James Chase - You've Got It Coming

Glorie paused to listen.

The official shook his head, smiling apologetically.

“I really am sorry, but we haven't anyone. I wish I could help you. I can fix something for you first thing tomorrow morning if that'd be any use.”

“I can't wait until the morning. You don't know anyone who could fly me down—anyone.”

“I'm afraid not. Why don't you take the passenger service, Miss Graynor? Your man could bring the plane down When he’s fit.”

The girl hesitated, then shrugged.

“Oh, well, yes, I guess I'd better do that.”

She turned away and almost cannoned into Glorie.

“Excuse me,” she said and sidestepped Glorie. .

“I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying,” Glorie said. “I might be able to help you.”

The girl stopped and looked at her. She was beautiful, Glorie thought enviously; young, clear-skinned, alive, with big, grey eyes.

“Help me? I don't think you can. I want a pilot.”

“My—my husband's a pilot,” Glorie said. “He's in the buffet now. Perhaps . . .”

The girl's eyes lit up.

“That'd be too good to be true,” she said. “But I’m going to Miami. He wouldn't want to go there, would he?”

“We don't mind where we go. We—we're on vacation. Were just in from Los Angeles, and we were only saying just now we didn't know where we should stop off next,” Glorie said, improvising hastily. “Will you come and meet him? I'm sure he would be willing to help you.”

“I think it's marvellous of you,” the girl said. “I suppose he has a licence?”

“Oh yes. He was a crew captain for the C.A.T.C. until recently.”

“That's wonderful. I'm Joan Graynor. I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. . . ?”

“Griffin. I'm Glorie Griffin. My husband's Harry Griffin.”

“Well, let's go and talk to him.”

Together they crossed the reception hall and entered the buffet.

Harry stared at them as they came towards him. He hurriedly slid the gun into his trench-coat pocket and got up as Glorie moved ahead of Joan Graynor.

“Harry, this is Miss Graynor,” Glorie said. “She wants a pilot to fly her to Miami. I told her how we were on vacation and had nowhere in particular to go, and I said you might fly her down.”

Harry looked beyond Glorie at the blonde girl who was staring at him, a half-smile on her lovely mouth. Their eyes met, and Harry felt as if he had received an electric shock. There was that thing in her that seemed to reach out and hit him. Instinctively he knew he had made as much impact on her as she had on him.

What a beauty! he thought. What a pippin of a girl!

He smiled, and, watching him, Glorie felt her heart contract.

She hadn't seen that smile for a long time. It was the same kind of smile he had given her when they had first met in the nightclub lobby seven months ago: the smile of the hunter. She looked quickly at Joan to see how she was reacting, but she learned nothing there. Joan's face was interested and friendly, but that was all.

“Fly you down?” Harry said. “Why sure, I'd be glad to. But where's the kite? Who owns it?”

“Oh, I do,” Joan said. “It's on the runway now. My pilot is ill. I had some business here and I flew up yesterday. Now he can't take me back and I've just got to be home some time tonight.”

“How about clearance and briefing instructions?”

“That's all fixed. I've got the Met. report. We can get off right away. They're waiting for me to clear now.”

Harry looked at Glorie, suddenly remembering that somewhere out in the darkness Borg was waiting. The sight of the girl had driven Borg out of his mind and that startled him.

“Just exactly where is the kite?” he asked.

“Over at the hangars. I have a car waiting. We can drive over. Will you really fly me?”

“Sure. We'll be glad of the trip.”

“I can't thank you enough.” Her smile was the most exciting thing Harry had ever seen. “May we meet at the south exit in the reception hall? I've just got to call my pilot and tell him what I'm doing.”

“Sure, we'll meet you there.”

She smiled again and walked away.

Glorie watched Harry stare after the blonde girl. Harry was watching the swing of Joan's hips, her square shoulders and her silky hair. He felt a tightness in his chest as he looked after her.

What a pippin of a girl! he thought again.

“Harry . . .”

He started, turned and looked at Glorie. He had completely forgotten her, and now for the first time he became sharply aware how white and drawn and unglamorous she looked and he frowned at her.

“That was a bit of luck,” he said, forcing himself to smile.

“But how do we get to the kite? Borg may be waiting right outside.”

“She said she has a car…”

“Yeah, and as I climb in, I’ll get shot in the back.”

Harry took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. All his old fears came surging back. “Look, Glorie, he won't touch you. Will you cover me? I’ll go first, behind her, and you keep close behind me. Will you do that?”

Even at that her love for him didn’t falter.

“Yes, of course, Harry.”

“It's not as if he'd do anything to you,” Harry said, feeling blood rise into his face at her quiet acquiescence. He knew he was acting like a heel and he wished she had the guts to round on him. “You're not scared, are you? He won't shoot if you’re in the way.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Well, okay, then let's go.”

He slid his hand inside his coat pocket and his fingers closed over the butt of his gun.

He walked first, Glorie followed him. They had to wait a few minutes in the reception hall before Joan appeared.

“All ready,” she said. “We can get off.”

“Go on ahead,” Harry said, opening the door. He looked out into the dark night. His eyes searched the shadows, his flesh creeping.

Near the entrance was a big Lincoln, a chauffeur at the wheel.

Joan ran across the black top and got in the back of the car.

Harry was right on her heels and Glorie followed him.

Not forty yards away in the dark shadows, Borg watched the Lincoln drive away to the distant hangers. He had seen Harry arrive, had watched him and Glorie go into the reception hall, but he had made no attempt on Harry's life. He could have picked him off easily enough, but he wasn't sure this was the man he was after. It was hard to believe this young, good-looking guy could have been the fat, heavy Harry Green. Borg had been certain he would have recognized some mannerism, the walk, the way he held himself or something that would have given him the clue that this man was Harry Green. But he hadn’t spotted the clue and reluctantly he had held his fire.

He watched the three leave the car at the far end of one of the runways and climb aboard the aircraft that stood outside a hangar. He listened to the engine roar into life and saw the aircraft taxi out on to the runway.

One of the airport staff passed by and Borg reached out a fat hand and stopped him.

“Who was the blonde who has just taken off in that aircraft?” he asked.

The man looked in the direction Borg was pointing.

“I guess that'd be Miss Graynor.”

“Where's she going?”

“Home, I guess. She lives in Miami.”

Borg grunted and walked to the reception desk. Even if this guy wasn't Harry Green, he didn't intend to lose sight of Glorie.

Maybe there were three of them: Green, Glorie and this guy, Griffin. Maybe Green would show up later on.

He went into the ticket office. The clerk told him the next plane to Miami left in twenty minutes time.

Borg took out his well-filled wallet.

“Gimme a ticket,” he said.

III

Harry opened his eyes and stared around the small, but luxuriously furnished bedroom. For a few seconds he didn't know where he was, then he recalled the happenings of the previous night and relaxed back on his pillow. In the twin bed near his, Glorie still slept. He looked across at her, frowning. He could see how nervy she was even in sleep; her body twitched and her hands were restless. Her drawn, tired face and her twitching displeased him, and he looked away, reaching for a cigarette.