James Chase - Not My Thing

A shrapnel bomb!

This man Kling was a true professional! Who would have thought of such a perfect solution but a true professional?

He nodded to himself. An ingenious idea! No one would suspect him. At that early hour of 08.30, when the service would be over, there would be few, if anyone, passing the church. Kling was a professional. He was sure either to disguise himself or to make certain not to be seen when he threw the bomb.

Not for one moment did Jamison consider those people who would be wiped out as they stood in the church doorway, shaking hands and listening to the priest’s blessing.

He thought about Kling. That lean, evil face! Jamison was sure that, given the money, Kling would rid him of Shannon.

On Friday morning, he would be free! He would telephone Tarnia in Rome and gently break the news that Shannon was no more. He would tell her of what a terrible shock it had been to him that this brutal assassination had happened, involving Shannon.

Thinking, looking back, he now regretted not calling in a professional killer long before this. Next month, he would be fifty years of age, which was not the best time in a man’s life to raise a family, but, he thought, better late than never.

Friday!

He then thought he would be faced with forty-eight hours before Kling went into action.

The thought of spending these long, tense hours under the same roof as Shannon, knowing she would be dead on Friday, became unthinkable.

No!

He decided he would fly to NYC on the excuse of urgent business. That was the solution, he told himself. He would be in his New York office when the bomb exploded. He would rush back to Paradise City, but during the inevitable delay the police would have cleared up the remains. He hoped he wouldn’t have to identify Shannon, shattered by shrapnel. He would return as the stricken husband.

He looked at his watch. The time was just after 13.00. There was a flight from Miami to New York at 15.30. He set the car in motion and drove fast to his villa.

As he pulled up, he saw Conklin dusting the Rolls.

‘You are to drive me to the airport in half an hour,’ he barked. ‘Then return this car to the Hertz people.’

As he entered the lobby of the villa, he found Smyth waiting.

‘Pack me a bag: no tuxedo,’ he snapped. ‘I am leaving for New York. I will be away until Friday afternoon,’ and he walked into his study.

‘Perhaps lunch, sir?’ Smyth asked.

‘Nothing! I am leaving for New York in half an hour!’ and Jamison slammed the door.

There happened to be some unimportant business that he could discuss with his directors. It would provide an excuse to break his vacation. He got the files from his drawer and put them in his briefcase. His mind was now only on Tarnia, far away in Rome. The mother of his future son! He longed to telephone her, to tell her, that by Friday he would be free to marry her, but he knew this would be too dangerous. He must contain his impatience. When Shannon was dead… then was the time!

A tap on the door made him look up, scowling. Then Shannon entered the room and closed the door behind her.

The last person he wanted to see! Staring at her, he had to admit she was beautiful, and he felt an odd sick qualm run through him to think this beautiful woman, by Friday morning, would be blown to pieces.

‘Ah, Shannon…’ he said, forcing a smile.

‘I want to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Am I interrupting something?’

He lifted his hands in a gesture of bogus despair.

‘I’m afraid so. I have this merger coming up, and I am leaving for New York immediately.’ He was irritated to hear how husky his voice sounded. ‘I’m sorry, Shannon. I have a lot on my mind.’

‘I too have a lot on my mind,’ Shannon said quietly. She didn’t come further into the room, but stood, looking directly at him. ‘I want to discuss it with you. I have decided we can’t go on living like this. I want a legal separation.’

He regarded her, his eyes cold. A separation? Well, yes, they would be separated forever on Friday morning, but not the way she was thinking.

By Friday, this wife of his, asking for a legal separation, would be dead!

‘I must go,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘We will discuss this Friday night. I’ll keep Friday night clear. Let’s have dinner together here, and we’ll talk about the future. You will want to know how you stand if you leave me, won’t you?’

She studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment and Jamison was dismayed how his heart fluttered and his hands turned clammy.

He was thinking: there will be no dinner and no discussion. By Friday morning, you will have no future to discuss with me.

‘Very well, Sherman, then Friday night,’ she said. ‘I won’t keep you,’ and, turning, she left the room.

Jamison took out his handkerchief and wiped his damp hands.

Smyth tapped and entered.

‘The Rolls is waiting, sir. I have your bag.’

Jamison found he had to make an effort to get to his feet. He found he lurched slightly as he walked by Smyth. He hoped he wasn’t going to have further trouble with his heart condition which his doctors had assured him was only due to overwork. This last and forever meeting with Shannon, knowing she would be dead very soon, appeared to have made a bigger impact on his ruthless nerves than he had bargained for.

He paused in the doorway, stiffened his shoulders, then walked steadily down the marble steps to the waiting Rolls.

Lucan found Kling lounging in the sun outside his cabin. The time was 18.00.

Kling raised his hand as Lucan, smiling, sank down on a lounging-chair by his side.

‘Did you fix it, Lucky?’ Kling asked.

Lucan had been given Jamison’s five thousand dollars, plus another five thousand dollars, supplied by Kling, to pay Lucy Loveheart’s deposit. He had seen her, handed over the money, and had been given the key to the Whipping room.

‘No problems, Ernie.’ Lucan handed the key to Kling. ‘That’s it. I’ve done my stint. It’s now up to you. You have the room for two weeks. When will you pay her?’

‘Don’t worry your head about that,’ Kling said. ‘I’ll fix it.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a great little fixer.’

Lucan became alarmed.

‘Ernie, for God’s sake, don’t try to double-cross Lucy. She’s tougher than teak and she draws big clout in this city. You’re not planning…?’

‘Oh, relax, Lucky. She’ll get her money.’

‘How about my money?’ Lucan demanded, sitting forward. ‘Have you fixed my Swiss account?’

Kling flicked ash off his cigarette.

‘We haven’t got the ransom yet, have we?’

‘But you’ll fix it?’

‘Sure. Just relax. You’re almost within reach of a half a million,’ Kling said. ‘That should give you sweet dreams.’

‘ Almost? ’ Lucan’s voice shot up. ‘What do you mean? Our arrangement was as soon as I found you a safe-house, I’d get the money. What’s this ‘almost’ thing?’

‘Look, Lucky, I have first to case the joint.’ Kling regarded the key Lucan had given him. ‘I’ll have an unconscious woman on my hands. I have to get her up to this room, and it’s got to be done fast and smooth.’ He got to his feet. ‘So you and I will go take a look at the setup. I want to know the lay-out.’

‘There’s no problem,’ Lucan said, beginning to sweat. ‘There’s an underground garage. You drive in. You’ll see an elevator on your left. You go up to the top floor. You have the key. No one will see you. That’s it, Ernie.’

‘Sounds great,’ Kling said. ‘Okay, let’s take a long look, huh?’

An hour later, Kling, who had surveyed the scene and was satisfied, patted Lucan on his shoulder.