James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

“Would you like to do that?” the girl was saying. She had opened her bag and was lighting a cigarette. “You can leave the cab…”

“Don’t be frightened,” George said, pulling the Luger from his hip pocket, and pointing it at her. “This is a—a hold-up.”

She stood staring at him, the match burning in her fingers. Her eyes went to the gun and then back at him. She flicked the match away.

“Oh,” she said, and stood very still.

George kept the muzzle of the gun pointing at her. He looked at her for signs of fear, a change of expression, any reaction which would give him courage to complete this beastly business. But her expression didn’t change. She seemed very calm, and she took the cigarette from her lips as if she were in a drawing-room full of her own kind.

“I’m not going to hurt you, if you do what you’re told,” George went on, making his voice gruff.

“Well, that’s a blessing,” she said quietly. “I most certainly don’t want to get hurt. What do you want?”

George gulped. This was going all wrong. She ought to be frightened, she ought to be grovelling before the menacing threat of the gun.

“I want your clothes,” he said.

A look of complete astonishment crossed her face. “My clothes?” she repeated. “Oh, come. How can you have my clothes? I want them myself; and besides, what in the world would you do with them? You can have my money—not that I’ve got much—but I really can’t let you have my clothes. Do he reasonable.”

“I see,” George heard himself say feebly. He stood baffled. The calm tone of her voice, her obvious disregard for the Luger, the quiet reasoning of her argument, flummoxed him. She opened her bag and took out several pound notes. “That’s all I’ve got. Four Pounds. I Suppose I’ll have to give it to you, but it’ll make me beastly short. You’ve no idea how close Daddy is. He won’t give me a penny more than twenty pounds a month. That’s not much, is it?”

“Well, no,” George said, gaping at her. “I suppose it isn’t.”

“Of course it isn’t,” the girl went on, holding out the money, “but I suppose you want it more than I do, otherwise you wouldn’t be taking such a risk. I do think you’re being awfully silly, you know. You could get six months’ hard for this.”

This was quite fantastic, George thought. I must control this situation. But he made no move to take the money. The girl was so reasonable, so unafraid. He wondered wildly what Frank Kelly would have done in such a situation. He would probably have shot the girl, but George couldn’t do that. Besides, he admired her. She’d got more guts than he had. He had the gun, but he was flustered, near panic, while she was cool and at ease.

“Look here,” he said desperately. “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve got to have your clothes. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t give them to me, I’ll have to…”

She looked at him intently. “You’re not a sex maniac, or something, are you?” she asked, then, before he could say anything, she answered her own question. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Would you like to tell me why you want my clothes so badly. It sounds interesting.”

George stared at her helplessly.

“Do tell me,” she went on. “Let’s sit down.” She went over and sat on the running-board of the car. “I might be able to help you. Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to run away.”

Slowly, bemused, George lowered the gun. It was going all wrong. He knew now that he would never be able to attack this girl, he knew that he was not going to get her clothes, and the reaction of the excitement and strain made him feel giddy. He came over and sat limply down by her side.

“You’ve never done this kind of thing before, have you?” the girl went on. “Not that you’re had at it. You fooled me completely, but I think you’re a hit too kind really to make a success of it, aren’t you?”

George nodded miserably. “I suppose so,” he said. “No, I’ve never done this kind of thing before. But I was desperate. I’d better drive you home now. I—I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“Well, you did give me a hit of a turn,” the girl admitted, “but now you’re being nice, I don’t mind. But do tell me why you wanted my clothes. I can understand you wanting my money, but why my clothes?”

George hesitated. Then he blurted out, “They were for my girl,” he said. “She’s got nothing to wear…”

“Your girl?”

George nodded. “I promised her I’d get her anything she wanted, and she thought I was bluffing. She said I could get her a complete outfit. She wanted it tomorrow morning.”

“How romantic!” the girl exclaimed. “Why, if I asked Chunks to get me a complete outfit in the middle of the night, the poor lamb would commit suicide. He’d do anything for me. I think I must really try this one on him.”

George clenched his fists. She didn’t understand! And he was so hoping that she would.

She noticed the change of his expression. “I say, I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be funny. I suppose you’re pretty badly in love?”

Instantly George warmed to her. “Yes,” he said. “Is she very lovely?”

George nodded. “She’s marvellous,” he said, looking across the limitless expanse of the Heath. “You see, she doesn’t think I’ve got any guts. She—she won’t have much to do with me. She deliberately laid this trap, knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it. That’s why I tried.” He drew in a deep breath. “I—I stole that taxi.”

“Are you quite sure she’s the right one for you?” the girl asked, looking at him curiously. “She doesn’t sound your type at all.”

“She isn’t really,” George admitted, “but sometimes one can’t help that. A girl like that gets in one’s blood and there’s not much one can do about it. I can’t, anyway.”

The girl thought about this for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes, I can understand that,” she said; “but you ought to be careful. A girl like that could get you into a lot of trouble.”

Trouble? George thought bitterly. She had done that all right, if you could use such a word for murder.

“Well, I can’t help it,” he returned tonelessly. “I can’t do without her.”

The girl stood up. “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you. Take me home and I’ll give you an outfit. I’d like to surprise your girlfriend. I only wish I could be there to see her face when you give it to her.”

George stared at her, scarcely believing his ears.

“You’ll give me an outfit?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes. I’d much sooner give you one than have to go home without a stitch.” She suddenly laughed. “I have to think of Daddy. It would give the poor darling a stroke; and think what the servants would say!”

Was this a trap? George wondered, suddenly suspicious. Was she going to get him to the house and then send for the police? Why should she give him the clothes? She had never seen him before. What was behind this?

She seemed to read his thoughts. "It’s all right,” she said, looking down at him “I’m not going to trap you into anything. It’s just that I have a lot of clothes and it pleases me to help you. What do you say?”

Still George hesitated. The suggestion was preposterous. He had set out as a desperate bandit, and now the girl he had planned to rob was actually going to give him what he wanted.

“Do make up your mind,” she said, throwing away her cigarette. “It’s getting late, and I ought to be home.”

He got slowly to his feet. “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, looking at her uneasily. “It’s fantastic.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re nervous I’ll send for the police, aren’t you? I won’t. I promise.”