Джеймс Чейз - So What Happens To Me?

‘Thank you very much, sir.’ I was pretty overwhelmed.

‘Take a week’s vacation. Those bites look serious. Report to Jackson Monday next week.’ He waved to me, dismissing me.

Jackson followed me out of the room and he closed the door as if it were made of spun sugar. In silence, he took me down a corridor and into another vast room but without a picture window.

‘I’ll arrange everything for you Crane,’ he said. ‘Just sit down.’

‘Thank you, Jackson,’ I said.

He stiffened and stared at me. I stared right back at him. He hesitated. I could see he wanted to tell me he was Mr. Jackson to me, but my stare quelled him. Picking up the telephone he asked for Miss Byrnes.

‘Miss Byrnes is our Public Relations Officer,’ he explained. ‘She will take care of you.’

Miss Byrnes was a willowy, sophisticated woman of around thirty-six, blonde, with searching brown eyes and a determined chin.

I was a little embarrassed when Jackson gave her instructions about the apartment, the car, the credit at the bank. He detailed these items in a funereal voice and when he finally got through, he said, ‘Then Monday week at nine o’clock Crane.’

‘Right. Well, so long, Jackson. Thanks for your help.’ I saw Miss Byrnes’s eyes pop open wide as I followed her out of the office. When out of Jackson’s hearing, she turned and regarded me.

‘What did you do? Save Essex from bankruptcy?’

‘I saved Mrs. V.E.’s life.’

She grimaced.

‘That’s something no one here is likely to do, so that makes you unique.’ She led me to her office.

Four hours later, I was installed in a three-room luxury apartment overlooking the sea with a red and beige Cadillac convertible in the garage, plus twenty thousand dollars in my banking account and six days on my hands.

I had already bought myself a wardrobe without sparing expenses and apart from the wear and tear on my face I now looked presentable.

I got in the Caddy and drove to Kendrick’s gallery.

Louis de Mamey hurried me into Kendrick’s room. The fat queer was pacing up and down and practically biting his nails.

‘For heaven’s sake! What happened?’ he exploded as I sat down.

I give him the whole story without holding anything back. He listened, sweat on his face and every now and then, he lifted his absurd orange wig to wipe his bald head with his handkerchief.

‘That’s it,’ I concluded. ‘A flop. Did you know Bernie had a weak heart?’

‘Of course not! You don’t imagine, cheri, I would have let him handle an operation like that had I known. What about the money?’

‘I’ll return it to Orzoco. I can fix that. The point is will he keep his mouth shut? If it comes out the kite crashed in the jungle and not in the sea we’ll all be in trouble — and that includes you.’

‘I’ll talk to him. If he gets his money back, he will accept the situation.’ Kendrick eyed me. ‘You owe me two thousand dollars, cheri.’

‘Expenses. Write them off against tax.’ I got to my feet. ‘If you can smother Orzoco then we should all be in the clear. The insurance investigators are searching for the wreck so you’d better tell Orzoco to get rid of it pronto. How do I get the money to him?’

Kendrick stared at me.

‘You really mean you’re going to part with a million and a half dollars, cheri?’

‘That’s it. I don’t want it. I’ve got a job with Essex. I’m a sucker for work. What do I do: write to the bank and tell them to pay the money to Orzoco?’

‘I’ll talk to him. He may not want it done that way. Give me a couple of days.’

We left it like that.

I then drove to a florist and bought thirty-six long-stemmed roses. I wrote on the card: With my sincere wishes for your speedy recovery. Jack Crane. That was impersonal enough as I was sure Essex staff would quiz I told the girl to have the roses sent to Mrs. Victoria Essex right away.

Then feeling I had done a good day’s work. I drove back to my new home and telephoned my old man, breaking the news that his one and only was safe and sound and was now settling down to a job of work.

Listening to my old man babbling with joy, hearing the catch in his voice that told me he was crying, I realised as nothing else could tell me what a heel I was.

I came awake the following morning around 10.00. I was relaxed, my face and arms were returning to normal and I felt pretty good. Room service sent up eggs and grilled ham and I made a leisurely breakfast. This was the way to live, I told myself. I looked out of the window at the sparkling sea and decided I would take a swim, then pick up a dolly bird, take her to lunch and then a drive in the Caddy. If she wasn’t too stupid, I’d take her for a night on the town and bring her back here.

While I smoked my first cigarette of the day thinking of my future, the telephone bell rang.

‘Jack? I wanted to thank you for the roses.’

Hearing her voice did something extraordinary to me. It flashed into my mind that this woman — Mrs. Victoria Essex — could now prove lethal to me. Right now I was Lane Essex’s special pet. I was in charge of his airfield. I was going to supervise the building of a new ten million dollar plane. I was being paid fifty thousand dollars a year for this and he was even paying my income tax. But if he found out I was screwing his wife, all this would explode in my face.

Lying there on the bed the telephone receiver against my ear, it came to me that this job was something I had unconsciously dreamed of: to be an executive with power, working for a billionaire.

A cold sick feeling took hold of me. I knew this woman had to be handled very, very carefully. Everyone connected with Essex Enterprises had warned me she was a blueprint for a bitch. Up to now, she and I had jelled because I had wanted her and she had wanted me, but so far as I was concerned, not now.

‘Vicky! How are you?’ I forced my voice to sound ardent.

‘I’m recovering. My feet still hurt. Lane tells me he has taken care of you. Are you satisfied Jack? You have only to tell me: I can handle Lane.’

A drop of cold sweat ran down the side of my nose and I flicked it away.

‘Satisfied? He leant over backwards, and I have you to thank.’

‘Good.’ A pause, then she said. ‘He’s just left for Moscow. I’m going to the cabin: join me at six,’ and she hung up.

Slowly, I replaced the receiver.

Suddenly my planned day of fun turned grey. I knew every time she and I met, I was putting my new career into jeopardy.

Should anyone see us and send word to Essex, I would have no career, and yet I knew Mrs. Victoria Essex was far too dangerous to refuse.

The relaxed happy hours on the beach with a brainless dolly bird were now a pipe dream! I had to drive to the cabin, risk my future because Mrs. Victoria Essex had beckoned.

I spent the morning and most of the afternoon in my room, brooding. I drank too much. I didn’t feel like eating. Then around 17.00, I went to the garage, got in the Caddy and drove to the cabin.

Sam came out into the sunshine. I nodded to him as he beamed, taking my overnight bag. He could betray me, I thought. A word from him to Essex would leave me out in the very dark cold.

Vicky was lying on the divan, sipping a dry martini.

‘Jack!’

‘How are you?’

She still had a few tiny blemishes from the insect bites on her skin, but they had been skillfully treated. She looked marvellous in a simple red cotton dress that reached to her ankles.

She looked up at me: her big violet eyes full of desire as she finished the martini and set down the glass.

‘Lock the door, Jack. I want you.’

As I turned the key, I again realised the trap I was in, but in spite of knowing this, I wanted her: no man alive wouldn’t want her.