James Chase - I'll Get You for This

I suddenly felt better. I grinned at him.

“I’m getting her out of that jail,” I said.

“I’d like to know how you’re going to do it,” Davis said, his eyes opening.

“Is this place on the main road?” He nodded. “It stands back a quarter of a mile from State Highway Four. You can see it from the road as you leave town.”

“I’ll go out and look it over,” I said. “When do you reckon Coppinger will be along?”

“About an hour,” Davis said. “I’ll drive you over to the jail and pick up Coppinger on his way out. You can travel the way you travelled last night.”

“Okay,” I said, and took out Bat’s .38 Police Special. It was a good gun, but I wished I had my Luger. I checked it over, then shoved it down the waist-band of my trousers.

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.

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.