Джеймс Чейз - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

‘I feel like hell.’ There was a whine in his voice. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I tried to get up but I can’t stand. You’d better call a quack.’

‘Right. Just take it easy.’

I went back to my cabin and called Bernstein at his home number. When I had explained the situation, not mentioning that I had given Marshall whisky at three o’clock this morning, Bernstein cursed softly, said he would come and for me to get the doctor.

He and the doctor arrived at the same time. They seemed to know each other. They went into Marshall’s cabin. I decided to keep out of it so I stood around in the hot sunshine and waited.

After half an hour, they came out and the doctor shook hands with Bernstein, nodded to me, got in his car and drove away.

Bernstein joined me.

‘Frank wants to go home,’ he said. ‘Dr. Kersley thinks it’s the best thing. Now listen, Devery, if there is any liquor in the house, get rid of it. Kersley says it is essential Frank doesn’t have a drink for at least two days. I’m leaving it up to you. If he has another drinking jag, he’ll be dangerously ill. Understand?’

‘Is he fit to travel?’ I asked, thinking at least Marshall wouldn’t buy Charrington steel this day, and a day gained was a day won.

‘Kersley has given him some pills. Don’t drive fast. He’ll be all right. When you get him home, call me at the office. Get him to bed. Let him have warm milk, no solids and no, repeat no, liquor.’ He looked at his strap watch. ‘Goddamn it! I’m already late. Look after him, Devery,’ and he hurried off to his car and drove away.

I went to my cabin, packed my bag, then went to the reception clerk and paid the check. I found Marshall sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The bottle of whisky had vanished. I guessed he had been crafty enough to have put it out of sight so the doctor couldn’t take it from him. I got him dressed with difficulty. He seemed dopey, probably the pills were working. He didn’t say anything until I had finished packing his bag, then he said, ‘I’ll be okay once I get home.’

‘Sure, Frank. Let’s go.’

He reached under the bed and produced the half bottle of Scotch.

‘Put it in the glove compartment, Keith.’

I had to help him walk to the car. He dropped into the passenger’s seat and watched me while I put the whisky in the glove compartment.

‘This is a hell of a time to get ill,’ he muttered as I started the motor. ‘I’ve so much to do.’

‘Take it easy.’ I drove out on to the highway. He fell asleep after I had driven a couple of miles and he was sleeping when I pulled up outside the big, lonely house.

A police car stood in the driveway. The sight of it gave me a shock. I got out of the Caddy and walked up the steps and pushed open the front door.

Standing in the hall was Deputy Sheriff Ross. Standing in the living room doorway was Beth.

I stared first at Beth, then at Ross. He was holding his Stetson by his side. There was a pause, then he moved forward, slapped the hat on his head, walked around me and down the steps towards the police car. I turned and watched him. He paused by the Caddy and looked at Marshall who was snoring, then he got into the police car, backed down the drive, then went shooting of down the dirt road.

‘What’s he doing here?’ I asked Beth, my voice husky.

She grimaced, then shrugged.

‘Checking on the Plymouth. He wanted to know if Frank had had it repaired. What are you doing back here? Frank said he would be away for four days.’

The fact that Ross had been here somehow scared me.

‘Didn’t Ross know the Plymouth was sold?’

‘Obviously not. Why else should he have come? Is Frank with you?’

‘He’s ill. He’s sleeping in the car.’

‘Ill?’ She regarded me with her black remote eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘He drank too much last night. I’ll get him in.’

‘Is he bad?’

We stared at each other.

‘Not bad enough.’

Again she grimaced, then went into the living room and shut the door.

I had a struggle getting Marshall out of the car and up the stairs to his room. He flopped on the bed. I got his clothes off and got him into his pyjamas. He rolled under the sheet and as I stood over him, he stared up at me.

‘Get me a drink, Keith.’

‘No drink, Frank. The doctor said...’

‘Get me a drink!’ A mean expression came over his face.

‘Not now, maybe later, Frank.’

‘Hear me?’ He half sat up. ‘I don’t give a goddamn what any quack says. I want a drink!’

‘Okay.’

Leaving him, I went down the stairs and into the living room. Beth was standing by the window. The clock in the hall struck six.

‘How is he?’ she asked without turning.

‘He wants a drink.’ I went to the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky, half full, a glass and charge water. I went into the kitchen and added a little tap water to the bottle, then I went upstairs and put the bottle, charge water and glass on the bedside table. As he grabbed the bottle, I went out and down to the living room. Beth still remained, her back turned, looking out of the window. I called Bernstein’s office number.

‘I got him home all right, Mr. Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s resting right now.’

‘Fine. Keep him away from liquor, Devery. Call me tomorrow if there’s any change. Have you a doctor handy?’

‘No problem, Mr. Bernstein. I think he’ll be okay tomorrow.’

‘Look after him,’ and Bernstein hung up.

Beth had come away from the window and was watching me, her dark eyes remote.

‘We do it tonight, Beth,’ I said. ‘If he hadn’t drunk so much last night he would have bought Charrington steel this morning. We can’t afford to let him live any longer.’

I waited for some reaction, but her expression remained deadpan.

‘How will you do it?’ Her voice was low.

There’s something I have to fix first before we talk,’ I said, and going through the kitchen I went into the garage. I found a thick strip of wood and after hunting through the toolbox I found a wood axe. I made two wedges. I tried one of them under the door leading into the garage. The wedge was too thick. After chipping off more wood, it fitted. I did the same with the second wedge so it fitted under the swing up door. Leaving the garage, I went through the kitchen, through the hall and out into the garden. Going to the closed swing up door, I pushed in the wedge and kicked it home. Then I returned to the garage via the kitchen and shoved against the swing up door. It held firm against the wedge. I drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. The wedge still held it firm. Satisfied, I went into the kitchen.

‘Beth!’

She came quickly.

‘I’m going into the garage and I’m shutting the door,’ I said. ‘I want you to put this wedge under the door when it is closed and kick it home.’

She stared briefly at me, then took the wedge. I went into the garage and shut the door. She did exactly what I had told her to do. When I heard her kick the wedge home, I turned the door handle and slammed my shoulder against the door. It held.

‘Okay. Get the wedge out,’ I said.

She had trouble getting it out, but she got it out. I opened the door and joined her in the kitchen. I took the wedge from her and dropped it in my pocket.

‘Let’s go in the garden.’

By now it was 19.20 and it was getting dusk. The air was still and hot with a hint of an approaching storm. We went together away from the house and we sat on the grass bank.

‘What are you planning?’ she asked, her voice tense.

‘This may not work,’ I said. ‘If it works, it is safe. If it doesn’t work, we must think of something else, but if it doesn’t work we are still clear of trouble.’