James Chase - A Can of Worms

Miss Hills regarded me.

“Two thousand in cash?”

“That’s what the man said.”

I followed her out of the office, waited until she produced the money, then stowed the money in my wallet.

“Did anyone tell you you have big, beautiful eyes?” I said.

“Frequently,” she returned coldly. “I’m busy. Bye, Mr. Anderson,” and she sat down and began to type.

I filed her away for future reference. She would need working on. Now wasn’t the time.

Bart, baby, I said to myself, as I climbed into the Maser, everything, so far, is going your way.

Zero hour was to be 03.00.

As Nancy Hamel’s representative, plus the fact that I had been inside the ranch house and knew its geography, I was given a seat at the round table in the conference room at the Mayor’s office.

Mayor Hedley, Chief of Police Terrell, Sergeant Hess, together with Coldwell, Stoneham and Jackson of the FBI, were present.

Coldwell explained that the information he had revealed to the other men had come from an informer. No questions were asked about the informer. Coldwell went on to say that I was present as I had been instructed to get Mrs. Hamel away from the press as soon as the Pofferis had been taken.

I drew a plan of the ranch house, explained the electronic controls at the gate, explained that, as a guard working for Mr. Herschenheimer, I had been keeping watch on the ranch house and I knew where Nancy Hamel was located. I put an X on the map of the house.

After more talk, it was decided to cut off the electricity on the Largo so a silent entry could be made through the gates. Police guards were already in place. When the time came, the three FBI agents, supported by ten armed police would storm the house.

I then went on to tell them that I had arranged for Nick Hardy in his chopper to be overhead at Zero hour, and when Nancy Hamel was freed, I would be on the spot to convey her by air to the Spanish Bay hotel where Mel Palmer would be waiting to take care of her.

There were no objections, and the meeting broke up.

I had paid Nick Hardy five hundred dollars for his services. That left me fifteen hundred dollars in hand. The time when the meeting broke up was 19.30. I had a lot of hours to kill before the action. I returned to my apartment, hesitated, then called Bertha.

When she came on the line, I said, “Is that Mrs. Fink?”

She giggled.

“Oh, you.”

“Who else? Baby, I’m lonely. Are you married yet?”

“Next week, and listen, Bart, I told you we were through. When I say a thing, I mean it!”

“Since when? Listen, baby, I have a wallet stuffed with the green. How about you and me sharing a gorgeous dinner at the Spanish Bay grill?”

“How did you get the money?” Bertha demanded.

“Don’t ask silly questions. Do you or don’t you want to share this meal with me?”

There was a long pause.

“I’m engaged to be married,” she said feebly.

“Since when did that stop any right minded doll accepting an invitation?”

“Well, okay, Bart, but this will be the last time.”

“Fine. We will eat at nine-thirty. Come over here right away, baby.”

“If we are eating at nine-thirty, why should I come over to you right away?”

“Guess,” I said, and hung up.

I drove Bertha back to her apartment around 01.30. It had been a very satisfactory evening. We had done our physical gymnastics together until it was time to eat. We had eaten a beautiful, sustaining meal, we had danced, then we had sat on the crowded terrace in the moonlight, holding hands.

“Bart, I wish this could go on forever,” Bertha sighed. “I know you are a heel, but you are a beautiful heel.”

I patted her hand.

“Get married, baby. Get some security. That’s what really counts. Once you get it, you can enjoy yourself. Your fink won’t know if you get something on the side. I’ll be around.” I gave her my boyish smile. “Next time, you’ll pick up the check. Imagine! It will give you a marvellous lift.”

She laughed.

“Bart! You’re hopeless!”

Leaving her, I drove to Paradise Largo. There were two cops standing at the barrier with O’Flagherty. He came over to me, his eyes popping with excitement.

“This is going to be some night, Bart,” he said.

“You can say that again.”

The two cops came over and peered at me, then nodded to O’Flagherty who lifted the barrier.

It had been agreed at the meeting that Carl should be alerted. He opened the gates to let me in. He too was excited. We went up to the cottage to find Jarvis with drinks and sandwiches. I told them what was about to happen.

“There could be a lot of noise,” I said. “Better give the old nut a real shot so he sleeps through it.”

Jarvis said he had already done that.

I looked at my watch. Another hour. I ate the sandwiches, took a drink, then walked down to the tree.

So far, it was going beautifully, I thought, but the crunch would come when I walked in to take Nancy to the chopper. Man! Could that turn sour!

Suppose she recognized me and blew the whistle on me to Coldwell? I thought about this, and although the thought gave me goose pimples, I told myself in the heat of the moment, the noise, the confusion, the cops trampling around, she might not connect me with the guy who had tried to blackmail her. Besides, with luck she would be half doped. It was a gamble I had to take.

I climbed the tree. Immediately below me, I could see shadowy figures. The FBI and the cops were already gathering. I looked over at the ranch house. It was in total darkness.

I wondered if they had posted a guard: either Jones or Pofferi, but doubted it. They must have felt completely secure behind those electronically controlled gates and on the Largo.

I recognized Coldwell’s tall figure.

“All in darkness,” I called down softly. “No movement.”

He glanced up, grunted, then drawing the group to him, he began going over his instructions again in a whisper.

The men were standing by the gates.

Faintly, in the distance, I could hear the approaching chopper. Nick had instructions from me to stay overhead until I flashed a torch, then he was to turn on his floods, and make a landing on Hamel’s lawn.

Coldwell said, “The current’s off.”

The moon, coming from behind a dense pack of cloud, cast light on the gates.

I saw a car being pushed down the road by four cops. Coldwell and his men shoved open the gates and the four cops pushed the car onto the drive to the ranch house. They had some hundred of yards to cover before they reached the vast expanse of lawn. There they stopped. Coldwell’s men fanned out and moved into the shrubs, keeping away from the nakedness of the lawn.

I was puzzled by the car until suddenly the headlights went on: not ordinary headlights, but powerful beams, specially fitted to the car.

The beams lit up the front of the house.

Coldwell, using a bullhorn, began yelling to Pofferi to come out with his hands in the air. His voice, greatly magnified, seemed to hit the house like the blows of a sledgehammer.

Nothing happened.

Coldwell’s voice continued to hammer against the house. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my face.

Coldwell was taking no chances. He just kept yelling. All his men were now lying flat, concealed in the many flowering shrubs.

Still nothing happened.

Coldwell stopped yelling.

Overhead was the noisy clatter of the chopper, its lights winking. I wondered how Nick was enjoying this movie-like scene.

Then there came a clunk, and the first gas bomb smashed a window. A moment later, gas began to drift out onto the lawn.

Jones was the first to appear. He threw open the front door, then a gun blazing in his hand, he tried to run towards the shadows, away from the blinding lights.