James Chase: I'll Get You for This

“I met him.”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s nothing to me.”

“You take care of his distinguished visitors?”

“That seems to be the idea.”

“Who else beside me have you taken care off?”

“No one.”

“So I’m Paradise Palms’ first distinguished visitor?”

“You must be.”

“Like the job?”

She rolled over on her back. “Yes,” she said, and looked at me.

I could see from the expression in her eyes that from now on I’d be wasting time by staying on the raft.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll go.”

She was the first to hit the water.

“I want to show the young lady the view from my balcony,” I said to the night clerk, as he gave me my key. I expected him to remind me that this was a respectable hotel, or at least leer, but he didn’t.

He bowed. “I’m delighted you find the view worth showing to madam,” he said. “Is there anything I can send up for you, Mr. Cain?”

I made sure he wasn’t being sarcastic, but he seemed to be falling over himself to give me service.

“Some Scotch would be nice,” I said.

“There is a stock of liquor in one of the cupboards in your sitting-room, Mr. Cain,” he returned. “Mr. Killeano sent it over with his compliments not an hour ago.”

I nodded. “That was a nice thought,” I said. I didn’t show him that I was surprised.

I walked with Miss Wonderly across the deserted lobby to the elevators.

She looked at me, raising her eyebrows.

“He’s just crazy to give me a good time,” I said, shrugging.

“He’s ready to come up and tuck us in.”

She giggled.

The house dick passed us. I could tell he was the house dick by the size of his feet. He didn’t seem to see us.

The elevator attendant and the bell-hops looked through Miss Wonderly as if she was the invisible woman. All these lackeys certainly had a swell line in tact.

The clock over the reception desk showed two-twenty. I wasn’t even sleepy.

As we walked along the broad, thickly carpeted corridor to my room, I said, “Do you know this guy Killeano?”

“And I was hoping you were thinking only of me,” she said, reproachfully.

“I got a split mind,” I said. “I think of two things at once.”

I unlocked my door, and she followed me in. I never did get an answer to that question.

When I closed the door I found I didn’t have a split mind after all.

Miss Wonderly disengaged herself, but only after I got a buzzing in my ears.

“I came to look at the view—remember?” she said, but I could see by the rise and fall of her chest she wasn’t much colder than me.

“It’s a swell view,” I said, and we went across the room to look at it. As I passed a mirror I saw my mouth had a smear of lipstick on it. I even got a bang out of that.

We stood on the balcony. The moon was like a pumpkin. The traffic had gone to bed, and only a straggler or two roamed along the coast road.

I undid the buttons of her blouse. She’d taken off her bolero coat on her way up. She leaned against me and held my hands.

“I don’t want you to think I do this with everyone,” she said, in a small voice.

“All right,” I said. “This is the night reserved for you and me.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t.”

She turned and slid her arms around my neck. We stood like that for a long time. It was pretty nice. Then I carried her into the bedroom and put her on the bed.

“Wait for me,” I said.

I undressed in the bathroom, put on a silk dressing-gown and went into the sitting-room. I nosed around in the various cupboards until I found Killeano’s gifts. He’d sent me four bottles of Scotch, a bottle of brandy, and Whiterock. I took the brandy and went into the bedroom.

She was in bed. Her hair had dried and it lay like spilt honey on the pillow. She looked up at me and smiled.

I poured two brandies. I gave her one, and sniffed at the other. It had a nice bouquet.

“You and me,” I said

“No, just to you,” she said.

“All right, and then to you.”

I drank.

She put her glass down on the bed-table without touching it. Her eyes were wide and dark.

I looked at her, feeling a chill run down my spine. The liquor grabbed at my stomach.

“I should have thought of that,” I said.

The room revolved slowly, then tilted.

“Killeano’s gift,” I heard myself mumbling. “But not for the bride.”

I was staring up at the ceiling. The lights were going out the way a movie-house dims its lights. I tried to move, but my muscles wouldn’t work. I felt rather than saw Miss Wonderly get out of bed. I wanted to tell her to be careful not to catch cold, but my tongue was like a strip of limp leather.

I heard voices—men’s voices. Shadows moved across the wall. Then I rode down a dark shute into darkness.

I began to crawl up the dark well towards the tiny pinpoint of light at the top. It looked a tough job, but I kept at it because somewhere close a woman was screaming.

Then quite suddenly I was at the top of the well, and sunlight blinded me. I heard myself groan, and as I tried to sit up, the top of my head seemed to fly off. I grabbed hold of it and rode

the pain, cursing. The woman kept on screaming. The sound chilled my blood.

I made the effort. The floor tilted under my feet as I stood up, but I crossed the room. I walked like I was breasting a hundred mile gale.

I reached the bedroom door, clung on to the doorpost and looked into the sitting-room.

Miss Wonderly was standing pressed against the opposite wall. Her arms were widespread, her hands flat on the egg-blue paint. She was as bare as the back of my hand, and her mouth hung open. As I looked at her, she screamed again.

My head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton wool, but the scream wormed its way through and jarred all the nerves in my teeth.

I shitted my eyes from her to the floor. John Herrick lay on his back, his arms bent stiffly to the ceiling, his hands clenched. The front of his forehead was shoved in, and black blood stained his white hair and formed a gruesome halo around his head.

Heavy fists beat on the door. Someone shouted.

Miss Wonderly drew in a shuddering breath and screamed again.

I crossed the room and slapped her face. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and she slid down the wall to the floor. She left two damp marks from her shoulders and hips on the egg-blue paint.

The door flew open and half the world burst in.

I faced them. They came so far and then stopped. They looked at me, they looked at Miss Wonderly and they looked at John Herrick. I looked at them.

There was the reception clerk, the house dick, a bell-hop, two ritzy-looking women, three men in white flannels and a fat man in a lounge suit. Right in front of them all was the evil-faced guy in the green gaberdine suit I’d noticed watching me at the Casino.

The two ritzy dames started screaming as soon as they saw Herrick. I didn’t blame them. I felt like screaming myself. But it made the man in the gaberdine suit mad.

“Get those bitches outa here!” he snarled. “Go on, get out, all of you.”

The reception clerk and the house dick stayed, but the rest of them were shoved out.

When the door closed, the man in the gaberdine suit turned to me.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, clenching his fists and shoving out his jaw.

I guessed from that dumb crack he was a copper. He was.

“Search me,” I tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come. My mouth felt like it was full of rusty three-inch nails.

Moving like he was in church, the big house dick tip-toed across the room, into the bedroom. He came back with a blanket which he self-consciously draped over Miss Wonderly. She lay on her back, her arms and legs grotesquely spread out, her eyes closed.