James Chase - Safer Dead

‘They take good care they don’t get gate crashers here, don’t they?’ I said to Suzy who sat at my side.

‘My dear man, this is an exclusive club,’ she said. ‘We don’t want anyone who is nobody in it.’

I suppose that should have been a compliment to me, but I felt like slapping her. Snobbery of any kind makes my hackles rise.

I slowed down to a crawl as the cars ahead crept forward at a snail’s pace while the drivers waved their membership cards out of the open window.

I looked at Suzy from out of the corner of my eye. She certainly was something to look at. She had on a gold lame evening dress; over it she wore a black silk, scarlet lined wrap. Around her lovely white throat was a diamond collar that must have cost someone a heap of jack.

Hartley had told her I was a wealthy businessman from New York, foot loose, with plenty of money to spend. The introduction appeared to be interesting enough to make her forget her first opinion of me, and although I couldn’t say she was exactly cordial, she was at least fairly sociable.

As I came within sight of the gates, one of the guards came up, and I stopped the car. He peered in, his hard, cold eyes going over me with the intensity of a blow lamp.

‘Hello, Hank,’ Suzy said. ‘It’s only me.’

The guard touched his cap.

‘Okay, miss, go right ahead.’

He again stared at me, then stepped back and I drove on though the gateway and up a long, curving, sand covered drive.

‘He’ll know me again,’ I said.

‘Of course. That’s his job. He never forgets a face. Are you going to become a member? I’ll put you up if you like.’

‘I don’t know how long I’m staying in Tampa City, but thanks for the offer. If I have to stay longer than I think I’ll be glad if you would.’

A sudden sharp bend in the drive brought me my first sight of the Golden Apple club. It was quite something. Floodlit, the building reminded me of Addison Mizner’s Everglades Club in Palm Beach. Looking more closely at it, I saw it was a pretty fair imitation of the famous Palm Beach club. It was a stucco building with a red tiled roof, medieval turrets and wrought iron grill work in the style of a Spanish monastery. It was pretty obvious someone had spent a lot of money on it at one time or the other. A plush, purple carpet ran down the shallow steps from the lighted entrance hall to where the cars were decanting their occupants.

Everyone getting out of the cars looked well fed, rich and immaculate. Diamonds glowed like fireflies. I could see if you couldn’t rise to a string of diamonds you had best keep away from this joint.

‘Where’s the car park?’ I asked.

‘My dear man, they’ll take the car,’ Suzy said with a touch of impatience.

‘Forgive me: I’m just a New York hick,’ I said.

We left the car in the hands of a uniformed attendant and walked up the carpeted steps into the hall.

A big thickset man in an immaculate tuxedo appeared from nowhere and barred my way. His hard, cruel face looked as if it had been carved out of old ivory. His black still eyes had a glitter in them that reminded me of naked knife blades. He looked Spanish, but could have been Mexican or even Cuban. He looked questioningly from me to Suzy.

‘Good evening, Juan,’ Suzy said, obviously suddenly anxious to please. ‘This is Mr. Sladen. I’ve brought him along to see the club. He’s from New York.’

‘Will you please sign the book, Mr. Sladen?’ he said in a voice you could scour rusty iron on. There was no welcoming smile. He seemed sorry he had to admit me.

He led me across the hall to a reception desk where a girl in a tight black silk dress offered me a quill pen and a cool, appraising smile.

I signed my name, using my initial and not my full name just in case this dago was a reader of Crime Facts.

‘Ten dollars please,’ the girl said while Juan stood close, his warm breath fanning the back of my neck.

‘Ten - what?’ I said, staring at her.

‘Ten dollars, Mr. Sladen, for your temporary membership card,’ Juan said curtly.

I remembered in time that I was supposed to be a wealthy businessman from New York and I paid up. I was given a neat card with my name on it and the date. In minute printing the card told me that for ten bucks I could use the amenities of the club for one night only. I hated to think what it would cost me to use the amenities for one month.

A hat check girl relieved me of my hat and Juan relieved me of his presence as he swooped away to prise another ten bucks from a guy who had been unwise enough to bring a guest. Suzy took me into the bar which was the longest and plushiest room I have ever seen. I paid out a small fortune on champagne cocktails and then settled down to make pleasing conversation. I hadn’t got far before a stocky little man came over with a bundle of menu cards and asked if we would care to order dinner.

We ordered dinner, or at least Suzy did. She said she would start with oysters, and I betted myself they would cost a buck piece, then she decided to take the grilled river trout, pheasant and French salade, ice cream and Brie cheese to follow. I said that would do me too. The stocky man scribbled the order down on a pad and went on to the next group.

‘For a girl with your shape you eat pretty well,’ I said. ‘How do you manage it?’

‘Do you think I have a nice shape?’ she asked languidly.

‘Sure, and you have a nice appetite to go with it. Don’t you diet or something?’

‘Sometimes,’ she said. The subject didn’t seem to interest her. ‘Shall we have one more?’ and she lifted her empty glass. This went on for half an hour and I was beginning to wonder if I had brought enough money with me when she finally decided it was time to eat. We went into the restaurant.

Two skimpily dressed girls were doing a song and dance routine on a dais near the band as we took our seats. They were good, and so was the band. It was while we were working through the river trout that a party arrived at a table near ours. I could tell they were important by the way the maître d’hôtel brought them down the aisle. He walked backwards and flourished his arms. If he had had a flag he would have waved it.

There were two girls and two men. The girl who led the way caught my attention. She was around twenty-six: small, compact, with a shape under her flame coloured evening gown that made my eyes pop. She was dark, and her glossy black hair was piled up on her perfectly shaped head. Her face was as lovely as a greek sculpture; cold, perhaps a little hard, and very, very haughty. But there was a flame burning within her that made her more than a beautiful woman: it made her alive, desirable, seductive and feminine as Helen of Troy must have been feminine.

She was magnet to men. There wasn’t a man in the restaurant, including the band and the waiters, who didn’t look as if he wanted to be her escort. You could see the expressions on their faces change when they caught sight of her: they were hungry for her; very, very hungry. I caught myself wondering if I looked like that too. I felt maybe I did.

The other girl with her was nothing to look at; pleasant, a little too plump, wealthy of course, but the dark Helen of Troy need never worry about her as a rival.

The two men were the usual rich, well fed, middle-aged guys you can see any day after ten-thirty a.m. controlling large syndicates, banks or chain stores. You could almost hear their ulcers creak as they moved, and their port wine faces told of their fiery tempers.

‘Don’t you know better than to stare?’ Suzy asked crossly.

‘Am I the only one?’ I said and grinned at her. ‘Who is she? Not the one with the big bosom, but the dark, little one.’

Suzy raised her lip scornfully.