James Chase: I'll Get You for This

I took one look, cursed.

As the weeks went by and nothing happened, we gradually relaxed. But we still took precautions. I carried a gun, I continued to practice, and I regained my speed. We had a couple of fierce police dogs around the house, but no one can continue to be keyed up all the time waiting for trouble if trouble doesn’t come.

At first, we both had the jitters, catching each other listening to any unusual sound, breaking off our conversation at an approaching step, looking uneasily at each other whenever the telephone rang. But that kind of tension doesn’t last. After the fourth week we were almost back to normal, although I took care never to approach any car that came into the station unless I could see the driver. If I couldn’t see who was driving, I sent Bones. I never did a night shift either.

Lydia Hamilton’s trial was a three-day sensation. Kuntz knew she hadn’t a chance to beat the rap so he pleaded her guilty, but insane. The D.A. was after her blood, and he didn’t call me, as my evidence would have helped establish the fact that she was insane.

Kuntz got his verdict after a terrific battle, and after the usual ballyhoo from the press the story died a natural death.

A week after the trial, and five weeks after the newspapers had first discovered me, Lois Spence showed her hand.

I had finished for the night, and had handed over to Ben the old guy who handled the night shift, when the telephone in the office rang.

“I’ll answer it,” I said to Ben as a car came up the driveway.

I returned to the office, lifted the receiver.

“Cain?” a woman’s voice asked.

I knew at once who it was. I felt my lips lift off my teeth in a mirthless smile. So it had come at last.

“Hello, Lois,” I said. “I was expecting you to call.”

“Like the wait?” she asked, a jeer in her voice.

“All right. It gave me time to prepare for you. Coming to see me?”

“You bet I am,” she said, “but it’ll have to be a surprise. Don’t be embarrassed, we won’t expect you to dress.”

I laughed, although I didn’t feel like laughing.

“How’s Bat?” I asked.

“He’s fine. I shouldn’t laugh, Cain. You won’t like it when we do come.”

“Why don’t you grow up?” I said. “You always were a dumb red-head. Do you think I care what you do? I can handle Bat and you. Tell him. And don’t forget, Lois, if you slip up, you’ll have a nice stretch in jail ahead of you. Bat’s wanted for murder and that makes you an accessory after the fact. Thought of that?”

“Listen, you heel,” she said, losing her smooth tone. “I’ve waited too long to even things up with you. It’s been fun making you sweat, but I’m through with waiting now.”

“Watch your elastic, sister,” I said. “There’s no need to get excited. Tell me, what do you plan to do, or is that a secret?”

“What do you think? We’ll get that girl of yours, and then we’ll invite you to call and see her. Bat still wants to match his skill against yours.”

“With an empty gun, of course,” I said.

“Not this time,” Lois returned. “He’s been getting ready for you. He’s wise to that loose holster trick now. You won’t pull another gag like that. Well, so long, Cain. We’ll be around, so make hay while there’s a sun.” She hung up.

I stood thinking, then I went out, climbed into the Buick. “Tell Mrs. Cain I won’t be twenty minutes,” I said to Ben, drove on to the highway.

I paid a visit to the police-station, asked to see Lieutenant Mallory.

Mallory and I knew each other well. He was always passing the service station, and he knew where he could get iced beer with a smile from Clair whenever he wanted it.

“What’s on your mind, Cain?” he asked, offering me a cigarette.

I took it. We lit up. “I want protection,” I said.

He gaped at me, burst into a roar of laughter. “That’s rich,” he said. “You want protection. I don’t believe it. Why you’re the original tough egg.”

“I know,” I said, “but this is different. My shooting days are over. Take a pew, Lieutenant, I want to tell you a story.”

I gave him the story, told him Bat was after us, and that Lois had just called me.

“You’re not scared of a punk like Thompson, are you?” he asked, blankly.

“I didn’t say I was scared of anyone,” I said patiently. “I’m respectable now. My wild days are over. I own a wife and a service station. I’m not risking being sent to jail or the chair because you boys can’t do your job.”

He eyed me thoughtfully. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on your place,” he said. “Will that do?”

“That’s what I want, and suppose Bat turns up when your eye isn’t on the place. What then?”

“You deal with him. You’d be within your rights.”

I shook my head. “I’ve killed about six men now and pleaded self defence. That plea is wearing a little thin. A bright lawyer might sway a jury and rail-road me to the chair. I’m through with that stuff. Have me made a deputy sheriff. I haven’t even a permit for this rod.”

“Don’t show me,” he said, hurriedly closing his eyes. “I don’t want to know about it. I can’t make you a deputy sheriff. Maybe the D.A. might play.”

I had an idea. “Say, Bat’s wanted by the Federal Office. Maybe…”

“Try them,” Mallory said. “In the meantime I’ll detail a patrolman to keep an eye on your place.”

I thanked him, drove over to the Federal Bureau, asked to see someone in charge.

It took me an hour, but I came out with a gun permit, and a piece of paper which stated that I was temporarily attached to the Federal Office as special investigator. A long distance call to Hoskiss had got me that.

I was late back for supper, and Clair was worried, but as soon as she saw the light in my eye, she brightened.

“Where have you been?” she asked, leading me into the dining-room where supper was waiting.

I told her about Lois; showed her the gun permit and my authority.

“I’m a G-man now,” I said. “How do you like that?”

She looked a little scared, but tried to hide it.

“I like it fine,” she said. “There’s a cop in the kitchen eating apple pie. He said he had been detailed to keep an eye on me until you returned.”

I laughed. “Swell idea,” I said. “Well, I’m ready for Bat now. I don’t think they’ll come after you, honey. Lois wouldn’t have told me if that was their idea.”

Three days went by, and still nothing happened. Every three hours a patrolman would look in, wink at Clair, say “No trouble?” shrug and go on his way.

I didn’t relax this time. I was sure something would happen before long, and if I didn’t keep on my toes, I’d be surprised.

It happened the following night.

We had gone to bed about eleven. I had locked the bedroom door, bolted it. I had fixed the mesh-wire screen over the open window. No one could get in our room without waking us.

It was a clear moonlight night, and the night air was hot. Ben had been busy up to ten-thirty, and now trade had slackened off.

Clair and I lay side by side in the big double bed. I was half asleep when I heard a car drive up. I thought nothing of it, relaxed, began to drift off. Then suddenly I was wide awake, listening. Clair also sat up, looked at me in the dim light, whispered, “What is it?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Did you hear anything?”

“I thought I did,” she said. “But I’m not sure.”

We listened. Silence.

“A car came in a minute or so ago,” I whispered. “It hasn’t gone.” I swung my feet to the floor. “I don’t hear Ben around I”

I went to the window. A big Plymouth sedan stood on the driveway. There was no sign of Ben nor the driver.