Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

Parker stalked to the french windows, wrenched back the curtains and stared out into the night. He kept his back turned until the chauffeur had cleared up the mess.

I said: “We don’t want anything to eat, bud. You needn’t come back.”

The chauffeur went out without looking at me. His back was stiff with rage.

Parker said over his shoulder, “I’ll trouble you not to give orders to my servants.”

“If you’re going to act like an hysterical old woman I’m going to bed. If you have anything to tell me, let’s have it. Only make up your mind.”

He came away from the french windows. Rage made him look old and ugly.

“I warned Gorman you’d be difficult,” he said, trying to control his voice. “I told him to leave you alone. A cheap crook like you is no use to anyone.”

I grinned at him.

“I’ve been hired to do a job and I’m going to do it. But I’m doing it my way, and I’m not taking a lot of bull from you. That goes for Fatso too. If you want this job done, say so and get on with it.”

He struggled with his temper and then, to my surprise, calmed down.

“All right, Jackson,” he said mildly. “There’s no sense in quarrelling.”

I watched him walk stiff-legged to the sideboard, jerk open a drawer and take out a long roll of blue paper. He tossed it on the table.

“That’s the plan of Brett’s house. Look at it.”

I helped myself to another drink and one of his fat cigarettes I found in a box on the sideboard. Then I unrolled the paper and studied the plan. It was an architect’s blue print. Parker leaned over the table and pointed out the way in, and where the safe was located.

“Two guards patrol the house,” he said. “They’re ex-policemen and quick on the trigger. There’s an elaborate system of burglar alarms, but they are only fixed to the windows and safe. I’ve arranged for you to enter by the back door. That’s it, here.” His long ringer pointed on the plan. “You follow this passage, go up the stairs, along here to Brett’s study. The safe’s here, where I’ve marked it in red.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said sharply. “Gorman didn’t say anything about guards and alarms. How is it the Rux dame didn’t touch off the alarm?”

He was expecting that one, for he answered without hesitation.

“When Brett returned the dagger to the safe he forgot to reset it.”

“Think it’s still unset?”

“It’s possible, but you mustn’t rely on it.”

“And the guards? How did she miss them?”

“They were in another wing of the house at the time.”

I wasn’t too happy about this. Ex-policemen guards can be tough.

“I have a key that’ll fit the back door,” he said casually. “You needn’t worry about that.”

“You have? You work fast, don’t you?”

He didn’t say anything to that.

I wandered over to the fireplace, leaned against the mantel.

“What happens if I’m caught?”

“We wouldn’t have chosen you for the job if we thought you’d be caught,” he said, and smiled through his teeth.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

He lifted his elegant shoulders.

“You must tell the truth.”

“You mean about this babe walking in her sleep?”

“Certainly.”

“Persuading Redfern to believe a yarn like that should be fun.”

“If you are careful it won’t, come to that.”

“I hope it doesn’t.” I finished my drink, rolled up the blue print. “I’ll study this in bed. Anything else?”

“Do you carry a gun?”

“Sometimes.”

“You better not carry it tomorrow night.”

We studied each other.

“I won’t.”

“Then that’s all. We’ll go out tomorrow morning and look Brett’s place over. The lay of the land is important,”

“It strikes me it’d be easier to let that stripper do it in her sleep. According to Fatso, if she has anything on her mind she sleep-walks at the drop of a hat. I could give her something for her mind.”

“You’re being impertinent again.”

“So I am.” I collected a bottle of Scotch and a glass from the sideboard. “I’ll finish my supper in bed.”

“We don’t encourage people we hire to drink.” He was very distant and contemptuous again.

“I don’t need any encouragement. Where do I sleep?”

Once more he had to struggle with his temper, and went out of the room with a little flounce that told me how mad he was.

I followed him up the broad stairs, along a passage to a bedroom that smelt as if it had been shut up for a long time. Apart from the stuffy, stale air, there was nothing wrong with the room.

“Good night, Jackson,” he said curtly and went away.

I poured myself out a small Scotch, drank it, made another and walked to the window. I threw it open and leaned out. All I could see were tree-tops and darkness. The brilliant moonlight didn’t penetrate through the trees or shrubs. Below me I made out a flat roof, a projection over the bay windows that ran the width of the house. For something better to do I climbed out of the window and lowered myself on to the roof. At the far end of the projection I had a clear view of the big stretch of lawn. A lily pond that looked like a sheet of beaten silver in the moonlight held my attention. It was surrounded by a low wall. Someone was sitting on the wall. It looked like a girl, but I was top far away to be sure. I could make out a tiny spark of a burning cigarette. If it hadn’t been for the cigarette I would have thought the figure was a statue, so still was it sitting. I watched for some time, but nothing happened. I went back the way I had come.

The chauffeur was sitting on my bed waiting for me as I climbed in through the window.

“Just getting some fresh air,” I said as I hooked my leg over the sill. I didn’t show I was startled. “Kind of stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

“Kind of,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve seen you somewhere before, ain’t I?”

“Along the waterfront. Jackson’s the name.”

“The dick?”

I grinned.

“That was a month ago. I’m not working that racket any more.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. The cops picked on you, didn’t they?”

“The cops picked on me.” I found another glass, made two stiff drinks. “Want one?”

His hand shot out.

“Can’t stay long. They wouldn’t like me being up here.”

“Did you come for a drink?”

He shook his head.

“Couldn’t place you. It sort of worried me. I heard the way you spoke to that heel Parker. I thought you and me might get together.”

“Yeah,” I said. We might. What’s your name?”

“Max Otis.”

“Been working here long?”

“Started today.” He made it sound as if it was a day too long. “The dough’s all right, but they kick me around. I’m quitting at the end of the week.”

“Told them?”

“Not going to. I’ll just take it on the lam. Parker’s worse than Gorman. He’s always picking on me. You saw the way he behaved...”

“Yeah.” I hadn’t time to listen to his grievances. I wanted information.

“What do you do around here?”

His smile was bitter.

“Everything. Cook, clean the house, run the car, look after heel Parker’s clothes, buy groceries, the drinks. I don’t mind the job: it’s them.”

“How long have they been here?”

“Like I said — a day. I moved them in.”

“Furniture and all?”

“No... they’ve rented the place as it stands.”

“For how long?”

“Search me. I wouldn’t know. They only give me orders. They don’t tell me nothing.”

“Just the two of them?”

“And the girl.” So there was a girl.