James Chase - I'll Get You for This

“I wouldn’t know,” Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. “All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we’re dead pigeons.”

“I guess you’re right at that.”

We went down the stairs and out of the house.

The night was quiet now. The searchlights had ceased to I grope in the sky. Gunfire no longer sounded. It was hot and still.

We got in the car.

“You’re passing up a good story,” I said, looking at Davis with a grin.

“I’ll wait until they find him,” he said, starting the engine. “I’m not sticking my glass chin out by telling them he’s there. They might tie me to it.”

He let in the clutch and we shot away from the kerb.

“Is this where Brodey hangs out?” I asked, as Davis stopped the car in front of a big house on

Macklin Avenue.

“Across the way,” Davis said, pointing. “I’m not parking before any more death houses. Jeese! That was a dumb trick. If a copper had seen us come out—”

“Forget it,” I said, getting out of the car. “Show me the place, and don’t get so excited.”

“Excited? For crying out loud! I don’t like running into corpses that haven’t been turned up by the cops. It’s too dangerous.”

We crossed the road. Somewhere out of sight a car engine roared.

Davis paused in mid-stride.

“Hear that?” he said, clutching my arm.

“Come on,” I said, and started forward.

Brodey’s house was big, and it stood back from the street. . The garden was full of palms and tropical shrubs. It was difficult to see much of the house from where we were.

As we approached the front gates, which stood open, we heard the car coming down the drive. We ducked back into the shadows. The brown Plymouth sedan shot into the street, belted away. It was out of sight before we got over our surprise.

I had caught a glimpse of a man who was driving, but I couldn’t see much of him. The car was fitted with curtains which happened to billow out as the car passed me. That was how I saw the man; Davis didn’t see him at all.

“Looks bad for Brodey,” I said, and began to run up the drive.

Davis panted along behind me. “Think he’s been knocked off ?” he groaned.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” I said. “Same car. Same hurry to get away. They’re after something pretty important.”

A turn in the drive brought us to a big Spanish house that was in darkness.

“If they’ve killed Brodey, there’ll be a hell of a stink,” Davis gasped, following me up the steps.

“They’re sitting pretty,” I said, “so long as they can pin it on me; and that’s what they’ll do.”

“Then what the hell am I doing trailing around with you?” Davis demanded. “If you’re the killer, what am I?”

“Ask the judge… he’ll tell you.”

I touched the front door; it swung open.

“Looks bad,” I said.

“I’m not coming in,” Davis said, backing away. “I’m scared, Cain. This is getting too deep for me.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “Stick around. Don’t run out on me now.”

“I’ll stick, but I ain’t coming in.”

“What’s the matter with you? This may turn out to be front page news.”

“I’d sooner find it without you being around,” Davis said, shaking his head. “If they’re going to pin it on you, they’ll book me as a material witness or something.”

I left him arguing with himself, and entered the dark lobby. This time I’d brought a flashlight from the car. I looked into the various rooms that led off the lobby. They were undisturbed, but when I came to the last door at the end of the passage, I found what I expected to find. The room was Brodey’s study. It was big and well-furnished and equipped like an office. Here, a search had been made. Papers were strewn on the floor, desk drawers Herrick’s place. The chairs hadn’t been ripped open, nor had the pictures been taken off the walls.

There was no one in the room, and I stood looking round, wondering what to do next. It was a big house to go over; I didn’t know how many servants were sleeping upstairs: but I had to know if Brodey was dead.

As I turned to the door I heard or sensed something which made me feel I wasn’t alone. I snapped off the flashlight and stood motionless, listening. I heard nothing. The room was as black as tar. I eased the Luger out, and held it down by my side. Still no sound. I crept cautiously to the door, reached it. Nothing happened. I stood listening. No developments. I touched the door, peeped into the passage. It was dark out there and silent. I kept still, listened, and tried to see through the darkness. I stayed there a long minute, listening. There wasn’t a sound in the house, nor in the street outside, yet I was sure I wasn’t alone. I could sense the presence of someone, and that someone wasn’t far off.

I waited, hoping whoever it was out there had weaker nerves than I had. It was a nasty business standing half in and half out of the room in darkness and silence, waiting for someone’s nerve to crack.

Then I heard something. It was an almost soundless sound, and at first I couldn’t place it. After listening carefully I realized it was someone breathing near me. It gave me a spooked feeling.

Slowly I raised my flash until it was pointing in the direction of the breathing. Then I pressed the button, ready to jump if someone opened up with a gun.

The harsh beam of the flashlight lit up the passage. There was a choked gasp of terror which made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I found myself staring at a girl crouched against the passage wall. She was slight, young, about eighteen, pretty in an immature way; chestnut hair, brown eyes. She was wearing a black and gold kimono and the trousers of her pyjamas were dark blue silk.

She stayed motionless, her eyes empty with terror, her mouth formed in a soundless scream.

I guessed she was Brodey’s daughter.

“Miss Brodey,” I said sharply. “It’s all right. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m looking for your father.”

She shivered and her eyes rolled up. Before I could move she had slipped to the floor. I bent over her. She was out cold.

I slipped the Luger back into its holster and picked her up.

She was thin and light, and I could feel her ribs under the silk kimono. I carried her into the study and put her on the settee.

Silence brooded over the house. I wondered if there was anyone else in the place.

I went to the front door, but Davis wasn’t in sight. I found him by the car, his head back and

the bottle to his mouth. I moved silently up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Got you!” I said in a gruff voice.

Davis didn’t jump more than a couple of feet, and hollered, “Yow-ee!” He nearly swallowed the bottle. I took it away from him with one hand, thumped him on his beefy back with the other. After a while he recovered from his choking fit.

“You loon,” he gasped. “You scared me silly.”

“Come on,” I said. “I want you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve dug up another corpse?” he asked, alarmed.

“Not yet, but Brodey’s daughter has thrown an ing-bing. She’s nice, and she’s got on a kimono.”

“Japanese style, eh?” he said, interested. “Well, maybe I’d better come at that.”

Miss Brodey was lying where I had left her. She looked small and pathetic.

“The idea is to put her head between her knees and a key on the back of her neck,” Davis said, combing his hair.

“That’s for nose bleed, you dope,” I said. “At least, the key part of it is.”

“Well, give her some Scotch,” he advised. “I bet Brodey’s got a bottle somewhere around.”

He found it after a short, intensive search, took a long swig himself.