thinking of getting her out?” he asked, after a pause.

  I looked at Jed Davis, who was sitting across the room.

  He nodded.

  “That’s the idea,” I said. “I went out there this afternoon and had a look. It’ll be tough.”

  “You won’t get her out alive,” Coppinger said, “if you get her out at all.”

  “But that s our only chance.”

  “I know.” He stroked his nose, stared down at his feet. “Even if you got inside help, it’d be impossible.”

  I eyed him. “What inside help?”

  He lifted his narrow shoulders. “There’s a guard I know…” he began, then shrugged. “What’s the good? It couldn’t be done.”

  I slammed my fist on the table. “It’s got to be done!” I exploded. “What about the guard?”

  “A fellow named Tom Mitchell. Flaggerty’s fooling around with his wife. Mitchell knows, but he can’t do anything. He’d like to get even if he could. You might talk to him.”

  “I have to be careful whom I talk to,” I said.

  Coppinger nodded. “Mitchell’s safe. He’s aching to put one over Flaggerty. But I don’t think he could be much use except to give you the lay-out of the jail. I wouldn’t let him know too much.”

  I turned to Davis.

  “See this guy, and bring him down to the wharf when it’s dark. I’ll talk to him.”

  Davis nodded, got up and went out.

  I slid two hundred bills over to Coppinger. “There’s more to come,” I said. “Keep with that kid.”

  He pushed them back. “I’m doing this for fun,” he said. “I’ve been hoping someone smart and tough enough would blow into town and crack Killeano. I’m not taking payment for having a front row seat. Something tells me you’ll crack him.”

  “I think I will,” I said, and shook hands.

  After he had gone, I sat down and stared out of the window and watched the Conch fishermen preparing their boats for the night’s fishing. I thought about Miss Wonderly, and the more I nought about her, the worse I felt. I remembered the way she looked sitting on the raft at Dayden Beach. I remembered the way she looked lying in the sand when I was grilling the spareribs. It seemed a long time ago. Then I remembered Bat’s moronic face and Killeano saying, “Do you think you could handle her?” And Bat saying, “I guess I could sort of try.” I felt bad, all right.

  The next three hours dragged away, and by the time it was dark I was lower than a snake’s belly.

  Tim looked in about eight o’clock, gave me an evening paper. The Herrick killing was smeared over the front page. There was a picture of Miss Wonderly. She looked cute. They called her the Blonde Killer.

  They had the confession in full, and I read it. It was cock-eyed enough to sound true. Miss Wonderly said she and I had returned to Palm Beach Hotel, and had had a lot of drinks. I was sore because Herrick wanted me to leave town. I said I’d show him he couldn’t talk that way to me, and Miss Wonderly admitted she goaded me to call him, thinking I was bluffing. I called Herrick and asked him over. He came. I was drunk by then. We were supposed to have quarrelled and Herrick got angry. We fought, and Miss Wonderly hit Herrick on the head with my gun. Herrick fell down and bust his head open on the fire curb. We passed out, and woke the next morning to find Herrick dead.

  That was the story, and it was signed. The signature was shaky and indistinct. I felt like hell looking at it.

  Tim came back after a while to say Davis was waiting for me at the end of the wharf. He had Mitchell with him.

  I went down.

  It was dark, and the stars reflected on the still water of the harbour. There was no one around. At the end of the wharf I found Davis with a big, beefy man who had copper written all over him.

  “This is Mitchell,” Davis said.

  I stepped up to the man, peered at him. I couldn’t see much of him in the dim light, but he didn’t look as if he would give me any trouble. He peered right back at me.

  I didn’t beat about the bush. “I’m Cain,” I said. “How do you like that?”

  He gulped, looked at Davis, then back at me.

  “How am I supposed to like it?” he asked, in a thick voice.

  “You love it,” I said.

  He raised his hands shoulder high. “Okay,” he said.

  “Relax,” I told him. “You don’t have to be scared of me. But if you start something, you won’t have time to be scared. Get it?”

  He said he understood. I could see he was looking reproachfully at Davis.

  “You don’t have to feel sore,” Davis said irritably. “We’re going to do you a bit of good.”

  “How’d you like to get even with Flaggerty and pick up five Cs as well?” I asked.

  Mitchell peered at me. “Doing what?” he asked, interest in his voice.

  “Answering a few questions.”

  “Sure would.”

  “Where do you live?”

  He told me.

  I looked at Davis. “Is it far?”

  “About five minutes.”

  “We’ll go there, and mind, Mitchell, don’t start anything funny.”

  “I won’t.”

  We piled into Davis’s car, drove over to Mitchell’s place. He took us into the front room. It was plainly but comfortably furnished.

  “You alone?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, flinching.

  “You mean your wife’s giving Flaggerty a work out?” I said.

  He clenched his fists; his face went yellow.

  “Skip it,” I said. “We know what’s going on; so do you. The idea is to even things up, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m here.”

  He turne
d away, brought out a bottle of Scotch. He set up three glasses. We all sat down round the table.

  Mitchell was about forty-five. His big, simple face was fleshy and carried a lot of freckles. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but he had that look of gloom husbands get when their wives are twotiming.

  “What’s your job in the jail?” I asked, as soon as we’d settled.

  “I look after floor D.”

  “On what floor is Miss Wonderly?”

  He blinked, looked at Davis who didn’t meet his eye, looked back at me.

  “Didn’t you say something about five Cs?” he asked cautiously.

  “I did,” I said, and shot him a hundred. “That’s to sweeten you. You’ll get the rest when you’ve told me what I wart to know.”

  He fingered the hundred, nodded.

  “She’s on A floor.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Top floor.”

  “Get paper and pencil and show me the lay-out of the jail.”

  He got paper and pencil and began to draw. We sat around drinking and smoking until he’d finished.

  “This is it,” he said. “Here’s where you go in. There’re two sets of gates. Each has a different key and guard. You book your prisoner in here. Women are booked in on the left. You take your prisoner along—”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m only interested in the women’s side. Concentrate on the women.”

  He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Well, the women go in through this door and are booked. They’re taken along this passage—”

  “What’s that square there you’ve drawn?”

  “That’s the guards’ office. That next to it is the police surgeon’s office. That’s the mortuary behind it and the P.M. room. We keep them all together because Flaggerty likes to make the jail his headquarters.”

  “Okay. Where’s A floor?”

  “You reach it by this elevator. The women are not allowed] to use the stairs because the stairs give off to the other floors.”

  “How many women prisoners have you got in there?”

  “Four—no, three. One of ’em died this morning.”

  “Where’s Miss Wonderly’s cell?”

  He showed me the cell on the map he’d drawn. I made him mark it with a cross.

  “How many guards have you up there?”

  “There are three women guards. One goes around the cells every hour.”

  “How about the men guards?”

  “They don’t go to A floor, but they’re around on the other floors every hour. Two to each floor.”

  “How many in the building?”

  “Ten guards on duty, ten off. Since the girl came, Flaggerty has brought down another twenty from Station Headquarters to guard the outside of the jail. It has plenty of protection right now.”

  I studied the map for several minutes, then sat back and stared at Mitchell.

  “If you wanted to get someone out of that jail,” I said, “how would you set about it?”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t,” he said. “It ain’t possible.”

  I handed him the four Cs, and after he’d fingered them and put them away in his pocket, I took out a thousand-dollar bill.

  “Ever seen one of these?” I asked him.

  He gaped at it, his eyes round.

  “’I’d give this to the guy who could tell me how to get that girl out,” I said.

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “I wish I could, but it just ain’t possible.” He edged his chair forward. “I’ll tell you why. You’ve got to get in. That’s the first step. They’ve got dogs, searchlights and guards. Maybe you’ve seen the place ? There aint a scrap of cover around the jail for five hundred yards… just sand. The searchlights light up the whole of the expanse of

  sand, and there ain’t a chance of you getting to the gate without being seen.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s suppose we do get up to the gate. What next?”

  “But you won’t get to the gate,” he said impatiently.

  “Just suppose we do. Go on from there.”

  He shrugged. “The guard at the gate checks your credentials. No one except the doctor or a police official is allowed near the place now they’ve got her. They know you’re smart and they’re taking no chances. Coppinger had a hell of a time getting in.”

  “Well, okay. Let’s imagine the doctor goes there. He gets in. Then what happens?”

  “The guard hands him over to another guard who unlocks the second door, and the doc is escorted to his office. He can’t go anywhere else in the prison, unless someone’s ill. When that dame died this morning, he was escorted to her cell by a guard and the Head Wardress.”

  “I thought you said the male guards didn’t go to the Women’s quarters?” I said sharply.

  “They don’t unless a male visitor has business in the quarters. Coppinger, for instance, was escorted by two guards.”

  I drummed on the table. “So it can’t be done?” I said.

  He sighed regretfully. “I’d tell you if it could be,” he said. “I could use that grand, but I know it’s hopeless. Believe me, no one can get into that jail and no one can get out. They could try, but they’d be dead meat before they got properly started. I tell you: Flaggerty is expecting you to try. He’s got everything sewn up tight, and when that rat sews up anything tight, it stays tight.”

  I got up. “Okay, Mitchell,” I said. “Keep your trap shut about this. I’ll think it over. You might still be able to earn that grand. When do you go on duty?”

  “Tomorrow morning at seven.”

  “What’s your first job?”

  “Inspect the cells, then I’ve got the job of cleaning up after the P.M.”

  “What P.M.?”

  “They’re trying to find out why this dame died. The P.M. is for nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  Out in the hot darkness, Davis said, gloomily, “What the hell are we going to do now?”

  “Get that girl out,” I said grimly.

  “Talk sense. You heard what the man said.”

  “Sure I heard,” I said. “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bet you ten bucks I have her out by tomorrow night.”

  He stared at me in disgust. “Aw, you’re nuts,” he said, getting into the car, “but I’ll take your money.”

  “I’m not nuts,” I said, climbing in beside him. “I have an idea.”

  3

  A half an hour later I was in the car again with Davis, driving, and Tim Duval in the back. “This is it,” Tim said, peering out of the window. Davis swung to the kerb and stopped before a sober-looking building. Above the shop-front was a sign: “Maxison’s Funeral Parlour.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Davis said.

  “Quit beefing,” Tim said, before I could speak. “I’m having the time of my life. Why should you care what he does so long as he does something and takes you with him?”

  “Just because you’re an irresponsible citizen without a job, to lose, don’t think there aren’t people who have to consider their futures,” Davis snorted. “I’m one of them. This guy’s got the bit in his teeth, and I want to know into what kind of hell he’s dragging me.”

  “You’ll know,” I said. “I have one chance to get into that jail, and I’m taking it. That’s why

  we’ve come here.”

  “You’ll come here after you’ve been to the jail,” Davis pointed out. “Maxison will give you a swell funeral.”

  “Quiet!” I said, then turned to look at Tim. “Maxison live over the premises?”

  “Yep,” Tim said. “He’s lived there for years.”

  “Come on,” Davis pleaded. “Don’t be mysterious. Tell me. I want to know.”

  “This is a long chance,” I said, fishing out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. I offered them round. The others lit up. “You heard what Mitchell said. No one can get near the jail unless he’s an official. He also told us a w
oman prisoner died this morning, and she’s to be posted tomorrow morning. Then she’ll be buried. Tim tells me Maxison is the only mortician in town. He does all the official burials, and that includes prison burials. I’m going to be his assistant. In that way I hope to get into the jail.”

  Davis’s mouth fell open.

  “For crying out loud!” he gasped. “Now that’s what I call a damn smart idea. How did you think of it?”

  “I thought of it,” I said.

  He took out his comb, lifted his hat, combed his hair.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “What makes you think Maxison will play, and suppose they recognize you at the jail?”

  “Maxison will play,” I said quietly. “Tim tells me he has a daughter. I don’t want to do this, but I have to. We’re going to hold his daughter as hostage. If he tries to double-cross me, we’ll threaten to knock the girl off.”

  Davis’s small eyes popped.

  “We’re gangsters now, eh?” he said. “Jeeze! I don’t think I like this much.”

  “You can duck out whenever you like,” I said, shrugging. “Hetty will look after the girl. It’s just a threat. I must have some hold on him.”

  “Don’t be a sissy,” Tim said to Davis. “You’ve always looked like a gangster. It’s time you acted like one.”

  Davis grunted. “Well, okay,” he said. “Kidnapping carries the death sentence now. Who cares?”

  I opened the car, got out.

  “Hey,” he went on, leaning out of the car. “Suppose they recognize you in the jail? What happens then?”

  “Let’s wait and see,” I said. “You stay with the heep. Tim and I’ll handle this. If a copper shows, sound your horn and beat it. We don’t want them to get a line on you just yet.”

  He wrinkled his fat nose. “We don’t want them ever to get a line on me,” he pointed out. “Well, go ahead, I’ll sit here and pray. I’m good at that.”

  Tim and I went to the side door near the display window. I rang the bell. We waited.

  There was a short delay, then we heard someone coming along the passage. The door opened and a thin, narrow-shouldered girl stood in the doorway.

  I tipped my hat.