Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

As I reached the back door, clutching the carton, I heard a tiny rustle behind me. As I was turning, much too late, a light seemed to explode inside my head and I was down on hands and knees. There was a vague flicker of light, then the sound of running feet.

I remained still, my head trying to burst, then with an effort I supported myself against the wall, my eyes closed, while my head screamed at me. After same moments the screaming died down and I felt the back of my head. There was a small bump. The blow hadn’t been vicious, but bad enough.

I groped around on the floor, found my flashlight and turned it on. I made sure the carton of film had gone. Then with a feeling of sick despair, I tottered out into the warm night air.

It took me nearly twenty minutes to get to the end of East Avenue. I kept losing my balance like a drunk and twice I had to sit on the grass verge, then the night air or something cleared my throbbing head and I was able to walk straight and I walked straight into Mark Creeden and his dog.

‘Well, for God’s sake!’ he exploded. ‘Are you working out another problem?’

‘That’s it.’ My voice was husky. ‘Always problems.’

He laughed.

‘You’re right. I have a problem with this pooch. Look at the time! At my age... dog walking after midnight.’

I tried to see his face but it was too dark. Was this the man who had killed Gordy? Was this the man who had just hit me over the head and had taken the film?

‘I hear you’re leaving Eastlake, Manson. I’m sorry. I’m sorry too about the break-up.’

‘Thank you.’ My head was throbbing badly now. I was in no mood for chit-chat. ‘Well, I’ll get along.’

I started off again and he fell into step.

‘May as well go back myself.’

We walked in silence for some yards, then he said, ‘Do you think we’re going to be blackmailed again, Manson?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Someone must have this goddamn film.’

If you haven’t, I thought.

‘Yes.’

A long pause as we walked side by side.

‘Haven’t you, with your connections, some way of finding it?’

‘Haven’t you?’

‘I guess I would have to be careful, but you, running a magazine, could make inquiries.’

Had he got the film in his pocket? Was he bluffing me?

‘I’m trying.’

‘It affects both you and me, Manson. Do more than try. If Goldstein finds the film, we’re both in serious trouble. I’ve already lied to him. Tomorrow, it’ll be your turn.’

We had now reached my house.

‘I understand Mitchell’s parents are taking over your house,’ Creeden said as I opened the gate.

‘That’s right.’

‘We should keep in touch. Where are you going to live?’

‘I’m looking around. When I find some place, I’ll telephone you.’ My head was giving me hell. All I wanted now was to get away from him.

‘Do that. Try for the film and watch Goldstein.’

‘Sure.’

I walked up the drive, leaving him standing by the gate, his spaniel by him.

As I unlocked the front door, I remembered I had Freda Hawes in my living room. I entered silently, shut and locked the door, then looked into the living room. She was still there, still asleep.

I went into the kitchen, broke open a tray of ice cubes, collected a number in a towel and applied them to the bump on my head. After a while, the raging headache diminished. I looked at my watch. The time was 01.10. I was now able to think. An odd time for a man as rich as Creeden to walk his dog. Had it been Creeden? I hoped it was for I was sure Creeden would destroy the film. But was it Creeden?

I heard sounds from the living room.

‘Who’s there?’ Freda’s voice was shrill.

‘It’s me.’

I braced myself, then dropping the ice cubes in the sink, I walked into the living room.

She was sitting straight up in the chair, her eyes pools of terror, but when she saw me, she relaxed.

‘Hell! You scared the pants right off me!’ she said.

‘Remember? You’re not wearing pants.’ I went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a shot of scotch. ‘You want a drink?’

‘No.’

This startled me. I looked at her. She had become sober and there was a hard expression on her face that should have warned me.

‘You got it, huh? Just like I said?’ She leaned forward, staring at me. ‘So now you give me the money, huh?’

I drank half the whisky and then put down the glass. I was still feeling pretty shaky, but I was alert enough to know I had yet another problem on my hands.

I came over and sat close to her.

‘I went over there and got the film,’ I said.

She nodded.

‘So I get the money, huh?’

‘Are you sober enough to get to your feet?’

She stared at me. The drunken peer had gone.

‘What the hell are you saying?’

‘Get to your feet and come here.’

She stood up and moved to me.

‘Give me your hand.’

‘What’s this, buster?’

‘Give me your hand.’

She held out her hand and I took it, then guided it to the back of my head.

‘Feel, but carefully.’

Her fingers crossed over the growing egg on the back of my head, then she shoved my head forward and peered. She hurt, but I let her look. She drew in a hissing breath and moved away from me.

‘What’s that?’

‘I got the film, but someone was there and he hit me solid. He now has the film.’

She flew into a rage that shocked me. Standing over me she screamed filth.

‘Boy scout’s honour!’ she finally yelled. ‘I knew it! You’re lying! You give me the money! Hear me? Fifteen hundred! I’m going to have it!’

Her screaming voice could have been heard halfway down the avenue. I couldn’t believe any woman could make such an uproar. I suddenly realised that someone in this quiet avenue might be calling the police.

Reaching forward, I jabbed my thumb into her tummy, hard. Her screaming voice cut as if I had snapped off a radio programme. She staggered back, her mouth as big as a fire bucket, over-balanced and sat down on the floor with a spine-jarring thud.

‘Do you want the cops here, you stupid bitch?’ I said.

She held her tummy and stared up at me.

‘If they come here, you’re in trouble. Get up, sit down and shut up!’

She sat there, trying to get her breath. Finally, as I made no move to help her, she crawled to her feet, her hands cupping her buttocks.

‘You bastard! You’ve broken my spine!’ But her voice was low. She staggered to a chair and sank into it, moaning.

I lit a cigarette and waited. She took some minutes to start thinking again.

‘You wouldn’t kid me?’ she asked finally. ‘Someone took the film?’

‘Do you imagine I would knock myself on the head?’

She brooded about this, then nodded.

‘Well, the creep has the little suckers, but he hasn’t got the big one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are two films. The one you lost isn’t worth much. The other one could be worth a million bucks.’ She stared thoughtfully at me. ‘Suppose you and me work together, buster? You take a quarter. I take the rest. How’s about it?’

At that moment the front door bell rang.

I grabbed hold of Freda’s arm, jerked her to her feet and rushed her into my bedroom.

‘Stay still and quiet!’ I said, then shutting the door I went to the front door and opened it as the bell rang again.

In Eastlake you get cop service. Someone had telephoned and within minutes the cops had arrived.

Standing on my doorstep was a big, bulky cop and by the gate was a younger, less bulky cop.

‘What’s going on?’ The big cop regarded me, his hand fingering his pistol holster. I recognised him.