James Chase - Get a Load of This

I walked away, feeling sick and too stunned to really realize what had happened.

As I climbed into my car, Myra came up to me. Her eyes were very dark, and her mouth worked rather horribly.

“Give me that paper,” she said.

Because I wanted to get away I took the paper from my wallet and looked at her. “This isn’t the time now to talk about this. I’ll come and see you later.”

“Oh no, you won’t,” she said. She seemed to be speaking through locked teeth. “I fooled George and I fooled you. Read what it says. Didn’t I promise to pay my husband one million dollars? Well, he wasn’t my husband, I can contest that. By the time the court has made a ruling, it will be too late. George’s little suckers will be down the drain.”

I said: “What do you mean? George married you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he married me, but that was all. He didn’t lie with me. Oh no! My money was good enough for him, but I wasn’t. He thought it was sufficient just to marry me—the fool.”

I stared at her. “You can’t prove that,” I said slowly. “Surely you are keeping to your agreement?”

“Prove it? It will take years not to prove it. By that time the money will not be needed. Tear up the paper, Mr. Arden. You know as well as I do that it’s useless now. The poor fool killed himself, although he won the race…. Do you know why? Because he despised himself for marrying me. No man can treat me like that. I warned you, didn’t I, about the twist in the tale.” She laughed hysterically. “Don’t you think it’s lovely?”

I engaged the gears and drove away, leaving her still laughing.

He was very tall, thin and distinguished-looking. He had a close-clipped moustache, a square jaw and the hair on each side of his head was white.

He sat on a high stool at the ‘Roney Plaza’ bar, a cigarette between his thin lips and a glass of Scotch-and-soda at his elbow. Every now and then he would glance up and catch his reflection in the bright mirror behind the bar. He would look at himself and adjust the wings of his evening dress-tie with his well-shaped fingers, and once he adjusted the set of his coat.

People kept coming up to the bar, but he ignored them. Sometimes they glanced at him curiously, especially the women, but no one spoke to him. He had been in the bar several times during the week, and the habitues began to wonder who he was.

Manuel, the barman, had tried to discover who he was without success. Not that he wasn’t talkative, but that he steered the conversation away from any personal topic.

During a lull, Manuel came down the long bar towards him. He began polishing glasses. “Not much about tonight,” he said casually.

The tall, thin man agreed. “Why do you think that is?” he asked.

Manuel shrugged. “You can’t tell these days,” he said; “there is too much entertainment going on. People get too much amusement. They don’t know where to go next.”

“Personally, I find things very dull.”

Manuel looked at him sharply. “It depends,” he said. “It depends on what you want. Now, there’s a fine show at the ‘Hot-Spot’. You ought to see that. I went last night. Mind you, I’ve seen a lot of that kind of stuff, but this is the tops. You can have my word for it, you didn’t ought to miss it.”

The tall, thin man tapped the ash of his cigarette. “I’ve seen it,” he said briefly. “It’s not bad. No, I’d say it’s not bad at all.”

Manuel selected another glass. “That dame with the chest,” he said, rolling his eyes a little. “You know the one I mean.”

“Did you find her amusing?”

“Amusing?” Manuel paused. “That ain’t quite the word, is it? Amusing? No, I wouldn’t call it that. That’s the kind of a dame that spoils married life. Comes a trifle flat to get home after seeing a dame like that.”

The tall, thin man winced. He finished up his whisky and ordered another.

Manuel went on: “When you see a hot number like her, it makes you wonder what sort of a life she leads off the stage. Maybe she’s married. She might have a flock of kids. She might sleep with anyone. You don’t know, do you?”

“It’s a great mistake to enquire into that kind of a person’s life. They’re making money because the people who pay to see them regard them as something totally unlike themselves. They are the escape valve of the public.”

Manuel nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, but I don’t kid myself.” He had to go away to serve two elderly women, and when he got back again he said: “There’s a good fight on tonight. I can let you have a ticket if you fancied it.”

The tall, thin man shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m waiting for someone. Maybe some other night. I like a good fight.”

“Yeah?” Manuel’s face brightened. “So do I. I like a good fight too. There has been some pretty bum shows recently. Did you see McCoy give up in the sixth?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he do that, do you think?”

“They say he was scared, but it wasn’t that. He had something on his mind. It must be tough going into the ring with something bad on your mind. The public don’t care. All they want to see is a fight. It doesn’t matter how much trouble you’ve got, you’ve got to leave it outside. Well, I guess McCoy took it in with him.”

Manuel regarded the tall, thin man thoughtfully. “You reckon that’s what the trouble was, do you?” he said.

“Of course. It couldn’t have been anything else. McCoy isn’t yellow. He wasn’t getting the breaks.”

Manuel, who didn’t miss anything, said: “You’ll pardon me, but are you waiting for a lady?”

The tall, thin man played with his glass, his eyes went frosty. “Curiosity?” he said.

Manuel put down the glass he was polishing. He jerked his head. “Some lady’s lookin’ for someone,” he said. “I thought maybe it was you.”

The tall, thin man looked over his shoulder. “You’re quite remarkable,” he said, and beckoned to the girl who stood just inside the doorway.

She came across slowly. Manuel watched her, without appearing to. During his stay at the ‘Roney Plaza’ he had seen so many women that his standard of what was good had become exceedingly high. This girl was interesting. She was interesting in a ripe sort of a way. She had a lazy, sensuous walk, and her big blue eyes looked sleepy. Her mouth was wide and very red. She wore a black dress that emphasized her breasts and hips without being tight on her body. Manuel thought she looked like a very beautiful genteel whore.

She said to the tall, thin man, “Hello, Harry.”

He got off the stool and touched her fingers. There was a tense eager tightening of his face muscles.

“Come and have a drink,” he said. “Do you like these stools, or would you rather sit at a table?”

She gave her answer by climbing up and perching herself on the stool.

He said, “You’re looking very, very beautiful.”

“Every time we meet you tell me that. Is it for something to say, or do you feel so strongly about it?”

He climbed up on the stool beside her. “I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t I have something to drink? Is it so urgent that I can’t be asked what I should like?”

He looked at her, his eyes angry. “I’m sorry.” He nodded to Manuel, who came down to them, then he said, “What are you drinking?”

She turned her attention to Manuel. First, she gave him a very bright smile. It was a smile that unsettled Manuel’s calm. He felt an urge to reach forward and pull her across the bar towards him. This urge so startled him that he became very confused. He stood looking at her uneasily.

“What shall I drink?” she asked him. “Something that will set fire to my blood. Suggest something.”