James Chase - I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘I haven’t finished yet. That letter you’ve sent to your attorney. You’ve got to get it back. You don’t seem to realise if anything happens to you, the spot I’ll be in,’ Calvin said, trying to make his voice sound casual. ‘At the rate you’re drinking, you could drop dead any time, then where would I be?’

She smiled jeeringly at him.

‘You tried to murder me last night… remember? Why should I care what happens to you? Get out!’

‘I want that letter!’

‘You’re not getting it!’

They stared at each other, their hate white hot, then Calvin, realising there was nothing he could do to force her to give him the letter, suddenly shrugged. He would have to bring pressure on her somehow, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He had more vital things to cope with.

‘You know Iris is working for me?’ he said. ‘You were so drunk last night I don’t know if you remember.’

‘I remember,’ Kit said, looking at him strangely. ‘I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. I’m warning you. If you try any of your tricks with her, I’ll kill you. I’m not warning you again.’

The cold baleful expression in her eyes made him uneasy. He remembered the gun.

‘Where did you get the gun from?’ he asked, watching her.

‘It was my husband’s,’ she said. ‘He taught me how to use it. I’m a good shot, Dave… remember that.’

He dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand.

‘Give me the gun. In your condition, you’re not safe to own a gun. Come on… give it to me.’

She sneered at him.

‘It’s where you’ll never find it. Get out!’

‘I must have been crazy to have picked on you,’ he said, having to control the urge to take her by her throat and strangle her.

‘Think so?’ She laughed. ‘Well, you’re stuck with me. When are we getting married? What a couple we’ll make! I want to get out of this hole and start spending some money!’

‘You’ll be lucky if you ever touch the money. They have this town sewn up tight. They’re even checking every parcel and every piece of luggage leaving town. We now may have to wait a damn sight longer than I thought before either of us touches it!’

‘I want some money now!’ Kit said, leaning forward and glaring at him. ‘I haven’t enough to last until the end of the week! I want that three hundred I lent you.’

‘Where do you imagine it’s coming from? It went towards buying the car.’

‘Then get it from the bank! I must have it! Take it from the payroll!’

‘Stop drinking and you’ll have enough,’ Calvin said and snatching up the portable typewriter, he went back into his room.

He stood looking out of the window for some minutes. He had passed a bad night. He felt limp and his head was heavy. This wasn’t working out the way he had planned, but he was thankful he had been called to the emergency meeting. If he hadn’t known about the typewriter he could have been in a hell of a spot. He rested his hot forehead against the glass of the window. He would have to be careful no one saw him take the portable into the bank. He would have to watch every move now that he made. One slip and they would be on to him.

He turned away from the window, opened his closet and took out his hold-all. He put the portable in the bag. On top of it, he put one of his suits. He looked at his watch. The time was ten minutes to seven. He would have to get to the bank before anyone arrived so he could take the Remington down into the vault. He would conceal it in yet another of the deed boxes.

Picking up the hold-all, he went down to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living-room. The house was strangely quiet. He sat down, drank the coffee and lit a cigarette. He considered his future plans. There was danger, of course. The Johnny Acres impersonation hadn’t been such a hot idea after all. Would they finally come around to suspecting that he had impersonated Acres? It would be a long shot. He thought it unlikely. But the fact they now thought Acres was a local man made him very uneasy. It might be necessary to lay a red herring for them, taking their suspicions away from him… but how? He thought of Iris, sleeping upstairs. He might use her. It was an idea he filed away in his mind. This bank reward made his situation even more dangerous. He had seen Travers’s change of expression when Marthy had announced the reward. Calvin was pretty sure what had been going through Travers’s mind. With sixty thousand dollars, Travers would cease to be small-time: he could marry Iris: he could take her away from Pittsville. Calvin was suddenly thankful he had picked on Kit to help him. If Travers became dangerous, he would use Kit to protect himself. Travers wouldn’t send his future mother-in-law to the gas chamber. The sheriff and Easton were has-beens. If it came to a show-down, he could muzzle Travers. Thinking about it, Calvin gained confidence. He would have to be careful, but if things went wrong, he could put the screws on Travers.

He arrived at the bank a few minutes after eight o’clock. He parked his car, then carrying the hold-all, he walked up the main street towards the bank.

As he reached the short path leading to the bank entrance, he saw Travers come out of the sheriffs office and walk rapidly towards him. Calvin paused. He felt very confident. This tall, rangy young fellow might be smart, but Calvin was now sure he had him where he wanted him. He walked towards him. The two men met half way between the sheriff’s office and the bank.

‘Hello there,’ Calvin said smiling. ‘Any news? Anything happening?’

Travers shook his head, his eyes going to the hold-all.

‘Nothing right now. You’re early.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Are you going away?’

Calvin laughed easily.

‘No such luck. I’m taking a suit to be cleaned. Yes… I’m early. We’re doing an audit. For the next day or so, I’ll have to work for my living.’ He looked steadily at Travers. ‘Iris has volunteered to help out. Did she tell you? She’s taking Alice’s place.’

Travers nodded.

‘Yes… she told me,’ he said curtly.

There was a pause. Both men stared intently at each other.

‘She’ll be a great help,’ Calvin said, paused, then went on scarcely concealing a sneer. ‘Wish you luck with that reward. Sixty thousand! It’s money! Don’t let Easton beat you to it.’

‘I won’t,’ Travers said, his voice quiet. ‘I mean to get it.’

‘Well, good luck,’ and switching on his charming smile, Calvin turned away and began to walk back to the bank, aware that Travers was staring after him.

Suddenly Travers said, ‘Hey! One minute!’

Calvin felt a prickle of apprehension crawl up his spine. He turned and waited.

Travers came up in five long, swinging strides.

‘I forgot to ask you… what kind of typewriter do you use in the bank?’

Calvin lifted his sand-coloured eyebrows. The effort he had to make to keep his face expressionless quickened his heart-beat.

‘Typewriter? Typewriter?’ he said vaguely, then his smile widened. ‘Of course… I see. You’re looking for a standard Remington with defective letters. No luck, I’m afraid. We use a Smith Corona portable. Don’t ask me why. It was here when I came.’

‘A portable?’ Travers said, staring at him. ‘That’s unusual, isn’t it?’

‘My dear fella, who am I to question the meanness of banks?’ Calvin said. ‘Ours isn’t a very important branch, you know. We don’t have many letters to write.’ He met Travers’s searching stare. ‘Anything else you’d like to know?’

‘No… thanks.’

‘Then I’ll get along,’ and nodding, Calvin turned and walked towards the bank.