James Chase - You Can Say That Again

It was comfortable in the hotel lobby. No one bothered me. I was reluctant to leave for the long, dismal walk home. So I settled back and forced myself to take an interest in the remaining people in the lobby. The thin man and the thinner woman had left. The elderly couple had been claimed by another elderly couple and were being steered towards the restaurant. The two businessmen continued to smoke their cigars and discuss whatever they were discussing.

My eyes shifted to the little old woman with her poodle.

Hotel lobbies are cluttered up with little old women: some of them thin, some fat, but always on their own and lonely. This little old woman was a typical specimen. I guessed she had lost her husband, had money, was on a conducted tour of California, and would return to some lonely mansion where a butler and a number of aging maids robbed her blind. She had spent money on herself: her ash-blonde wig was immaculate: her glasses bejeweled: her emerald green dress probably from Balmain, and diamond rings flashed on her fingers.

I became aware she was staring at me and quickly shifted my eyes. In spite of not looking at her, I still felt her staring at me.

Jeepers! I thought, have I started something with this old lonely? It seemed I had for she got out of her chair, picked up the poodle and came over to me.

‘It must be Mr. Jerry Stevens!’ she exclaimed, pausing at my side.

Man! I thought as I stood up. I only need this! I gave her my charming smile.

‘Mr. Stevens! I don’t want to intrude, but I feel I must tell you how much I loved your performance in The Sheriff of X Ranch.’

If ever there was a movie that stank - The Sheriff of X Ranch took the Oscar for all stinkers.

I glued on my charming smile.

‘That’s very kind of you, madam. Thank you.’

‘I’ve been following all your movies, Mr. Stevens,’ she went on. ‘You have an outstanding talent.’

Talent? I could hear Lu’s braying laugh.

I looked directly at her and received a slight shock.

This woman wasn’t the usual hotel lobby loner. There was steel in her dark blue eyes and her lips were paper-thin.

‘Thank you,’ I said, not knowing what else to say.

She peered at me, smiling.

‘I was about to have a late dinner. I wonder if you would join me?’ She paused, then went on, ‘Oh, Mr. Stevens, do be my guest! It would give me so much pleasure!’ Again a pause, then seeing I was floundering, she went on, ‘I would so much like to hear about your work, but perhaps you have already dined?’

Dined? My last meal had been a greasy hamburger at midday. I was starving hungry.

All the same, I hesitated. Some forty minutes had dragged by. Mr. Durant had had all the time in the world to hire me. This old woman was obviously loaded. Be my guest. I couldn’t resist such an invitation. The thought of a big, juicy steak and a mass of french fries brought saliva to my mouth.

‘Why, that would be nice. Thank you.’

She patted her hands together.

‘I am so pleased! I didn’t think . . .’ She smiled. ‘Let’s go then. I adore Westerns. I am sure you can tell me how they are made. There must be so many interesting tricks.’ She began to move to the exit. I was surprised. I had imagined we would eat in the hotel restaurant, but as she kept moving, I followed her.

Out on the steps, the doorman lifted his cap and bowed to her, then he whistled. Almost immediately, a dark blue Silver Cloud Rolls Royce appeared out of the darkness. A Japanese, in a grey uniform, wearing a peak cap, had the door open.

‘There is a nice little restaurant,’ she said, pausing. ‘You must know it. The Benbow. Would it bore you to eat there?’

The Benbow! I had never been there, but I knew of it. The best restaurant in the district! Even in my affluent days, I had never dared face their prices. Before I could say anything, she got into the car. A little dazed, but with the black cloud of depression now dispersed, I sat in luxury at her side.

The chauffeur slid into the driving seat and edged the car into the traffic.

‘Madam,’ I said, smiling in her direction. ‘I failed to get your name.’

‘How stupid of me.’ She put her hand on my arm.

The poodle she was nursing shifted off her lap and onto my knees. The little beast began to lick my face. If there is one thing that drives me out of my mind it is to be licked by a dog. I shoved him away with some violence, and as I did so, I felt a sharp prick in my thigh.

The dog, yelping, fell to the floor. I started upright.

‘Madam!’ I exclaimed. ‘Your dog has bitten me!’

‘Dear Mr. Stevens. You must be mistaken. I am sure Cookie would never do anything like that. He is the most gentle little gentleman and he adores . . .

The rest of what she was saying faded into darkness.

* * *

The room was large and comfortably furnished and lit by a number of shaded lamps. I found myself lying on a double bed. My head felt heavy and my mouth was dry. I made an effort and half sat up, staring around in bewilderment. Opposite the end of the bed was a big wall mirror. My reflection as I lay on the bed showed me I was not only bewildered, but not a little frightened.

The luxury of the furnishing did something to reassure me. A lot of money had been spent making this room more than comfortable, and money always reassures me. Heavy window drapes were drawn shut.

I looked at my watch. The time was 8.45. Was it morning or evening? How long had I been lying on this bed? It had been 23.00 when I had got into the Rolls. I thought of the prick in my thigh I had imagined had been a nip from the poodle. It dawned on me, with a feeling of panic, the little old woman had given me at shot of some quick acting drug.

Good God! I thought. I’ve been kidnapped!

I scrambled off the bed and crossed to the window drapes and dragged them back. A solid steel shutter covered the window. I shoved against it, but it was immovable. Turning, I looked around the room to a door. Even as I reached it, I saw there was no handle.

The door was as immovable as the window shutter. I went into the bathroom: deluxe fitments, but no window. I peered into the wall cabinet. It contained two toothbrushes in cellophane wrapping, an electric shaver, a bottle of aftershave, a bath sponge also in cellophane wrapping and toilet soaps. I looked at myself in the shaving mirror. From the stubble on my face, I had only been drugged a few hours.

I made use of the bathroom facilities while I tried to control my panic. It was a good move. After shaving and washing, I felt a lot better when I returned to the room. I also became aware I was hungry.

Crossing to the bed, I saw a bell push by the shaded bedside lamp. I hesitated for a moment, then pressed the button. I kept my finger on it for several seconds before releasing it.

Then I sat in a big lounging chair and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. The door without a handle slid aside and a man, pushing a trolley, entered. The door snapped shut behind him.

This man was a giant. He was a good six inches taller than myself and I am six foot one. He had shoulders a weight lifter would envy and huge muscular hands. His head was completely shaved and his face was something out of a horror comic: thick nose, lipless mouth and small glittering eyes. Working in Westerns, I had come across a lot of rough-toughs, playing baddies, but off the set, they had been as gentle as kittens: but not this man: he would be as unpredictable as a gorilla and as dangerous as a wounded tiger.

He pushed the trolley into the center of the room, then looked at me. His savage little eyes chilled me. I began to say something, but stopped. He frankly scared the hell out of me. I just sat there and watched him stalk to the door which slid open and snapped shut behind him.