Джеймс Чейз - You Never Know With Women

I finished my drink and made two more.

“Seen her?”

He nodded.

“Rates high on looks, but keeps to herself. Calls herself Veda Rux. She likes Parker the way I do.”

“That her out in the garden by the pond?”

“Could be. She sits around all day.”

“Who gave you the job?”

“Parker. I ran into him downtown. He knew all about me. He said he’d been making inquiries and would I like to earn some solid money.” He scowled down at his glass. “I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known the kind of rat he is. If it wasn’t for the gun he carries I’d take a poke at him.”

“So he carries a gun?”

“Holster job, under his left arm. He carries it as if he could use it.”

“These two guys in business?”

“Don’t seem to be, but your guess is as good as mine. No one’s called or written; no one telephones. They seem to be waiting for something to happen.”

I grinned. Something was going to happen all right.

“Okay, pally, you shoot off to bed. Keep your ears open. We might learn something if we’re smart.”

“Don’t you know anything? What are you here for? What’s cooking? I don’t like any of this. I want to know where I stand.”

“I’ll tell you something. This Rux frail walks in her sleep.”

He looked startled.

“You mean that?”

“That’s why I’m here. And another thing, she takes off her clothes at the drop of a hat.”

He chewed this over. He seemed to like it.

“I thought there was something crummy about her,” he said.

“Play safe and take your hat to bed with you,” I said, easing him to the door. “You might be in luck.”

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that I met Veda Rux.

In the morning, Parker and I drove over in the Packard to Brett’s house. We went around the back of the foothills and up the twisting mountain road to the summit where Ocean Rise has its swaggering terminus.

Parker drove. He took the bends in the mountain road too fast for comfort, and twice the car skidded and the rear wheels came unpleasantly near to the edge of the over-hang. I didn’t say anything: if he could stand it, I could. He drove disdainfully, his finger-tips resting on the steering-wheel as if he were afraid of getting them soiled.

Long before you reached it, you could see Brett’s house. Although surrounded by twelve-foot walls, the house itself was built on high ground and you could get a good view of it from the mountain road. But when you reached the gates the screen of trees, flowering shrubs and hedges hid it from sight. Halfway up the road, Parker stopped the car so I could get an idea of the layout. We had brought the blueprint with us, and he showed me where the back door was in relation to the house and the plan. It meant scaling the wall, he told me, but as he hadn’t to do it, he didn’t seem to think that would be anything to worry about. There was a barbed-wire fence on the top of the wall, he added, but that too was something that could be taken care of. He was a lot happier than I was about the set-up. But that was natural. I was doing the job.

There was a guard standing before the big iron gates. He was nearly fifty, but looked tough, and his hard, alert eyes held us as we pulled up where the road petered out about fifty yards beyond the gates.

Parker said: “I’ll talk to him. Leave him to me.”

The guard strolled towards us as Parker made a U-turn. He was short and thickset, with shoulders on him like a prizefighter’s. He had on a brown shirt, brown corduroy breeches and a peaked cap, and his short thick legs were encased in jackboots.

“I thought this was the road to Santa Medina,” Parker said, poking his slick head out of the car window.

The guard rested one polished boot on the running-board. He stared hard at Parker, then at me. If I hadn’t been told he was an ex-cop I would have known it by the sneering toughness in his eyes.

“This is a private road,” he said with elaborate sarcasm. “It says so a half a mile back. The Santa Medina road branches to the left, and there’s a notice four yards square telling you just that little thing. What do you want up here?”

While he was shooting off his mouth I had time to study the walls. They were as smooth as glass, and on top was a three-stranded barbed-wire fence. The prickles on the wire looked sharp enough to slice meat — my meat at that.

“I thought the road to the left was the private road,” Parker was saying. He smiled emptily at the guard. “Sorry if we’re trespassing.”

I saw something else too: a dog sitting by the guard’s lodge — a wolf-hound. It was yawning in the sunlight. You could hang a hat on its fangs.

“Beat it,” the guard said. “When you’ve got the time, learn yourself to read. You’re missing a lot.”

Around the guard’s thick waist was a revolver belt. There was no flap to the holster and the butt of the .45 was shiny with use.

“You don’t have to be impertinent,” Parker returned gently. He was still very distant and polite. “We all make mistakes.”

“Yeah; your mother made a beauty,” the guard said and laughed.

Parker flushed pink.

“That’s an objectionable remark,” he said sharply. “I’ll complain to your employer.”

“Scram,” the guard said, growling. “Take this lump of iron the hell out of here or I’ll give you something to complain about.”

We drove away the way we had come. I watched the guard in the driving-mirror. He stood in the middle of the road, his hands on his hips, staring after us: a real twelve-minute egg.

“Nice fella,” I said and grinned.

“There’s another like him. They’re both on duty at night.”

“See the dog?”

“Dog?” He glanced at me. “No. What dog?”

“Just a dog. Nice teeth. If anything he looked a little tougher than the guard and sort of hungry. And the barbed wire. Good stuff. Sharp. I guess I’ll have to ask for a little more dough. I’ve got to get me insured.”

“You’re not going to get any more money from us, if that’s what you mean,” Parker snapped.

“That’s what I do mean. Pity you missed the dog. It should be a lot of fun having that cutie roaming around in the dark. Yeah, I guess you’ll have to dip into your sock again, brother.”

“A thousand or nothing,” Parker said, his face hardening. “Please yourself.”

“You’ll have to revise your ideas. I’m in a buyer’s market. You know, Brett might pay me for information. Don’t tell me to please myself unless you want me to.” I glanced at him, saw his eyes narrow. That hit him where it hurt.

“Don’t try that stuff with me, Jackson.”

“Talk it over with Fatso. I want another five hundred or I don’t go ahead. Fatso didn’t tell me about the guards or the dog or the alarms or the wire. He made out it was a soft job: a job you could do in your sleep.”

“I’m warning you, Jackson,” Parker said between his teeth. “You can’t monkey with us. You made a deal and you’ve accepted part payment. You’re going through with it.”

“That’s right. But the fee’s jacked up to fifteen centuries. My Union don’t let me fool around with dogs.”

“You’ll take your thousand or you’ll be sorry,” he said, and his hands gripped the steering-wheel until his knuckles turned white. “I’m not going to be blackmailed by you, you cheap crook.”

“Don’t blame me. Blame Fatso. I’m not a sucker.”

He began to drive fast and we got back to the house in half the time it took us to leave it.

“We’ll see Gorman,” he said.

We saw Gorman.

Fatso sat in a chair and stroked his hard pink face and listened.