James Chase - Strictly For Cash

I crossed the room and shot the bolt. Now I was alone the room seemed horribly empty. I returned to the window. Her husband was pacing up and down beside the car. As I watched him he took out a cigarette case and lit a cigarette. By the way he threw the match on the ground I could see he was exasperated.

A faint sound behind me made me turn quickly, my eyes going to the door. I saw the door handle begin to turn. Someone the other side of the door pushed gently against the panels. The bolt held, and the handle slowly reversed.

Well, they were out there now. I guessed they thought it was safe to call on me now the stadium was nearly cleared. Over the loudspeaker system dance music was blaring: loud enough to drown the sound of a shot.

I tiptoed across the room and examined the bolt. It wasn’t too strong. I heard someone whispering outside. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the sound made the hair on the nape of my neck bristle.

I caught hold of the rubbing-table and pulled it across to the door and wedged one end under the handle. I was thinking fast now: a little scared, but not in a panic. They knew the layout of the stadium a lot better than I did. They’d know the climb down from my window wasn’t difficult, and as soon as they found they couldn’t break in they’d guess it would be by the window I’d try to escape, and Pepi would be there to pick me off.

It wouldn’t take him three or four minutes to get down the concrete steps, around to the side door and out to the parking lot. He was probably on his way now. I had to get going at once.

As I swung my legs over the windowsill someone drove his shoulder against the door. The table held the door solid. I didn’t look back, but climbed out of the window on to the ledge.

In my hurry to get to the drainpipe I took a false step and my foot shot off into space. I managed to dig my fingers into the chinks of the uneven concrete wall, and hold myself steady. It was a pretty nasty moment. If I hadn’t had strong fingers I would have fallen. Somehow I managed to regain my balance. I slowly drew up my foot and found the ledge again. With my heart hammering I kept on, reached the drainpipe and began to climb down. Ten feet from the ground I let go and dropped.

I heard a car start up. I heard, too, the sound of running feet. For a moment I was tempted to bolt towards the car, but decided it would be safer to remain in the shadow of the wall rather than go out into the brightly lit car park.

The Bentley swung towards me. She hadn’t turned on the car lights. Beyond, and away to the left, I spotted Pepi. He was about a hundred yards from me, standing still, looking towards the window of the dressing room as if waiting for me to appear, and I realized he didn’t know I was already down. Then I heard a loud crash and knew the door of the dressing room had been forced open.

The Bentley slowed down as it reached me, and the door swung open.

“Get in — quick!” Della cried, keeping the car on the move.

I scrambled in beside her and she shot the car forward. I managed to get the door shut as the car raced down the broad drive-in.

As she leaned forward to snap on the lights, she said, “Did they spot you?”

“I’m not sure.”

I swung around in my seat to look through the rear window. The dark, curly haired man who she said was her husband was sitting at the back. It was too dark to see his face. I couldn’t see any following car’s headlights.

“Doesn’t look like it,” I said. “Anyway, they’re not coming after us.”

“You must be crazy to get us mixed up in this, Della!” the man at the back exploded. “Stop the car and let this fella out!”

She laughed.

“Oh, shut up, Paul. They were going to shoot him. I couldn’t let them do that after he’d won me a grand.”

“You little fool! You’re always getting into trouble.” Again she laughed. “I’m loving every minute of this.”

He gave a grunt of disgust and slumped down in his seat.

“Well, let’s get out of here. As soon as we’re away from the stadium, stop and let him out.”

“Don’t take any notice of him,” she said to me. “We’re going to Lincoln Beach. Want to come?”

“Yes,” I said.

We were approaching the main gates of the stadium now, and it suddenly occurred to me that Petelli might have got word down there to stop us. I told Della.

“Squat on the floor. You may be right.”

There were a number of cars ahead of us now, moving slowly through the big gates, and she had to slow to a crawl.

“There’re two guards looking into each car as it passes,” she whispered to me. “I’m going to stop and let the other cars get on ahead.”

“There’s a car behind us and coming fast,” Paul said, a rasp in his voice.

“You’d better let me out,” I said, but she put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me lower.

“Be quiet!”

She swung around to look through the rear window. From where I crouched I had a good view of one long, shapely leg and a small foot in a white buckskin shoe. I could also see the glare of headlights coming through the rear window showing how close the other car was. A horn blared as she slowed down.

“Better not stop,” Paul said. “Keep in the centre of the road so they can’t pass, but keep moving.”

The car continued to crawl forward.

“It’s clearing ahead,” she told me. “We’re coming up to the gates.”

I looked up. The car was moving a little faster now. Through the window I caught a glimpse of a man in a peak cap looking right at me.

“Hey! You! Just a minute...” he said excitedly, and wrenched open the door.

I grabbed the inside handle, slammed the door shut as Della trod down on the accelerator. The Bentley surged forward as the guard yelled again. I was sitting up now. Ahead of us was a car, blocking the way out. She swung the wheel and we bumped up on to the grass verge, missing the other car’s fenders by inches, then we shot out on to the highway.

“Now...” she said, and increased speed.

“They’re right on our tail,” Paul cried furiously. “Goddamn it! I told you not to fool with this!”

Her reply was to push the accelerator to the boards. The needle of the speedometer began to flicker up to ninety. It hesitated, then crept up to ninety-two... three and hovered at ninety-four.

The glare of the following headlights receded.

“Losing them now,” she cried, her eyes fixed on the pool of light that rushed before us from the Bentley’s headlamps. “They can’t catch us now.”

“Watch the road or you’ll have us over!” Paul shouted, and sat forward to look over her shoulder through the windshield. “The road curves ahead. You’ll have to slow down before long.”

“Don’t pester me!” she snapped. “I know this road as well as you do!”

I looked behind. The pursuing car wasn’t all that far in the rear: not more than two hundred yards, and as Della was forced to reduce speed as the road began to curve around the palmetto thickets that lay on either side, the big Cadillac began to creep up on us.

Della held the car in the middle of the road. The speedometer showed seventy-six now: too fast on a road like this.

“Watch out! Car ahead!” I exclaimed as I spotted the distant glare of approaching headlights.

Della dipped her lights and her foot eased off the accelerator.

The approaching car was coming like a bat out of hell. It flashed into view. I heard a high, squealing sound of tyres biting into tarmac behind us, and looking round saw the Cadillac was stopping. I felt the Bentley swerve to the right. I swung round. The car coming towards us sat right in the middle of the road, and its huge blinding lights hit us as it roared down on us.