Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

“Isn’t that what mornings are for?” she asked and curled down in the bed again.

I took another slug at the bottle before taking a shower. Ten minutes late I entered Casy’s office. I was all in one piece, but my nerves still twittered and my neck felt it’d been boffed with a meat axe.

Casy was standing by the window, a cigar in his teeth, his hands clasped behind his back. There was a sullen expression in his eyes and the corners of his mouth were down.

A short, bland-looking man sat on the edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room and smiled at the black hat resting on his knees. Everything about him was neat his hair, his clothes, his shave and his shoes. His smile was the neatest of them all.

Casy grunted as I came in.

“You’ve taken your time. This is O’Readen, Chief of Police.” I got ready to duck, but the bland-faced man jumped up hurriedly and held out his hand.

“Glad to know you, Mr. Jackson,” he said; even his handshake was neat. “Mighty glad to know you.”

Usually when they meet me Chiefs of Police start tearing up the floor-boards to hunt out a skunk, and this reception surprised me.

“I’m glad to have you know me,” I said and disentangled my hand. I put it in my pocket for safe keeping.

Casy stamped over to his desk and sat down.

“Park yourself, Floyd,” he said and pulled at his short, thick nose. He stared at O’Readen with sullen anger. “Tell him,” he barked.

O’Readen smiled at nobody in particular.

“A little trouble broke out on Ocean Rise last night,” he said. He seemed to be confiding the news to his hat, but I didn’t miss a word. “The San Luis Beach Homicide Bureau called me this morning and asked for my co-operation. An attempt was made to open the safe belonging to Lindsay Brett and two guards were killed.”

“What’s this?” I asked Casy. “A subscription for their wreaths or something?”

“O’Readen is a good friend of mine.” Casy glared at O’Readen as if he could eat him. “He takes care of my headaches. It’s part of his job.”

O’Readen continued to smile, but the edges of the smile were a little frayed.

“I do what I can,” he explained to his hat; then in case he hadn’t made himself plain, he added, “What little I can do, I do.”

I selected an armchair, folded myself down in it and set fire to a cigarette. This was the kind of Police Chief I liked. “And what he does for me,” Casy continued grimly, “he’ll do for you. Right, O’Readen?”

The smile wobbled, but came through.

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Jackson,” O’Readen said. “You see, Redfern — you know Lieutenant Redfern?”

I said I knew Redfern.

“Yes.” O’Readen shook his head. “Well, Redfern has been on to me. He’s connecting you with the robbery at Brett’s place.”

I didn’t jump more than a foot. I knew Redfern was smart, but not all that smart. I wondered if Gorman had turned me in.

“Why pick on me?” I said after the silence had become embarrassing.

“The guards at Brett’s place keep a log,” O’Readen explained apologetically. “It seems you and another man drove up to Brett’s house yesterday morning. You were both reported in the log as suspicious characters. There’s a comprehensive description of you. Redfern says he recognizes you by the tie you wore. He says you’re the only character he knows who wears horses’ heads on your ties.”

“There must be others,” I pointed out.

“Yes, but the rest of the description would convince a jury, he tells me. These guards were police trained. They didn’t miss much.”

I looked over at Casy.

“Were you up there yesterday morning?” he asked.

“Sure.”

O’Readen’s smile went a little limp.

“Brett’s got a lot of influence,” he said uneasily. “He arrived back this morning and is yelling for blood.”

“To hell with Brett!” Casy snapped. “Now listen; Jackson was here last night. He arrived around seven-thirty and he played poker until two o’clock in the morning. He played with me and Joe and you, O’Readen.”

The smile slipped a foot. O’Readen couldn’t even jack it into place.

“I don’t think he played with me,” he said gently, like he was tip-toeing across a floor. “I’m not much of a poker player.”

“That’s right; you’re a lousy player. He took fifty dollars off you.”

I flicked ash all over the carpet. It was a pretty nice feeling to know I played poker with a Chief of Police: a nice, safe feeling.

“This is a murder charge,” O’Readen said painfully. “Redfern could stick a knife into me. You know I’d help if I could, but I wouldn’t want him to know I play poker here.”

Casy chewed his cigar: anger and contempt brooded in his eyes.

“You and me and Joe and Jackson played poker here last night from seven-thirty until two,” he said savagely. “What the hell do you think I pay you for? I don’t give a damn if Redfern sticks a knife into you. He can stick a harpoon into you for all I care. That’s our story and you’re stuck with it. Now get the hell out of here and earn some of that dough I’m putting in your bank.”

O’Readen got up, smiled at his hat again. His face was the colour of a fish’s belly and he looked as if he were getting over a long and painful illness.

“Well, if that’s how you feel,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’ll do better than that, you’ll do what I tell you,” Casy snarled. His voice sounded like a buzz-saw tearing into a wood knot.

We watched O’Readen all the way across the room to the door. He didn’t look back and walked a little flatfooted. When the door closed, Casy spat viciously into the brass spittoon by the desk.

“I pay that punk a hundred bucks a week to keep me in the clear, and every time I want him to take care of anything he squawks.”

“Nice work, Mick,” I said admiringly. “I didn’t know you owned the town. You’ve pulled me out of a hole bigger than the one you were in. That makes us quits.”

“Like hell it does,” he said, but his face brightened. “Listen, soldier, when you pulled me out of my hole you didn’t know me from a dog’s flea. That’s what makes what you did something, and I ain’t forgetting it.”

I stubbed out my cigarette, lit another.

“And please yourself what you tell me,” Casy went on, “but if you want to tell me, now’s the time.”

I didn’t hesitate. I could trust Casy and he might be useful. “I was up there last night,” I said. “It’s a cockeyed yarn: you’d better hear it.”

I took him through the story from Gorman’s proposition to the time Veda and I had come to Santa Medina last night: He sat smoking; his frown deepened as the story unfolded. Even to me it sounded as phoney as O’Readen’s smile.

“That’s it,” I concluded. “Make what you like of it, but I smell money somewhere in all this and I mean to be at the head of the queue.”

“Not in my line,” he said. “It’s crazy. But you watch out. Brett’s big time. You be careful how you monkey with him. I’ll take care of Gorman and Parker if you like.”

“No. You’re doing all I want you to do right now. I can’t do a thing until I get this compact or whatever it is. The frail upstairs says she knows what it’s all about.” I shook my head thoughtfully. “I don’t know what to make of her, Mick. She’s an enigma.”

“That’s your lookout. You were always a sucker for a woman. Anything I can do?”

I grinned at him.

“I’m going over to San Luis Beach. I want to get some clothes for one thing. I want to see Redfern too. Will O’Readen play?”

“Sure he’ll play. You heard what I told him. Redfern won’t bust your alibi.”