James Chase - Strictly For Cash

She bent to pick up the brush.

“I’ve missed my way, and I think I’m lost,” I went on. “I’m trying to find the casino.”

“Oh.” The explanation seemed to reassure her. “It’s easy to do that. I suppose you came through the mangroves.”

“That’s right.” I moved to one side so I could see her painting. The sea, sand and palms and the blue of the sky made a vivid and attractive picture. “That’s good,” I said. “It’s absolutely life-like.”

That seemed to amuse her, for she laughed.

“It’s supposed to be.”

“Maybe, but a lot of people couldn’t do it.”

I fumbled in my hip pocket for a packet of cigarettes, flicked out two and offered them.

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

I lit up.

“Just how far away am I from the casino?”

“About three miles. You’re walking away from it.”

She began to clean the brush that had dropped into the sand.

“You mean I’m off the casino’s beach?”

“Yes; you’re on my beach.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, smiling. “It’s all right. Are you staying at the casino?”

It flashed into my mind that I didn’t want her to know me as Johnny Ricca, gambler and gangster. It didn’t matter to me that the blonde, Georgia Harris Brown, should think so, but this girl was different.

“I’m only staying a few days. Some place, isn’t it?” Then I asked her, “Do you live around here?”

“I have a beach cabin close by. I’m collecting background material for display work.”

“What was that again?”

I dropped on the sand, away from her, watching to see if she disapproved, but her expression didn’t change.

“I work for Keston’s in Miami. It’s a big store. You may have heard of it,” she explained. “I provide sketches and colour schemes for window dressing and special displays.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is.” Her face lit up. “Last year I went to the West Indies and did a series of paintings. We turned one of the departments into a West Indian village. It was a terrific success.”

“Must be a nice job,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me holding up your work. I’ll get along if you do.”

She shook her head.

“It’s all right. I’ve just finished.” She began putting away her brushes. “I’ve been working since ten. I guess I’ve earned some lunch.”

“A little late for lunch, isn’t it?”

“Not when you live alone.”

She studied the painting, and I watched her. I decided she was the prettiest and nicest girl I’d ever met.

“I think that’ll do,” she said, and stood up. “The easiest way back to the casino is for you to walk along the beach.”

“I’m Johnny Farrar,” I said, not moving. “I suppose I couldn’t carry your stuff back for you? There seems a lot of it.”

“Sounds as if you’re inviting yourself to lunch,” she said, smiling. “I’m Virginia Laverick. If you haven’t anything better to do...”

I jumped to my feet.

“I haven’t a thing. I guess I’m sick of my own company, and meeting you...”

I picked up the easel and her other stuff when she had packed it, and went with her across the hot sand.

“I can’t ask you in,” she said suddenly, “I live alone.”

“That’s okay,” I said, only too glad to be walking at her side. “But I’m harmless, or maybe you don’t think so.”

She laughed.

“Big men usually are,” she said.

After a short walk we came to a bungalow, screened by flowering shrubs, with a green-painted roof and gay flowers in the window-boxes and a wide verandah on which were lounging chairs, a radio set and a refectory table.

“Sit down,” she said, waving to one of the chairs. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get you a drink — Scotch?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I won’t be a minute.”

But she was a lot longer than that, and I was pacing up and down the verandah, my nerves on the jump again, by the time she reappeared. I saw why she had been so long. She had changed out of the sun-suit which she had probably decided wasn’t suitable to be wearing when entertaining a strange man in an empty bungalow, and she was now in a white linen dress, shoes and stockings. I gave her full marks for good sense.

She carried a tray on which were bottles, glasses and plates of sandwiches. She set down the tray on the table, smiling at me.

“Go ahead and fix yourself a drink,” she said. “If you feel like eating, there’s plenty.”

I poured myself a big slug of Scotch, splashed ice water in it, while she flopped into an armchair and started on the sandwiches.

“You look as if you’ve been in a fight,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.” I felt my nose, embarrassed. It was still a little sore and swollen. “I got into an argument with a guy. It looks worse than it feels.” I took a mouthful of Scotch. It hit the spot all right.

She was drinking orange juice, and I was aware she watched me just a little uneasily.

“It’s nice of you to take pity on me,” I said. “I was feeling pretty low. You know how it is. I’ve been around on my own, and got sick of my own company.”

“I thought there were lots of attractive girls staying at the casino.”

“Maybe there are, but they don’t happen to be my style.” She smiled.

“What is your style?”

I never believe in pulling punches, in or out of the ring. I let her have it.

“Well, you are, I guess,” I said, and added hastily, “and don’t think that’s your cue to yell for help. You asked me, and I’ve told you, and another thing while we’re on the subject, I’m not the type who makes a girl yell for help.”

She looked steadily at me.

“I didn’t think you were or I wouldn’t have asked you here.”

That took care of that. Anyway, it cleared the air. She started talking about her work. From what she told me it seemed to be well paid, and she seemed to do more or less what she liked, and go where she liked.

I was happy enough to sit there in the sunshine and listen. The Scotch was taking care of my nerves, and she was taking care of my thoughts. For the first time since that car crash I relaxed.

After a while she said, “But I’m talking too much about myself. What do you do?”

I was expecting that one, and had the answer ready.

“Insurance,” I said. “I’m a leg man for the Pittsburgh General Insurance.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s all right. Like you, I get around.”

“It must pay well if you can stay at the casino.”

I had to get that straightened out at once.

“I promised myself I’d live like a millionaire for a couple of days, and I’ve saved for years to pull it off. Well, this is it, but I’ll be moving into the town on Tuesday.”

“Do you like being a millionaire?”

“There’s nothing like it.”

“That’s the last thing I’d want to be.”

“Well, I guess I’ve never had enough money,” I said, surprised at her emphatic tone. “It’s my greatest ambition to get my hands on a roll and spend it. The casino is a kind of dress rehearsal.”

“You mean really big money?” She was looking at me with interest.

“You bet I mean big money.”

“Well, how will you get it?”

That stopped me. I suddenly realized I was talking too much.

“I haven’t an idea. It’s all a pipe-dream, of course. Maybe someone will die and leave me a fortune.” I didn’t get the joke over, and I noticed she looked curiously at me.

I was floundering around to change the subject when she remembered they were giving a recording of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on the radio.