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

I could see Vidal and Dyer struggling to get the door closed.

The hall with its big oil paintings and its suits of armour was a shambles. Four of the big pictures had been blown off their hooks, two of the suits of armour were in pieces.

Lying in the middle of the floor was Gesetti, blood on his face, an oil painting in a heavy frame on top of him.

Stepping around him, I struggled across the hall and joined the two men wrestling with the door. With my added weight, we got it shut.

‘Wedge it!’ Vidal snapped. Use one of those pikes.’

Dyer released his hold on the door and dashed to pick up a pike that had fallen from the wall. As soon as his weight was removed, the door slammed open again, sending Vidal and myself sprawling. Another struggle began to shut the door. Not only the wind but the rain hammered us and by the time we got the door shut and jammed into place by the pike we were all soaked.

Gesetti groaned and tried to sit up. Dyer went to him and supported him. I couldn’t touch him. He gave me the horrors.

Vidal joined Dyer and they got Gesetti to his feet. He shook his head, spraying blood, blinked and straightened up.

‘I’m okay, boss,’ he muttered but he leaned heavily on Dyer.

‘I’ll take care of him,’ Vidal said. ‘You two clean up this mess.’

Catching hold of Gesetti he led him down the corridor towards the back of the house.

‘Phew!’ Dyer wiped his dripping face with the back of his hand. ‘Did you bring a change?’

‘Yes.

‘We’ll get out of these wet things and then get this mess fixed. This is the worst goddamn hurricane I’ve run into, and it’ll last for at least another four days.’

We went up the stairs and separated at our rooms. It took me only a few minutes to strip off, dry myself and put on a sweatshirt and slacks. I was down in the hall stacking the oil paintings against the wall when Dyer joined me in an open neck shirt and hipsters.

‘The telephone’s gone,’ he said as we began to carry the bits of armour into a small reception room. ‘The electricity will go any moment now.’

I saw he had a powerful torch stuck in his belt.

Vidal appeared, still dripping.

‘How is he, sir?’ Dyer asked as Vidal started up the stairs.

‘Not so good... concussion I guess.’ Vidal paused. ‘How are you enjoying yourself Burden?’ He gave his barking laugh. ‘A bit of a change from Boston, huh?’

I stood silent, hating him.

He turned to Dyer.

‘I’ve told him to stay in bed. Let him be. I’ve given him a couple of pills. With luck he’ll be all right tomorrow. You’d better take care of the supper. You help him Burden.’ He started up the stairs two at a time and disappeared along the corridor.

I looked at my watch. The time was 17.50. The afternoon seemed to be going on forever.

‘Let’s finish this, then we’ll inspect the kitchen,’ Dyer said. ‘I could do with a drink, couldn’t you?’

It took us only a few minutes to complete what we had begun, then we went along to the kitchen.

Dyer inspected the big refrigerator.

‘Plenty of cold cuts.’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Cans galore at least we won’t starve.’

Going to another cupboard, he found the liquor store.

‘Whisky?’

‘I guess.’

He built two big whiskies, added ice and saluted me.

While all this was going on the rain and the wind lashed the house and thunder crashed. The noise was infernal.

I felt steadier after the drink. My mind kept going to Val.

‘While we have the light,’ Dyer said when he had finished his drink, ‘suppose we check the doors and windows. We don’t want another blow in like that one.’

We found one of the doors leading to the garden unsafe.

Dyer found wood, hammer and nails and we shored up the door. By the time we had checked the windows and repaired three of them it was getting on for 19.00.

‘I’m hungry,’ Dyer said. ‘Feel like eating?’

‘No... I’ll have another drink though.’

While I was fixing the drinks. Dyer made himself a beef sandwich.

‘How about Mrs. Vidal?’ he asked with his mouth full. ‘Maybe she wants something.’

‘You finish that. I’ll go up and ask her.’

Feeling light headed after the two big whiskies, I mounted the stairs and started down the corridor. Then I paused. Vidal was coming out of Val’s room. He had changed into a scarlet open neck shirt and white slacks. Humming under his breath, he closed and locked the door. Leaving the key in the lock he started towards me, his little eyes narrowing.

‘Yes, Burden?’

‘I... I was wondering if Mrs. Vidal would like some supper,’ I said.

‘Very thoughtful. No... we’ll let her be for a while, she is being a little dramatic.’ He laughed. ‘I find it is better to leave women alone when they become tiresome. Women dislike being ignored.’ He took hold of my arm. His fingers felt like steel hooks. ‘Suppose you get me something Burden, if it is not too much trouble... a few sandwiches and lots of coffee.’ He steered me to the head of the stairs. ‘Put it in my office, will you?’

I jerked away from his grip. His touch was to me the touch of a leper

He smiled.

‘Don’t worry about Mrs. Vidal, Burden. I have a little spare time now, so I will do the worrying should it be necessary.’

He stared at me, his eyes hostile, then moving into his bedroom, he closed the door gently in my face.

‘Hi Burden!’

I looked down the well of the staircase. Dyer was beckoning to me.

‘What is it?’ I was in no mood for his company.

‘Come on down.’

No excuse came to my mind, so reluctantly I descended the stairs. He moved back into the kitchen.

‘Does she want anything?’ he asked as I followed him into the kitchen.

‘Vidal says no.’ I couldn’t disguise the bitterness in my voice. ‘He’s locked her in.’

‘He treats her like a puppet.’ Dyer shrugged. ‘Never mind about her Burden. You and I have problems. Shut the door and keep your voice down.’

I looked sharply at him. There was a worried, uneasy expression on his face. As I closed the door, he began to build two whiskies.

‘Vidal wants food,’ I said.

‘It’s all fixed. Are you sure you don’t want anything?’

‘Nothing. What problems?’

He lifted his hand while he listened.

‘He’s coming down now. I’ll take him his supper. Then we can talk.’

Picking up a tray of sandwiches and a jug of coffee, he left the kitchen. I moved around restlessly, nursing the whisky until he returned. He shut the door.

‘We’re off duty,’ he said. ‘Orders not to be disturbed.’ He came close to me and keeping his voice low, he asked, ‘How are you fixed Burden, if you lost your job?’

I stared at him blankly.

‘All right. I can go back to the A.T.S. Do you think I’m going to lose it?’

‘It’s more than likely. I’ll lose mine too and I haven’t a job waiting for me.’

‘What makes you think we’re going to lose our jobs?’

‘Strictly between you and me, old boy, Tiny’s in real trouble. While he was upstairs with Mrs. V. I went into his office with some papers he wanted. On his desk was a letter from Jason Shackman, his attorney: a tip off that the Feds are on to him for tax evasion and they’re applying for a warrant. Shackman says he hasn’t a hope and he had better get out and fast. He has a bolt hole in Lima. They couldn’t get at him there, but who the hell wants to live in Lima?’

‘He’s booked an air taxi to San Salvador.’

Dyer pulled a face.

‘There goes my job. He hasn’t a lot of money. He...’

‘But he’s worth millions!’ I broke in.

Dyer shook his head.