James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

“You’ve got guts,” she said. “I didn’t think you had it in you. “

It was worth the pain and the terror to hear that.

“This’ll take the smarting away,” George said, putting the bottle of witch-hazel on the wooden bath surround.

“You just rub it in…”

She regarded the bottle, reached out a wet hand and picked it up. She read the label, frowning.

“Thank you, George. You’re thoughtful. Now run away and tidy up, as you put it. I won’t be long.”

George worked happily until Cora joined him. She was wearing Sydney’s dirty white dressing-gown.

“You are a busy little bee, aren’t you?” she jeered, looking round the room, her eyebrows making question marks.

He had put the old newspapers and empty beer bottles in one corner. He had wiped off all the sticky circles on the furniture and cleared up the mess in the fireplace. The dirty dishes he had taken into the kitchen. Already the room looked cleaner and brighter.

George grinned sheepishly. “I like doing this,” he said. “I’d like a place of my own.”

She sat in the armchair, lowering herself cautiously and with a little grimace. She lit a cigarette. “You’re a hit of a dope, aren’t you?” There was an unexpected note of kindness in her voice that George hadn’t heard before. He looked at her quickly, but she was regarding him with far-away, pored eyes, as if she were only half aware of his presence.

“I say, Cora…” he began, and then hesitated.

She glanced up sharply. “If you’re going to talk about last night, you’d better skip it. I’m in no mood to go over that business now.”

George scratched his head, embarrassed. “Well, all right,” he said; “but hang it all, Cora, I think you ought to explain. I mean I— well, look at me. And then, you’ve been hurt too. I think I ought to be told. What I mean to say is—”

“Oh, shut up!” Cora said, shifting her body in the chair “We’ll talk about that later. Suppose I was tight? No one’s going to leer at me all the evening without a come-back. And no one’s getting tough with me without damn well paying for it! Now, shut up, George!”

Baffled, George’s gaze wandered round the room. Then he had an idea. “Where are your clothes, Cora?”

“In the bedroom. Why?”

“I’ll wash them for you. They’d look quite smart. I’m a hit of a dab at that kind of thing.”

She lifted her shoulders helplessly, closed her eyes and didn’t say anything.

He went into the bedroom and collected the sweater and slacks. He found an unopened packet of Lux in the kitchen and he shut himself in the bathroom.

When he had hung the garments out of the back window to dry in the sun, he returned to the sitting-room. She was still there, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes brooding.

“I’ve got some hot water ready,” he said. “I’d like to wash your hair.”

She giggled suddenly, explosively. “You’re crazy,” she said.

George shook his head. “No, I’m not,” he said stubbornly. “I want you to look nice.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You really are in love with me, aren’t you, George?”

“Of course. You didn’t doubt that, did you?”

She got to her feet and crossed over to him.

“All right: wash my hair if you want to.”

They went into the tiny bathroom together, and Cora sat on a stool before the wash-basin.

“Have you ever washed any other girl’s head?” she asked, watching George with a thoughtful expression in her eyes.

George wrapped a bath towel round her shoulders. “No,” he said. “I’ve never wanted to before.”

“So there were other girls?”

He hesitated. “Well, no, there were no other girls,” he said. “You see, until you came along…”

“I think you’re a hit potty,” she said, holding her head down. “Aren’t you, George? Just a little potty?”

He poured water over her hair, then the shampoo. His hands felt her hard little skull. The water turned a muddy brown.

“Dirty slut, aren’t I?” Corn said, with a sudden embarrassed laugh. “Does it put you off?”

“Keep still,” George said. “I’ve nearly finished.” He experienced an overwhelming feeling of love and pity for her: a feeling that he imagined a mother must have for her child. “There. Now you can sit up. Come into the other room and sit in the sun. It’ll dry quickly in the sun.”

When Cora was sitting by the window, George turned his attention to the room.

“Maybe I could sell these newspapers for you,” he said.

“You’re the giddy limit,” Cora returned, laughing. “Try if you want to. I’ve been too lazy to bother with them. There’s a sheeney across the way who buys junk. He keeps open on Sundays.”

George nodded. “I’ll try him. There’s such a lot of rubbish here. You can hardly move for falling over it. And the bottles, too. Can I clear them all out?”

“Go ahead, if it amuses you,” she said, regarding him with a puzzled expression in her eyes.

It took George a long time to shift the rubbish, but it pleased him to do so. He made four journeys to the junk shop, and finally, hot and a little exhausted, he presented her with five shillings.

“There!” he said. “A clear flat and five bob. It’s funny, isn’t it, that even rubbish is worth money?”

She nodded. “You’re an awful dope, George,” she said. “Why don’t you think big? Look at the effort you’ve just made to get five bob. With that effort you could have made five pounds.”

He thought about this seriously. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “You see, no one can make five pounds quickly unless he has specialized knowledge. Even if it’s only backing a horse, you have to know the right horse to hack. You can’t make money unless you’ve been properly trained.” He shrugged uneasily. “Perhaps that’s why I’ve never had any real money.”

She flicked the cigarette butt into the empty fireplace. “If I liked to go on the streets,” she said, “I could earn a hundred pounds a week. I don’t have to have specialized knowledge to do that.”

“Why don’t you?” George asked, interested to hear what she would say.

She smiled secretly. “Because it’s too easy.”

“I wonder.”

“All right. Because I’m too proud. I’ve got other ideas.”

“I don’t understand how you two live. Does Sydney keep you?”

“You’re curious, aren’t you?”

George nodded. “I suppose I am. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t ask.”

“We get along. We’ve been getting along like this for a hell of a time… getting nowhere.”

George stood over her. “You can’t go on like this, Cora,” he said. “I can’t go on the way I’m going on now much longer. Couldn’t we get together? You and me might do well if we stuck together.”

“Think so?” she said, looking out of the window. “Well, there’re things to do first. I’ve got other things on my mind… important things,” and her hands closed into tight little fists.

She’s thinking about tonight, George decided uneasily. In his burst of activity he had forgotten about Crispin and the two Greeks. Instantly his old fears returned.

“I say, Cora,” he said, moving over to the fireplace, “shouldn’t we leave had alone? I mean there might be more trouble.” He glanced in the mirror at the plaster strips on his face. “They’re a pretty rough crowd.”

“If you expect us to stick together,” Cora said slowly, “you’ll have to show a little more guts. I don’t like men without spine.” She stood up and, turning her back, she pulled her dressing-gown aside. “Take a look, George.”

He had one momentary glimpse of the red and black marks on her white flesh before she jerked the dressing- gown into place: a sight that sickened him, angered him and embarrassed him.