Джеймс Чейз - You’re Lonely When You’re Dead

‘Did you say I wasn’t the first?’ she asked, her eyes closed and an exhausted look on her face. She had dropped back into the chair while he was speaking, and there was a grey, sick look on her face.

‘Certainly I said you weren’t the first, and you won’t be the last either.’

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I may be the last.’

‘Don’t count on it, baby. Don’t count on it.’

He finished his drink, yawned, ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Well, I guess I’ll go to bed. I’m sick of this. You’d better run off home.’

Her eyes opened.

‘And tomorrow?’ she asked in a cold, brittle voice.

‘I shall be the hell out of here tomorrow.’

She got slowly to her feet.

‘You really are going away?’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked roughly. ‘Don’t I talk plain enough for you? I’m through. I’m quitting. I’m taking a powder. I’m leaving you flat. I’m giving you the brush-off. Now do you get it? I’m shaking the dust of this love nest off my feet. I’m going to forget the way you look, the way you act, the things you say, and baby, it’s going to be a long and beautiful vacation.’

She stood motionless, a feverish look in her eyes.

‘Did you say that to Anita?’ she said.

Mills gave her a quick, searching look, then laughed.

‘You’re no fool, are you? So you knew about her? Well, she didn’t last long, and she wasn’t much anyway. She hadn’t your youthful enthusiasm.’ He turned away to pour another drink. ‘Why don’t you give Franklin a chance?’ he asked, and laughed again. ‘Franklin’s old but I bet he’s keen.’

She had turned slightly, her back to him, her hand unfastening the clip on her bag. She dipped into the bag and lifted out a .25 automatic. The heavy nickel plate on the gun reflected in the lamplight, sending bright flashes across the ceiling.

Mills heard the snick of the safety catch as she thumbed it back, and swung round as she pointed the gun at him.

‘You’re not going away, Caesar,’ she said softly.

She had her back to me now. I couldn’t see the expression on her face, but I could see Mills’s expression. The confident smile slid off his face the way a fish slides off the fishmonger’s slab. He stood very still, scarcely breathing, his eyes opening wide.

‘You’d better put that gun away,’ he said, stiff-lipped and whispering. ‘There might be an accident.’

‘There’s going to be one,’ she said, and began to back slowly towards the casement window. ‘Oh, yes, Caesar, there’s going to be an accident all right. Don’t move. I know how to use this thing. A millionaire’s daughter has so many opportunities to do things: shooting with this toy is one of them. I’m a pretty good shot, Caesar.’

‘Now, look, baby...’

‘I told you not to call me that. Keep quiet and don’t move. It’s my turn to talk now.’ She was by the window, within three feet of me. I could smell the perfume in her hair, see the feverish glitter in her eyes. I kept as still as a corpse and as quiet. I didn’t know how quick she could be. The slightest movement from me might bring her swinging round and shooting at the same time. I was too close for her to miss The thought made me sweat a little.

‘I knew, sooner or later, this would happen,’ she said. ‘I knew, sooner or later, I should have to do this. You’re not the type, Caesar, to keep a bargain. But you’re handsome and strong and you’re fun sometimes: but not always. You’re not always fun. Every once in a while your mean, hateful, dirty little ego gets the better of you. And don’t think you ever fooled me. You didn’t. I knew about Anita. I watched you two together. What a swine you are, Caesar, What a fine, handsome swine you are.

‘Oh, yes. I wanted this thing of ours to go on, but I knew sooner or later you would get tired of it, and you would find someone else. And I knew it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find someone else. And I knew, too, you would talk about me to the slut you found. You can’t resist ta king, can you, Caesar? You’ve talked to me. Do you think I liked to lie by your side and listen to all the details about the other girls, knowing that one day you would be telling some other girl about me? But you’re not going to do that, Caesar, nor are you going to tell any girl about any other girl, not ever again.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Mills said, his voice off-key.

‘No, I’m not. I should be crazy if I let you walk out of here, but you’re not going to do that. They’ll find you in the morning, and they’ll reconstruct the shooting, and they’ll know it’s a woman, but they won’t know which woman. There have been so many, haven’t there, Caesar? Regiments of women: all who would have wanted sometime or other to have shot you. I don’t think they’ll even suspect me. Everyone in this pick-nosed town knows I can’t walk. How could I come out here and shoot you? They may think I did because this house belongs to me, but they’ll only have to talk to Dr. McKinley and he’ll tell them I can’t walk. He couldn’t afford to admit I’ve been fooling him for months. And then there’s faithful Franklin. He knows I’ve come here to see you. The news of the shooting will please him, Caesar. He doesn’t like you, and he won’t give me away.’

Mills said through white, stiff lips, ‘Put it down, you little fool! Don’t point it at me! Put it down!’

‘Good-bye, Caesar,’ she said, and the short, glittering barrel moved to aim at his head. ‘You’re going to be lonely. That’s something you don’t know the meaning of yet. But you will. You’ll be lonely when you’re dead, Caesar.’

‘Don’t do it!’ he shouted, and threw up his hands, half-turning, seeing she was going to shoot and knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

I swung my fist and hit her elbow as the gun went off. The blow paralysed her arm and she dropped the gun, swung round and struck at me. I felt her nails scrape down the side of my face and I grabbed at her, but she dodged out of reach, and ran past me into the garden.

I let her go, watching her run down the moonlit path to the gate and to the car.

‘Hello, Mac,’ Mills said. ‘So there are times when you come in on cue.’ He sat down abruptly as if his legs couldn’t support him. Sweat beaded his tallow-white face. ‘Have a drink? If you need it the way I need it, brother, you need it!’

I moved into the room, dabbing at the scratches on my neck with my handkerchief. One of the scratches was bleeding; the others felt raw.

‘Sort of shook you up, didn’t it?’ I said, and sat on the arm of the chesterfield where Natalie had sat but a few minutes before. ‘You won’t be closer to a coffin than you were just now.’

‘I know it,’ Mills said. He tried to pour whisky into a glass but his hand shook so much most of the whisky went on to the carpet.

‘Better let me do it,’ I said, and took the bottle from him.

He lay back in the armchair, the sweat was now pouring down his face. Olaf Kruger had said once you got him going he’d turn yellow. Natalie had got him going all right.

I made a couple of drinks big enough to float a yacht on, handed him one and poured die other down my parched throat. It was the nicest drink I’d had for forty-eight hours.

Mills put his down in three long swallows. It might have been water. And when he had drained the glass, he shoved it at me again.

‘I could use another like that,’ he said. ‘Sweet Pete! That bitch scared me. If you hadn’t barged in like that...’

‘You had it coming,’ I said, fixing another drink for him. ‘It’s a wonder to me more of you heels don’t get wiped out. If I hadn’t wanted to talk to you I’d have let her shoot you.’