James Chase - Strictly For Cash

“That’s right. What was this woman like?”

“Dark and pretty, but as hard as nails. She wore a green dress. From the look of her she had plenty of money.”

Della!

“Go on,” I said.

“Your brother made out he was pretty bad, but he wasn’t. He was trying to fool me. She wanted me to call some fella, and she gave me a phone number. The phone’s about half a mile down the road. I called this guy. He said he’d come over. When I got back to the cabin I looked through the window. Your brother was talking to the girl, but when I went in he made out he was still unconscious.”

I didn’t know what to make of all this.

“Do you remember the phone number?”

“Lincoln Beach 4444. It’s an easy one to remember.”

“Who was this fella you called?”

“Nick Reisner. That’s what she said his name was.”

I felt spider’s legs run up my spine.

“What exactly did she say?”

He thought for a long moment, scratching his head, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

“She said Ricca had met with an accident, and this Reisner fella was to come and pick them up.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see him?”

He shook his head.

“No. I was asleep when he arrived.”

I went on asking him questions, but there was nothing else of importance he could tell me. But I hadn’t wasted my time. I had established that after the car crash Della and I had gone to the cabin. That meant her husband, Paul, and not me, as Riskin had thought, had been left in the burning car. Who Reisner was something I had to find out. At least I had his telephone number. Why had Della called me Ricca? Had she been the girl who had died in the second car smash or was it someone else?

Before I could make sense of any of this, I had to get a bit more information. I thanked the old man for his help, and went back to where I had parked the car.

Around eight o’clock I drove into Lincoln Beach. At that hour in the morning the streets were almost deserted. I could tell at a glance this town was a millionaire’s playground. The shops, buildings, the flowers growing along the sidewalks and the neatness all pointed to money. I found an hotel in one of the side streets.

Two bellhops and the head porter who looked like an Admiral of the Fleet helped me out of the car and carried the black pigskin case and two other cases into the reception lobby. They gave me a room big enough to garage three four-ton trucks, and a bathroom that was so luxurious I was scared to use it.

I lay on the bed and slept for three hours. After that all-night run I was dead beat. Around eleven-thirty I took the black pigskin suitcase down to the car. I wasn’t going to be parted from that for a moment. I locked it in the boot, then drove to Roosevelt Boulevard, the main shopping centre.

There were a lot of cars drifting up and down the broad street and quite a crowd of people on the sidewalks. Most of them were in beach dress; some of the girls were practically naked, but no one paid them any attention. I parked behind a big Packard and went into a drug store.

There was one thing I had to find out. I shut myself in a phone booth and dialled Lincoln Beach 4444. I listened to the burr-burr-burr of the ringing tone, and my heart skipped a beat when a girl’s voice said, “Good morning. This is the Lincoln Beach Casino at your service.”

“Connect me with Nick Reisner,” I said, and my voice croaked.

“What was that again, please?”

“I said connect me with Nick Reisner.”

“Mr. Reisner is no longer with us. Who is that calling?”

I ran a dry tongue over dryer lips.

“I’m a friend of his. I’ve just hit town. Where can I find him?”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded embarrassed. “Mr. Reisner died.”

“He did?” I tried to make my voice surprised. “I didn’t know. When was that?”

“July 30th.”

The day after he had come to the cabin and had taken Della and me away. I was getting the shakes again.

“What happened to him?”

“Will you hold it a moment, please?”

“Hey! Don’t go off the line...”

There was a long pause. Sweat began to run down my face. Then there was a click, and a voice asked, “Who is calling?” A voice that came from a fat throat: Ricca’s voice. I didn’t say anything. I held the receiver against my ear, listening to his heavy breathing, aware of a cold chill creeping up my spine.

“Who is that?” he repeated. “Is it you, Johnny?”

I still said nothing. I wanted to put down the receiver, but that heavy breathing and that fat, oily voice hypnotized me.

Then suddenly another voice chipped in: a harsh, shouting voice.

“This is Police Captain Hame talking. Trace this call, miss!”

I hung up then and walked rapidly out of the store to my car. I had learned little, and I had risked much. It had been a bad move to have let them know I was in town.

I sat in the car, my hat pulled down over my eyes, my fingers on the gun butt, and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. Their organization was pretty efficient. I was expecting cops, but it wasn’t a police car I saw shooting along the boulevard. It was a big, black Cadillac. It pulled up outside the drug store, within fifty feet of me.

Two short, square-shouldered men got out, crossed the sidewalk and entered the drug store. The last two men I expected to see again on this earth: Pepi and Benno.

I lit a cigarette with an unsteady hand. Where had these two sprung from? The obvious explanation was they had teamed up with Ricca. I remembered then that Waller, the Negro, had said they would keep after me until they had cornered me. I had completely forgotten them, but apparently they hadn’t forgotten me.

I remained in the car, waiting. After a minute or so they came out of the drug store and paused on the sidewalk to look to right and left. Then they got into the Cadillac and drove away.

It seemed I was now up against stiff opposition. I had been ready to tackle Ricca on his own, but I wasn’t too sure of my chances when it came to a combination of Ricca, Pepi and Benno. Those two lengthened the odds against me.

But no matter what happened to me, they were not going to get their hooks into that money. Now they knew I was in town I would be crazy to carry all that money around with me. I had to find a safe place to stash it.

I drove back to my hotel. The head porter sprang forward to open the car door.

“I’m not getting out,” I said. “Is there a safe deposit around here?”

“First on your left, sir,” he told me. “You can’t miss it. The best there is.”

He was right about not missing it. It was about twenty storeys high and occupied half the block. There were five uniformed guards on the sidewalk, armed to the teeth, and tough enough to scare any Chi hood out of his skin.

I pulled up and got out of the car.

One of the guards came over. The others watched me.

“I want to leave a suitcase,” I said. “What do I do?”

“You have it with you, sir?”

I unlocked the boot and hauled out the case. He made to take it, but I waved him back.

“I’m not as weak as I look. Just tell me where to go.”

“If you’ll follow me, sir.”

He took me into a vast reception lobby, surrounded by a wall of steel bars as thick as my wrist. On a low balcony surrounding the lobby, guards patrolled, automatic rifles cradled in their arms. There’d be no smash-and-grab raid in this place.

He led me to a pale young man who could have been a foreign prince, but obviously wasn’t, as he stood up and bowed.

“Mr. Evesham will look after you, sir,” the guard said, and went away.

“I want to deposit this suitcase,” I said. “Can you fix it?”