James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

But she listened to his tales of crime, sitting still, with her chin in her cupped hands, her eyes expressionless.

George soon became engrossed in his own stories, and when the lights in the restaurant began to go out, he realized with a start of surprise that it was half past eleven and he was a little drunk. The restaurant was empty now, except for the blond man at the table opposite, the Hebrew barman, the fat woman at the desk and the waiter who had looked after them.

“We’d better be going, I suppose,” he said regretfully. “I’m afraid I’ve been doing all the talking again. I hope I —haven’t bored you.”

Cora shook her head. Her face was flushed by the wine, and when she spoke, the sickly smell of the wine was on her breath. “I wanted you to talk,” she said. Then she looked again at the blond man at the table across the room. George suddenly realized that all the time he had been talking to her she had been casting glances in this man’s direction.

He couldn’t resist saying, “Do you know that man?”

She looked through him, her eyes drawn curtains, “That isn’t rain, is it?”

George frowned. “I hope not.” He glanced over his shoulder Rain marks showed on the windows. “It Is, I’ m afraid. Aren’t we unlucky? It always rains for us.”

“Oh, damn! I hope we can get a cab.”

George signalled to the waiter, who brought the bill. It was for twenty-five shillings. Cheap, and jolly good, George thought. We must come here again. Only perhaps she’ll be less worried and jumpy next time. He had to admit that the evening hadn’t been a success. Cora had behaved—was behaving now—like someone awaiting a major operation. She had not been concentrating, and George was prepared to swear that she couldn’t have repeated to him anything of what he had said to her during the whole evening. Her eyes were never still, and she continually moistened her lips with her tongue. She had all the symptoms of acute nervousness.

George waved away the change which the waiter brought him “Shall we go, or shall we wait a hit?” he asked Cora.

“We’re closed now,” the waiter said as he moved away.

“Oh, well,” George said, pushing hack his chair, “I suppose we’d better go, then.”

Cora drew a deep breath and got to her feet. George was surprised to see that she swayed unsteadily. It dawned on him that he was feeling comfortably tight. The martinis and the two bottles of wine had found their way to his head. He grinned a little foolishly. They certainly seemed to have found their way to Cora’s legs.

“Steady,” he said, taking her arm; “careful how you go.”

She pushed him away. “Shut up, you fool!” she said in a low, furious whisper. Her eyes blazed, and George was so astounded by her vehemence that he gaped at her. She lurched unsteadily down the aisle between the tables, and he heard her muttering furiously to herself. The sudden change in her mood stupefied him. She had seemed sober enough while she had been at the table, but now she seemed as tight as a tick.

What was she up to now? What was she doing at the blond man’s table? George stood watching her, unable to make up his mind to follow her. She had paused, her arms folded across her breasts, facing the blond man, who looked at her with curious, bored eyes.

“Well?” she said loudly. “You’ll know me again, won’t you?”

The blond man eyed her up and down and looked away, a sneering little smile on his face.

“You heard what I said, you cheap masher,” Cora went on, her voice high pitched. “You’ve been trying to make me all the evening!”

George wanted to sink through the floor. How could she behave like this? Had she suddenly gone mad?

The blond man flicked his cigarette ash on the carpet. He continued to smile, but he was regarding Cora now with a frozen look in his eyes.

“Run away, little girl,” he said, “or I shall get annoyed with you.”

“Keep your filthy eyes off me in the future!” Cora suddenly screamed, and, leaning forward, she spat a stream of obscene vituperation at him.

Although George was shocked into a stupefied immobility, he was aware that the woman with the blonde hair, the Hebrew behind the bar and the waiter were standing tense and angry, looking at Cora.

The blond man ceased to smile. “You’re drunk,” he said. “Get out before I have you thrown out!”

Cora snatched up a glass of wine that the blond man had scarcely touched, and with one swift movement threw the wine in his face.

Somewhere in the building a bell began to ring. George was conscious of the bell more than he was conscious of the stillness of the blonde woman, the Hebrew and the waiter, although they were menacing enough. He was more scared of the hell than he was of the blond man, who sat staring at Cora, wine running down his face into his shirt and coat.

Then a concealed door half way down the room opened, and two men came into the restaurant. They looked like Greeks—hard little men with flat, squashed features, dressed in black, with black cloth caps on their bullet heads.

The blond man said in a drawling voice, “Well, you’ll certainly pay for that, you drunken bitch.”

George rushed to Cora’s side. He was sick with fright, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

“Cora!” he said, taking her arm. “My God! Cora!”

He could feel her trembling, and he realized that she was as terrified as he was.

“Don’t let them do anything to me!” she said wildly, clinging to him “George! Get me out of here. Don’t let them touch me!”

This frantic appeal stiffened George’s courage. He pushed her behind him and faced the two Greeks.

“Now, don’t get excited,” he said, his voice sounding as if he had a pebble in his mouth. “I’m sorry about this… she didn’t know what she was doing…”

The blond man got to his feet. His face was white now with vicious rage. “Take care of this lout, Nick,” he said. “Get the girl away from him “

George thought, desperately, furiously, They won’t have her! They’ll have to kill me first. If I’d only got my gun! He put his hand behind him and pushed Cora against the wall; he stood in front of her, crouching a little, his left fist extended, his right slightly across his body. Vaguely he remembered seeing James Cagney stand like this, protecting his girl. Cagney had faced a room full of thugs and he’d licked the lot! George eyed the two hard little men, who kept just out of his reach, like two terriers waiting for an opening to jump in. The blond man was still behind his table: he was wiping his face with a napkin.

“You’d better be careful,” George said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

The blond man suddenly laughed. “Fix the fat fool,” he said sharply. “Go for him!”

The Greek called Nick edged closer, and George swung wildly at him. His great fist smashed into empty air, as the Greek shifted his head.

Cora screamed and clutched at George, hampering him

Then suddenly long, thin blades flashed in the shaded light. The sight of the glittering steel shocked George’s courage into a frozen ball of terror.

Something flashed, and pain seared him.

They’ll kill me! he thought, and like a wounded, terrified bull, he lashed out frantically.

A red curtain of terror hung before George’s eyes. He heard Cora scream. Then he found himself on the floor, a rattling, groaning noise in his ears, and he realized that he was making the noise himself.

A solid weight dropped on his shoulders, pushing him flat on the dusty, smelly carpet. Nick knelt on his back.

“Don’t move,” the Greek said. “She’ll be hack in a little while.”

George lay still.

Then a sound came from somewhere in the building—a violent scream, which was immediately stifled, as if by a ruthless hand. Every nerve in George’s body stiffened.