James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

She didn’t say anything. She sat as if she were stunned. He looked sharply at her. Her face was a blank mask of misery.

“Did you hear what I said?” he said sharply. “I’m relying on you, Nhan. If I’m going to get out of this mess, neither of us can make mistakes.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

It took a few minutes to reach the street where he lived. As he turned into the dimly-lit, tree-lined street, he said, “Watch out! You look right. I’ll look left. She’s wearing white.”

As he passed his small villa, he saw the place was in darkness. He could see no sign of anyone.

“Okay?” he asked, slowing down.

“I saw no one.”

He swung the car into a side street and pulled up.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll walk back and have another look. If it’s still okay, I’ll go in and pack a bag. I won’t be longer than ten minutes. Just wait here.”

He set off back to the corner where he paused to look down the long deserted street. Then walking quickly, aware that his heart was beginning to thump, he advanced towards his villa.

He thought: this may be a stupid move. I could be walking into a trap. For all I know, that girl has called the police and they’ve found Haum and are waiting for me. But I’ve got to have a change of clothes and my shaving kit. I just don’t know how long I’ll be holed up in Thudaumot.

As he approached his villa, he looked searchingly for the girl or Dong Ham, but the street was empty. He paused at the gates and again looked to right and left. Then he gently lifted the latch, pushed open the gate entered and closed the gate behind him. He walked silently up the drive and to the back of the villa. Here he paused, keeping in the shadows and looked across the courtyard to the servants’ quarters. No light showed. The door to the cookhouse was closed.

He thought: they’ve got fed up with waiting. She’s gone home, and he’s gone to bed.

He returned to the front door. Taking out his key, he unlocked the door and stepped into the stuffy darkness. He shut and locked the door, then paused to listen. There came “no sound to alarm him, and without turning on the light, he groped his way up the stairs and to his bedroom. The door was locked as he had left it. He inserted the key, pushed open the door and paused to listen. The cold air from the air-conditioner came out and greeted him, cooling his sweating face. He entered the room, shut the door and turned on the light. The room was exactly as he had left it, and he grinned sheepishly as he realized how frightened he had been on the way up the dark stairs.

He looked at the clothes closet. His clothes were in there and so was Haum. This was no time to be squeamish. The quicker he got out of the villa and back to the Chrysler, the better.

He took a leather and canvas holdall from the top of the closet and tossed it on the bed. Then he went into the bathroom, collected his toilet kit, soap and two towels which he put in the holdall. From his chest of drawers, he took handkerchiefs, socks and three shirts. As he picked the shirts out of the drawer, he saw the gun. He looked at it for a long moment, startled.

He had bought this gun from a newspaper man who had been in Saigon during the early air raids. He had told Jaffe he had taken the gun from a soldier who had been killed by bomb blast.

“I’m going home now,” the “newspaper man said. “You never know in this place. A gun can come in very handy. You can have it for twenty bucks.”

Jaffe had bought it. He had never anticipated having to use it, but at that time hand grenades were still occasionally being thrown and everyone was still pretty jumpy and it seemed the sensible thing to do to buy the gun.

He picked up the gun and balanced it in his hand. It was loaded, but he had no idea if it would be in working order after all this time. He was suddenly glad he owned the gun. In the spot he was now in, a gun might be very useful. He put it in the holdall, then with a conscious effort, he went over to the clothes closet, took out the key and unlocked the door.

He kept his eyes up so he didn’t see Haum on the floor, but he was aware of the faint but unmistakable smell of death, and he felt slightly sick.

Hurriedly, he grabbed from the clothes rack a dark tropical suit, khaki drill trousers and a khaki drill coat-shirt. He shut the closet door and locked it.

He folded the clothes and put them in the holdall. He was now ready to leave. He picked up the holdall and left the room, turning off the light. He paused to lock the door, then he groped his way into the darkness.

The contrast between his cold bedroom and the oven-heat of the hall brought him out into a violent sweat. He suddenly needed a drink and that reminded him he had a bottle of Scotch which might come in useful.

He entered the sitting-room and turned on the light. It was while he was putting the nearly-full bottle of whisky into the holdall, after a quick drink, he became aware of the sound of voices in the street.

Hastily zipping up the holdall, he stepped to the window and peered through the shutters. What he saw gave him a paralysing shock.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, standing close together and looking at the villa, was Haum’s fiancée and a policeman.

The girl was pointing to the sitting-room window and Jaffe realized they could see the light coming through the shutters. The girl was talking excitedly, making chopping movements with her left hand while she continued to point with her right.

The policeman slouched at her side, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt, looking from her to the villa and back to her again.

Jaffe watched them, his heart now pounding violently.

For some minutes the girl continued to talk, but Jaffe, watching the policeman, realized she wasn’t making any headway. This wasn’t surprising, Jaffe thought, slightly relaxing. She was urging this little man to enter property belonging to an American and the policeman was thinking this could spark off an international incident with him on the receiving end of trouble.

Suddenly the policeman turned on the girl and began to jabber fiercely at her. Jaffe could hear his harsh voice raised in anger, but he had no idea what he was saying.

His words, however, had a startling effect on the girl. She cowered away from the policeman and by her gestures, Jaffe guessed she was trying to excuse herself. The policeman continued to berate her until with a further outburst of words, he motioned her violently to go away.

She looked once more at the villa, then turning, she began to walk reluctantly down the street while the policeman, nibbling at his chin-strap, glared after her.

Jaffe drew in a long breath of relief. He watched the policeman pull out his notebook and begin to write laboriously in the book. Having completed his notes, the policeman stood on the edge of the kerb and stared at the villa.

Jaffe wondered what Nhan was doing. He had now been gone over twenty minutes. He hoped she wouldn’t panic and show herself. How long was this goddam monkey going to stand staring? Suppose he walked up the street, spotted the tail-lights of the Chrysler and poked his head into the car? He would give Nhan such a scare, she would probably have hysterics, and he would guess something was wrong.

Jaffe was just wondering if he should slip out the back way, climb the wall and get to Nhan through his neighbour’s garden when the policeman seemed to lose interest in the villa, and turning, he slouched off down the street, following the direction of the girl and going away from the Chrysler.

Jaffe snatched up the holdall, turned off the light and let himself out into the dark garden. He locked the front door, then went cautiously to the gate and looked down the road. He could just make out the white figure of the policeman still moving away from him, and opening the gate, he ran silently to the Chrysler.