Джеймс Чейз - The Way the Cookie Crumbles

‘Aw, pipe down! Let a man think!’

She watched him and waited impatiently.

‘Do you have to do that?’ she said, revolted at what he was doing to his nose.

‘Shut up!’ An ugly gleam came into his eyes. ‘I won’t tell you again!’ He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit a cigarette. ‘You know that’s a smart idea. That guy Edris has got brains.’

‘What idea?’

‘That dead safe gimmick is fab. You’re nuts to want to quit.’

She drew in a long, deep breath. She might have known it, she thought bitterly.

‘But, Jess, can’t you see the risk? I could go to prison for years.’

‘Why didn’t you think of that before?’

He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed.

‘Because I wanted easy money and I got carried away. Now I don’t need money, I don’t have to take risks. How many more times do I have to tell you?’

He drew on his cigarette, letting smoke drift out of his nostrils.

‘So what’s in it for me? You quit and I get nothing. You stay with Edris, and we split.’

‘It’s too big for us, Jess. If you help me, I’ll get you some money. I promise. I’ll get you some.’

‘How much?’

‘I don’t know. It depends. I would have to get it from Devon. Three or four hundred, Jess.’

‘Don’t talk wet! You’ve just told me Edris has promised you five thousand. Now listen, you stick with him! Understand? I’m telling you! If he makes trouble for you, I’ll handle him, but he won’t if you do what he wants and that’s what you’re going to do! If you think I’m going to let five grand slip through our fingers because you’ve run out of guts, you’ve got another think coming!’

Ira turned white. She felt a sudden rush of fury sweep through her.

‘You don’t tell me what to do!’ she cried. ‘I’m not...’

His open hand moved so quickly she couldn’t avoid it.

His palm exploded on the side of her cheek with the noise like the bursting of a paper bag. She reeled over and sprawled flat on her back.

Dazed, she began to struggle up. He kicked her viciously, the toe of his boot thudding into her thigh.

Her eyes blazing, she squirmed out of range and scrambled to her feet. He was standing now, his eyes watchful, his hands hanging limply at his side: an attitude of watchfulness she had seen often enough in his street fights. She knew he was as quick and deadly as a mongoose in a fight and she checked the impulse to rush at him.

‘Get out of here!’ she exclaimed, pointing to the door. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here. I don’t want any more to do with you. Ever! Get out!’

‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready.’ He slipped out of his leather jacket which he tossed on a chair. ‘You’re in for a beating. You’ve got a big head. This is Jess, remember? Get your clothes off! You’re going through the wringer!’

She faced him, her eyes glittering.

‘Get out! I’m not afraid of you, you stinker! I was crazy to have imagined a spineless layabout like you could help me! Get out!’

He took three quick shuffling steps towards her, avoided by a shift of his head her hook fingers that slashed at his face, then sank his fist into the arch below her short ribs with all the force of his lean, stringy muscles.

The agony of the blow dropped her to her knees. He lifted his fist and clubbed her on the side of the head. Dazed, unable to breathe, she collapsed on her back. She felt his fingers hook into the collar of her dress and she tried feebly to claw his hand. Then she felt a violent jerk and her dress ripped open. As she tried to roll away from him, his fist snapped against the side of her jaw, stunning her.

Cursing softly, his breath whistling through his clenched teeth, Jess ripped the rest of her clothes from her. She vaguely became aware of his weight on her and of pain, but she was too stunned to care. After a while his weight lifted off her.

‘Okay, baby,’ she heard him say. He sounded a long way off. ‘I’ll be seeing you. You do what Edris tells you or I’ll give it to you again. Hear me?’

She lay still, her eyes closed, pain in her head, her ribs, and her groin. She heard him moving about the cabin, but she hadn’t the strength to care what he was doing. Hot tears ran down her face, tears that surprised her because she had always imagined she was too tough to cry.

He came over to her and kicked her gently in her aching ribs.

‘I’ve taken your dough, baby,’ she heard him say. ‘You can get more. I can’t. So long.’

She heard him cross the lounge, open the door and go out into the night, slamming the door.

Silence settled over the cabin, broken only by the soft despairing sound of her crying.

It was close on an hour later when Jess, hidden in the shadows of the palm trees, saw Ira come out of the cabin. She was now wearing slacks and a beach jacket and Jess grinned to himself. He watched her lock the cabin door and put the key on one of the rafters supporting the cabin’s roof. Then, moving slowly and painfully, she got into the T.R.4 and drove away.

Jess stood up and stretched. He felt satiated and relaxed and pleased with himself. He walked over to the cabin, took the key from its hiding place, unlocked the door and entered the living room. Turning on the lights, he tossed his duffle bag on the settee.

He felt in need of a drink. Going over to the cocktail cabinet he poured a stiff whisky into a glass. He went into the kitchen and got ice from the refrigerator, then he returned to the living room and dropped into one of the lounging chairs.

Jess, old pal, he thought, make yourself at home. You’ve got yourself into a sweet setup but you’ll have to be smart to handle it right. You’ve shown that doll you’re still the boss. She’ll give you all the money you ask for. If she doesn’t, all you have to do is threaten to talk to that punk Devon.

He gulped down the whisky, sighed and let the glass drop on the rug. May as well stay the night, he thought. Let’s take a look at the bedroom.

Humming under his breath, he walked across to the bedroom which had a double bed and was comfortably furnished.

Very nice, he thought, and stripping off his jacket, he tossed it on a chair. Then he went to the built-in closet, opened it and examined the beach wear he found in it. The clothes were all too big for his lean, narrow frame and with a grimace of disgust, he turned his attention to the chest of drawers.

The shirts, handkerchiefs and socks he found in the drawers were of no interest to him. He opened the last drawer and stiffened. Half hidden by a beach towel lay a .38 Colt automatic. For a long moment he stared at the gun, then with a prickle of excitement, he cautiously picked it up.

Ever since he had become the leader of the Moccasin gang, he had longed to own a gun. It had been his dream and his ambition. His breath whistled through his pinched nostrils as he examined the gun. After some moments, he discovered how to remove the clip and he found it held five cartridges. He sat on the bed, the clip in one hand, the gun in the other and stared with blank eyes at the opposite wall.

For a long time, he sat motionless, his mind busy, then finally a sly grin lit up his face and he nodded. He now knew what he was going to do. A gun, he thought, made him anyone’s equal. He could forget the small time stuff of getting money out of Ira. He was now in the position to make a big, quick killing.

Replacing the clip, he put the gun down on the bedside table and kicking off his boots, he flopped on the bed. He was still grinning as he reached out and snapped off the light.

Mel was finishing breakfast when Ira came into the lounge. He had been disappointed when he had returned the previous night soon after eleven o’clock to find the bungalow in darkness and Ira in bed. He had wanted to wake her up and tell her his news, but reluctantly decided not to disturb her. He had gone to bed much to Ira’s relief.