Джеймс Чейз - The Way the Cookie Crumbles

These past weeks, she thought, had done something to her. She was growing soft. She could feel it. Reluctant to admit it, she knew that living with Mel, seeing him every day, becoming more and more aware of his affection for her was having a disconcerting impact on her. She was not only beginning to get used to, but actually liking, this orderly way of life she was now living: having a routine, getting up at the same time in the morning, going to work, making a success of it, especially making a success of it and gaining a background she knew she could never hope to have without Mel’s guidance and his position at the bank.

She moved uneasily in the bed. She was also worried that the meeting with Joy Ansley had been such a success. Determined to play it cool when she met Joy, she found her hostility no weapon against Joy’s warm serene friendliness. The three of them had dinner at the Beach Club and it had been fun to watch the swimmers in the floodlit pool and to listen to the dance band that played soft, expert swing. After dinner, Mel had driven them to Joy’s home where Ira had met Judge Ansley.

Six weeks ago, the idea of meeting a judge would have made her hoot with laughter, but this tall, thin eighty-year old man with his clear, penetrating grey eyes had impressed her as no other man had impressed her before. He had been casual and kindly, making her feel at home, taking her off to his study to show her his small, but interesting Black Museum, mementoes of his various murder trials. In spite of trying to think all this was square, Ira found herself sorry when Mel had come along and said it was time to go home.

‘Come and see me again,’ the Judge had said. ‘I get lonely for young faces. Come on Sunday and have tea with me. Joy will be on the beach with your father. If you haven’t anything better to do, we could keep each other company.’

She had very nearly said she would come, then feeling she must be getting soft in the head even to think of keeping an old square like the Judge company, she had said she was tied up for the weekend and had abruptly turned away.

But now, lying in bed, she wanted to talk to the Judge again.

‘But I’m not going to,’ she said, half aloud. ‘What’s the matter with me, for God’s sake! Jess will be here by Sunday. Jess!’

At lunch time she had mailed the letter to Jess and had sent 500 dollars in a separate registered packet for his fare and his immediate expenses. She had sent the money with a little qualm. Suppose he kept it and didn’t come?

Because the thought of Jess quickened her blood and set her heart thumping, she forced herself to think of the events of the afternoon.

She had had little difficulty in getting the impression of Mr. Lanza’s key. This short, fat Texan had been a second Hyam Wanassee. He not only took liberties with her, but had tried to kiss her and it was only when she threatened to call the guards that he reluctantly had left her alone. But she had taken the impression of his key although he had sent her away before he opened the safe.

The other client, Mr. Ross, had been a tall dark Jew with steady, flinty eyes and who had his key to his safe on a long gold chain attached to his trouser button.

She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t part with his key and she made no attempt to get it from him.

Anyway, she thought, two out of three wasn’t a bad average. Edris couldn’t complain. On leaving the bank, she had gone to the coffee bar across the street and had given Algir the impression of Lanza’s key.

He said, ‘I’ll be along at eleven. I haven’t seen Ticky yet. We’ll meet at his place tomorrow after six and we’ll split the loot. Wanassee’s little lot comes to around fifty thousand dollars. Tough you didn’t get Ross’s key. I bet there’s a raft of a lot of money in his safe.’

‘I can’t work miracles,’ she had said curtly and as she walked back to her car, it dawned on her that she was glad she hadn’t succeeded with Ross.

Why had she been glad? she asked herself as she stared up at the moonlit ceiling. And another thing, she now realized, she hadn’t been excited when Algir had told her Wanassee’s take had been fifty thousand dollars. Six weeks ago she would have gone crazy with excitement.

It was then she began to realize she didn’t need money any longer. She had got what she had always wanted: security, position, a home, a car and a father. She had obtained all this without risk. No one was ever likely to find out she wasn’t Norena Devon, but if she continued to steal money from the bank, someone could find out and then she’d be in a hell of a mess.

She half sat up in bed. Suppose she didn’t go on with it? she thought. Suppose she told Ticky she couldn’t get hold of anymore key impressions?

She remembered the vicious expression in the dwarf’s eyes when he had warned her about getting bored. She mustn’t underrate him. He was dangerous. She would have to be careful how she handled him. Maybe the easiest way would be to ask Mel to transfer her back to the accounts department. Ticky would have no answer to that one.

She finally decided she would do nothing until Jess arrived. She would feel safer with him to protect her. He could more than take care of Ticky and Algir. At the end of the week she would ask Mel to transfer her from the vaults and during the two remaining days, she would pretend she couldn’t get hold of anymore keys.

Relaxed, now she had come to this decision, she turned over and closed her eyes.

A few minutes to eleven o’clock the following morning, Algir came down into the vaults.

Ira was returning from conducting one of the clients to his safe and she paused when she saw Algir. He was wearing a new tropical cream-coloured suit and a new straw hat. She thought uneasily that he was already spending his share of the money and she wondered with a stab of alarm if the money could possibly be traced.

‘Hello there,’ Algir said, grinning. He seemed full of confidence and as she reached him, she smelt whisky on his breath. ‘Let’s get at it, baby,’ and he waved his briefcase.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she said sharply. ‘There are three clients down here.’

‘Who cares? They don’t know which is my safe. Come, on, baby, shake the lead.’

She led him along a narrow lane to Lanza’s safe.

‘Here we go,’ Algir said as she unlocked her lock. ‘You get back to your desk.’

She left him as he took the key he had cut the previous night from his pocket. She found another client had arrived and she took him to his safe. As she returned once more to her desk, she saw Algir come out of the lane where Lanza’s safe was. His face was dark with rage and there was an ugly gleam in his eyes.

‘What is it?’ she asked, staring at him.

‘Nothing in it!’ he snarled. ‘Just stock coupons and share certificates. All that goddamn work for nothing!’

She felt a wave of relief run over her.

‘It’s not my fault!’

‘You’d better hustle up some more key impressions! Get another by lunchtime! I’ll be waiting at the bar across the way!’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

He glared murderously at her.

‘It had better be better than that!’ he snarled as he walked away.

She returned to her desk and sat down. She was getting nervous: yet another sign, she thought, of growing soft. A month ago, she would have spat at Algir if he had threatened her, now the sight of his rage-congested face had shaken her.

Then she remembered seeing in one of the desk drawers a number of keys to vacant safes that were rented to new clients. She would take impressions of three or four of them! They would keep Algir busy. How was she to know if a safe was empty or not?

At midday, she walked into the coffee bar to find Algir at his usual table. As soon as he saw her, he got to his feet.