James Chase - Strictly For Cash

I pulled on the pair of blue and white check socks I found stuck in the shoes. I put the shoes on: they fitted me as if they were made for me. The shirt was a fit, too, and so was the suit.

It took me over ten minutes to get dressed, and I was feeling pretty bad by the time I was through. I had to sit on the bed until my heart stopped racing. I was panting like a worn-out horse.

I nearly forgot the hat, but that was important. I had to have something to hide the bandages around my head. I got it on. It was tight, and it made my head ache, but I had to wear it.

Then I crept over to the door, eased it open and glanced into the passage.

At the far end standing at the head of the stairs, were two cops; their backs to me. They stood with their hands behind them, and every now and then they flexed their knees the way cops do on the movies.

I looked to my right, but the corridor ended in big double windows. My only way out was down the stairs, and I wouldn’t get far with those cops waiting there to stop me.

I closed the door and sneaked over to the window. Apart from being on the sixth floor, the ground below was packed with patients sun bathing. If I tried going out that way I’d be spotted in seconds.

While I was trying to figure a way out, I heard voices in the corridor. Creeping over to the door I opened it a crack and peered out, ready to make a dive for the bed.

There was a nurse and a guy in a white coat out there. They were manoeuvring a wheeled trolley into the room opposite mine.

I waited, my eyes on the clock on the over-mantel. It was now ten minutes to seven. Time was running out. I had only twenty minutes before the nurse arrived with my supper. If I were going to get out I’d have to do something fast.

I was still at the door, trying to make up my mind what to do when the nurse and the attendant reappeared.

“I’ll take her down after I’ve seen the doc,” he said. “I’ve forgotten the mortician’s certificate.”

“One of these days you’ll forget your head, not that it would be a great loss,” the nurse said tartly, and turned away.

The attendant made a pass at her, but she anticipated it and whisked her rear out of reach.

“And if you don’t keep your paws...”

“I know. I know,” the attendant said wearily. “You’ll tell the matron. Why don’t you relax sometime?”

The nurse walked off down the corridor, and the attendant followed her. The two cops obligingly stood aside to let them go down the stairs.

I stood hesitating, then I eased open the door. The cops were leaning over the banisters; probably watching the nurse out of sight. Their backs were to me.

The attendant had given me the clue, and I sneaked across the corridor, turned the handle of the door opposite, eased it open and stepped inside. I was ready to jump out of my skin, and very nearly did when I saw a body under a sheet on the trolley.

I took hold of the corner of the sheet and lifted it. I was shaking now from head to foot. The dead woman looked as if she were asleep. What I was about to do horrified me, but I knew if I didn’t go through with it I wasn’t going to get away. I looked frantically around the room for a place to hide her, but there was nowhere. Close by was another door. I opened it an inch and peered into a luxuriously fitted bathroom.

I ran back to the trolley and wheeled it into the bathroom. Then I stripped off the sheet and keeping my eyes averted I lifted the body and staggered with it to the bath. It was as much as I could do to lower it into the bath, but I did it somehow. Then I pulled the shower curtains and shoved the trolley back into the bedroom.

By that time I was all in. I flopped down on the bed. I thought I was going to pass out. I was shaking like a leaf, and there was an awful swirling going on inside my head. I fought against it. It went away after a moment or so. I got a grip on myself. I didn’t dare waste a moment. I got on the trolley and covered myself with the sheet. Then I took off my hat and lay down, pulling the sheet over my head.

I lay there, waiting. My head was beginning to ache now, and every now and then a shiver ran through me. I began to think I would be spotted before they even got me out of the room. I was in two minds whether to get up and hide in the bathroom when I heard the door open.

I turned to stone, holding my breath, trying to control the hammering of my heart. The trolley began to move. The guy pushing it was whistling under his breath. He sounded as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

That short ride down the corridor was the worst experience I’ve ever been through. Even lying in a foxhole with the scream of falling bombs in my ears was nothing to this.

“What have you got there, chum?” a voice asked.

I felt my blood congeal. I knew by the voice it could only be one of the cops.

“This is just up your street,” the attendant said. “It’s a corpse.”

“Aw, hell. Don’t you cure ’em in this hospital?”

“Not often. I guess the head doc draws a commission from the undertaker. He certainly keeps him busy.”

“What is this? A man or woman?”

“A woman. She died of peritonitis. I guess the doc left his glove in her or something. I’ve never known a guy as absentminded as he is.”

The cop laughed and the trolley began to move again. It bumped over a step, and then I heard the faint swish of closing doors. A moment later I felt a downward movement and guessed we were in an elevator.

The attendant continued to whistle under his breath. The elevator bumped to a gentle standstill, the doors swished open and the trolley began to move again.

“Hi, Joe,” a girl’s voice said.

“Hi, sugar, how’s it coming?”

The trolley stopped.

“Who’s that?”

“Mrs. Ennismore. Room 44,” the attendant said. “You’re looking cute this evening.”

“That’s opposite Ricca’s room, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. There’re two cops up there, keeping an eye on him.”

“There are? I bet the matron had a fit, didn’t she?”

“Riskin handled her. That guy’s smart. I wouldn’t want him after me. He’s got Ricca fooled. Ricca imagines he’s getting away with this loss of memory stuff, but he isn’t. I heard Foxy tell Doc Summers he’ll be good and ready to slap a murder charge on him tomorrow. I’d like to see his face when they march in and pinch him.”

“Who did he murder?”

“Some dame. He must have been nuts. He nearly killed himself as well. Listen, sugar, how about going for a ride with me in the elevator? It might break down between floors if we’re lucky.”

“If you’re lucky, you mean.”

“Lemme get rid of this stiff and let’s try it.” The trolley began to move again. “You wait right here, sugar. This is going to be something to put in your diary.”

The foot of the trolley bumped against swing-doors. The attendant gave it a hard push and sent it forward to cannon against a wall.

I heard him say, “The guy who invented elevators was a public benefactor. Hop in, and I’ll show you for why.”

Then there was silence. I lay there for a moment or so until I heard the elevator doors swish to, then I pulled off the sheet and sat up.

The room was windowless, and in darkness, but the light from the passage, coming through the crack in the swing-doors, was enough for me to get a vague idea of the set-up. There were a number of trolleys covered with sheets standing against the walls. An overpowering smell of formaldehyde filled the air, and it was cold.

I slid off the trolley, again nearly forgetting my hat. I put it on. As my eyes became used to the semi-darkness, I spotted a door across the far end of the room. Faint daylight came from under it.

I went over to it, turned the handle and opened it a couple of inches. I looked into a narrow alley. Two big white motor ambulances were parked out there. The light was beginning to fade now, but it was still too light to be safe.