James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

Light rain began to fall, and islands of sullen grey clouds knitted together to form a depressing curtain of mist that blotted out the watery moon.

George stood in a shop doorway, his collar turned up and his hat well down on his cars. He carried Leo, wrapped in a bath-towel; the bundle felt hard, a wood carving, against his side. He remained in the shelter of the doorway for some time, a lonely motionless figure, merged into the darkness, unseen.

One by one the lights behind the big window opposite, screened by the yellow muslin curtains, went out like the eyes of a robot figure closing in sleep. Several times the green-painted glasspanelled door with the gilt letters “Restaurant” on it, opened, and men and women, in pairs or singly, came out. George watched them disperse, their heads down, some arm in arum, moving rapidly to another more distant shelter.

There was only one light burning now. He could see the shadowy outlines of the big blonde woman, Emily, and the whitecoated Hebrew, Max, through the curtain. The woman sat at the cash desk. He guessed she was emptying the till. The Hebrew seemed to be clearing up at the bar, washing glasses, drying them and putting then away.

It was time to talk to them. George crossed the street, pushed open the green-panelled door and entered the restaurant. The long room was stuffy, and smelt of food, cigars and coffee. The shaded light above the cash desk threw off an isolated yellow pool in the dim, smoky room.

“We’re closed,” Max said, continuing to put the glasses under the counter.

George looked first at the Hebrew and then at the woman, Emily He closed the door and moved further into the light.

Emily recognized him.

“Max…” There was a quick, urgent note in her voice. She put her hand under the desk, and a bell began to ring somewhere in the building.

Max was bending down behind the counter, arranging the glasses in an orderly row. As he heard the hell and caught the sharp note in Emily’s voice, he clashed the glasses together. One of them slipped from his fingers and dropped with a little thump on the carpet. He raised his head and peered at George, his pebbly eyes blank with alarm.

George waited. It was no use talking to them until they were ready to listen. At the moment their attention was concentrated in keeping him there, in trapping him.

“It’s all right,” he said, wanting to reassure them. “I’ve come to explain.”

The two Greeks, black shadows, threatening, slid out of the darkness and stood between him and the door. The shaded light glittered on their razors.

“You mustn’t let them touch me before I explain,” George said quickly, not liking the expressions on the Greeks’ faces. “That’s why I’ve come.”

Max straightened slowly. He put his veined hands on the counter, and his pale tongue touched the corners of his lips.

“Leave him be,” he said to the Greeks.

There was a long pause. They did not seem to know what to expect or what to do with him now that they had got him.

George looked uncertainly at the Hebrew, and then at the woman. It seemed to him that since she was in charge of the cash, she should be the one he should address.

“May I tell you about it?” he said, looking at her anxiously.

Again there was a long pause, then Emily leaned forward. “You know what will happen to you, don’t you?” George nodded.

“Then why have you come here?”

He offered her the bundle. Immediately she drew hack, suspicious, alarmed. The two Greeks made a slight movement: two blades of light danced on the ceiling as they lifted their razors.

The Hebrew said, “Wait.” George’s white face, the sharp etched lines of misery, his despairing eyes puzzled him “What is that?” he asked, nodding at the bundle.

George put the bundle on the counter. “It’s my cat,” he said unevenly.

The woman looked at the bundle and then at George. “What’s he talking about?” she asked impatiently.

Max touched the bundle with two bony fingers. He felt the hard body and he grimaced.

“Is this a trick?” he said, not believing it was a trick, but bewildered.

“Would you mind looking?” George said. “Could you look so that I don’t have to see him again?” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry to be so upset, but he was really the only thing that meant anything to me.”

“Perhaps he’s mad,” Emily said, half to herself.

Reluctantly, the Hebrew lifted the corner of the towel. His face revealed an impersonal disgust, but he turned the bundle so that the woman could see.

“She did that,” George said.

Both Emily and Max seemed to know whom he meant.

“Ah,” Max said, dropping the towel. “It was your cat?”

George nodded. “I didn’t think she’d do such a thing. I knew she might do anything to me, but I didn’t think she would touch Leo. I Suppose I ought to have thought of it, because there was nothing else she could have done which would have hurt as much as this.”

“Is that what brought you here?” Emily asked abruptly.

“Oh yes,” George said. “She can’t he allowed to go on and on. She might hurt too many people. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

“You killed Crispin, didn’t you?” Emily said, in a flat, cold voice.

“That’s what I mean,” George returned steadily. “I’ve come to explain Then you must decide what to do.”

“You were foolish to come,” Max said softly. “You know what happened to Sydney?”

Again George nodded. “It doesn’t matter about me,” he said. “I don’t care what happens to me. I just want to be sure that she won’t escape.”

Max glanced over at Emily

“I think we should hear what he has to say,” he said. “It might save a lot of time.”

Emily nodded and walked round the cash desk. She crossed to a table and turned on the lamp. She sat down and pointed to a chair opposite her.

“Sit down and talk,” she said.

George sat down. The two Greeks moved nearer so that they were immediately behind him. The Hebrew left the bar and joined them at the table.

“Perhaps one of you would take the gun,” George said. “It’s in my pocket. I don’t suppose you would like me to take it out. Be careful how you handle it, it’s loaded.”

He felt the gun being lifted from his pocket. Nick slid it across the table towards Max, who put his hand on it.

“I want to tell you exactly how it happened,” George said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’s important.”

Emily shrugged. “Take as long as you like,” she said indifferently. “It’ll probably be the last time you’ll talk to anyone.

George considered this. He found it strange that he was unmoved. He knew they were killers, but he was so tired and sad that nothing really mattered any more.

It was a relief to tell them about it. It was extraordinary how easy it was to tell once he started. He began by explaining about his parents.

“You see,” he said, folding his hands on the table and looking at the woman’s hard, fat face, “no one ever bothered with me when I was a kid. My parents were on the stage. They didn’t want a child. I used to envy them. They had their names in the newspapers and on hoardings. I wonder if you can understand why I pretended to be someone quite different from what I really am? It was foolish, but I wanted so badly to be someone… to impress people.”

The woman nodded, understanding. She thought sadly of her son, Crispin. He also had wanted to impress people. “Go on,” she said, “I understand that part of it.”

“When I told Sydney about the gun he changed towards me. I know why now. I was just the fool he was looking for, but I didn’t know then. It wasn’t until after I shot Crispin that I knew.”