James Chase - A Can of Worms

Josh Jones! I thought, but kept my face deadpan.

“So?”

“So nothing so far.” Lepski looked disgusted. “It’s just a smell, but we’re working on it. Maybe, we’ll turn up something if we knew why anyone wanted to knock off a nice girl like Penny Highbee.”

I felt a cold qualm. I could have told him. I could have told him who had done the job, but I knew, once I started giving information, I would be in trouble.

“Maybe someone getting even with Highbee. As an attorney, he must have enemies.”

“We thought of that, but Highbee is sure no coloured man had it in for him.” Lepski shrugged. “Well, we’re working on it.” He flicked his cigarette away, then asked, “And you, Bart? Did you have a good vacation?”

“I’ll say. My girlfriend has a rich fink who lent her his yacht. Can you imagine: all for free.”

He grinned sourly.

“You have a way with women.” He brooded, then went on, “Did you hear about this second Indian boy who’s been knocked off?”

I put on my for-God’s-sake expression.

“I’ve been out of touch. A second Indian boy?”

“Yeah. Tommy Osceola’s brother, Jimbo. Remember? Tommy was shot along with Pete.”

“What happened?”

“He was bashed over the head and tossed into the harbour. No one saw a thing.” He stared thoughtfully at me. “Something’s going on around here, Bart. Ever since Coldwell started this scare about Pofferi, we have had three murders and a suspect murder. I keep wondering if Pofferi is behind it all, but then I ask myself why a goddamn Italian terrorist should want to knock off an old drunk, two Indian kids, and Penny Highbee.”

“You have a problem.” I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to go, Tom. Guess what? I’ve landed the Herschenheimer job again. Can I drive you any place?”

“I’ve got my car.” Lepski slid out of the Maser. “The Herschenheimer job? Is that old nut still needing guards?”

“He sure is: a sweet softie.”

“See you, and Bart, if you get any ideas about this setup, pass them on. We need help.”

He left me and walked to where he had parked his car.

I wiped my face with my handkerchief. I didn’t have to spell it out to myself. If I had alerted Coldwell where Pofferi had been hiding, four people would still be alive, but by keeping my mouth shut, I had picked up $50,000. The thought gave me a qualm, then I thought that by still keeping my mouth shut, I stood a sweet chance of picking up a million dollars.

Bart, baby, I said to myself, this isn’t the time to develop a conscience. You don’t pick up a million if you start considering other people. Remember what your old man used to say: A shut mouth is a wise mouth.

So be wise, Bart, baby, be wise.

I started the engine and drove away from the smell of funeral flowers and headed for Paradise Largo.

Mike O’Flagherty welcomed me at the guardhouse.

“You got the job?” he said, grinning. “I was told an operator from Parnell’s was coming. Brother! Have you picked a sweet one!”

“Do I know it! Where do I find the old nut’s place?”

“Right opposite Mr. Hamel’s residence.” Mike leaned against the Maser. “I’m real sorry for Mrs. Hamel. She lost her best friend in a car smash. She’s just back from the funeral: in a bad way. Dr. Hirsch was called. He arrived just five minutes ago. I like that lady. She’s real nice.”

“Yeah,” I said, and wondered how he would react if I told him who Nancy really was. “I’ve got to get on, Mike. I don’t want to be late.”

“Sure.” He raised the pole and I drove under it and to Hamel’s place. Right opposite was another set of high gates. I rang the bell and the gates swung back.

Carl Smith, one of the guards who I had met the last time I had been on the job, shook hands.

“Glad to see you, Bart,” he said. He was a big, fair, youngish man with freckles and a wide smile. “I was hoping they would send you.”

“How’s the old nut?”

“Just the same. Not causing any trouble. You eaten yet?”

“I was betting on lunch here.”

“You’ve won. Lunch will be in ten minutes.”

“Jarvis still with you?”

“You bet, and the chef’s as good as ever.”

Leaving the car under the shade of the trees, we walked together to a cottage type of building. Beyond it, I could see the main residence. It was big: at least a sixteen bedroom house.

“We work here,” Carl said, indicating the cottage. “No problem. We just sit and enjoy ourselves. No one can get on the Largo without authorization. The old nut doesn’t realize that otherwise we’d lose our jobs. No one is going to tell him.” He laughed. “Your hours, Bart, are from midday to midnight, then midnight to midday on alternate days. Okay?”

“Suits me.”

We went into the cottage. It consisted of one big room. Upstairs were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The sitting room was equipped with lounging chairs, a desk, and a T.V. set.

“The one thing missing is the bar,” I said, looking around.

Carl winked. He went to the desk and produced a bottle of Scotch. Going to a cupboard, he disclosed a small refrigerator.

“We have to look after ourselves, Bart,” he said. “Have a drink?”

While he was fixing the drinks, I went over to the window and looked across at the shut gates. I could just make out the top of Hamel’s roof. There was a big tree with spreading branches near the entrance to the Herschenheimer residence. I reckoned if I got up in those Branches I would be able to look directly into Hamel’s garden and house.

Turning, I took the glass Carl offered me.

Yes, I told myself, the cards are certainly falling my way.

As soon as we had eaten an excellent lunch, Carl took himself off. I sat under the trees where I could see the house and the entrance gates, and made myself comfortable. I had Hamel on my mind. I now knew he had finished his book, and I remembered Palmer saying Hamel would pick up over eleven million dollars when the book was finished. So Hamel couldn’t plead poverty when I put on the bite. My thought now was when to bite him. Nancy had collapsed. Maybe this wasn’t the right time to approach Hamel. Maybe I had better wait. At the back of my mind, I knew I was kidding myself. It wasn’t because Hamel was having trouble with his wife that I was going to wait, it was because I was uneasy about putting pressure on him. He was nobody’s push-over. He was a toughie. He could tell me to go to hell, or even worse, call the cops, or do something desperate. I had an uneasy feeling he wouldn’t dig blackmail.

My mind shifted to Bertha, and I grimaced. I now regretted I had confided in her. She was now smelling a million dollars, and she wouldn’t stop nagging me until I did put on the bite.

I then went into my usual technicolour dream of owning a million dollars. This time, I swore to myself, when I got the money, I wouldn’t spend like crazy. I would buy stock for my old age, and live on the income, but even as I swore, I knew the million would vanish as quickly as Diaz’s fifty thousand had vanished. Money just wouldn’t stay with me.

Getting bored with my thoughts, I took a walk around the big garden. The flowers, the lawns, the shrubs were immaculate. A Chinese gardener, who looked like Judge Dee, was wagging his long beard over a bed of begonias. He gave me a squinting look of disinterest and returned to his beard wagging.

The big swimming pool looked inviting, but lonely. I wondered if Herschenheimer ever used it. I doubted it. He would probably think someone might jump out of the bushes and drown him.

I saw Jarvis, Herschenheimer’s butler, coming down the path towards me. Jarvis could have stepped out of the pages of Gone with the Wind. He was the most dignified old negro I have ever seen: tall, very thin, with crinkly white hair, large black eyes and heavy white eyebrows. He would have gladdened the heart of Scarlett O’Hara and the rest of her ilk. I had come to know him well when I last did this job, and I had found that he had an insatiable thirst for crime stories. He would sit for hours, listening to my lies, believing every yarn I dreamed up, with me the central, daring hero, to be true. In return, he provided me with splendid food, and often a box of cigars he had filched from his master.