James Chase - I Would Rather Stay Poor

She sat there, stinking of whisky, crying helplessly, apparently not listening.

Swearing under his breath, Calvin caught hold of one of her wrists in both hands and twisted her flesh in opposite directions. The sudden agony of his grip made her cry out and brought her upright.

‘Do you hear me?’ he snarled, letting go of her wrist, his hands closing over her shoulders. He shook her. ‘Sober up! Do you understand what you’ve got to do?’

She cringed away from him.

‘Yes…’

‘All right, then do it! Make one mistake and you’ll land yourself in the gas chamber.’

He started the car engine again and drove on to the rooming-house. When they arrived, he put the car in the garage.

‘Come on… get out!’

She got out. Now she was sobering up and looking at her, Calvin was shocked at the sight of her. She looked old and ugly. Her eyes had sunk into her head. Her skin was the colour of tallow: even her lips were white.

He caught hold of her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh and hurried her up the steps and into the hall. He rushed her across the hall to the foot of the stairs and gave her a push forward, starting her up the stairs as Major Hardy appeared in the doorway of the lounge.

Calvin began taking off his coat, ignoring the major, watching Kit stumbling up the stairs. Then when she reached the head of the stairs and was out of sight, he called after her, ‘Alice I think you should go to bed. I’ll tell Kit to come up to you.’

He waited for the rehearsed ‘yes’, but it didn’t come. He listened to her stumbling up the other flight of stairs to her room.

‘Something wrong?’ the major asked.

Before turning, Calvin composed his expression The effort he had to make to appear relaxed brought sweat out on his hands.

‘She’s a bit under the weather,’ he said. ‘She has a bad headache and so on… one of these women’s things.’

The major, who was a bachelor, looked wise.

‘It happens to them all, the poor things,’ he said. ‘Best in bed.’

‘Yes.’

Calvin went up to his room. He hurriedly washed his sweating face and hands, then he went into Kit’s room.

She was lying face down on her bed, breathing heavily. He stood over her, aware that in less than half an hour she would have an important role to play and aware that at the moment she was incapable of playing it. She was still drunk. He had to get her sober. He wanted to grab her by her hair and slap her face until she sobered up, but he realised his hand would leave tell-tale marks which the old couple couldn’t fail to see.

He moved closer, then putting his hand on the back of her head, he pressed her face into the pillow. He began to spank her, viciously and violently until his hand felt burning and bruised. He muffled her screams by keeping her face forced into the pillow, and finally, after he had beaten her until his arm began to tire, he released her, dragging her over on her back and standing over her, his eyes glittering, as he stared down at her.

She lay motionless, her face contorted with pain, but her eyes clear and sober.

‘Are you all right now?’ Calvin demanded, breathing heavily. ‘Have you sobered up?’

She drew in a long shuddering breath, then she closed her eyes, nodding.

‘Okay. Now get up and put some make-up on. You look like hell. I’m going down. You know what to do and say. We’ve gone over it enough times.’ He leaned over her, his expression vicious. ‘Do you know what to do?’

Opening her eyes, she suddenly spat in his face. The hatred in her eyes startled him. His hand swung back to slap her, but he controlled himself. Instead, he wiped his face with the back of his hand and grinned at her. His grip was vicious and confident.

‘If you still have the guts to do that after that beating, you can go through with this,’ he said. ‘Three hundred thousand dollars! Remember that! Three hundred thousand dollars!’

He left her and went downstairs into the lounge.

The major was reading the newly arrived Reader’s Digest. Miss Pearson was knitting a blue and white scarf she had promised the major for his birthday. They both looked up inquiringly as Calvin came in.

‘Is Alice unwell?’ Miss Pearson asked.

‘A headache,’ Calvin said. ‘She has gone to bed. She’ll be all right tomorrow. Does anyone know what’s for dinner?’ With an effort he switched on his charm. ‘I’m hungry.’

The major smiled with the smug satisfaction of someone who has access to important inside information.

‘I asked Flo… it’s pot roast.’

While they were finishing dinner, Kit came in. Calvin looked sharply at her. Although she looked tired, there was now nothing about her appearance to attract unwanted attention. She said Alice was sleeping. She had given her a sleeping tablet. She was sure she would be all right in the morning.

Calvin broke in by saying there was a good play on television. The old couple went into the television-room. Calvin paused before he followed them.

‘I’ll be up at eleven,’ he said to Kit ‘Keep away from the bottle… hear me?’

He left her and joined the old couple in the already darkened room. His mind was busy as the play ran its course.

There’s no turning back now, he said to himself. So far it’s working out all right. The only real danger now is if someone happens to try the back door of the bank and finds it unlocked. If that happens I’m really cooked. But why should anyone try the door? The whole town knows it is never used.

He reminded himself he would have to take a swab back with him. He made a grimace in the semi-darkness. Blood had come from Alice’s nose and mouth onto his hands: he had been lucky none of it had got onto his clothes. He shrank from the thought that he would have to carry her body from the vault to the car. Grimacing, he tried to concentrate on the play. At eleven o’clock, he said good night to the old couple, saying he was going to bed, and he went upstairs. The light was on in Kit’s room and he walked in.

She was lying on the bed, smoking and staring up at the ceiling. She didn’t look at him as he came in.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, pausing at the foot of the bed.

‘You’ve nearly crippled me, you devil,’ she said, still not looking at him. ‘I can scarcely walk.’

‘You’ve got to walk to the bank,’ he said. ‘Don’t lie there. Move around or your muscles will get stiff.’

She didn’t move.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘There’s no turning back now. We’re both in this thing up to our necks. I’m going to change. Get off the bed and move around.’

He went into his room and sitting before the dressing-table mirror, he carefully began to gum the black crepe sideboards to his face. Ten minutes later, his disguise complete, he went into Kit’s room again. She was still lying on the bed. He stood over her.

‘Leave here at twelve,’ he said. ‘Be careful. If you see any car coming, get off the road. When you get to the car park, drive the Lincoln to the back of the bank entrance and wait. Don’t get out of the car… just wait. Do you understand?’

She stared at him, her face wooden.

‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course, I understand.’

‘All right. I’ll get off. Everything now depends on you… so watch it. And keep off the bottle.’

He left her and paused for a long moment at the head of the stairs, listening. There was no sound in the darkened house, and satisfied both Miss Pearson and the major were in bed, he silently descended the stairs and let himself out the back way.

It was a fine clear night: no moon and dark. He walked with long, swinging strides, his eyes searching the road ahead, his ears cocked for the sound of any approaching car.