James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

Duffy leant forward and turned the wheel on hard. The cold water struck her fiercely, and she ducked away, gasping. Duffy grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it.

“Get busy,” he said, “we ain’t got all day.”

She mopped her face, then stepped out of the bath. “Try it,” she said, “it’s nice.”

Duffy shook his head. “Later,” he said. “I’ve got the money itch.”

She took oft the rubber cap that protected her hair and threw it at him. The drops of water splashed his face. Duffy aimed a smack at her, then he jerked her to him and kissed her.

He thought, “We’re behaving like a couple of kids.”

She said, looking up at him, “Will you always be kind to me?”

He gripped her arms suddenly, hurting her. “Let’s go,” he said, “there’s work to be done.” And he left her, standing quite still, holding the towel round her, with a little bewildered look in her eyes.

DUFFY LEFT THE BUICK at the kerb and climbed the five flat steps to the front door. Morgan’s house was in a big way. Duffy was quite surprised. He expected something good, but this was a lot better than good.

The front door was a plate-glass affair, plastered with wrought iron. The bell had to be reached for and pulled down, like the plumbing in an old-fashioned toilet.

Duffy called back to Olga, who was sitting in the car, “Some joint.” He self-consciously jerked the bell-pull hard.

Clive opened the door.

Duffy said, “Tell your Queen I want to see him.”

Clive threw up his hands and backed away from the door. He said in a shrill voice, “You get out…” Duffy pushed the door wide open, but he stayed where he was. He said in a level voice, “Get going or I’ll start on you.”

Clive slid his hand inside his coat, and Duffy took a quick step forward and smacked Clive across the face.

The little guy said from the head of the stairs, “Don’t hit him again. He’ll be all right.”

Clive took his hand away from his coat and backed farther away. A high whinnying sound was coming from his mouth. Duffy said, “Why don’t you take this bum away?”

The little guy came down the stairs. He wore his hat pulled low down. Duffy couldn’t imagine him without that hat.

Duffy said, “Where’s Morgan?”

The little guy was very cautious, he did not get too close to Duffy. He said with a thin smile, “You surprised him.”

Duffy said, “I don’t care about that. I came to see Morgan.”

The little guy turned his head to speak to Clive. “You heard him?” he said. “He came to see Morgan.”

Duffy reached forward and grabbed the little guy by the coat-front. His eyes were like granite. “Cut this circus stuff of yours out.”

The little guy pushed an automatic hard into Duffy’s vest. “Don’t get tough, Mister,” he said.

Duffy took his hand away, and stepped back a little. He said, “Put that rod up and use your head.”

The little guy said to Clive, “Tell Morgan.”

Duffy stood there watching the little guy thoughtfully.

The little guy said hopefully, “You ain’t going to start trouble, are you ?”

Duffy shook his head. “Your daffodil went for her gun,” he said. “I wouldn’t stand for a thing like that.”

The little guy giggled. “You’d like Clive once you got to know him,” he said.

Duffy still stood motionless. “Suppose you put that heater away,” he said evenly. “This ain’t the time for pop-guns.”

The little guy shoved the gun into his shoulder-holster. “I get nervous sometimes,” he said, waving his hands apologetically.

A door at the end of the hall opened and Morgan came out. He called, “Come in here.”

Duffy walked the length of the hall slowly. Then he entered the room. Morgan was standing just inside. Across the room, Joe leant against the wall, chasing holes in his teeth with a wooden pick.

Duffy nodded at Morgan.

Joe said, “Why, for the love of Mike, here’s the pip back again.”

Morgan half raised his hand, stopping Joe. He said, “Have you brought the photos after all, Mr. Duffy?”

Duffy said, “Clear your thugs out, I want to talk to you.”

“Shall I pat him around?” Joe asked. “He likes it, and can he take it?”

Morgan said, “Wait outside.”

Joe shrugged, but he went out, passing close to Duffy. As he passed, he pushed his flat face into Duffy’s and grinned. “Nice boy, ain’t you?” he said.

Duffy didn’t move. “Your breath’s bad,” was all he said.

Joe shut the door behind him, then Duffy walked over to a big arm-chair and sat down. He didn’t remove his hat. Morgan leant against the overmantel and waited.

“We’re due for a talk, ain’t we?” Duffy said.

Morgan took out a cigar case, selected a long thin Havana, put it between his small teeth, bit off the end neatly and spat the end into the empty grate. He put the cigar case back in his pocket.

Duffy said, “I’ll smoke too.”

Morgan looked at him. His hooded eyes were very hostile. “Not mine, you won’t. You talk.”

Duffy shrugged and took a cigarette from his case. “If that’s how you feel…”

Morgan hid his face behind thick smoke as he lit the cigar. “You’ve still got five hundred bucks of mine,” he said.

Duffy nodded. “Sure,” he took his wallet out and counted out five one-hundred bills, then tossed them on the table. “I’ve been keeping them for you.”

Morgan’s face was quite blank. He looked hard at the five bills, then he put his hands behind him, and raised himself slightly on his toes. “That came as a surprise,” he said, “I thought you were taking me for a ride.”

Duffy said, “That’s scent money; buy your nance a present.”

Morgan stiffened. “You watch your mouth,” he said in a thick voice.

“Let’s skip this, and get down to things. I’ve been wanting a talk with you for some time. When you sent me out on that phoney photo stunt of yours, I fell right into trouble, and I’ve been that way ever since. I’m getting to like it, and I’m seeing quite a bit of dough hanging to it. You play ball with me now, and you going to get into something that’s going to make your ears flap. Let’s get this straight. You wanted to put the screws on Edwin English, through his daughter, ain’t that the way it goes?”

Morgan stared at him for several minutes, his eyes expressionless, then he said, “Suppose it was?”

“If I’d turned in those photos of Cattley and the girl together, you could have cracked down on English. You could have warned him off your rackets, and he would have had to like it.”

Morgan wandered over to a chair and sat down, but he didn’t say anything.

“You know Murray Gleason?”

A flicker of surprise went over Morgan’s face. “Yeah, I know him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Where’s this leading?” Morgan was suddenly impatient.

“I’ll tell you. Gleason is running a big dope racket amongst some of the real big shots in the upper circle. He’s got them so short that they’re screaming murder. That guy has a pension from them of nearly a million bucks. Did you know that?”

Morgan shook his head. His thick lips curled a little. “That ain’t true,” he said. “Gleason is only a cheap peddler—was when last I knew him.”

Duffy laughed. “You’re out of date,” he said. “Gleason’s moved into the big-shot class, but he’s smart enough to keep it to himself. He stands no chance of having any political boss smacking his ears down for him.”

Morgan said at last, “I ain’t interested in Gleason.”

Duffy nodded. “Sure you ain’t,” he agreed, “but you’d like his racket, wouldn’t you?”