James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

He nodded. “Please go away,” he said, and began to close the door.

“Perhaps you don’t know she’s been sleeping with Ernie for the past four days,” Eva said.

George looked at her. “I don’t know why you’ve cone here,” he said. “But I don’t intend to listen to your lies.”

“Lies?” Her voice shot up. “Why, you dumb fool, why should I lie about a thing like that! I want you to do something about it. Do you think I want a bitch like that to steal my man?”

George went cold. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “She’s in love with Sydney. She wouldn’t…” And he stopped. Was this another of Cora’s little tricks? Was all that talk about being in love with Sydney just an excuse to fob him off?

“She’s been after Ernie for months,” Eva said. “I’ve watched her. But until now Ernie hasn’t been having any. But she’s got money now. She’s giving him things. She promised to give him a car! He’s not satisfied with the car I gave him. Oh no, he wants another! She’s been working for him all this week. Making money… big money! Well, you’ve got to stop her! Do you hear? You’ve got to stop her!”

George clenched his fists. A red curtain hung before his eyes. So that’s what she had been doing with his money. Giving it to Ernie, winning Ernie’s attention.

“Working?” he said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s given her a beat,” Eva returned, her voice hoarse with suppressed fury. “And a flat in Old Burlington Street.”

“Where’s her heat?” George heard himself ask.

“Sackville Street,” Eva returned, suddenly frightened by the ruthless, hard face before her.

“All right,” George said, and closed the door in her face.

Fifteen minutes later he left the flat and walked across Hanover Square towards Sackville Street. Street-walkers moved slowly along the back streets, paused to talk among themselves, looked at George hopefully and went on.

George walked down Sackville Street, along Vigo Street into Bond Street. He turned and retraced his steps. He had been doing this for over half an hour when he suddenly saw Cora. She was walking just ahead of a tall, well-dressed man in his middle fifties. She was loitering, a contemptuous expression on her hard little face.

George stepped into a shop doorway where he could watch, without being seen.

The well-dressed man overtook Cora, glanced at her and went on. She did not increase her pace, but kept on, swinging her hips, her head in the air.

The mail walked as far as the street corner, and then stopped. He looked round furtively, noted that Cora was still coming towards him, and then looked tip and down, as if to assure himself that no one was watching him.

Cora came on. She looked at him enquiringly as she paused before crossing the street.

The man raised his hat and said something. Cora smiled. She waved her hand towards Old Burlington Street. From the doorway, George could see the man eyeing her figure. He said something, and then looked away.

Cora turned and began to walk casually towards Old Burlington Street, her hands in her pockets, her hips swinging. After giving her a start, the man followed her.

George came out of the doorway and followed them. They entered a tall building half way down the street, and when he was sure that they were safely out of the way he went up to the front door. There were three hell-pushes on the door. One of them had a little card: “Miss Nichols".

George stood looking at the card for several minutes, then he crossed the street and waited. He waited until the well-dressed man had left the building, and then he approached the place himself. As he was crossing the street again, he saw a man coming towards him. He thought it looked like Little Ernie, and he darted into a doorway, his hand flying to his gun.

It was Little Ernie.

George watched him coming down the street. Ernie called out cheerfully to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction. “’Ullo, ducks; don’t loiter. There’s still an ’our before bye-byes.”

George gritted his teeth. The little rat had made Cora into one of these women! All right, he’d fix him. The world would be well rid of a filthy little brute like Ernie.

He stepped out of his doorway as Little Ernie turned into Cora’s building. A few quick steps, and George was on him, as he was opening the front door with a key.

“Hello, Ernie,” George said softly. Little Ernie gave a squeal of terror. He spun round, throwing up his hands.

George rammed the gun into his side. "I warned you, you rotten little rat. You won’t get a car this time,” and he pulled the trigger three times.

The noise of gunfire crashed down the empty street. The flash blinded George. But he wasn’t nervous nor frightened. He watched Little Ernie flop on the steps of the house and then, bending over him, he shot him again.

A woman began to scream at the other end of the street.

George slipped the gun into his pocket and stepped from the shadow of the doorway. There was still no one about. Without hurrying, he walked to Clifford Street and stopped a passing taxi.

“Hyde Park Corner,” he said, and got into the taxi.

He glanced through the little window at the hack. People were appearing now. A policeman was running down Old Burlington Street. It was going to be all right. His luck was holding. In another few seconds he’d be out of danger. He sat back in the cab and closed his eyes.

He did not allow himself to think until he had paid off the taxi and was walking towards Knightsbridge. He had no horror at what he had done. It was as if he had stepped on a beetle, no more, no less.

What would Cora do? Would she tell the police? If she did that it would be the end of him; but he somehow didn’t care. He was tired of this business, sick and tired of it. He wanted a little peace. Better keep away from the flat tonight, he thought. He wanted one more night of freedom. He’d go back the next morning. If the police were waiting for him, then he’d let them take him. But not tonight. He’d walk and walk, because he wanted to think He wanted to make plans.

He woke the next morning in a Salvation Army hostel off the Cromwell Road. He remembered walking until he could walk no more, and had crawled into this place at three o’clock in the morning. Now it was just after seven o’clock, and he decided to return to his flat immediately.

On his way back he tried to think about Little Ernie, but what had happened the previous night had a dream quality about it, and he could not get his mind to believe that it had happened.

Even when climbing the stairs to the flat high above Holles Street, he could not believe that the police might be waiting for him He was so tired, anyway, that he couldn’t care one way or the other.

He pushed open the door, and for a moment hesitated, listening. There was no sound in the flat. He went into the sittingroom. There was no one there, but there was a distinct smell of sandalwood in the room. He stood very still, trying to remember whether the scent had been there before Eva came to see him. He couldn’t remember. Anyway, Cora wasn’t likely to have returned. But the thought disturbed him, and he went quickly to his bedroom. Then he paused and looked blankly round the room. His cupboard and chest of drawers were open and empty. His clothes were scattered all over the room. One look at them was enough. They had been systematically ripped to pieces. His flannel trousers were in shreds. His tweed coat was armless and ripped down the back. His shirts were a mass of holes. Even his shoes were cut with a knife. Everything he owned was torn to pieces, as if it had been set upon by a wild animal.

Cora! Of course! She had cone back to revenge Little Ernie. Then he remembered Leo, and he felt so sick and faint that he had to sit on the bed. As he did so, he became aware of something in the corner, half hidden by the dressing- table. He saw red streaks on the wall. He peered forward fearfully. In the shadowy light he could make out fur, blood, and then a squashed paw, and he closed his eyes. He sat there shivering. After a while, he began to cry.