Brett Halliday: The Body Came Back

The smile vanished when she saw and recognized the man standing on the threshold. She swayed back helplessly, holding hard onto the doorknob to support herself, her eyes narrowed and glittering with disbelief and hatred.

Between tightly clenched teeth she grated, “No. Oh God, no!” She closed her eyes and held them shut for a long moment, willing him to go away.

When she opened her eyes he was still there. Stepping inside the room masterfully, thin lips curled back from his teeth in a sneering smile, hands thrust deep into the side pockets of his unpressed gabardine slacks, he said, “Hi-yah, sweetheart,” in a slightly hoarse voice. “Looks like you didn’t expect me, huh?”

She swayed back from in front of him, still holding tightly to the doorknob. “I thought you were dead,” she said in a dazed voice.

“You mean, you hoped I was.” His lips curled away from his teeth a little farther. He turned his head slowly, small, rodent eyes surveying the luxury of the suite. “Nice, cozy layout you got here. Real nice. Sets you back a hunk of dough, I betcha. But you got plenty, haven’t you?”

“What do you want?” she breathed venomously. “How… how did you know I was here?”

“You know what I want. Money, baby. That lovely green stuff that makes the world go ’round.” He withdrew his right hand from his pocket and held it out in front of her, palm upward, slowly curving his talon-like fingers up into the palm to make a tight fist. “You weren’t hard to locate, baby. I got ways. I got sources of information. Close that door,” he ordered suddenly and harshly. “We got talking to do. Just the two of us.” He turned his head to survey the room again. “Real cozy, too. By God, if you haven’t got a drink set out for the old man.”

He moved away from her toward the coffee table in front of the sofa, and she slowly closed the door behind him, biting her lower lip in a desperate effort to achieve control, pushing the door tight shut and pressing the inside latch to assure privacy.

He dropped ice cubes into her glass on top of the dregs of her drink, and splashed whiskey on top of it while she turned her head to watch him with fear and loathing.

He drank greedily, then cocked his head sideways to grin impudently. “That’s good liquor,” he told her approvingly. “Hits the spot.” He drank some more, then moved away from the sofa, one arm akimbo on his hip.

“I haven’t got any money,” she said thinly. “Not very much, anyhow… with me… in cash.”

“Well, now,” he said comfortably. “I didn’t think you’d have a whole hunk of it stashed right here. That wouldn’t stand to reason. But I guess it’s where you can put your hands on it without too much trouble. No great hurry.” He took another deep drink of straight Scotch and gestured expansively. “Just the two of us… all alone, huh? Real nice.”

The first shock and surprise of seeing him standing in front of her door so unexpectedly was beginning to fade away. Her mind started to function again. She had to do something! She couldn’t let him stay here. At any moment now the phone might ring… or another knock come on the door…

She said hurriedly, “I’ll give you what I have for now. If you’ll go away. Just for tonight. Tomorrow… we’ll talk about it again. We’ll arrange something. I’ll…

“Oh, we’ll arrange something all right Never you worry about that. I’ll see to that this time. It’s the big pay-off, see? And don’t you make any mistake about that.”

“Sure,” she said placatingly. “Sure. It’s just that you caught me by surprise. Me, thinking you were dead… you know. There were those stories in the papers. You can’t blame me for believing them.”

He laughed harshly. “I’m hard to kill, baby. I’m tough. That’s why you vanished, huh? Because you really thought I was dead?”

“Of course I did. Why else do you think?” She made her voice soft.

“I think you hate my guts,” he told her evenly. “But that don’t matter now. Here we are. Just the two of us. Plenty of good liquor.” He swung his arm about in an arc. “Just you and me, huh? You’re going to like it, baby. You’re going to like it just fine.”

He drained the glass and smacked his lips appreciatively, turned his head slowly to watch her with red-rimmed eyes as she moved slowly past him toward the closed door leading into the bedroom of the hotel suite.

“Why don’t you pour yourself another drink?” she said breathlessly. “I think… I’ll get into something more comfortable.”

He grinned at her approvingly. “You got the figure for it, baby. Go ahead. I could use another drink all right.”

She opened the door hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder to reassure herself that he was moving toward the bottle on the coffee table and clearly had nothing on his mind at the moment except pouring himself another slug of Scotch.

She slid through into the bedroom, closing the door partially behind her, but not all the way. She mustn’t do anything to arouse his suspicion. If she could just get to her suitcase on the luggage stand…

She moved swiftly across the carpeted floor, leaving the door ajar behind her.

The suitcase stood open and she rummaged inside it, trying desperately to remember…

She sensed rather than heard movement behind her, and whirled about with a tiny, pearl-handled. 25 automatic clenched tightly in her fist to see him lunging toward her, hands clawed out in front of him, his face a tight mask of fury.

She didn’t retreat from him. She moved forward to meet him instead, rammed the ugly snout of the little gun as hard as she could against his chest and began pulling the trigger.

She continued to pull the trigger until it no longer responded… until his lifeless body had slid slowly down to the carpeted floor in front of her and he lay there without moving.

Muffled as they were with the muzzle pressed closely against his clothing and body, the five small explosions sounded no louder than the popping of as many firecrackers in the hotel bedroom. The air conditioner was running in this room too, and all the windows were tightly closed, with heavy draperies drawn across them.

She took two jerky steps backward, looking down at the dead man with hatred and loathing and then slowly transferred her gaze to the lethal little gun still clenched tightly in her hand. She forced her fingers to loosen their hold, and the pistol fell to the carpeted floor with a little plop a couple of feet from his body.

She was still in a state of shocked incomprehension. She could feel nothing as she stood there in the silent bedroom looking down at her handiwork. No regret. Not even any real fear. Not yet. Only a vast flooding of relief that it was over. That she was done with him. That he no longer threatened her security and her future.

She jerked her head up suddenly like a startled animal, looking all about the confines of the room and through the open door into the sitting room, listening alertly, tensed for some sound or sign of danger.

There was no sound to be heard except the continued and comforting drone of the air conditioners. Nothing to indicate that the shots had been heard outside the four walls of the room.

It seemed to her now that she had been holding her breath ever since her finger began pulling the trigger. She exhaled slowly and evenly, drew in another deep breath and then turned away stiffly and walked past the crumpled body on the floor without looking downward.

With the bedroom door shut tightly behind her, she moved with trancelike steps to the coffee table and retrieved her glass from the edge where he had set it down hastily after pouring three fingers of straight whiskey into it.