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

‘What do you want, Mrs. Cerf?’ I asked, walking around her chair and standing before her.

We looked at each other. There was a jeering expression in her wide grey eyes.

‘I don’t like being spied on,’ she said. ‘I want to know why.’

I was surprised she had spotted Dana, who was as near a thing to the invisible woman when on a job as makes no difference. But there’s always the risk when only one operator is put on the job, and I blamed myself for not teaming Benny up with Dana.

‘That’s something you’ll have to ask Mr. Cerf,’ I said, ‘and incidentally, speaking of Mr. Cerf, he wouldn’t approve of you coming here.’

She laughed. She had good, strong, white teeth and wasn’t ashamed of showing them.

‘Oh, there are lots and lots of things Mr. Cerf doesn’t approve of,’ she said lightly. ‘You have no idea how many. One more won’t make any difference. May I have a cigarette, please?’

I gave her a Lucky Strike and my lighter, and while she was tapping the cigarette on her scarlet thumbnail I said, ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m busy.’

‘Then let’s be quick,’ she said, lighting her cigarette. ‘Why is this woman spying on me?’

‘You’ll still have to ask Mr. Cerf.’

‘You’re not being very polite, are you? I thought you would be pleased to see me. Most men are. Could I have a drink, do you think?’

I went over to the row of bottles that stood on a table against the wall. While I fixed a couple of highballs the silence became thick enough to slice up with a hacksaw.

As I handed her the drink she smiled up at me. Being on the receiving end of that smile was like stepping on a live cable.

‘Thank you,’ she said. Her long spiked eyelashes flickered. ‘There’s no one here, is there?’

‘That’s right. How did you run me to earth?’

‘Oh, that wasn’t very difficult. I saw your car and found it belonged to Universal Services. The butler told me your name. I turned up the telephone book and here I am.’

‘No wonder private detectives go out of business.’

‘Are you a private detective?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘What exactly is Universal Services?’

‘An organization that undertakes any conceivable or inconceivable job that happens along, providing it is legal and ethical.’

‘And spying on a woman is ethical?’

‘That depends on the woman, Mrs. Cerf.’

‘And my husband has asked you to spy on me, is that it?’

‘Is it? I don’t remember saying anything like that.’

She drank some of the highball, put down the glass and stared at me. I don’t know if she found my face fascinating or if she were trying to hypnotize me, but she was certainly doing a lot of staring.

‘Why is this woman following me about?’

This seemed to be where we had come in so I give her the same answer.

‘Mr. Cerf will tell you if he wants you to know.’

She lifted her shoulders a little impatiently and looked around the room. It wasn’t anything a millionaire’s wife would get excited about. Tony, my Filipino boy, kept it cleaner than a pigsty, but not much. The furniture was no great shakes, and that went for the paintwork and carpet too. The only pictures on the walls were Vargas’s pinups I had ripped out of Esquire from time to time, but I had to live in the joint and it was all right with me.

‘It can’t be a very paying job, can it?’ she asked.

‘You mean my job?’ I said, turning my glass around in my hand so I could admire the amber liquor from all angles.

‘Yes. You don’t make much money, do you? I was judging by this room.’

I made believe to give the matter serious attention.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ I said at last. ‘It depends on what you call much money. I can’t afford to wear diamonds, but I reckon I make a bit more than a mannequin would make, and I have a lot of fun.’

That hit her where it hurt. Her mouth tightened and a faint flush rose to her face.

‘Meaning you don’t have to marry money to get along, is that it?’ she asked, her eyes snapping.

‘That would be the general idea.’

‘But a thousand dollars would be useful to you, wouldn’t it?’

She was lovely to look at, and too dangerous to be alone with, and I had had all I wanted from the Cerfs for the time being. I stood up.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Cerf, but I’m not in the market. I have my job to think of. It may not be much, but oddly enough I like it. I don’t sell my clients out. It wouldn’t do. One of these days you might want me to help you. You wouldn’t like me to sell you out, would you?’

She drew in a deep breath, but after a struggle she managed to switch on the smile again.

‘You’re quite right,’ she said. ‘Putting it that way I suppose I shouldn’t have come here, but no one likes to be followed about as if one were a criminal.’

Before I could think of anything to say to that one, she went on brightly, ‘That was a lovely highball. Could I have another?’

While I was mixing the drink she got up and walked over to what I call my casting couch. It was a big, comfortable settee I had bought at an auction sale, thinking it might come in handy, and over a period of years, it had, from time to time, come in very handy indeed. She sat down and swung up her legs, and in doing so managed to get her long, full skirt caught up. From where I was standing I could see one long, silk-clad leg up to her knee.

I carried the drink over to her.

‘Your skirt’s up around your neck,’ I said and pointed. ‘It’s your affair, of course, but you don’t want to catch cold.’

She flicked her skirt into place. If her eyes had had teeth they would have bitten me.

‘I don’t want to hurry you, Mrs. Cerf,’ I went on, handing her the drink, ‘but I have a lot of work to do before I turn in.’

‘There’s time for work and time for play,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever play?’

‘Sure, but not with the wives of clients. You may not believe it, but I’m not all that fond of sudden death.’

‘He doesn’t care a fig for me,’ she said, staring into the glass, ‘and I don’t care a fig for him.’ She looked up suddenly, and there it was in her eyes as plain as a poster on a wall. ‘But I like you. Come and sit down,’ and she patted the settee.

I nearly did.

‘Not tonight,’ I said. ‘I have work to do. It’s time you went home.’

She was a trier. I’ll say that for her. The smile was just as inviting as she put the glass down and stood up. She came close and I could smell her perfume.

‘I don’t have to go yet,’ she said, and put her hand lightly on my arm. ‘I could stay a little while if you want me to.’

All I had to do was to step up and take her in my arms. It was the kind of push over you dream about if you have those kind of dreams, and the kind of girl too.

I gave her hand a sympathetic little pat. I was as sorry for her as I was for myself.

‘If you did stay I still wouldn’t tell you what you want to know. Ask Cerf. Maybe he’ll tell you. I’m off duty now, and I like to get away from my clients. Be a nice girl and go home.’

She still smiled, but her eyes had hardened.

‘Change your mind,’ she said, and slipped her arms round my neck. Before I could stop her, and I didn’t try very hard, she was kissing me. Her lips were cool and experienced, and we stood like that maybe for a couple of seconds as a sort of workout. As I saw it, the idea was to push her away at the last moment to show her what a strong-willed, well-controlled guy she had to deal with, only somehow something went wrong: a cog slipped and I forgot to push her away. I found myself kissing her mouth, hard, and bending her back the way they do on the movies, with my hand supporting the small of her back.