James Chase - An Ace up my Sleeve

Larry stared at her. His face had turned chalk white and his eyes turned remote. After a long silence, he said huskily. “But you don’t know he is really dead?”

“No. Please go and see.”

He flinched and retreated further away from her.

“What will you do if he is dead?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought. For God’s sake, Larry, go and see!”

He retreated further away from her.

“I - I don’t like anything to do with dead people. No… I don’t want to do that.”

She understood and didn’t blame him. After all, she told herself was only an immature boy.

“We must know! I’ll go, but come with me, Larry. He may be bluffing and he might attack me. Will you come with me?”

Larry hesitated, then nodded.

“Sure, ma’am. I’ll come with you.”

Shaking, Helga went into the hall.

“I can’t move that.” She indicated the pole. “Will you try?”

Larry took hold of the pole in his huge hands, twisted and gave it a jerk. It came free. He laid it down along the wall, then catching hold of the chest, he dragged it away from the door which swung open.

Helga saw the lights were on in the corridor below. She moved to the head of the stairs and stood listening. She could only hear the steady roar of the motor, driving the central heating. Gathering her courage, she began to descend the stairs. Halfway down, she paused and looked back. Larry was standing at the top of the stairs, his face shiny with sweat. They looked at each other.

“Come with me,” she whispered.

He nodded and came down the stairs, then stopped. She went on and paused when she was in the corridor.

“Jack?” Her voice was so husky it was almost soundless. “Jack! Are you there?”

The silence that greeted her gripped her with a paralysing terror. She couldn’t bring herself to move forward. She remained motionless, staring down the long corridor at the shattered cellar door at the far end of the corridor and opposite, the games room: the door stood ajar. The other doors leading to the boiler room and to two more cellars were closed.

He must be dead, she thought hopelessly. He must be lying in the cellar. He must have crawled there. She fought off the terror that gripped her and the steel in her that never failed her stiffened her courage.

“Come with me!” she said, her voice hardening. “Larry! You’re in this as much as I am!”

Hesitating, Larry came down three more of the stairs and then stopped.

She went along the corridor, paused, then forced herself to look into the cellar. Except for the splinters of wood on the concrete floor, the cellar was empty. She turned and looked at the door, standing ajar, leading to the games room. She could see the room was in darkness. She saw Larry hadn’t moved. He was standing halfway down the stairs, sweat trickling down his face. She felt a sudden contempt for him. His fear increased her courage. She walked to the games room, threw the door open, groped for the light switch and turned it on.

With her heart hammering, she looked around the big room. There was no sign of Archer.

He couldn’t have escaped! 141

To convince herself she looked at the steel door at the far end of the corridor, leading to the garage. She could see from where she stood that the bolt of the lock was home.

There was another cellar and the boiler room in which Archer could be hiding or lying dead. She went to the boiler room and threw the door open. The door was near the bottom of the stairs, and as she turned on the light, Larry retreated up two stairs. She looked around. Again there was no sign of Archer. She was shaking again, and she turned to look at Larry.

Pointing to the second cellar door, she mouthed without speaking, “He’s in there… the other is locked.”

Looking scared, Larry stared blankly at her. Her silent mouthing conveyed nothing to him. She motioned him to come down into the corridor and reluctantly he did so. The unlocked cellar door opened outwards. She put a shaking hand on the door handle, turned it and flung the door open.

Archer came out like a charging bull. Helga was standing back, but Larry was directly in his path. Archer’s fist, thrust forward like a battering ram, thudded into Larry’s chest, with all Archer’s heavy weight behind it, sending him reeling. Larry tried to regain his balance as Archer rushed by him, but he went sprawling.

“Larry!” Helga screamed.

Archer stumbled on the stairs and fell on his knees. He was so heavy and cumbersome he took a long moment to get to his feet. By then Larry was up and he grabbed hold of Archer’s left ankle. Archer kicked back wildly with his right foot which whistled by Larry’s face. Larry hauled him back down the stairs.

Cursing, Archer broke free and rolled over. Lying on his back, panting, he glared helplessly up at Larry.

As Larry got set to kick him, Helga screamed, “Don’t touch him!”

Scowling, Larry stepped back and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

Lying still, Archer looked up at Helga, his face a blotchy white.

“So you’ve got your pimp back,” he said huskily. “All right… you win. Just leave me alone.”

She felt a moment of pity. The bruise on the side of face had extended and was now blue and yellow. His lips swollen and dried blood caked on his chin. He looked old, frightened and defeated.

I warned you, Jack,” she said shakily. “I’m sorry.”

“I imagine.” His voice was bitter. Slowly he crawled to his feet and leaned against the wall. “Sorry? You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.”

She pointed to the panics room.

“You’ll be comfortable in there. I’ll get you a drink.”

He lurched by Larry who was tense, his huge hands on his hips, his jaw moving as he chewed. Then Archer passed Helga and went into the games room.

Helga went unsteadily up the stairs to the sitting-room. She mixed a double whisky and soda, added ice and carried the drink down to the games room.

Archer was sitting in one of the lounging chairs, his head in his hands. She put the drink on the covered billiard table.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Oh, go to hell!” He said wearily and without viciousness. “Leave me alone.”

She went out and closed the door. Motioning Larry to follow her, she climbed the stairs.

“Put the pole back, Larry,” she said and went into the sitting-room. With shaking hands she opened the envelope Larry had brought back and took out the three sheets of paper, stripped off two and looked at the letter. The signature was a replica of Archer’s scrawl. She found one of Archer’s letters and compared the two signatures, then she drew in a shaky breath of relief.

She was sure the Bank would accept the forgery.

“Is it okay, ma’am?” Larry asked as he came into the room.

“Yes, I think so. Did he ask questions?”

Larry shook his head.

“He wanted five thousand but I beat him down to three five. I spent money on gas, but I have some change for you.”

“Don’t bother me with that!” she said impatiently. She went to her desk and typed an envelope. “I’m going down to Lugano to mail this. If you’re hungry there’s food on the table in the kitchen. It should be defrosted by now.”

“I’ll mail it, ma’am. The roads are bad and it’s snowing hard.”

“No! I won’t stay here alone. I’m going.”

“Be careful, ma’am. The roads are real mean.”

She went into the hall and put on her coat. He followed her and stood lolling against the wall, chewing, and watching her.

“Don’t go to sleep until I get back,” she said. “Eat something.” She looked at the pole jammed against the cellar door. “He can’t get out, can he?”