Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

He would tell them he had urgent business in England. He would show them his old business card. They would have to help him!

He wished he had put his suitcase in the boot of the Mercedes, instead of leaving it in the rented villa.

The suitcase contained all his few belongings, and he had to have it! If he hurried, he would still have time to collect it and be on his way before Bernie began to look for him.

The heavy lakeside traffic forced him to drive at a crawl, and by the time he reached the rented villa, he was soggy with sweat. Leaving his car, he hurried up the path and entered the villa. His suitcase was in the lobby where he had left it. As he reached for it, Bernie came from the living-room. This wasn’t the smiling, oily-looking Bernie he had dealt with before: this was an alarming-looking thug whose little eyes glittered with rage.

‘Come in here!’ Bernie snarled. ‘What happened? Why didn’t she speak to him?’

His heart thumping, his face white, Archer walked unsteadily into the living-room.

‘She won’t pay.’

Bernie spat on the carpet.

‘She will!’ He turned on Archer, and shouted in a voice congested with fury, ‘You fat, useless fink! I’ll show you how to handle her! Come with me!’

His vicious fury horrified Archer, who took a hasty step back.

‘Come with me!’ Bernie snarled, and leaving the villa, he walked down the path and got into Archer’s car. Archer hesitated, then defeated, knowing there was nothing he could do but obey, he picked up his suitcase and joined Bernie in the car.

Saying nothing, his bearded face contorted with vicious rage, Bernie drove to Lucky’s store.

‘Open the gates!’

With some trouble, because he was shaking, Archer opened the gates, and Bernie drove the car into the yard.

‘Come!’

He led the way up into the barn, up the stairs, and into the big room. Archer followed.

Grenville, in need of a shave, looking utterly demoralized, was sitting in one of the armchairs. Seeing Archer, he jumped to his feet.

‘What went wrong?’ he demanded wildly. ‘Why wouldn’t she speak to me?’

‘I wish I had never set eyes on you,’ Archer said, and feeling his legs becoming unsteady, he dropped into a chair. ‘You ask why she didn’t speak to you? Because you are a bigamist! If I had known you were wanted by the police for bigamy, I wouldn’t have touched you! Why didn’t you tell me — damn you!’

Grenville’s face turned the colour of tallow.

‘Does she know?’

‘She knows! She has a copy of your German police dossier! God knows how she got it, but she now has proof you are Timothy Wilson and an utter fake! She knows you married three old women for gain, and these three old women are still living!’

‘God!’ Grenville looked frantically around the room. ‘I’ve got to get away! She will tell the police!’

Listening to all this, Bernie suddenly broke in. ‘You two goddamn amateurs! If you imagine I am going to pass up ten million dollars, you have another think coming! I’m going to see just how tough this bitch is!’

He went to the door and whistled.

Segetti and Belmont, who had been in the barn, came quickly up the stairs and entered the room.

‘She won’t pay,’ Bernie said to them. ‘Now we must soften her.’ He pointed to Grenville. ‘Cut his ear off!’ Then swinging around and glaring at Archer, he went on, ‘You will take his ear, bleeding, to her, and if she doesn’t pay, you will take his other ear, and if she doesn’t pay, you will take, every day, one of his fingers, until she does pay!’

Almost sick with horror, Archer said, ‘You must listen to me! If he had been a thief, a forger, anything but a bigamist, she would have forgiven him and paid. Don’t you understand? He promised to marry her, and now, she finds he is a bigamist! She will never pay!’

Bernie spat on the floor.

‘We can try. Cut his ear off, Jacques!’

Belmont’s hand went behind him. He produced a long, razor sharp knife. He looked at Segetti, who nodded and took from his hip-pocket a leather-covered cosh.

‘Just a tap on your head, Mr. Grenville,’ Bernie said, smiling evilly. ‘You won’t feel much. Jacques is an expert. Maybe a little sore later, but it is worth a try.’

Grenville backed away, while Archer, shocked, hid his face in his hands.

Then Grenville said hoarsely, ‘Wait! Listen to me! I can tell you how you can get fifteen million dollars from her! I know her — you don’t! Fifteen million, and it is certain money!’

Bernie lifted his hand, stopping Segetti as he moved towards Grenville.

‘She hates violence,’ Grenville said, sweat running down his face. ‘Our mistake was sending Archer to talk to her. You should have gone. You would have convinced her, but it is now too late to use me as a lever, but I have thought of another lever, but you will have to talk to her.’

Bernie nodded.

‘Okay. I will talk to her... about what?’

Archer was staring at Grenville. Belmont, fingering his knife, and Segetti, tapping the palm of his hand with his cosh, were also staring at Grenville.

‘We should have thought of this before,’ Grenville said. ‘We wouldn’t have had all this trouble. It’s so easy... so simple.’

Bernie walked up to him and dug his forefinger into Grenville’s chest.

‘What is so easy... so simple?’ he demanded, a snarl in his voice.

Grenville told him.

Just after 08.15, Helga came awake from a drugged sleep. She stretched, and then looked around the luxurious bedroom. She had no regrets, leaving this room for good. The villa now held too many unhappy memories. She thought of Chris, and was thankful she could think of him without heartache. In a few weeks, she assured herself, she would have forgotten him. He would become yet another shadowy man in her past.

How careful, she thought, one had to be when one thinks one is in love. What is love? She had to admit that she had never known the real meaning of love. It was something, she now suspected, she would never know. Love was illusive. So many men and women believed they were in love, and then found, one day, that love meant nothing, and that they had become strangers. And yet, she knew, there were as many men and women who had discovered that love meant a solid background to their lives. To her, love meant sexual excitement. Sex! This was the curse that influenced her life. She had really believed she had been in love with Chris, but when Hinkle had told her that this handsome, suave man was not only a bigamist, but a calculating cheat, her love for him had abruptly ceased, like the switching off of a light.

In a few hours, she would be at the Geneva airport, leaving Hinkle to supervise the sale of the villa and the furniture. She would fly to Paradise City and take up her dreary, lonely life, commuting to New York for equally dreary board meetings, working with Loman and Winborn. This seemed now to be the pattern of her future life. Next June, she would be forty-five!

She looked at the bedside clock. The time was 08.40. Hinkle was late! Well, never mind, she wasn’t desperate for coffee. He had had a hard day packing and clearing her personal things from her closets. He had probably overslept.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift into a doze, then came awake later with a little start, to see it was 09.10.

No Hinkle?

She got out of bed, went into the bathroom and took a shower. Putting on a wrap, she went into the living-room. The french windows were closed. Puzzled, she threw them open, and then went to the front door which she found unlocked. She opened the door and looked down the short drive to the main road.

It occurred to her that Hinkle had gone down to Castagnola village for fresh milk, and she shrugged. This had never happened before, but then for all she knew, the milk had never turned sour before, but she had an uneasy feeling, so she went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. She saw there were three cartons of milk on the shelf.