James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

“Well,” he said, stretching out his short legs, “don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but you two certainly were in a state when you came in.”

Cora looked at him mockingly. Now that she had eaten and rested, she was once more her old self.

“That’s our secret,” she said, with a short, hard laugh. “If you really want to know, Ernie, we had a fire.”

Little Ernie picked his nose. “I ’eard the fire engines going,” he said. “So you ’ad a fire, did you?”

Cora nodded.

“Burnt your ’ouse and ’ome, eh?”

“Everything went up in a gorgeous bonfire.”

“Hmm.”

There was a long pause.

“’Ow’s Syd?” Little Ernie asked, looking at Cora sharply. She looked away, her mouth tightening “Didn’t you see in the newspapers?”

Little Ernie’s eyes narrowed. “Was that ’im? I wondered. Gawd love me… what a death! ’Ere, Cora, I’m sorry. You know that, don’t you? I’m sorry. I liked Syd. ’E’d got guts.”

Cora moved restlessly. The wrap slipped, and both men caught a glimpse of her naked thigh. She adjusted the wrap impatiently.

“I didn’t identify him,” she said tonelessly. “They may as well bury him. I haven’t any money.”

George shivered. It sounded so brutal, and yet he realized that it was only the sensible thing to have done.

“’Ow did it ’appen?”

“He slipped,” Cora said, looking Ernie straight in the eyes.

“Wasn’t pushed?”

“He slipped.”

There was another long pause. George felt that these two had forgotten him.

“Ain’t seen Crispin about for some time,” Little Ernie said thoughtfully. “’Ave you?”

“I can’t be bothered with him,” Cora returned, her eyes watchful. “He’s around, I suppose.”

“I wonder.” Little Ernie lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace. “I did ’ear that ’e’d come to a sticky end. Marvellous, ain’t it, the way I ’ear things?”

Cora continued to stare at him watchfully.

“Listen, Ernie,” she said. “I want a place for a week.”

“Do you now? What makes you think I’ve got a place for you?”

“Come off it, Ernie. You must have dozens of flats in the West End.”

“And they cost me a packet, too,” Little Ernie said darkly. “I only want it for a week.”

“’Ow much can you pay?”

“Nothing.”

“’Ave an ’eart.”

She looked at him. He seemed to read something in that look, because his ferrety eyes lit up.

“Why don’t you get wise, ducks?” he said. “You ain’t got any dough. Why don’t you get in the game?”

While this conversation had been going on, George sat listening, a dull, brooding expression on his face. He was trying to imagine how Frank Kelly or any of the other big shot gangsters would have handled Little Ernie. He was sure they wouldn’t have stood a rotten little pimp like him for five seconds. All the same, Little Ernie knew too much: he might also he useful. It wouldn’t do to get too tough with him. But it wouldn’t do, either, for him to think that George was a stooge who sat and listened and was not consulted.

His contempt for the little man was so great that he felt no diffidence in handling him

He surprised them both by barking, “Cut that out!”

When they jerked round to stare at him, he went on, sitting forward, his heavy face congested with blood, “She’s not going on the game, and you can keep off that subject if you know what’s good for you!”

Little Ernie’s eyes opened. “That’s all right, palsy,” he said hastily. “I was only having a bit of fun,” but he glanced at Cora uneasily and looked away.

Cora’s mouth tightened. “Don’t get excited,” she said, giving George a long, cold stare. “Ernie’s only trying to be helpful.” She looked at Little Ernie. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a bit jumpy. Now, be nice, Ernie. How about a flat?”

Little Ernie opened his mouth to say something, but caught the look in Cora’s eyes. He hesitated and then said, “For a week, eh? Well, per’aps. I’ll think about it.”

George hunched his great shoulder muscles. “You’d better do more than that,” he said. “We want a place. You’ll get your money all right. I’ve got plans.”

Little Ernie scratched his head. He was suddenly not quite sure of George. The gun, which continually caught his eye, lying on the mantelpiece, disturbed him This big, hulking fellow could be dangerous. It might he wise to get in with him, rather than antagonize him.

“You leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll fix you up tomorrow.” He got up and went over to the cocktail cabinet. “’Ave another drink?”

George shook his head. “No,” he said shortly. “I’ve had all I want.”

Cora was watching George with a puzzled expression in her eyes. “Can we sleep here tonight, Ernie?” she asked.

Little Ernie nodded. “Sure,” he said. “’E can ’ave my room and you can ’ave the spare room, unless you and ’im want to kip together.”

George felt the blood rush to his face. He got up and walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up his gun, keeping his back turned to them so they should not see his embarrassment. He wanted to say that Cora and he would share a room, but his nerve failed.

“I want a bed to myself,” Cora said in a cold, tight voice.

George drew in a quick breath. What else had he expected? he thought angrily. There was time for that when they got a place of their own.

“That’s settled, then,” Little Ernie said. “Well, I’ve got to shoot off. Must ’ave a word with the girls before turning in, you know. Gotta encourage ’ern, bless their sweet ’carts. I’ll be seeing you. Make yourself at ’ome,” he went on, looking at George. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded, gave Cora a quick, searching glance, and went off, moving softly, like a ghost.

George and Cora stood silent until they heard the front door click shut, and then Cora said sharply, “You dotty or something? Ernie can help us. What do you want to bark at him for?”

“He’s a filthy little rat,” George said, clenching his fists. “I saw the way he kept looking at you.”

“So what?” Cora said, sitting on the settee. “Why should you care, if I don’t?”

George stood over her. This was the time. It was now or never. One of them had to be master, and if he were to have any peace in his life, it must not be Cora.

“Because you’re my girl,” he said. “I love you, Cora. You’re on your own, and you need someone to look after you. Well, I’m going to be that someone.”

She leaned hack and crossed her legs. “You?” she said. “Don’t make me laugh. What have you got to offer me? Why, you can’t even look after yourself.”

“We’ll see about that,” George said grimly. “If Ernie tries any funny stuff, he’ll be sorry!”

Cora’s jeering expression suddenly changed to blazing rage. "If you interfere with me,” she exclaimed, jumping up, “I’ll make you sorry! I’m going to do what I like! I’m in the market. The man who offers most gets me.”

Again George’s slow mind groped for inspiration from Frank Kelly. Kelly always kept his women. He treated them tough and loaded them with jewels. But how could he do that? Now he had got Sydney out of the way, he wasn’t going to lose her. Little Ernie could give her the world. He had just got to compete with Little Ernie.

“What do you want?” he asked abruptly, struggling to conceal his doubts and fears.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“You’re in the market, aren’t you?” he said, clenching his fists. “Well, then, what’s the price?”

“I think you must be drunk or mad,” she said angrily, and turned away. “What can you give me? Leave me alone and peddle your silly hooks!”