James Chase: Safer Dead

I looked over my shoulder and my heart skipped a beat. Standing in the doorway was a short, thickset man whose round heavy face was the colour of cold mutton fat. He had on a dirty trench coat and a black slouch hat pulled down over his right eye. A two-day growth of beard darkened his jowls, and there was a cold viciousness in his slate-grey eyes that sent a chill of apprehension up my spine.

In his right hand he held a .38 automatic, and it pointed at me.

III

For a long moment we stared at each other, then he said, ‘Stay just as you are.’ His voice was low pitched and nasal. His lips scarcely moved when he spoke. ‘Which of you is Sladen?’

‘I am,’ I said and I was annoyed my voice sounded unsteady.

‘Okay; now listen: you two get out of town tomorrow. We don’t want you in Welden. You’re to be out by eleven tomorrow morning. We shan’t tell you again. If you think we’re bluffing, stick around and see what happens to you. Get it?’

I drew in a deep breath. I was over my first shock and now I was angry.

‘What’s the idea?’ I demanded, glaring at him. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

‘Never mind what the idea is. This is a tipoff.’ He suddenly began to shake and twitch. He put his left hand against the wall to steady himself, and it was only with an effort he got himself talking again: ‘If it wasn’t for the boss, I’d knock you two punks off now! You know what happened to Hesson. I’ll do it to you two if you’re not out of Welden by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.’ He took a step back into the passage, his hand on the doorknob. ‘And don’t kid yourselves the cops can protect you. There ain’t enough cops in this town to keep us from getting at you. Pack up and get out!’ He stood in the doorway, twitching and glaring at us, then he reached for the handle and slammed the door.

Bernie and I remained motionless, listening to the quick, light footfalls going along the passage. Then when they had died away I got slowly to my feet and looked at Bernie.

‘A hophead! He was coked to the eyeballs.’

‘My goodness!’ Bernie quavered. ‘I told you what would happen if we went on with this case.’ With a shaking hand he grabbed his glass of whisky and drained it.

‘He had me scared for a moment,’ I said, scowling. ‘I guess my nerves aren’t as good as they were.’

‘Mine were never good,’ Bernie said, scrambling off the bed. ‘Good grief! No one’s ever pointed a gun at me before.’

He crossed the room to where his suitcase was standing; picking it up, he set it on a chair and began throwing his clothes into it.

‘What do you imagine you’re doing?’ I asked.

‘What do you think?’ Bernie said, without pausing. ‘I’m packing. We may as well be ready for a quick takeoff tomorrow morning. Come to that, why not go tonight?’ He threw socks and handkerchiefs into the case and then crossed the room for a pair of shoes. ‘Don’t stand staring; get packing yourself.’

‘You don’t think I’m going to let a hophead scare me off a good story, do you?’ I asked heatedly.

Bernie put his shoes in the case.

‘I don’t know. I’m not all that interested,’ he said, looking around for further belongings. ‘You heard what the guy said: get out or else. He’s already knocked off Farmer, the Nichols woman and Hesson. You heard him, didn’t you? He didn’t strike me as a kidder. Did you see his eyes? Gee! I’ve got goose pimples the size of marbles all over me. If you want to stay here and play the tough guy, that’s okay with me. I’m a married man with responsibilities. I have a wife and dog to think of. I always take a hint, and brother! was that a hint!’

I poured more whisky into my glass and drank some of it.

‘I was under the impression you liked working with me.’

Bernie shut the lid of the suitcase.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Well, if you walk out on me you won’t be working with me, and you can bet your goose pimples, you won’t be working for Crime Facts either. Remind me to give you a dime when I see you begging for bread.’

Bernie paled.

‘You don’t think Fayette would throw me out, do you? He wouldn’t want me killed, would he?’

‘So long as he got a good story, he wouldn’t care a hoot. And if you walk out now, he’ll blacklist you. You know how vindictive he is.’

Bernie sat on the bed.

‘Can’t we tell him there’s nothing to this story?’

‘There’s a heap to it! I’m going after that hophead. Didn’t you hear what he said about Hesson? If we catch him, we’ll crack the case.’

‘Can’t you relax?’ Bernie pleaded. ‘We’re not cops. We’re writers - artists. Our job is to write for a magazine; not to catch killers. We’ve got to be reasonable about this. Leave him to the cops. That’s what they get paid for. I’m scared. I don’t care who knows it. Besides, I don’t carry any insurance. I’ve got to think of Clair.’

‘She’d be better off if you died,’ I said brutally. ‘Fayette would have to give her a pension.’

Bernie licked his lips.

‘Suppose I go back to the office right now and start writing the story? I’ve got plenty to get on with. We don’t both have to be shot, do we?’

‘For the love of Mike, pull yourself together. No one’s going to shoot us. The cops will look after us until they catch this punk. And when he’s caught, we’ll bust the case.’

Bernie tried to sneer.

‘How you kid yourself. You don’t imagine he’s behind any of this, do you? He’s just carrying out orders. He said so. If the cops do manage to catch him, there’ll be a flock of others to come after us.’

I reached for the telephone book, turned up Creed’s home number and put a call through.

Creed’s growling voice came over the line.

‘This is Sladen,’ I said. ‘We’ve just had a visitor with a gun. He was full of hop and admitted killing Hesson. He’s given us until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning to get out of town or else. He said there weren’t enough cops to keep him from putting a slug into us.’

‘Did he?’ Creed growled. ‘Stay right where you are. I’ll get a couple of my men over to you right away,’ and he hung up.

‘That’s the kind of police captain I like,’ I said, replacing the receiver. ‘No questions, no fuss, but lots of action. Protection is on its way over.’

Bernie finished his drink. By now he was a little tight.

‘I don’t like it, Chet. I think we should clear out.’

‘Don’t be a dope! Can’t you see we’re getting places? We’ve got someone rattled. That means we must be on the right track.’

‘A fat lot of good it’ll do us if we’re dead,’ Bernie said, adding more whisky to his glass. ‘Now, listen to me. . .’

He was still trying to convince me to leave town when the telephone bell rang and Larson told me there were two police officers in the lobby waiting to see me.

‘Send them right up,’ I said. As I turned from the telephone I said to Bernie, ‘You’re safe now. The law’s arrived.’

Bernie gave a wild laugh.

‘Safe? That’s funny. Some chance. Can you imagine any cop stepping between me and a bullet?’

CHAPTER FOUR

I

I put the pack of photographs on Creed’s desk and shook my head.

‘He’s not among that lot.’

Creed puffed at his pipe, his blunt fingers tapping on the worn surface of his desk.

‘He’s a new one on me. None of the boys know him. You think he meant business?’

‘No doubt about that. He’s junked to the eyeballs. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot us there and then.’

Peters, a tall guy with a lean, tough looking face, showed tobacco stained teeth in a hard smile. He was one of the police officers Creed had assigned to me as a bodyguard.