James Chase: Tiger by the Tail

“No. I’m going further up,” Ken said, hurrying up the stairs.

“We should have an elevator,” the fat man complained. “These awful stairs are bad for my heart. Leo hates them too.” He touched the dog’s head with a fat, grubby forefinger. “Such a beautiful creature, don’t you think?” He moved the dog forward a little as if inviting Ken’s inspection. “Do you admire dogs, sir?”

Ken edged around the fat man.

“Yeah, I guess I do. He’s certainly a fine animal,” he said uncomfortably.

“He has won many prizes,” the fat man went on. “Only this month he got a gold cup.”

The dog stared at Ken. Its eyes were like those of its master: dark, protruding and bloodshot.

Ken went on up the stairs. When he reached the top landing he paused. As he had walked up the remaining stairs, he had been listening for sounds of the fat man going down, but he had heard nothing.

He stepped softly to the banister rail and looked over.

On the landing below, the fat man stood motionless, looking up. Their eyes met and the fat man smiled. It was a curious sly, knowing smile, and it startled Ken. The Pekinese also looked up. Its flat, black-muzzled face was stolid with indifference.

Ken moved hurriedly back, and turned to face the green-painted front door on the far side of the landing. He was aware that his heart was pounding and his nerves were jumpy. The encounter with the fat man had shaken him.

If he hadn’t been sure the fat man was still standing on the lower landing, Ken would have about faced and got out of the house as quickly as he could. But the idea of having to pass the fat man again was more than his shaken nerves could stand.

Wishing now he hadn’t been such a reckless fool as to come to this house, Ken gingerly pushed the bell button.

The front door opened almost immediately.

The girl who held the door open was dark, vivacious and pre«cy. At a guess she was twenty-three or four. Her hair, dressed to her shoulders, was as black as a raven’s wing. She had wide-set, blue eyes, a big, generous, scarlet-painted mouth and a friendly smile that did much to restore Ken’s shaken nerves. . She wore a pale blue summer frock, and the shape he saw under the frock set his heart thumping.

“Hello,” she said, standing aside. “Come on in.”

He was aware of her quick, searching scrutiny. What she saw seemed to please her, for she gave him another flashing smile as he walked awkwardly into a big, airy sitting-room.

Before the empty fireplace stood a massive leather couch. Three lounging chairs, a radiogram, a television set, a big walnut liquor cabinet, and a dining table that stood in the bay window completed the furnishing.

Bowls of flowers stood on the table, the top of the radiogram and on the mantelpiece.

The girl closed the front door and moved over to the liquor cabinet. She rolled her hips deliberately as she walked, and glanced over her shoulder to see his reaction.-

Ken was reacting. He thought she had a sensational figure.

“Make yourself at home,” she said. “Sit down and relax. I’m absolutely harmless, and you don’t have to be shy or frightened of me.”

“I’m not frightened of you,” Ken said, warming to her. “It’s just I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

She laughed.

“I should hope not. A nice boy like you shouldn’t need anyone like me.” She quickly mixed two highballs as she talked. “What’s the idea, Buster?” she went on. “Your girl let you down?”

Ken felt himself go hot.

“Not exactly.”

She carried the drinks over to the couch and sat beside him.

“Sorry; that slipped out. I didn’t mean to stick my nose where it isn’t wanted,” she said. “It’s just you’re not the type I usually meet.” She gave him one of the tall glasses. “I’m in luck tonight Here’s to fun, Buster.”

Ken was glad of the highball. He hadn’t expected anything like this. The set-up wasn’t sordid at all. The room was better than his own sitting-room.

The girl was like one of the girls at his bank, only a lot prettier. He would never have guessed she was what she was.

“Are you in a rush to get away?” she asked, crossing one slim leg over the other and carefully adjusting her skirt to cover her knee.

“Why no. That is…”

“That’s fine. There’s nothing I hate more than the guy who tears in here, and tears out again. Most of them do. I guess their wives are waiting for them. Do you want to stay here?”

Ken hesitated. He would have liked nothing better, but he remembered his determination not to get himself involved in anything he would regret later.

“I guess not,” he said awkwardly. “The fact is — I really only want — I thought we could do a show or something like that.”

The girl looked quickly at him, then smiled.

“Of course, if that’s what you really want. But look, Buster, it’s going to cost you the same one way or the other. So you can please yourself.”

“Let’s go out,” Ken said, feeling himself grow hot. He took out his billfold. “Shall we settle the financial arrangements now?”

“Twenty bucks: does that sound like hell?” she said, smiling at him.

“That’s all right,” Ken said, and gave her two tens.

“It’s okay with me if you want to change your mind,” she said, getting up. “Let’s see how we go, shall we?”

She crossed the room went into another room and returned immediately.

“Well, now,” she said, sitting on the arm of his chair. “What shall we do?”

He found her presence disturbing. Already his determination to behave was wilting.

“I thought we might go to a nightclub,” he said. “I’ll have to be careful not to be seen.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll go to the Blue Rose. I bet none of your pals ever go to a joint like that. You’ll have fun, and the drinks aren’t too poisonous. I must change. Do you want to come in?”

Ken looked blank.

“That’s all right. I’ll sit here.”

“You’re a funny guy. I have to keep most of them out with a shot-gun. Don’t be too shy, will you?”

“That’s okay,” Ken muttered, not looking at her.

She gave him a puzzled stare, shook her head, and went into the bedroom, leaving the door wide open.

Ken sat still while he wrestled with his conscience. It would have been easier and so much less complicated if she had run true to type. If she had been a hard little floosie, his coming here wouldn’t have taken on this disconcerting personal atmosphere.

“For goodness’ sake, Buster,” the girl said, coming to the bedroom door, “stop looking like the wrath of God. What’s the matter?”

She came over to where he was sitting took the highball out of his hand and put it on the table. She dropped on her knees in front of him.

“We have plenty of time,” she said. “We can go out later.” She slid her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Buster.”

Throwing caution to the winds, he caught her to him, his mouth coming down on hers.

It was ten-thirty when they left the apartment. They met no one on the stairs, and they picked up a passing taxi outside the house.

“The Blue Rose,” the girl said to the driver. “122nd Street.”

In the dark seclusion of the taxi she sat close to Ken, holding his hand.

“I like you, Buster,” she said, “You don’t know what a change you are to the usual guys I get snarled up with.”

Ken smiled at her, not saying anything. He felt relaxed and happy. This night was off the record: hours that didn’t count in his routine of life. In this way, he had got the better of his conscience. He knew he had been extraordinarily lucky to find a girl like Fay to share this stolen night out. By tomorrow the whole episode would be behind him: a memory he would have for the rest of his days. It would never happen again, he assured himself. He wouldn’t want it to happen again. But now it was happening, he would be a fool not to enjoy every second of it.