Джеймс Чейз - So What Happens To Me?

‘Give me a better idea than that.’

O’Cassidy blew out his cheeks.

‘He’s a nutter. I’m sure of that. He’s short, powerfully built and a dresser. He has snake’s eyes. First glance he’s like any other rich dago, but he has something plus. He’s crazy in the head. Every now and then, it shows. He is rich and has power but wants more power. He’s as deadly as generalised cancer.’

‘Sounds nice,’ I said soberly.

O’Cassidy sipped his brandy.

‘I don’t know what your racket is Jack, and I don’t want to know, but take a tip from me... watch out.’

Two dolly birds descended on us and we began drinking in earnest. Later, they took us back to their pad. They gave out. Finally, we got back to our hotel around 03.40.

‘Some night, huh?’ O’Cassidy said as he shook hands. ‘So long Jack. I’m off early.’

‘Some night.’

I wasn’t to see him again.

I went along to my room, fell into bed and went out like a blown flame.

Around midday I checked out of the Chalco and took a taxi in the pouring rain across to the Continental hotel. This was one of the top hotels in Merida and the lobby was crammed with American tourists, wrapped in plastic macs and making a noise like a disturbed parrot house.

I edged my way to the reception desk and waited while an elderly American quarrelled with a bored-faced clerk about his check. Finally, the argument was settled and the clerk turned to me.

‘Checking in. Jack Crane.’ I said.

He stiffened to attention.

‘Happy to have you with us Mr. Crane. Yes... room 500. Top floor with a view. If there’s anything you need, please ask. We are at your service, Mr. Crane.’

A boy in buttons appeared and took my bag and the key the clerk gave him. He led me around the tourists to the elevator and up to the fifth floor.

Unlocking a door opposite the elevator, he bowed me into a big sitting room, led me into a big bedroom with a king’s size bed, then placing my bag, he showed me the ornate bathroom, bowed, accepted the tip I gave him, bowed again and removed himself.

I looked around, wondering how much this setup was going to cost. Then I moved into the sitting room and through the open French windows onto the covered terrace. The humid heat was making me sweat again.

A man leaned on the terrace rail, looking down at the slow moving traffic. He turned as I came out onto the terrace.

He was tall, thin, with thick longish jet black hair, around forty years of age, his eyes hidden behind black sun goggles: a long thin nose, an almost lipless mouth, a cleft chin. He was wearing a white suit that looked as if it had just come back from the cleaners, a yellow shirt and a blood red tie.

‘Mr. Crane?’ He advanced towards me, smiling.

‘That’s right.’ I took his offered hand, dry and hard, and shook it.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Juan Aulestria, but call me Juan... it is easier.’

I got my hand back from his grip and waited.

‘Welcome to Yucatan, Mr. Crane,’ he went on. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here. I’m sure you would like a drink.’

I wasn’t going to let this smoothie be sure of anything as far as I was concerned.

‘No, thanks: I’m easy. Just who are you?’

This fazed him for a brief second. The smile slipped, but it came quickly again into position.

‘Ah... yes.’ He turned and stared at the rain swollen clouds. ‘Such a pity. Sad for the tourists. If you had come two days ago you would have seen this city as it should be seen. Suppose we sit down?’ He moved to a lounging chair and sank into it. ‘You ask who I am, Mr. Crane.’ He flicked a speck of dust from his immaculate white sleeve. ‘I have to do with the runway that has just been built. I am told you want to inspect it.’

I stood over him

‘That’s what I want to do.’

He nodded, looking up at me.

‘But do sit down: are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?’

‘I like standing and I don’t want a drink.’ I paused to light a cigarette. ‘I represent the people who are bringing you the plane. This plane costs ten million dollars. My people want to deliver it in one piece and unless I’m sure the runway is right, we don’t deliver.’

He hated sitting there looking up at me so he got casually to his feet.

‘Our contact explained this to me. This shows efficiency, Mr. Crane, but I assure you the runway is perfect. However...’ He waved his thin hands, ‘You are the expert. You shall see it and decide for yourself.’

I was liking him as you would a big spider in your bath.

‘When do we go?’

‘Would this afternoon suit you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Then at three I will have a car here for you. We will go by helicopter. We can survey the ground, then we will land and you can inspect it. I’m afraid you will get rather wet but I have ordered plastics for you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have also arranged for you to lunch up here. Would that please you?’

‘Thank you.’

He started towards the living room.

‘So glad. Since you have already tasted our great national dish of Mole de Guapalote, may I suggest you try our Chile Jalapeno: quite excellent.’ He turned and smiled at me.

Keeping my face wooden, I said. ‘I’ll settle for a steak.’

‘Anything: then at 15.00. Mr. Crane.’

We shook hands and he let himself out of the room as silently and as smoothly as a snake.

I closed the French windows and turned on the air conditioner. Then I went to the refrigerator and poured myself a stiff whisky and soda.

So he knew I had met O’Cassidy. Obviously he wasn’t making any secret about it by telling me what I had eaten last night. I sat down and did some thinking.

After a while a tap came on the door and a little Mexican in white pushed a trolley towards me. Another little Mexican came behind him with a suitcase in his hand. He set it down as his companion took of the covers of my meal. They bowed themselves out.

The steak was fair. I ate it, left the carafe of red wine, decided against the mangoes, lit a cigarette and inspected the suitcase. It contained a short plastic coat, plastic trousers, rubber boots and a plastic hood.

I lay on the bed, smoking until 14.50, then I got up, took Bernie’s .38 from my suitcase. I checked it, loaded it and stuck it in my hip pocket.

As the nearby church clock struck three, I went down to the lobby.

The reception clerk came around his desk, smiling. ‘There’s a car waiting for you, Mr. Crane.’ He led the way and handed me over to the doorman who had an open umbrella. The doorman conducted me to a sleek Cadillac, driven by a blank-faced Mexican in a smart blue uniform.

As soon as I was seated in the rear of the car, the chauffeur took of; He was a skillful, fast driver and in spite of the thick traffic, he got me to the airport in ten minutes. He by-passed the reception and departure building, drove around the back and pulled up beside a helicopter. He was out of the car with a big umbrella before I could move. I got out of the car. carrying the plastic gear and got into the helicopter without getting more than a sprinkle from the pouring rain.

Aulestria occupied one of the seats just behind the pilot. He smiled his snake’s smile as I settled.

‘Did you have a good lunch, Mr. Crane?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

The blades started to swing and in a few moments we flew away over the city.

Aulestria made small talk, pointing out the Palace of the State Government, the Cathedral and the National University. Leaving the city and heading south, I looked down at the haciendas and the many sisal factories. The rocky countryside slowly changed to dense forest land and finally to jungle.

After an hour of flying, Aulestria said, ‘We are now approaching the runway. Mr. Crane.’