James Chase - You've Got It Coming

For the first few seconds while she was talking, Harry's fury nearly suffocated him. But he made an effort and fought down his rage. By the time she had finished, he was thinking again, and he was cold and alert. Okay, he told himself, so you're on the hook. What a fool he had been to think it could have worked out otherwise! He had been so used to Glorie doing just what he had wanted her to do, it had never crossed his mind that she would blackmail him.

“You can't do this to me, Glorie,” he said desperately. “It just won't work. I'd hate you for it. You wouldn't want to live with me, knowing I hated you, would you?”

“Why not?” she said, staring at him. “Why should I care? I'm considering myself. You don't love me anyway. I've got beyond thinking of what I want and what I don't want. This is my life: my future. I'm going ahead with this, and you can't talk me out of it. Hate me if you want to. It won't hurt me as much as it will hurt you. I intend to marry you because it will increase my security. If you go off with another woman, I'll divorce you, but I shall get alimony and damages from you and I shall keep the twenty-five thousand. I'm thinking of myself for a change. Something I've never done before.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, making an effort to keep control of himself. “Well, it looks like you're sitting pretty, doesn't it? Are you quite sure you're going ahead with this?”

She looked steadily at him.

“I'm quite sure.”

“Suppose I give you thirty thousand ? Will you get out of here and leave me alone?”

“No. I'm not changing my terms. Tomorrow morning you must arrange for the marriage licence; It'll take a week or so before we can get married, but I can wait. In the meantime go ahead and look for someone who'll sell you a partnership in this air-taxi business. I'll look too. If we can't find anything here, then we must move on until we do. I want you to transfer twenty-five thousand dollars to the West National Bank in my name and I want that done tomorrow. I don't think there is anything else for the moment. I think we should leave this motel and find somewhere cheaper to live. We might rent a furnished bungalow. I'll look into that tomorrow.” She got to her feet. “Shall we have dinner now? I think you said you were hungry.”

Harry tried his last shot.

“If you gave me away to the police, you would be in the soup too. They'd slap an accessory rap on you: you'd draw ten years.”

She moved past him to the door.

“Do you think I'd care? The only life I have before me is with you. If I haven't you, I wouldn't care what happened. Ten years in prison doesn't frighten me. At least I wouldn't be alone, not knowing where the money Was coming from to pay my rent. I'd know too they wouldn't put me in the death house as they would you.” She opened the door. “Are you coming?”

“You can't do this to me!” Harry shouted, losing control of himself. “I’ll make you damn well pay if you do. I'm warning you, Glorie! If you go ahead with this I'll fix you somehow!”

“There's no need to shout,” she said quietly. “Unless, of course, you want everyone to know you're on the hook and you don't like it.”

“I’ll fix you for this if it’s the last thing I do!” Harry shouted, glaring at her.

“It probably will be,” she said. “So long as you know what the consequences will be, you must please yourself.”

“Okay, but don't expect any mercy from me. It may take time, but you'll get what's coming to you. Make no mistake about that.”

“The window's open,” she said coldly. “They will hear you.”

She went out and shut the door after her.

Borg slid into the shadows as Glorie came out of the cabin.

She passed within a few yards of him, not seeing him and walked across to the brightly lighted restaurant.

He pushed his hat to the back of his head. The simplest thing to do would be to walk in and give it to the rat, but perhaps it was too simple. Borg had taken a liking to Miami, he was in no hurry to leave. He decided to wait a little longer. He was interested to see what Harry would do. Maybe he would think up a way of getting off the hook.

Inside the cabin, Harry remained motionless, sweat on his face, his heart hammering. He remained like that for several minutes, then he reached for his pack of cigarettes, lit one and stretched out on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, his face hard, his mind busy.

What was he to tell Joan? He must gain time. It would be fatal for Joan to talk to her father at this stage of the setup. If Glorie thought she could stand in his way like this, she was making a fatal mistake. No one was going to stand in his way now. The prize was too great. He loved Joan: there was a chance of marrying her. She would come into most of her father's money.

His life would be completely changed. He would have a business, a lovely wife and as much money as he could handle. Glorie wasn't going to block that. There was only one obvious solution to this, he told himself. Glorie would have to be silenced. Either that or he would have to knuckle under to her for the rest of his days and he wasn't going to do that. He didn't flinch from the thought of killing her. There was too much in the balance to think of flinching. After all, he was already wanted for murder. One more murder meant nothing to him now. It was her life or his future. He had already made up his mind about that while she had been talking.

She held all the tricks except one, and he held that: the winning trick. He would silence her. She had asked for it and it served her right.

For five minutes or so he lay still, his mind busy, then abruptly he swung his legs off the bed and stood up. He crushed out his cigarette, walked to the door, turned off the light and went out into the hot night.

Across the way was the brightly lit restaurant. He could see Glorie sitting at one of the tables in the bay windows. A waiter was serving her and she was speaking to him.

Harry walked down the path that led to the office, pushed open the door and made his way to a row of pay booths. He found Howard Graynor's number in the book, shut himself in a booth and dialled the number.

A man's voice said, “Graynor residence.”

“Will you tell Miss Graynor, Mr. Griffin is calling?”

“If you will hold on a moment, sir.”

Harry held on. He stared through the glass panel of the door at the tall, willowy redhead who leaned over the counter, making an entry in a ledger. From where he stood he could see down the front of her dress. He wasn't in the mood to appreciate What he saw.

“Hello, Harry. . .”

He straightened, turning his back on the redhead.

“Hello, Joan.” He tried to make his voice sound animated, but it didn't come off. “You were right. I've got trouble here. She isn't playing ball for the moment.”

“Oh, darling, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I can handle it, but I won't be able to rush it. She's after more money. Look, don't talk to your father just yet. I may have to give her more than I had planned and I may be short by the time I get rid of her. She's on to us, Joan. We'd better not meet until she's gone. I don't want to antagonize her. You understand, don't you?”

“I knew it, Harry. Look, couldn't I talk to her? I knew she would make trouble.”

“No. You must keep out of it,” Harry said. “I can take care of her. It's just a matter of money. She'll give me up if I pay her enough.”

“All right, darling. I won't say anything to Father until you're ready. When are we going to meet?”

“I’ll call you the moment she has gone. It may take a day or so, but I'm thinking of you and loving you. You know that.”

“Yes, Harry. I know it, and you know I'm thinking of you too. You're sure there's nothing I can do?”