Джеймс Чейз - Have a Change of Scene

As I stood there watching, I wondered what was going on in her mind. What a couple! Part of my sane mind said this, but the other half was envious. Then suddenly she leaned forward and snapped off the transistor that stood on a chair by her side. The silence that descended over the bungalow and around me was like a physical blow.

‘Cut it out!’ she yelled at him. ‘Must you always act like a goddamn moron?’

Her brother stood motionless, his shoulders hunched, his hands held forward. His attitude was threatening.

‘What the stinking hell do you mean?’ he bellowed. ‘Turn it on!’

She picked up the transistor, got to her feet and with vicious violence, threw it against the wall. The case broke open and the batteries fell out.

He was across the room and his open hand slapped her across the face, sending her reeling. In four letter words, he yelled at her and then hit her again.

I was already on the move, the forest fire of rage blazing inside me. I charged into the room as he was raising his hand to slap her again. I caught his wrist, swung him around and drove my fist into his face.

He went staggering away. I jumped after him and while he was still off balance, and half dazed, I hit him in the groin.

He gave a low moan as he dropped to his knees. I stood over him, laced my fingers together and hit down on his neck with both hands. I didn’t give a goddamn if I killed him as I hadn’t cared if I had killed Spooky Jinx. He stretched out, unconscious, at my feet.

I turned and looked at Rhea, who was leaning against the wall. Her left cheek showed a bruise. She was still a little dazed from the slaps she had had, but her eyes were on the still body of her brother.

‘He’s all right,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about him. Are you all right?’ The fire of rage inside me was now dying. ‘I just happened by.’

She knelt beside her brother and turned him over. Blood leaked from his nose, but he was breathing. She looked up at me, her green eyes glittering.

‘Get out! You’re not wanted here!’ Her voice was vicious. ‘Get out and stay out!’

We stared at each other for a long moment.

‘When you’re ready,’ I said, ‘you’ll find me at the Bendix Hotel. I’ll wait.’

I went out into the hot, dark night, aware my knuckles were aching from the punch I had rammed into his face but not caring.

I drove back to Luceville. I had made a step forward, I told myself. I had shown her I was a better man than her brother. But that wasn’t enough. I had to prove to myself that I had more guts than she had.

The telephone in my dreary little hotel bedroom was ringing as I walked in. I hesitated for a brief moment, then I lifted the receiver.

‘Larry... my dear, sweet boy!’

My mind crawled back into the past. No one else could talk like this except Sydney Fremlin.

I dropped on the bed.

‘Hi, Sydney.’

He told me he had been trying to reach me. He didn’t know how many times he had called the hotel, but I was always out. The reproach in his voice made no impact on me.

‘How are you, Larry? When are you coming back? I need you!’

My mind shifted away from his burbling voice and I thought of Rhea with her bruised face.

‘Larry! Are you listening?’

‘I’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Give me a little more time. Maybe in a month... how’s that?’

‘A month?’ His voice shot up. ‘But, Larry, I need you here now! People keep asking for you. Tell me how you are. Couldn’t you come back next week?’

‘Isn’t Terry doing a job?’

‘Terry?’ His voice rose a notch. ‘Don’t mention him to me! He’s quite... unspeakable! Come back, Larry, and I’ll throw him out!’

I was bored with him and cut him short.

‘I’ll be back but not for a month.’

‘A month?’ Sydney’s voice rose to a squeak.

‘That’s it,’ and I hung up.

I went to the bathroom and let cold water run over my aching hand. The telephone started up again. That would be Sydney. I ignored the bell. After a long, desperate try, it stopped ringing.

I stretched out on the bed.

My thoughts made me feel ten feet tall.

I was quite a man, I told myself. Spooky... seven of his thugs... now I had taken care of Rhea’s brother.

Soon she would come to me. I was sure of this and that was the way I wanted it. For her to come to me and give herself. I was prepared to wait.

But first, I had to get on parity with her.

The usual incentive for most crimes is money, but I had plenty of money so long as Sydney paid me $60,000 a year. Thinking about crime, I realised I was in a unique position. I now wanted to commit a crime so as to experience the same tension, the same danger, the same excitement as Rhea must have experienced, yet I would have no use for whatever I stole. It would be the act of stealing that would give me satisfaction: the end product was of no importance.

I had to break the ice, I told myself. After some thought, I decided the first thing I would steal would be a car. That shouldn’t be difficult. I would drive the car around the town, then leave it not too far from where I had stolen it. Once I had done that, I would be a thief... and this I wanted to be as Rhea was a thief. The chances of getting caught were remote, but the steal would provide a certain amount of tension, and this was what I wanted.

Why think about it? Why not do it?

I looked at my watch. It was eight minutes after midnight.

Still feeling ten feet tall, I put on my jacket, turned off the light and left the room. I didn’t use the elevator, but walked silently down the stairs, through the lobby where the night-man was dozing and out into the hot night.

Stealing a car proved more complicated than I had imagined. I walked to the nearest parking lot, but found a guard patrolling, and he looked suspiciously at me, fingering his club as I lingered at the entrance.

‘You want something?’ he demanded in a cop voice.

‘Not you,’ I said and moved on.

I tramped down a number of side streets where cars were parked, bumper to bumper. Whenever I paused to see if a car door was unlocked, someone would appear out of the darkness, stare at me, before walking on. I found I was sweating and my heart was thumping. This certainly was tension and I had to admit I didn’t like it.

It wasn’t until 01.00 when my nerves were wilting, that I finally found a car, unlocked and the ignition key in place.

Here I go, I thought and wiped my sweating hands on the seat of my jeans. I looked up and down the deserted street, then with my heart pounding, I opened the car door and slid into the driving seat.

With an unsteady hand, I turned on the ignition and pressed down on the gas pedal. There was a faint growling sound which petered out into a whimper. Sweat running down my face, I stared into the car’s darkness. I fumbled for the switch to turn on the parkers, found it and the parkers came on: a faint yellow glow which faded into nothing.

I was trying to steal a car with a flat battery!

My nerve cracked. I had had enough tension for one night. I got out of the car, eased the door shut, then started down the street. I had a raging thirst and my thigh muscles were fluttering as if I had run, flat out, a mile.

So this is tension, I thought, and yet, what had I done? I had tried to steal a car — something thousands of teenagers did every day of the week — and I hadn’t succeeded. Some thief! I thought. How Rhea would have jeered had she known of this gutless performance!

I began to realise that stepping from honesty which had been my background for thirty odd years into dishonesty presented an obstacle that needed more nerve and more courage than I had at this moment.

At the corner, at the end of the street, was an all-night bar. I went in for a beer. There were only three people in the bar: the usual drunk, a fat middle-aged whore and a homosexual: a boy of around eighteen, in a cherry-coloured suit, his hair to his shoulders and around his slim wrist an expensive gold watch. He simpered at me, then seeing his watch, I had a sudden idea. I carried my beer to a distant table, then looked directly at him. He was at my side in an instant.