Джеймс Чейз - Safer Dead [= Dead Ringer]

She raised arched eyebrows as she said, ‘Well? What is it?’

‘Miss Forrest?’

‘Yes.’

‘The name’s Low,’ I said, borrowing Bernie’s name. I eased myself into the room and closed the door. ‘Can you spare me a minute?’

‘About what?’

She twisted around in her chair, rested one slim arm on the chair back and examined me without interest.

‘You and I may have things in common, Miss Forrest. I’m making inquiries about Hamilton Royce.’

Her eyelids narrowed and she tapped ash off her cigarette before saying, ‘Why?’

‘It’s a long story: cutting corners, he’s connected in some way with the disappearance of a girl. I’m looking for information and I’m authorized to pay for it.’

‘What girl?’ she asked.

‘Fay Benson or Frances Bennett. Maybe you’ve heard of her?’

Her full lips tightened.

‘Who are you — a detective?’

‘A private investigator.’

‘Who are you working for?’

‘Someone who has lots of dough and isn’t scared of spending it.’

She stubbed out the cigarette, turned to look at herself in the triple mirrors.

‘We can’t talk here,’ she said and picking up a comb she ran it through her fine, silky hair. ‘I’ve an apartment on Lennox Drive: 246 C. I’ll be there just after one o’clock.’

I heard a door down the passage click open. She heard it too to judge by the way she put down the comb and by the way her face tightened.

A tap sounded on her door and she turned and looked at me.

Her eyes were scared.

‘You’ve made a mistake. I don’t know anyone of the name of Morgan.’ she was saying in a high-pitched voice when the door opened and the hard-faced bouncer came in.

He looked at me.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a hoarse croak.

‘What’s it to you?’ I asked, backing away.

‘Get him out of here, Sam,’ Lydia said breathlessly. ‘He’s pestering me.’

The bouncer reached out a huge hand and took in the slack of my coat front. I resisted the temptation to hang one on his jaw. He was wide open for a sucker punch, but I saw Lydia was anxious. She had given me the role of a Romeo and I was stuck with it.

‘I’m going,’ I said. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

‘You don’t want it, pal, but you’re going to get it,’ the bouncer said and hauled me out of the room into the passage. He hustled me down the passage to the rear exit, opened the door and shoved me into the night.

‘If you show your snout in this joint again, I’ll take you apart and throw the bits to my dog,’ he said, giving me a push that sent me reeling across the sidewalk.

I got back my balance, straightened my coat and smiled at him. It’s not often I get mad, but right now I ached to sink my fist in his face.

‘You and who else?’ I asked and pushed out my jaw.

The temptation was too much for him. He started a swing from his left kneecap that was as ponderous and as slow and as violent as any slap happy bouncer could throw.

I let his fist slide past my face, then stepping in, I hung a right hand punch on the side of his jaw that jarred me down to my heels.

He gave a stifled grunt, his eyeballs rolled back and he spread out on the sidewalk.

With two and a half hours to kill, I went back to Benn’s bar. He was going to bed, but came down to the hideout when I called him on the telephone.

He looked at my scraped knuckles, but didn’t ask questions.

‘I want a car,’ I said. ‘Know anyone who’ll rent me one at this hour?’

‘Take mine,’ he said. ‘The garage’s at the end of the alley,’ and he dropped keys on the table. ‘It’s a 1943 Lincoln, but I’ve taken care of it and it goes.’

‘That’s fine, and thanks,’ I said, putting the keys into my pocket. ‘One other thing: where’s Lennox Drive?’

‘You know Cap Bradley’s house? It’s the second turning past there.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘If there’s nothing else, I’ll turn in. I have to work for a living.’

I said there was nothing else.

When he had gone, I turned on the radio and listened to the tail end of a recorded Beethoven’s fourth piano concerto.

Around twelve-forty-five, I left the hideout, got Benn’s car out and drove to Lennox Drive.

Captain Bradley’s house was in darkness as I drove past. I was tempted to drop in and tell him the situation to-date, but I hadn’t the time and from the look of the house he was in bed.

I left the Lincoln at the corner of Lennox Drive and walked to Lydia’s apartment house. Her apartment was on the ground floor at the back. I dug my thumb into the bell push, wondering if she had got back yet. The sound of someone moving to open the door told me she had. The door opened.

I got the shock of my life.

Juan Ortez stood in the doorway, a .45 Colt in his right hand and a cold, vicious gleam in his eyes.

‘Keep your hands still,’ he said, ‘and walk in. Make a wrong move and you’ll get it.’

He stood aside.

I walked into a large room with gay curtains, lounging chairs, a table on which stood a bowl of roses, and in one corner was a walnut radiogram playing muted swing music.

Lydia sat on the settee. She didn’t look at me. Her face was as white as a fresh fall of snow except for three red marks on her right cheek where someone, presumably Juan, had slapped her.

‘Back up against the wall,’ Juan said.

He didn’t appear to recognize me, but for all that I was shaken. I backed up against the wall and tried to look more scared than I was.

‘You’ve got me all wrong.’ I began feverishly.

‘Shut up!’ he snarled.

He moved backwards so he could watch the two of us.

‘Will you listen!’ Lydia burst out. ‘This fella pushed his way into my dressing-room tonight. I’ve never seen him before. Sam threw him out. He must have followed me back here.’

‘You gave him your address,’ Juan said softly. ‘Sam heard you.’

‘Sam’s a liar and you know it!’ Lydia said hysterically. ‘He’s always trying to get me into trouble. I didn’t give him my address!’

Juan looked at me.

‘What do you want here?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, trying to look scared and sheepish. ‘Not now anyway. How was I to know she wasn’t alone? I thought we might get friendly if I had the chance to talk to her.’

‘Yeah? So you’re just a masher, is that it?’

‘I just wanted to be friendly,’ I said sullenly.

He looked at Lydia and then at me. He didn’t seem so sure of himself.

‘You make me sick, Juan,’ Lydia said, getting to her feet. ‘Throw this punk out and get out yourself. I want to go to bed.’ She crossed to the table, poured a double whisky into a glass and picked it up.

‘Shut up!’ Juan snarled. ‘I think you two are lying. I’m going to find out who this guy is.’

She shrugged and moved away from the table. She kept moving so she passed close to him. I had an idea what was in her mind and I moved a couple of steps towards the door.

‘Hold it!’ Juan exclaimed and swung up the gun to cover me.

Lydia threw the whisky in his face and caught his wrist in both her hands, dragging down the gun and wedging her finger in the trigger guard so he couldn’t fire.

I crossed the room in two jumps and slammed a right to his jaw. His head snapped back, and as he fell, I hit him again.

Lydia straightened, holding the gun. Her eyes burned feverishly as she looked down at Juan. I reached forward and took the gun out of her limp fingers.

She gave a little shudder, walked unsteadily over to an armchair and sat down.

‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ she said in a small, thin voice. ‘I shouldn’t have done it!’