James Chase - No Business Of Mine

When we get to the other side, there’l be a car waiting for me. All you

have to do is to get in the back. I’ll dump my kit and some rugs on top

of you and off we go. Once we’re clear of the airport, you can come

up for air, and I’ll drop you off wherever you want to be dropped off.”

Netta thought for a moment. “It’s really as simple as that?”

“That’s right. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. But I warn

you, I claim a kiss from my passengers.”

“You won’t kiss me,” I said coldly. “I’d rather swim the Atlantic if

those are your terms.”

“So would I,” Bix said hurriedly. “I wasn’t talking to you, lug.”

Netta smiled at him. “There won’t be any difficulty about that,”

she said. “I think the terms are most reasonable.”

We kidded back and forth for twenty minutes or so, sank a

number of whiskies, and then, at eight-ten, Bix said he guessed he’d

better be getting along.

“See you two outside the airport at twenty-one-forty-five,” he

said. “And don’t get steamed up. It’s in the bag.” He took Netta’s

hand. “See you soon,” he went on. “Don’t forget if you ever grow

tired of that lug, I’m next on the list. Red-heads go straight to my

heart.”

“I’ll remember,” she said, gave him a long stare which seemed to

weaken him, then she smiled. “If I see much more of you,” she

continued, “I think I’ll be changing my mind about my lug, although he

is a nice lug if you overlook his table manners.”

“He can’t help that,” Bix said, grinning. “He hasn’t been house-

broken like me.”

He took himself off as if he was walking on air.

The moment the door swung behind him, Netta lost her gaiety,

looked anxiously at me.

“Are you sure it’s all right?” she asked. “He’s such a boy. Are you

sure you can trust him to get us across safely?”

“Quit fussing,” I said. “That guy’s done over a hundred operational

trips. He’s bombed Germany from hell to breakfast and back again.

Maybe he does look like a boy, but don’t let that fool you. When he

says he’l do something, he does it. He’s taken a liking to you, and that

means we’re as good as there.”

She heaved a little sigh, took my arm.

“All right, darling,” she said. “I won’t fuss, but I’m nervous. What

do we do now?”

“We go back `to the flat, pick up your things and get over to the

airport. Come on, Netta, the journey’s begun.”

Ten minutes later we were back in Madge Kennitt’s flat.

“You’re travelling light, I hope?” I asked, as I tossed my hat on the

chaise-longue.

She nodded. “Just a grip. I hate leaving all my lovely dresses, but

I’ll be able to buy what I want on the other side.” She came over to

me, put her arms around my neck. “You’ve been wonderful to me,

Steve. I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I’d’ve done

without you.”

For a moment I felt like a heel, then I remembered the way

Littlejohns had looked, curled up on the floor, and that stiffened me.

“Forget it,” I said. “You ready now?”

She said what I hoped she would say: what I knew the success or

failure of my plan depended on.

“Give me five minutes, Steve,” she said. “I want to change. This

get-up isn’t warm enough for an air trip.”

“Go ahead. Get into your woollies,” I said. “I’m damned if I don’t

come in and help you.”

She laughed uneasily, went to the bedroom door.

“You keep out, Mr. Harmas,” she said with mock severity.

“It’s a long time since you saw me undress, and I’d be shy.”

“You’re right,” I said, suddenly serious. “It is a long time: too long,

Netta.”

But she wasn’t listening. She went into the bedroom, shut the

door. I listened, heard the key turn.

I sat on the chaise-longue, lit a cigarette. The palms of my hands

were damp, the muscles in my thighs twitched. I was in a regular fever

of excitement.

Five minutes crawled by, then another five. I could hear Netta

moving about in the next room. Cigarette ash covered the carpet at

my feet.

“Hey!” I called, my nerves getting the better of me. “Time’s

getting on, Netta.”

“I’m coming,” she said; a moment later I heard the lock snap back

and she came out.

She was wearing a light wool sweater, coal-black slacks and a fur

coat over her arm. In her right hand she carried a fair-sized suit-case.

“Sorry to be so long,” she said, smiling, although her face was

pale, her eyes anxious. “It’s only five minutes after nine. Do I look all

right?”

I went over to her. “You look terrific,” I said, putting my arm

around her waist.

She pushed me away almost roughly, shook her head, tried to

keep the smile on her lips. It looked lopsided to me.

“Not now, Steve,” she said. “Let’s wait until we’re safe.”

“That’s all right, kid,” I said.

She’d pushed me off too late. I’d already felt what she had on

under the sweater, around her waist.

“Come on, let’s go.”

I picked up my hat, glanced around the room to make sure we’d

left nothing, crossed to the door.

Netta followed. I carried her bag. She carried the fur coat on her

arm.

I opened the door.

Facing me, his eyes frosty, his mouth grim, stood Corridan.

Chapter XXIV

NETTA’s thin scream cut the air with the sharpness of a pencil

grating on a slate.

“Hello, Corridan,” I said, soberly, stepping back, “so you’re in at

the finish after all.”

He entered the room, closed the door. His pale eyes looked

inquisitively at Netta. She shrank away from him, her hand to her

face.

“I don’t know what you two are doing in here,” he said coldly,

“but that can wait. I have a warrant for your arrest, Harmas. I’m sorry.

I’ve warned you enough times. Bradley has charged you with stealing

four rings and with assault. You’ll have to come along with me.”

I laughed mirthlessly. “That’s too bad,” I said. “Right now,

Corridan, there’s more important things for you to worry about. Take

a look at this young woman here. Don’t you want to be introduced?” I

smiled at Netta who stared back at me, tense, her eyes glittering in a

white face.

Corridan gave me a sharp glance. “Who is she?”

“Can’t you guess?” I said. “Look at her red hair. Can’t you smell

the lilac perfume? Come on, Corridan, what the hell kind of detective

are you?”

His face showed his astonishment.

“You mean it’s . . . ?” he began.

I shook my head at Netta. “I’m sorry about this, kid,” I said. “But

you can’t beat the rap now.” I turned back to Corridan. “Of course.

Meet Netta Anne Scott Bradley.”

Netta recoiled. “Oh,” she gasped furiously, then: “You — you

bastard!”

“Soft-pedal the language, honey,” I said. “Corridan blushes easily.”

Corridan stared at Netta, then at me.

“You mean this woman’s Netta Scott?” he demanded.

“Of course she is,” I said. “Or Mrs. Jack Bradley, known as Anne

Scott, if you like that better. I told you all along she hadn’t committed

suicide. Well, here she is as large as life, and I’ll show you something

else that’ll interest you.”

I grabbed hold of Netta as she backed away.

Her face was grey-white like putty; her eyes burned with rage and

fear. She struck at me, her fingers like claws. I grabbed her wrists,