James Chase - Get a Load of This

Miss Gellert waited for over an hour before Jason came into the library. He came alone. She was sitting by a big fire, very serene and relaxed. Jason came and sat down opposite her. In the firelight he looked very pale.

She said: “I can’t say I’m sorry. You see, unless I do this sort of thing, I can’t get people to take any interest.”

Jason said, a little bitterly, “I suppose he wants money?”

“Don’t you think he deserves to have it? Would you like to do what he’s doing?”

Jason took out his wallet and pulled out some notes. He put them on the table. “I think I’ll go now,” he said, getting to his feet.

She touched the money with a long slender finger. “It is an awful lot, isn’t it?” she said. “Thank you so much. I’m afraid I’ve completely spoilt your evening.”

Jason looked at her. “How the devil did you get mixed up with such foulness?” he asked abruptly.

She looked into the fire. “I guess it was because someone I loved a lot died of it. Dr. Kaufman is the only man here who really understands its cure. But it costs so much. He can’t make progress without money. So I help him as much as I can.”

Jason said: “I see. I think you’re very clever. Do you always take people from places like nightclubs?”

“You mean I’m taking an unfair advantage?”

“It does make one think how much nicer it is in a crowded restaurant than it must be in those wards.” Jason wandered over to the door. “Perhaps you’ll give the doctor my best wishes.”

She got up and went with him to the front door. “I have spoilt your evening, haven’t I?” she said.

He looked down at her thoughtfully. “You know you completely deceived me. I thought it was just a gag about your ethics.”

She said again, “I’m awfully sorry.”

He smiled. “I suppose you’ll take that other guy some other night?”

She nodded. “Oh yes, he has a lot of money too.”

He opened the front door and looked up and down the street. “Well, good night,” he said, and almost ran down the steps.

A taxi slid out of the shadows and the driver leant forward to jerk open the door. “Where to, boss?” he asked.

Jason looked back over his shoulder, but Miss Gellert had shut the door. He looked up at the tall building and frowned.

Then he turned his attention to the driver. “Listen,” he said, “I’ve only been in New York a few hours. I’ve got a room about ten floors up which seems to me completely isolated from any earthly contacts. I want to find company. What do you suggest?”

The driver thought for a moment. “The Gaucho Club is a good spot for a pick-up, boss,” he said. “If you’re wanting someone to sleep with, I’d say that’s your spot.”

Jason raised his hat. “Never mind,” he said politely, “I think I’ll walk.”

You know how it is when you keep sticking your thumb up, and the cars go on by, just like you weren’t there. You think, “O.K., I’ll let this flock through and wait for a truck.” Then you pound away on your dogs, hoping for a truck to show up, but it doesn’t.

That’s the way it took Hienie. Not that Hienie was a bym, he wasn’t. Fate, or what ever you like to call a lousy break, had dealt him one from the bottom of the deck. He and Johnny Frost had got together to do a job. It was simple enough. Hienie had seen to all the details and that meant something. Hienie was a smart guy when it came to details.

All they had to do was to walk into a cafe, show the guy behind the counter a gun, open his cash-box, and beat it. Hienie knew this guy took the cash round to the bank every Friday. During the week the cash-box got good and full. The guy was crazy to have a system like that, but then, Hienie and Frost lived on crazy guys.

You’d think you couldn’t go wrong on a simple set-up like that—you couldn’t, but Frost got it into his nut that you could. He started making plans and getting smart, until Hienie got sore.

Hienie kept telling him all they had to do was to blow in, show the gun, and collect. You didn’t have to hang around checking the time when the coppers would be around. You didn’t have to turn your clothes inside out, so you wouldn’t be spotted, or do any of the other cock-eyed ideas Frost kept squawking about.

Frost wouldn’t do the job the easy way. They were still arguing when they set off by road to Jefferson City. Finally, Hienie got mad, and that’s where he came unstuck. Frost was a big guy and he owned the car. He listened to Hienie for a couple of minutes and then hoofed him out of the car. “O.K., smart guy,” he said, letting the clutch in with a bang, “go bowl a hoop. I’ll handle the job myself.”

Hienie was so mad that he let him go. He had a childlike faith that he could collect a lift from one of the many glittering cars that continually roared past. He’d get a lift to Jefferson City and beat that hop head to it.

It was only after the sixteenth car had ignored his frantic signals that doubt began to cloud his optimism. After the twentieth car had choked him with dust, he gave up and decided to wait for a truck.

He sat by the roadside and lit a cigarette. He cursed Frost viciously, groping far back in his loose mind for suitable terms. If ever he caught up with that guy he’d give it to him. He’d walk right up to him and say, “Hello, pal,” and then he’d let him have it in the guts. He’d stand over him and watch the heel croak.

As he sat there brooding, he noticed a car approaching in the distance. One glance made him get to his feet hurriedly. It wasn’t a private car; from where he was standing it looked mighty like a hearse.

“This guy ain’t passin’ me,” Hienie thought, moving out into the middle of the highway. “He’ll have to run me down first.” He began waving his arms violently.

As the car approached, he could see a small red cross painted on the front, and for a moment he almost stepped aside; but the thought of Frost made him stand firm.

The ambulance made as if to swerve, then slid to a standstill. A little guy in a white coat, and wearing a peaked cap, rolled down the window and looked at Hienie with interest.

“What’s bitin’ you, pal?” he asked, resting two powerful fists on the wheel.

Hienie took off his hat and blotted his face. “Jeeze! I was just givin’ up when you blew along.”

The little guy shook his head. “You can’t ride on this wagon,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d give you a lift, sure thing, but I’m on duty. I gotta patient.”

Hienie didn’t care if he’d got elephants on board. He was going to ride now he’d succeeded in stopping something on four wheels.

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his thin wolfish face going hard. “There’s room in the cab. I don’t want to get inside.”

The little guy shook his head again. “Can’t do it, pal. I’d lose my job. Some other guy will be along soon. I gotta get on. Maybe you’d like a smoke or somethin’?”

Hienie stepped round the ambulance, jerked open the offside door and got into the cab. He slammed the door shut.

“I’m ridin’,” he said briefly. “Get goin’.”

The little guy twisted round in his seat, so that he faced Hienie. “Don’t let’s have any trouble; I may be a little guy, but I’m tough. Beat it, before I start somethin’.”

Hienie could handle this sort of talk. He reached behind him and pulled his gun. He showed it to the little guy. “I don’t have to be tough,” he said.

The little guy’s eyes popped. “Jeeze!”

“That’s it,” Hienie said, putting the gun away. “Let’s go.”

The little guy engaged the gears. “I’m going to lose my job,” he said regretfully.