James Chase: Strictly For Cash

She sat back, and there was a long moment of silence.

Ricca said, “Let’s skip the next piece and go right into the last act. We’re wasting time with this guy.”

I was glad he was there. She looked ready to blow her top, but his cold flat voice kept her under control.

“Yes,” she said. “We’ll skip the next piece. Well, Johnny, you’ve been warned. I told you to lay off other women.”

“I know what you told me.”

“Then you’ll have to take the consequences,” she said. “I’m going to throw you out of here the way I picked you up: a third-rate fighter without a dollar to your name. How do you like that?”

The least I expected was she would have me beaten up. I took a casual stare at the safe. It was shut. She couldn’t know I had tampered with it!

“Now wait a minute,” I said, sitting forward, “you can’t get away with that. We made a bargain. I want my dough!”

If I didn’t make out she was scoring off me, she might still decide to put a bullet in me. The rage and dismay I got into my voice even surprised me.

“We made another bargain,” she said, “you’re forgetting that, Johnny.” Her eyes were bright with spite. “I said no other women — remember? You’ve gypped yourself out of a quarter of a million. How do you like that? Was Miss Laverick worth all that money, Johnny?”

I twisted my face into what I hoped was a mask of infuriated rage and started up.

“Sit down!” Ricca said, and the gun covered me.

I sat down.

“Throw me out if you like, but I’m going to have that money!” I snarled at her.

“You’ll leave here without a dime and on your feet!” she said. “The guards have been told to let you out only if you are walking and you’re not carrying a bag. You’ll have a nice long walk ahead of you, and I hope you’ll enjoy it!”

“Don’t imagine you’ll get away with this!” I shouted. “If you think you can gyp me...”

She was revelling in it now. I made out I was going to spring at her. Ricca stood up, threatening me with the gun.

“Empty your pockets on the desk,” Della said.

“Make me!” I said. “I’d like to see either of you get close enough to make me!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ricca said. “Do what she says or I’ll shoot you in the leg and you’ll damn well have to crawl out of here!”

I thought of those three one-hundred-dollar bills I had hidden in my shoe, and I had trouble in keeping a straight face.

“I’ll fix you too!” I snarled at him, and began emptying my pockets on the desk.

When I was through she made me pull out the linings of my pockets to make sure I’d kept nothing back. I was glad I had stashed the keys in the chair. If she had seen those she might have looked in the safe. All the time I had been in the room I had kept my hat on. The receipt for the suitcase was burning a hole in my head, but neither of them thought to look inside my hat.

“Okay, Johnny,” Della said, “now you’re all set to go. I hope you’ll be hungry tonight. I hope no one gives you a ride. I hope you rot in hell!”

“I’ll fix you for this!” I yelled at her, and moved to the door.

“Better get going fast, Johnny,” she said, and a cruel little smile lit up her face. “I said I’d throw you out as I found you, didn’t I? Pepi and Benno are on their way over. They should arrive any moment now. They seemed very interested to hear you were here. So this is where you came in, darling. You’re on the run again, and I hope they catch you!”

I started to say something when the door opened and Louis walked in. Ricca hid the gun behind his back.

“What do you want?” Della demanded. “Can’t you knock?”

Louis’s fat face looked startled. “I thought Mr. Ricca was alone.”

“Well, he isn’t. What do you want?”

I went cold. I knew what he wanted. He had come to ask if I had managed to get the safe open.

“You talk to them,” I said to him. “I’m clearing out. That fat boy’s your new boss.”

I shoved past him, jerked open the door as Della cried, “Wait!”

But I didn’t wait. In three or four seconds she would know I’d beaten her to the punch. I had to get out and get out fast.

I jumped into the elevator and rode to the ground floor. Moving fast, I crossed the lobby, pelted down the steps and vaulted into the waiting Buick.

I shot away from the casino steps and down the carriageway like a bat out of hell. Half-way down I lowered the windshield until it was lying flat. I crouched down in the seat. By the time I saw the gates ahead of me I was driving at sixty miles an hour.

The two guards were there. The green-eyed one had his gun in his hand. They had heard me coming, and probably she had phoned I was to be stopped, but I wasn’t stopping.

Those gates looked big and impressive, but they had two weaknesses. They opened outwards and they were held shut only by a single bolt. Moving at this speed I didn’t reckon they would hold me, and they didn’t.

The guards jumped clear as I swept down on them. I held the steering-wheel as tightly as I could and lowered my head. The solid steel bumpers smashed into the gates, and they flew open. The car rocked and swerved, but I straightened it, shoving my foot down hard on the accelerator. I heard the bang of a gun, but I didn’t care. I was through those gates and on to the highway. I went on feeding petrol into the cylinders: the speedometer needle flickered up to eighty. They would have to move to catch me!

A couple of miles down the road I came to the bends: the climbing switchback that led across the dunes to the Miami Highway. I had to cut speed, but that didn’t worry me. They would take a few minutes to get after me, and they couldn’t go faster on this road than I could.

Well, I had beaten her! I wanted to sing and yell. I had out-smarted her in spite of her smartness. I’d got the money and I was out, and before she could get things moving I’d be safely hidden in Cuba. I was riding higher than a kite!

After driving for fifty miles or so, I turned off the highway and got on to the secondary road. The Buick was an obvious car to spot, and I was less likely to be noticed on the secondary road than on the highway. Before long I would have to get petrol.

I was running low.

As I drove I remembered Ginny was staying with a girlfriend in Miami, and I knew her telephone number. I decided I’d stop at the next filling-station and call her. I’d get her to charter a plane this night, and if I could persuade her to go with me to Cuba, and I thought I could. I’d be sitting on top of the world!

About a couple of miles farther on I spotted a filling-station and I pulled in.

An old guy with a goatee beard came waddling out of the shabby little office.

“Fill her up,” I said. “Have you a phone here?”

“Right in there, mister.”

I suddenly remembered I had only three one-hundred dollar bills on me. I bent down and flicked them out of my shoe.

“I got nothing smaller than a C. Can you give me change?”

“Sure. You go right ahead and phone. I’ll get you change.”

The phone was on a battered desk by an open window. I called Ginny’s number. The light was fading now. It was getting on for nine. I could see the old guy pumping petrol into the Buick. On the desk was a packet of Camel’s. I took one and lit up.

“Hello,” a girl said over the line. It wasn’t Ginny.

“Miss Laverick there?”

“No, she’s out, but I’m expecting her any minute now.”

I cursed silently.

“Okay. I’ll call back in five minutes.”

I hung up and went outside to see how the old gay was getting on. He was screwing on the cap. “She’s full, mister.”