Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

“That’s fine. I’ll go over there and iron things out with him and maybe have a look around. Can I borrow a car?”

Casy nodded.

“Then there’s the frail upstairs. She’d better stay put until I come back. I don’t want her to run out on me. Can you get a guy to keep an eye on her?”

“Joe can do it. He ain’t doing anything.” Casy raised his voice and bawled for Joe.

“I want her to stay right where she is. I’ll lock her in, but a lock mightn’t keep her there if she takes it into her head to take a powder. If Joe can keep an eye on her...”

Joe came in.

“Miss Rux is to stay where she is until Jackson’s say-so,” Casy told him. “You’re to see she stays.”

Joe gave a soft grunt. Dismay showed in his eyes, but he was well trained.

“Check,” he said.

“And watch her, pally,” I told him. “She’s as tricky as a sackful of rattlesnakes. Every time she snaps her garters some guy comes arunning.”

“If she snaps anything at me I’ll snap right back,” Joe said with a cold little grin.

“I’ll have a word with her and then I’ll get off,” I said to Casy. Will that car be ready?

“Sure; right outside in five minutes.”

Veda, in sky-blue pyjamas and red mules, was looking over the wooden roofs of Santa Medina from the roof garden when I came in. She swung around on her heels and her chest pointed at me.

“Coffee coming up,” I said. “I’ll have to go out. You stay here until I return.”

“I might.” She looked over her shoulder to the distant summit of Ocean Rise. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll stay, unless you want to jump off the roof.”

She turned quickly.

“And what does that mean?”

The friendly-looking negro came in with a tray of hot rolls and coffee. He ducked his head at us, said it was a fine morning, and shuffled away.

I poured the coffee, added cream and sugar and handed her a cup.

“I don’t want you floating around foot-loose,” I explained. “Take it easy. I’m locking the door when I go out in case you start sleep-walking again.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” Her blue eyes flashed: “You’re having it too much your own way.”

“Sure, and there’s nothing you can do about it. If you go out and run into Parker what do you think he’ll do to you? Use your head. You stay here until I see what’s cooking.”

She brooded, then she said abruptly, “Where’s the compact?

“We’ll talk about that some other time,” I said and finished my coffee. “Right now I’ve other things on my mind.”

She studied me thoughtfully.

“If it hadn’t been for me you’d be filling a hole in the ground,” she said. “Can’t you show a little gratitude?”

“Some other time.” I picked up my hat. “We’ll get together before long. Just take it easy. If you want anything use the telephone. Joe’s looking after you. Don’t try any tricks with him. He’s got a heart of stone.”

She beat me to the door, grabbed the key and tried to twist out of my clutch.

“Take it easy,” I said and scooped her up, ran her to the bed. On the way she pounded the top of my hat with clenched fists.

“Let me go!” she stormed. “How I hate you, you heel!”

I tossed her on the bed, knelt on her while I squeezed her fingers and took the key.

“Can’t you quit fighting?” I asked, scowling at her. Now lay off and act like a lady.”

I made a rush for the door. A clock and a vase helped me on my way. I got outside and turned the key as she began to pound on the panels. The names she called me would have made a taxi-driver blush.

Joe came along the passage, paused to listen.

“Snapping her garters, huh?” he said. “The jobs I get. If she calls me names like that I’ll sock her in the jaw.”

“Not a bad idea,” I said and handed him the key. “Give her anything she wants except a gun and poison. Okay?”

He put the key in his vest pocket and sighed.

“I guess so. See you before long I hope.”

I went down to Casy’s office. The long, fragile-looking guy with the profile like Byron and the cornflower in his buttonhole was draped up against the wall, his hands in his pockets. He was watching Casy reading his mail.

“This is Lu Farrel, Floyd,” Casy said. “He’ll take care of any trouble you might run into. Take him along with you. He can drive the car.”

Lu fluttered his Bambi eyes at me. I tried not to show my horror.

“Thanks all the same,” I said hastily, “but I can handle my own trouble. All I want is the car.”

“Better take him along,” Casy advised. “He’s a good guy with a rod.”

“He’d be better with a powder-puff,” I thought, but didn’t say so. I didn’t want to hint Casy’s feelings or make Lu cry.

“That’s okay, but I’d rather go along on my own. No hard feelings,” I went on to Lu.

“Not at all, dear,” he said and sniffed at his cornflower.

Casy grinned.

“Don’t let Lu kid you. His appearance is against him.”

“Something is,” I agreed darkly and went out.

A big black-and-chromium Cadillac was parked outside. The doorman guarding it smirked when he saw my expression.

“The boss says for you to use her,” he said and held the door open for me.

In that beauty it took me a little over half an hour to reach my rooms. I had a small apartment in a three-storey house in the less prosperous quarter of San Luis Beach. It was comfortable enough: a little shabby, but clean, and Mrs. Baxter who looked after me was no more dishonest than the other landladies in the street.

A closed car was parked on the opposite side of the street to the house. I parked the Cad outside the front door, looked the closed car over and grinned to myself. The guy sitting at the wheel, reading a sporting sheet, had ‘cop’ written all over him.

I got out slow, allowed him to take a good look at me, then went on up the stairs to my rooms.

I unlocked the door and went in. They had taken some trouble not to leave signs of a search, but it wasn’t hard to see they’d been over the joint with a fine comb and a small earthquake to help them.

I made sure my last bottle of whisky hadn’t been tampered with, then I started to pack my bags. I was through in half an hour. As I was closing the last bag heavy footsteps creaked up the stairs and knuckles with plenty of authority rapped on the door.

I called, “Come in,” and went on strapping my bag.

Lieutenant of the Police Redfern and a plain-clothes dick named Summers stalked in, closed the door and regarded me the way tigers regard their dinner.

Redfern was a nice-looking guy as far as cops go. He was middle-aged, middle-height, square-shouldered, and clean shaven. He had eyes like the points of gimlets. Two thick wings of chalk-white hair showed below his grey slouch hat. His brown suit had a pin stripe of red and plenty of good tailoring in it, and his shoes looked like they were varnished. He was a good steady cop, wise to all the rackets, a little tired of being honest, but keeping that way in spite of a lot of pressure from the political group that ran the town: a hard, mean, dangerous character to run up against if he disliked you. He hated me worse than an abscess in the ear.

“Hello there,” I said cheerfully. “You’ve just caught me. I’m leaving this burg. How do you like that?”

There were no frills on Redfern. He came to the point with his usual bluntness.

“Did you go to Lindsay Brett’s house yesterday morning?” He had a quiet voice. He never shouted, but he managed to get a chill in his voice that could unsettle a guilty conscience faster than anything I know.

“Sure,” I said, and dumped the bag with the other two. “So what?”