James Chase - Not My Thing

Jackson grimaced, then shrugged.

‘Okay. This is your neck of the woods. But when the ransom is paid, we move in fast?’

Terrell nodded.

‘Yes, but not before Mrs Jamison is returned.’

As Beryl was relaxing in her bed, ready to sleep, her two-way radio, lying on her pillow, came alive.

‘Beryl?’

‘Right here.’ Her mind became alert.

‘The orders are to play this one cool. Do nothing further. The cops are shit-scared of Jamison. So, just enjoy yourself, keep your eyes open, but no action until I give you the green light… understand?’

‘That’s great news!’ Beryl said sarcastically. ‘Now, listen to me! I’ve got involved with Lucan. He expects to drag me into his bed tomorrow night. I think he is an utter creep and the last man I’d want to bed with. I need help, Howard. I want my supposed husband to arrive pronto tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t, I’m packing and leaving!’

Jackson sighed.

‘Okay. I’ll be there. Maybe it’s a good idea. I’ll be able to take a look at these two guys.’

‘That’s what I thought. And listen, Howard, there are two beds in this cabin. No funny business! I’m not all that mad about you either.’

‘Beryl! I’m shocked. I am a respectably married man!’

‘I know. I’ve already met too many respectably married men. They are married, but there’s nothing respectable about them! No funny business!’ And Beryl switched off.

Lepski arrived home at 01.15. He was in no mood to put up with Carroll’s tantrums. There were times – not many – when he asserted himself.

He was tired, and there was some thought that kept nagging at the back of his mind which he couldn’t pin down. This infuriated him and turned him sour.

He found Carroll sitting before the TV, absorbed in a soap opera. She didn’t look at him as he came into the living-room.

‘Don’t speak to me!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve almost had enough of you, Lepski! A movie and a dinner! That’s a big laugh!’

Lepski strode to the TV set and snapped it off just when the doe-eyed heroine seemed about to be raped.

With a scream of rage Carroll jumped to her feet.

‘Shut up!’ Lepski snarled in his cop voice. ‘Listen! We’ve got the biggest case we’ve ever had! Sherman Jamison’s wife has been kidnapped!’

Carroll’s rage evaporated as she stared at her husband.

‘Mrs Jamison… kidnapped!’

‘Correct. A real big deal! The Chief is scared that Jamison will make trouble, so all this is strictly under the rug until the ransom has been paid and Mrs Jamison returned. The FBI have moved in, and I’m working with them. I’ve got to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be one hell of a day!’

‘Oh, Tom, I wasn’t to know.’ Carroll came to him and put her arms around him. ‘Come on! We’ll go to bed.’

In spite of Carroll’s ministrations, Lepski spent a restless night. There was this thought that kept nagging at him, far back in his subconscious. He came awake at 07.30 and the nagging thought suddenly jelled. Clearly into his mind came the memory of Lucky Lucan leaving Lucy Loveheart’s brothel.

He recalled how puzzled he had been that a gigolo like Lucan should be calling on Lucy Loveheart. He stiffened. Lucan had been fingered by Drysdale as a possible go-between for the kidnappers. Suppose the kidnappers had asked Lucan to find a safe-house in which to hide Mrs Jamison? What could be safer than Lucy Loveheart’s brothel? A hunch? Well, hunches were all part of police business.

Galvanized, Lepski sprang out of bed and rushed into the bathroom where he showered and shaved hastily. As he returned to the bedroom he heard Carroll was already in the kitchen. He threw on his clothes to the smell of grilling ham.

‘Have you thought of something, Tom?’ Carroll asked as he stormed into the living-room.

‘Yes! I’ve got to get moving fast!’

‘You’ll eat your breakfast first,’ Carroll said firmly. She placed a plate of four fried eggs and grilled ham before him as he sat down.

‘A cop’s real wife!’ Lepski said and grinned at her as he attacked the food.

‘What have you thought?’ Carroll asked, sitting at the table.

‘Never mind,’ Lepski mumbled, his mouth full. ‘It’s a hunch. I think I know where they could be hiding Mrs Jamison.’

‘Careful you don’t choke yourself,’ Carroll said anxiously as she watched Lepski bolting down the food. She poured coffee. ‘Where do you think they’ve hidden her?’

‘It’d take too long to tell you,’ Lepski said, then drank the coffee, shoved aside his plate and jumped to his feet. ‘See you, honey,’ and, grabbing his hat, he rushed out to his car.

While Lepski was bolting down his breakfast, Kling came awake from a sodden sleep with a king-sized hangover. He felt as if someone was slamming a sledgehammer inside his skull. He groaned, holding his head. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes to find Ng standing over him.

‘Perhaps coffee, sir?’ Ng asked.

Kling snarled at him. When suffering from a hangover, he was at his vicious worst.

‘Nothing! Get the hell out!’

‘Sir. May I take the car?’ Ng asked.

‘Take any goddamn thing! Get the hell out!’

All night, after getting Kling into bed, Ng had thought of Shannon Jamison. This beautiful, gentle woman must not die, Ng kept telling himself as he tossed and turned in his bed. But how to save her without being disloyal to his master? His mind had shifted to Kling. This man had done so much for him and his mother. Ng moaned softly to himself. He was sure that Kling would kill this woman as he would kill a fly. How to save her?

There was time… ten days. Ng thought of the pleasure he would get, seeing Shannon again. He would get her flowers and breakfast.

Watched by Beryl from her window, he got in the car and drove down to the highway. While Kling had been snoring in his bed, Ng had taken a fifty-dollar bill from Kling’s well stuffed wallet. The only place where Ng could buy flowers was at the airport. He bought roses and two orchids. By the time he reached Lucy Loveheart’s residence, Lepski was parked opposite, waiting and hopefully watching.

He saw Ng drive down into the garage.

A slimly built Vietnamese!

Lepski slid out of his car. He was elated. It looked as if his hunch was paying off! Cautiously, he walked down the ramp of the underground garage in time to see the elevator’s indicator show that the cage had gone to the top floor.

Returning to his car, he now felt almost certain that Sherman Jamison’s wife was hidden on the top floor of Lucy Loveheart’s brothel.

With the patience of a dedicated cop, Lepski lit a cigarette, settled himself and awaited further developments.

Unaware that he had been watched, Ng stood before the door of the Whipping room, his heart thumping. He clutched the bouquet of flowers. He tapped on the door. When he heard nothing, he tapped again.

Shannon who had passed a restless night, hearing the persistent tapping, started up from the bed. With a clutch of fear, she called, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Kim, ma’am,’ Ng said. ‘May I come in?’

Shannon gave a gasp of relief. She felt she could handle this odd Vietnamese.

‘Yes, come in. Give me five minutes.’ She slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom.

‘I’m sorry to be so early, ma’am,’ Ng said as he entered the living-room. ‘I wanted to give you breakfast.’

Shannon didn’t hear any of this as she was in the bathroom.

Finding a vase, Ng filled it with water and arranged the flowers. He set the vase on the table, then went into the kitchen and made coffee.

He was setting the table as Shannon came in. She was wearing a kimono that Lucan had bought and, to Ng, she looked so beautiful he caught his breath.