James Chase - Just Another Sucker

The green light flicked to red again.

The cop took off his cap and scratched his shaven head. The light of the moon played on his red, brutal face. He was of the old school: a man of about fifty. He had seen everything bad, everything rotten and he had been, and still was, hated by those he also hated. He was a man who would rather get you into trouble than out of it.

I slid the gear lever into reverse, hoping I could move the car from the middle of the road to the kerb, but the reverse gear didn’t respond.

The red light flicked to green again.

The cop stepped off the sidewalk and came over.

‘Planning to sleep here the night, buster?’ he said in a hard cop voice that went with his face.

‘Looks like I’ve got a bust gearbox,’ I said.

‘Yeah? What are you going to do about it?’

‘Is there a garage open anywhere close?’

‘I’m asking the questions, buster. I’m asking you what you are going to do about it?’

‘Get a tow,’ I said, trying to keep my voice under control.

‘Yeah? And what’s going to happen to this heap while you’re fixing a tow?’

‘Maybe you’d give me a hand and we could push it to the kerb.’

He rubbed his night-stick against his thick, red ear and he squinted at me.

‘Yeah?’ He spat into the road. ‘Do I look the kind of mug who pushes cars belonging to unlucky punks? I’ll tell you something: I hate cars and I hate punks who own cars. Get this goddam heap off the middle of the road or I’ll book you for obstruction.’

I got out of the car and tried to push it, but it was standing on a slight gradient and I couldn’t move it.

I pushed until the sweat rolled off me and the cop watched, his ball-like head cocked on one side, watching.

‘You need some iron in your bones, buster,’ he said, and slouched forward. ‘Okay: relax. You can consider yourself booked. Let’s have a look at your licence.’

The effort of trying to move the car had left me breathless. I handed him my licence and I had enough sense to give him also my brand new Press card. He stared at the Press card, then at me, then back to the Press card.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘I work for District Attorney Meadows,’ I said. ‘I’m Lieutenant Renick’s man.’

‘Renick?’ The cop pushed his cap to the back of his head. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? The Lieutenant and me were buddies before he got promoted.’ He fingered the Press card doubtfully, then gave it back to me. ‘Well, I guess it won’t kill me — I’ll give you a hand.’

Together we shoved the car to the kerb.

The cop surveyed the car, an expression of disgust on his face.

‘A bust gearbox, huh? That’s going to cost you plenty to put right, isn’t it?’

‘I guess so.’ My mind was racing. What was I going to do? I didn’t dare leave the car in a garage. The only possible thing was to get the car to my garage. But then what was I going to do with Odette’s body?

‘Well, I guess you guys who own cars must expect to spend dough. Me — I wouldn’t own a car if someone gave me one,’ the cop went on.

‘Is there a garage anywhere around?’ I asked, wiping my sweating face with a handkerchief.

‘About a mile up the road, but it’ll be shut. If a squad car passes and spots this heap, they’ll have it towed to headquarters, and then you’ll get booked.’

Across the way I saw an all-night drug store.

‘I guess I’ll phone,’ I said.

‘Best thing. I’ll stick around. Tell the guy I want him to move the heap. I’m O’Flagherty. He knows me.’ He took out his guide book and gave me the telephone number of the garage.

I went over to the drug store and phoned the garage. There was a long delay before a man’s voice, sleepy and surly, came on the line. He demanded what the hell I wanted.

I told him I wanted a tow and that Officer O’Flagherty had given me the garage number.

The man cursed fluently, but finally he said he would come.

I went back to the Packard.

‘He’s coming,’ I said.

The cop grinned.

‘I bet he cursed.’

‘He certainly did.’

‘When you see the Lieutenant, tell him I think of him,’ O’Flagherty went on. ‘He’s a fine man. He’s the best man we have had on the force.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be on my way. See you some time.’

‘I hope so, and thanks.’

His red, hard face split into a grin.

‘We guys have got to stick together,’ and nodding, he started off down the road, swinging his night-stick and whistling under his breath.

I lit a cigarette with a shaky hand. I was in such a panic I could scarcely breathe. When I got the car into my garage, what was I going to do? There was Nina to think of. How was I going to move Odette’s body without being certain Nina wouldn’t suddenly walk into the garage just when I was doing it? I couldn’t do it in daylight. Nina never went out at night. I was in such a jam, I couldn’t think straight. My mind was seething with panic.

After a ten-minute wait, the breakdown truck arrived. The garage man was a little guy, thin as a bean stick and Irish to his backbone. He was in such a rage, he didn’t speak to me but got in the Packard, tested the gears, got out and spat in the street.

‘Busted gearbox,’ he said. ‘A two-week job, and it’ll cost plenty.’

‘I want you to tow me home,’ I said.

He stared at me.

‘Don’t you want me to repair the goddam thing?’

‘No. I want you to tow me home.’

His face worked convulsively.

‘You mean you got me out of bed at this hour and I don’t get the repair job?’

I had had enough of Irishmen for one night.

‘I work for the District Attorney,’ I said. ‘Stop yakkiting and tow me home.’

I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel, but somehow he managed to swallow his anger.

Muttering under his breath, he fixed the tow cable. I told him where to go, and I got in beside him in the truck.

Neither of us said a word during the four-mile drive home. As we pulled up outside the bungalow, I looked anxiously at the windows, but no lights showed. Nina was in bed and asleep.

He cast off the tow line.

‘We’ll shove her into the garage,’ I said.

He didn’t help much, but the approach to the garage was on a gentle incline, and after a slight struggle, we got the car in.

‘How much?’ I asked.

Scowling at me, he said, ‘Fifteen bucks.’

I hadn’t got fifteen bucks. I took out my wallet. The most I could scrape together was eleven dollars. I gave him ten.

‘That’s plenty for a job like this.’

He took the bills, glared at me, then got in the truck and drove off.

I closed the garage doors and locked them.

Already the faint light of dawn was showing in the sky. In another hour the sun would come up.

There was nothing I could do now. I still had no idea what I was going to do.

In the meantime, all during the day, the body would have to remain in the trunk. The thought turned me sick.

I walked up the path, unlocked the front door and entered the lounge. I caught sight of myself in the wall mirror. I looked like a man in a nightmare.

On the table was Nina’s handbag. I opened it and took from it the duplicate set of keys of the car and dropped them into my pocket. I didn’t dare risk her opening the trunk while I was at the office.

I turned off the light and went silently into my dressing-room and stripped off my clothes. I took a shower. My mind was still too paralysed with fear for me to begin to think what my next move was to be.

I was reaching for my pyjamas when I heard the telephone bell ring. The sound made my heart contract. I pulled on my pyjama trousers and bolted into the lounge and snatched up the receiver.