James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

Duffy rubbed the short hairs on his nape with the flat of his hand. Then he said, “Who killed Weidmer?”

Gleason shifted his eyes. “That doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“You’re wrong. Who killed him? Come on! If you know you’ll let yourself out of this.” Gleason said, “But, I don’t know.”

Duffy raised the Colt. “This is my first killing.” He spoke very harshly. His face had gone oyster colour. Two thin lines ran down the sides of his mouth. “I hope I do it right.”

Gleason’s skin went a little yellow, and he opened his eyes very wide. He said, running all his words together, “It was that damned little judy.”

Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. His face glistened in the diffused light. “You damned louse,” he said, “you nearly made me kill you.”

Gleason lay back in the chair. He looked bad.

Duffy said, “What’s this dame to you?”

“She’s my wife.” Gleason put his hands on his coat lapels to stop them from shaking. “I wish to God I’d never seen her.”

“So that’s it, is it? She killed Cattley and Weidmer and Olga?”

Gleason shifted. “Who’s this Olga you keep bringing up?”

“Never mind.” Duffy got to his feet. “You ought to watch that dame, she’s dangerous.”

Gleason tried to cross his legs, but couldn’t quite make it. He stared down at the carpet. “She’s hop screwy,” he said. “I can’t shake her. She’d stick a knife into me.”

“How much jack have you got?”

Gleason looked up sharply. “You said fifty grand. I got twenty-five here.” He took a long sealed envelope from his inside pocket and laid it on the table.

Duffy looked at the seal, then he said, “Open it.”

Gleason tried twice, but his fingers bothered him. Duffy leant over, took the envelope from him, put his gun down on the table, and tore off the end of the envelope. He shook the contents on to the table and looked at it. Then he picked up the thin sheaf of notes and put it in his pocket. He took the note-book out and tossed it into Gleason’s lap.

Gleason looked at him in complete astonishment. Duffy shook his head. “You expected a double-cross, ain’t that right? I guess you ain’t keeping it long.”

Gleason thumbed through the book as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Duffy went over and picked up Gleason’s gun, took out the clip and then tossed the gun back on the floor. He put his own Colt down his waist-band and adjusted the points of his vest.

Gleason looked up at him. “This is the first level deal that’s happened to me,” he said.

Duffy’s eyes were still hard. “You don’t know a thing. You ain’t going to keep that list long. Morgan’s after it.”

Gleason stiffened and got to his feet. “Morgan? How the hell did Morgan know?”

Duffy shrugged. “I guess I talked too much,” he said. “Anyway, that’s your funeral.”

He walked to the door. “I gotta few things to fix, then I’m blowing.”

Gleason stood in the middle of the room, the note-book in his hands, staring at the floor. Duffy took one look at him, shrugged, and opened the door. Annabel was standing there pointing a .38 at his belly.

Duffy raised his hands just above his waist very quickly. She said, “Reach up, punk, the roof’s not high enough.”

Gleason came across quickly and jerked Duffy’s gun out. Then he said in a low voice, “Walk backwards.”

Duffy obeyed. Annabel came into the light. Her face was very pale, and it had a scraped, bony look. She looked a hundred years old, standing there hating him with her eyes. Gleason put Duffy’s gun into his hip pocket and then went across to Duffy and took the sheaf of notes from him. He gave a little grin. “Too bad,” he said.

Duffy continued to look at Annabel. He said very evenly and through his teeth, “You’d better let that heater off. I’ll kill you if I get the chance.”

She said, “Sit down.”

Duffy sat down because he wanted to, not because she told him to. She said to Gleason, “Put the radio on.”

Gleason looked at her, puzzled, then walked over to the radio, that was a little to the right and behind Duffy. When Gleason turned his back, Duffy saw Annabel stiffen. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her lips came off her teeth. Not understanding, he stared at her, then he suddenly guessed and gave a shout. Annabel shot at Gleason twice. The gun barked, then barked again. Gleason swung round, his face twisted, his eyes startled, unbelieving, frightened, then he crashed over, taking the radio with him.

“Don’t move,” Annabel said to Duffy, swinging the gun round to him.

Duffy sat very still, looking at Gleason. Then he said through stiff lips, “You poor devil.”

Annabel said, “I’ve been waiting a chance to get rid of that punk for some time.” She spat each word at him.

“They’ll burn you for this,” Duffy said coldly.

“Think so?” she laughed. “Can’t you see? Watch me pin it on you.”

She went over to Gleason’s gun, lying on the floor, and picked it up, Then she backed away from Duffy. “I’d like a chance of shooting you,” she said. “So start something if you’re tired of life.”

She wiped the .38 carefully on her skirt, then she tossed the gun beside Gleason. “That’s your gun,” she said, covering him with Gleason’s automatic.

Duffy grinned. “So what?”

She said, “Don’t you get it? I’m going to shoot you now. The police will find you. I shot you in self-defense after you killed Gleason. Don’t you think I’m cute?”

Duffy got slowly out of his chair. “You’re nutty,” he said evenly, and began to walk towards her.

She waited until he was within two yards of her, then she pulled the trigger. Her lips were off her teeth and little white specks of foam touched her mouth. The automatic went click—click—click. Then Duffy put his hand on the automatic and jerked it out of her hand. “I took the clip out before you showed up,” he said quietly, then he smacked her across her face with his open palm as hard as he could hit her. She bounced against the wall, slid down, and rolled on her side. She began to scream in a thin reedy tone that sent hot wires into Duffy’s brain.

From the organ loft, a tight voice said, “Pipe down, he ain’t hurt you. It was just a slap.”

THE LITTLE GUY SAID, “How the hell does one get down from this nest?”

Duffy looked at him, then he looked at Clive, and then he looked at Joe. Clive and Joe were carelessly holding guns. Duffy said, “You jump.” He went over to the sideboard and began to pour himself a drink.

Annabel sat up, pressed herself against the wall, and stared up at the three in the loft.

The little guy swung his short legs over the balcony and let himself drop. He landed on his shoulders with a thud. He sat up carefully and cursed. Then he said, “You come down, Clive; but Joe, you watch these birds and pop ’em if they get tough. You heard that, didn’t you, Joe? I said pop ’em if they get tough.”

Joe leant over the balcony and looked down. He looked a little tired. “Yeah,” he said, “I heard you. I’m watching okay.”

Clive scrambled over the balcony, making black marks with the toes of his shoes on the wall.

Duffy drank a little of the Scotch and felt better. He said, “You ain’t met these two before, have you?” to the little guy. “The stiff over there was Murray Gleason, and the redhead sitting on the floor showing all she’s got is Annabel.”

The little guy giggled, then said, “My, my, you go places, don’t you?”

Duffy said, “Sure. Well, now you’re here, what’s next?”

Clive went over to Gleason, turned him over, and searched him. He found the sheaf of notes and the little pocket-book. He came over with them to the little guy. They both examined the note-book carefully.