Джеймс Чейз - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

I went over to another chair away from her and sat down, holding the Mauser so she could see it.

‘Quit stalling, Beth... is it yes or no ?’

Her cold remoteness fazed me.

‘I have something to say first,’ she said.

‘You have? Okay, then make it short. What do you want to say?’

I wanted to put pressure on her, but I could see she was determined to take her time. She leaned back, completely relaxed, then she smiled at me: that hateful, jeering little smile I had come to know.

‘I wanted to thank you for doing me the greatest favour anyone could have done for me.’

I stiffened, staring at her.

‘Favour? What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you. For years sex and men were the only things I could think about. To me, men were my food and drink. When Ross turned up, ruthless, young, marvellous in bed, I became utterly besotted with him. He was my ideal man: tough, ruthless and utterly wonderful, sexually. My life revolved around him. I could think of nothing else but him. When he wasn’t with me, I burned for him.’

I moved uneasily.

‘Do I have to listen to your erotic talk? I’m not interested, I...’

‘You had better listen!’ The snap in her voice cut me short. ‘He was ambitious. He longed for money. I married Frank, knowing he would be rich, only to please Ross. I told myself I would do anything so he could have the money, even letting a creep like you make love to me... even murder because I believed Ross was a real man.’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair, then let them drop to her lap. ‘What is a real man? Not you. You with all your talk about being an expert with money! Frank, drunk as he was, knew so much better than you did. I could have had three million instead of one million if you had let him alone to do that steel deal, but you thought you were so smart. Then you turned blackmailer. A real man? Ask yourself. How do you think you add up?’

‘Never mind the talk, Beth. That’s all water under the bridge,’ I said, hating her. ‘Anyone can make a mistake...’

She went on as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘For four years, I idolized Ross and now what do I find I have been idolizing?’ She leaned forward, her black eyes glittering and spat out the words: ‘A cringing, gutless, cowering coward! A yellow creep who is so frightened he is impotent! A louse who cringes in a dark room because he is afraid of you... that’s what I find I have got!’ She drew in a deep breath, then went on, ‘So that’s why I am thanking you for a big favour. You have shown me the kind of gutless louse I thought I loved. Well, thanks to you, I love him no more. I now hate the sight of him. Go ahead and shoot him. That’s all he deserves. You are not getting one cent from me! Go ahead and shoot him. I’ll be glad to be rid of him!’

I stared at her. Looking at her hard deadpan face, I felt a sudden uneasiness. I told myself she was bluffing. She had to be bluffing!

‘You don’t fool me!’ I shouted at her. ‘I’ll kill him! That’s for real, but I’ll give you one more chance. Now come on... you know you are bluffing and I don’t bluff.’

She got up and walked to the door.

‘Wait, Beth!’

She paused and looked at me. Her contemptuous little smile was like a knife thrust.

‘I’m going to have that money!’ I yelled at her. ‘You either pay up or Ross gets shot!’

She nodded.

‘I would like that. Do me a favour... kill him,’ and leaving the room, she walked down the passage.

I jumped up and ran to the door.

‘Beth!’

She didn’t pause. She opened the front door and walked out into the sunshine and back to Apple Trees .

Was she bluffing?

I sat at the window, staring at Apple Trees . I watched her walk into the bungalow and shut the door. The red curtains were still drawn. Was Ross cringing in the darkened room or was he waiting for her, a grin on his face while she told him of her bluff?

I fingered the Mauser.

Then I suddenly realized, if she wasn’t bluffing, if she really had had enough of Ross, I would have to think twice about going out there and shooting him.

I had got away with Marshall’s murder, but shooting Ross was something I couldn’t hide up. Beth would call the police and give them some story that I was blackmailing her and Ross had tried to protect her and I had shot him. With Bernstein and her money behind her, I wouldn’t stand a prayer.

My bluff had looked good to me, but she had called it. So long as she was infatuated with Ross, my threat stood up, but Ross, turning coward, had fixed me. With sick frustration, I knew now I wouldn’t kill him.

I could think of no other way to get the money from her. Once again I had the sickening feeling that no matter what I did to lay my hands on big money, I always fluffed it.

I had to admit it. Beth had beaten me. There was now no reason for me to stay in this little house. I would pack and get out. I thought of my life ahead: grabbing at any damn job for eating money. Then I remembered Bert and his offer to make me his partner. Why not? I remembered what Sheriff McQueen had said: Why not stay on at Wicksteed? Bert still wants you to be his partner. Why not? I thought of Wicksteed and Mrs. Hansen and Maisie and the rest of them: a nice little town and nice people. Why not? I could settle there. Maybe later, I could get married. Suddenly, I didn’t give a damn about Marshall’s million nor Beth nor Ross. I would go back to Wicksteed. I would help Bert set up a U-drive service. I’d organize a Travel agency for him. In a couple of years, I could be as prosperous as Joe Pinner!

Getting to my feet, I felt a surge of confidence. Okay, I would never be in the real money class, but at least, I could be a success in Wicksteed and what was the matter with that? Let Beth and Ross go to hell together. If she didn’t want him, if she hadn’t been bluffing, let her go off on her own. Why should I care?

I looked at the Mauser in my hand. It now seemed incredible to me that I had bought the gun and that I really meant to kill Ross. I must have been out of my mind. I must get rid of the gun as soon as I could... throw it in a ditch or somewhere.

I now had an urgent need to get away. Then I thought of Mrs. Brody. I couldn’t just walk out without giving her some explanation. After a moment’s thought, I decided I would tell her my wife had been taken ill. That would do. I would leave her a note.

Taking my suitcase from the closet, I packed. In ten minutes I was ready to go.

I wrote a brief note to Mrs. Brody and I enclosed two weeks rent. I wrote that as soon as my wife recovered, I would get in touch with her.

Shoving the Mauser in my hip-pocket, picking up the suitcase and the typewriter, I started down the passage, then as I reached the living room, I paused.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed and confident. The thought that in a few hours I would be in Bert’s office, drinking a shot of whisky, talking about our future plans was like a shot in the arm.

I thought of Ross, probably still hiding behind the red curtains. I felt suddenly magnanimous. I put down the typewriter and suitcase. Why not? Why not call Beth and tell her she had won? What was the matter with that? Why not wish her luck with the money that was coming to her? Why not show her I was, after all, a real man?

I went into the living room and dialled Beth’s number. As I waited, I heard myself humming under my breath. In a few minutes I would be rid of them both and driving to Wicksteed. I could imagine Mrs. Hansen’s pleased expression when she saw me and Bert’s delighted grin.

Then I heard a click and Ross said, ‘Who is it?’

‘Devery,’ I said. ‘I want to speak to Beth.’