James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

Eventually he went to sleep, and when he woke at six o’clock the next morning, feeling stiff and cold, she had gone.

The next four or five days were, to George, exciting, confusing, exasperating and worrying. He had imagined that he would have been able to talk to Cora on the telephone at least once a day, and to see her within forty- eight hours of their first meeting. But it didn’t work out like that at all. Cora, it seemed, was as illusive as a will-o’-the-wisp. Take Sunday, for instance. Now, Sunday was a good day for George’s work. He usually began his calls immediately after lunch and worked through until dark. He was always sure of finding his prospects at home. He had arranged with Sydney to work this Sunday, and before getting up, he made elaborate plans for talking to Cora.

It was obvious that since the telephone was in the greengrocer’s shop, he would have to make certain that Sydney wasn’t in the flat when he telephoned. If the greengrocer had to call Cora to the ’phone, Sydney would want to know who was calling. So Sydney had to be out of the way. George found this added complication rather pleasing. It was much more exciting to have to plot and plan to talk to Cora than just to go to the telephone box and ring her in the usual way. The thing to do, he decided, was to ’phone from Wembley when he knew for certain that Sydney was actually working on the job. He knew Wembley pretty well now, and he remembered there was a public call- box at a junction of four streets which they had still to canvass. He would make a canvass or two, and then, when he was sure that Sydney was safely inside a house, he would slip over to the call-box and have a word with Cora.

He liked the idea immensely. Cora would be amused, too. He would give her a running commentary on Sydney’s movements. “He’s coming out of the house now. By the frown on his face, it doesn’t look as if he got an order that time. He’s looking up and down the road. I expect he’s wondering where I’ve got to. He can’t see me from where he’s standing. There he goes now. He’s opening another gate. There’re three kids in the front garden; they’re following him up the path. He’s knocked on the door. He’s waiting. I wish you could see how he looks at those kids. He’d like to hang their heads together. Hello, that’s a hit of luck for him. The old man himself has come to the door. They’re talking now. The old boy doesn’t look too pleased. I expect his afternoon nap’s been disturbed. But trust old Sydney. He keeps plugging away. Yes, I thought so; he’s got into the house. The front door’s shut now. Well, it looks like another CSE is on its way from the factory…”

Oh yes, Cora would be tickled to death. And then he would tell her how much he loved her and make plans to take her out the following evening.

George was finishing his lunch at the King’s Arms when Sydney appeared. The moment he caught sight of the hard, white face with its disfiguring scar, he felt a qualm of uneasiness. Sydney nodded to him and ordered his inevitable lemonade.

“Hello,” George said; the beef and pickles he was chewing suddenly tasted of sawdust.

Sydney grunted. He came straight to the point. “Did you see Cora last night?”

George felt his face grow red. “Cora?” He repeated, wondering in panic whether she had told Sydney that they had met.

“Deaf?” Sydney said rudely, eyeing him “What’s the matter? You’re going puce in the face.”

George gulped. What a hateful, arrogant brat this Sydney was! he thought furiously. He put his hand to his cheek. “Got an exposed nerve,” he muttered, looking away. “It gives me jip sometimes.”

Sydney helped himself to a sardine on toast. “Did you see Cora last night?” he repeated.

“I—I left the message,” George said. “Didn’t she get it?”

“Oh, she got it; but the little bitch stayed out all night.”

George flinched. He thought sadly that George Fraser, millionaire gangster, would have knocked Sydney’s teeth out for calling her that.

“That’s not a nice way to talk about your sister,” he protested; “perhaps she stayed with friends. It was a pretty poisonous night, wasn’t it?”

“Friends?” Sydney repeated, his blank, hard eyes still probing George’s face. “What makes you think she’s got friends?”

“How do I know? Hasn’t she?”

“No. I haven’t any friends either. We don’t want friends.” Was Sydney threatening him in a subtle way? George wondered uneasily.

“If I knew who she was sleeping with, I’d mark him for life,” Sydney said viciously.

George suddenly felt sick. He remembered the razor blade set in the cork handle and how Sydney had slashed Robinson’s face. He remembered particularly the lightning movement that Sydney had made: a movement impossible to avoid.

“Well, I delivered the message,” he said, cutting up his beef with exaggerated interest. “That’s all you wanted me to do, wasn’t it? I don’t know anything about anything else.”

“Yes, George,” Sydney said softly. “That’s all I wanted you to do—deliver the message.”

“Well, that’s what I did,” George said shortly.

“She won’t stay out again in a hurry,” Sydney muttered, half to himself.

Immediately George became alarmed. Had he done anything to her? He suddenly lost his nervousness of Sydney. The thought that this vicious thug might have hurt her enraged him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning on Sydney.

“Just that,” Sydney returned; “she knows what she’ll get the next time she stays out all night.”

Perhaps, after all, he had only threatened her, George thought, his unexpected surge of anger dying down. Well, that showed how careful they had to be. This confirmed his belief that Cora was frightened of Sydney. And no wonder. “A hit touched,” she had said. Looking at him now, George thought he might really be a hit touched. There was something vicious about those eyes: not only vicious, but fanatical.

He thought it safer to change the subject, and began to talk about their afternoon calls.

He was now most anxious to speak to Cora. He wanted to hear her side of what had happened. If she wanted protection, she only had to ask him. If Sydney really had ill- treated her, he’d make him sorry. Just how he would do this he didn’t know, but the details could be worked out later.

Once on the territory, George found it much harder to get to the telephone box than he had imagined. For one thing, all his calls were at the wrong end of the long street. Then Sydney seemed to be doing most of his canvassing in the front gardens. George was so anxious to talk to Cora, so worried that Sydney would spot him sneaking into the telephone box, that he spoilt four calls, where he was pretty sure, if he had been in the right mental attitude, he would have got orders.

This is ridiculous, he thought. I’m throwing away money. I can’t go on like this. I’ll go to the call-box right now. I won’t wait for Sydney to get out of sight. I’ll tell him I’m making a date with a friend, or something like that.

He hurried down the street towards the telephone box. As he passed one of the little houses, Sydney appeared at the front door. George kept on, feeling himself growing hot.

“Where you going?” Sydney called.

George glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got a ’phone call to make,” he said, without stopping. “It won’t take me a minute.”

He caught a glimpse of Sydney’s sneering smile, and then he looked quickly away. Did Sydney suspect who he was going to call? No, he didn’t think so, but it couldn’t be helped if he did. George just could not wait any longer.

It took him some time to find Harris & Son in the telephone book. There were twenty-seven columns of Harrises to wade through. The telephone box was hot and stuffy, and George kept looking down the street, worried in case Sydney suddenly decided to find out whom he was calling. When eventually he found the number, he was dismayed and exasperated to find that he had no coppers. He decided recklessly to use sixpence, but the sixpence persisted in falling right through the box and coming back to him: it was as if it was endowed with human feelings and resented his extravagant mood. Thoroughly irritated, George left the ’phone box and looked up and down the road. Sydney had disappeared, but a policeman was coming along.