Джеймс Чейз - Believe This... You’ll Believe Anything

When he had gone, I thought over what he had said. I recalled that after checking with the Credit rating people, Massingham had discovered that Vidal didn’t own a thing: that the house, cars, yacht and even Val’s jewellery were hired. I remembered my reaction. A pretty convenient arrangement if you want to skip suddenly.

If Massingham hadn’t assured me my job would be waiting, I would have been worried. As it was, I shrugged. I was in the position of having my cake and eating it.

Leaving the clubhouse, I drove down town and bought groceries for the weekend. The Public Library was across the way from the self-service store and on impulse I dumped the two sacks of groceries in the trunk of the car and entered the library.

A large, matronly looking woman with white hair and twinkling grey eyes, smiled a welcome.

‘It’s Mr. Burden,’ she said. ‘I was wondering when you would visit us.’

I was nonplussed.

‘How do you know my name?’ I asked.

She laughed.

‘It’s part of my job to know all the new arrivals. You’re with A.T.S. at the Spanish Bay hotel.’

‘Guilty.’

‘And what can I do for you, Mr. Burden?’

I asked her if she had anything on hypnotism.

‘Nothing specialised. There will be a reference in one of our encyclopaedias. I’ll get you the volume.’

The information I got from the encyclopaedia did interest me although it was scanty. I learned that women were more susceptible to hypnotism than men that mediums (persons hypnotised) could not be ordered to do any act disagreeable to them. They could not be ordered to hurt themselves, to eat food repugnant to them, but they would eat, for example, beef and believe it was lobster if told so by the hypnotist. They would obey any normal order and if told to do so, would not remember what they had done. And finally, hypnotism practised by an unqualified person could be dangerous.

If correct, it was reassuring to know that a medium could not be forced under hypnotism to do something that he/she would not do when in a normal state. If I could rely on that statement then it would seem unlikely that Vidal could obtain a confession from Val that we were lovers.

Still thinking about this and feeling more confident, I drove back to my apartment. I was preparing a chicken salad when Rhoda came in.

‘Supper’s just ready.’ I said. ‘Did you get all you wanted?’

‘No. Get me a big martini, honey. My feet are killing me.’

I never knew when Rhoda’s feet were not killing her.

‘What were you looking for then?’

‘Nothing particular. I was just looking. Palm Beach is even more expensive than here. That didn’t stop Mrs. Slinky throwing her husband’s money around.’

I stiffened.

‘Look, Rhoda, must you always refer to Mrs. Vidal as Slinky?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? Do you object?’

‘No.’ I fixed the drinks. ‘Call her what you like if it amuses you.’

‘Thanks, I will. She was in Elizabeth Arden buying the whole shop. She gave me one of those catty smiles, but she was far too snooty even to say hello.’

‘How depressing for you.’

Her eyes snapped.

‘Don’t be sarcastic! Does she know I am your wife?’

I moved out on to the balcony and began to set the table for dinner.

‘Why should she?’

‘I wondered if you had told her. After all, she is a customer of mine. Did you tell her?’

‘No. Are you ready to eat?’

‘Maybe if she had known I was your wife she would have stopped to talk.’

‘If you are so anxious to have her talk to you if I see her, I’ll tell her you are my wife.’

‘If you see her? Of course you’ll see her. What do you mean?’

‘I think I told you, she is away a great deal.’

She gave me a sly little grin.

‘How very depressing for you,’ she said and laughed.

The telephone bell was shrilling in the living room: it brought me awake.

It seemed only a few minutes since I had fallen asleep. We had sat up for the late TV show and had finally got to bed at half past midnight. I was in my first heavy sleep when awakened.

Slightly dazed and cursing, I snapped on the bedside lamp as Rhoda sat up. Her face was smothered in grease and her hair in curlers. She looked like hell.

‘What is it?’ she mumbled. ‘Put the light out!’

‘It’s the telephone.’

I was groping around for my slippers.

‘To hell with it! It’s a wrong number. Let it ring!’

Maybe over the years with A.T.S. I had become a slave to the telephone. One thing I could never do was ignore its bell. I went into the living room and snatched up the receiver.

‘Burden? That you?’

Startled, I recognised Vidal’s high squeaky voice.

‘Yes. Is that Mr. Vidal?’

‘Of course it is Burden. I have to be in San Salvador at 09.30 tomorrow morning... this morning. Arrange it and call me back,’ and he hung up.

For a long moment I stared at the telephone receiver clenched in my hand, then I slowly replaced it on its cradle. I looked at my watch. The time was 03.15.

I had checked the flight schedules to San Salvador when arranging his previous visit and I remembered there was no flight to get him there by 09.30.

My immediate reaction was to call the A.T.S. night service and turn the job over to them. Then I remembered this was Monday morning, and from now on, I was employed by Vidal. This was a job I had to handle myself.

Before leaving my office at the Spanish Bay hotel, I had taken all my reference books and timetables with me. These were my bibles: without them I would be as helpless as any tourist wanting information.

Vidal had said he wanted to be in San Salvador at 09.30. I had an instinctive feeling against calling him back to tell him there were no flights and would he pay for an air taxi? With his millions, an air taxi fare should be chick feed to him.

I called the Florida Air Taxi service and talked to the night manager, Roger Everet.

‘Sure, no problem, Mr. Burden,’ he told me. ‘Take off 06.45. Your party can pick up the ticket at the airfield. Okay?’

‘Fine. If there is any hitch, I’ll call you back. What’s the cost?’

‘Return?’

‘Maybe not. Quote me single and return.’

‘Nine hundred and eighty-five. Return thirteen hundred.’

‘Make it single unless you hear from me within half an hour.’

‘Okay. May I have the name of your party?’

‘Mr. Henry Vidal, Paradise Largo.’

‘What was that again?’ His voice sharpened.

I repeated what I had said.

‘This is a cash transaction, Mr. Burden? We don’t give credit.’

‘Mr. Vidal will expect a month’s credit. That’s the way he pays.’

‘No cash, no ride, Mr. Burden. I have instructions.’

‘It may not be convenient to find cash this early,’ I said, beginning to sweat. The banks...’

‘Those are my instructions, Mr. Burden. Is it a deal or do you want to cancel?’

‘I’ll call you back.’ I hung up as Rhoda appeared in the doorway.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘For God’s sake, come to bed! I have to work in a few hours.’

‘Go back to bed! Don’t bother me!’ I snarled and dialled Vidal’s number.

‘This is Mr. Vidal’s residence,’ a pompous voice said.

‘Connect me with Mr. Vidal. This is Mr. Burden.’ There was a delay, then Vidal came on the line.

‘Have you fixed it Burden?’ He sounded irritable.

‘There’s no flight to get you to San Salvador at 09.30, Mr. Vidal. I’ve reserved an air taxi for you. Takeoff time 06.45. Please be at the airfield at 06.15. The ticket will be waiting. Do you want the aircraft to wait at San Salvador? If not I’ll book you Pan-Am if you’ll let me know when you will be returning.’