James Chase - You've Got It Coming

“Who?”

The word came out in a husky whisper.

“Your wife,” Hammerstock said, his eyes probing more intently.

Harry saw the danger. He mustn't be caught out in a lie, he told himself. They could easily find out that Glorie wasn't his wife.

“You've got your lines crossed,” he said. “I'm not married.”

Hammerstock rubbed his fleshy nose with the ball of his thumb.

“You are Harry Griffin?”

“Yes.”

“You registered at the Florida motel the night before last?”

“Yes. What's this all about anyway?”

“You had a woman with you. You registered as Mr. and Mrs. Griffin right?”

“Yes, but don't tell me that's police business,” Harry said, forcing his stiff lips into a smile.

Hammerstock cocked his head on one side.

“You mean this woman isn't your wife?”

“That's what I mean.”

“Okay,” Hammerstock said, shifting his position. “Let’s start from the beginning again. Is the woman who isn't your wife but who registered at the Florida motel as your wife around?”

“No, she isn't. Why do you want her?”

Hammerstock looked past Harry and, into the room beyond.

He saw Joan's gloves and handbag on the dressing table and he lifted his heavy eyebrows. Harry looked over his shoulder, saw what Hammerstock was looking at, moved forward, forcing Hammerstock to give ground, and pulled the door shut. He leant against it.

“Sure she isn't?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Hammerstock appeared to relax a little. He pushed his hat further to the back of his head, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“Could we talk inside, out of the sun?” he said.

“If we've got to talk, we talk right here.”

Hammerstock suddenly grinned. It wasn't a pleasant grin, but it had a certain brutal humour about it.

“Looks like I've called at the wrong time,” he said. “Well, never mind. I won't keep you long. Where can I find your girl.” Harry drew in a slow, deep breath. At least, they hadn't found Glorie's body. That was certain. The relief made him fed a little light headed.

“Why the mystery? What do you want her for?”

Hammerstock's grin widened.

“I've got fifty bucks for her. That'll come as a nice surprise to her, won't it?”

“Fifty bucks?” Harry stared at him. “I don't get it.”

“Look, the redhead who tries to run the office at the Florida happens to be my sister. That's my hard luck, but I won't bore you with my troubles,” Hammerstock said. “It so happens she has a bird brain. When a guy whistles after her, she thinks he's doing it because he happens to be musical: that's how dumb she is. Your girlfriend paid the check when you two left and birdbrain overcharged her fifty bucks. She made a two look like a seven, and your girlfriend didn't query it. Birdbrain only found it out after you'd gone, then she worked herself into a state about it. When she gets into a state, she calls me. I get called four or five times a week, and because I have the bad luck to be her brother, I have to straighten her out. Fifty bucks is quite a piece of money so I thought I'd better do something about it. I called three or four of the cheaper motels, thinking maybe you two had moved to some place that doesn't charge for the air you breathe like the Florida does, and I found you here. I've got fifty bucks for your girlfriend.”

“That's pretty nice of you to take all this trouble,” Harry said. “Well, thanks. I’ll take charge of it.”

Hammerstock shook his head.

“I was told to give it to your girlfriend. Birdbrain wants a receipt from her so she can sleep easy tonight.”

“I’ll give you a receipt,” Harry said. “It's my money. I gave her the dough to settle the check so the fifty belongs to me.”

“Fifty bucks is money,” Hammerstock said. “I'd like your girl to confirm the money's yours. Where can I find her?”

“I don't know,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We parted. I don't know where she is right now.”

“Is that right?” The small eyes became inquisitive. “Birdbrain tells me you and the young woman went off in a Buick, heading for Highway 27. Didn't you take her someplace before you parted?”

This was dangerous, Harry thought, aware that his heart was pounding and wondering if Hammerstock could hear it. He couldn't risk a lie. Out of sheer cussedness, this cop might check.

“I took her to Collier City,” he said. “She talked about going to New Orleans.”

“Did she?” Hammerstock scratched the side of his jaw. “That's a funny place to leave anyone. You can't get to New Orleans from Collier City.”

“Can't you? Well, that's nothing to do with me,” Harry said curtly. “She wanted to go to Collier City so I took her there.”

“Yeah. You never know with women: they're funny animals. What did you say her name was?”

“Glorie Dane.”

Hammerstock took out a pack of Lucky Strikes. He flicked one out and offered it to Harry who shook his head. Hammerstock put the cigarette between his thin lips, took out a kitchen match and scratched it alight with his thumbnail.

“Seems you and Miss Dane had a quarrel before you left the Florida,” he said. “Birdbrain had a complaint from a cabin near yours. That right?”

“I don't know,” Harry said, forcing himself to meet the probing eyes. “Could be. I guess we slanged each other often enough. That's why we parted.”

“My wife and I slang each other too, but I haven t been able to get rid of her,” Hammerstock said and grinned. “Well, I've got these fifty bucks. Maybe I'd better give them to you. I can't go out to Collier City. I've got work to do.”

“That's up to you,” Harry said. “I gave her the money so the fifty's mine, but I can't prove it.”

“You'll give me a receipt?”

“Oh, sure, I'll give you a receipt.”

Hammerstock took out his notebook, scribbled on a page, eased the page from the book and handed it to Harry with a stub of pencil. Harry signed the paper and handed it back. Hammerstock handed over five ten-dollar bills.

“Thanks for your trouble,” Harry said. “Maybe I should give your sister something. How about twenty bucks?”

Hammerstock shook his head.

“No, she wouldn't accept it. She's very high-minded, considering how dumb she is. You stick to it: you'll probably need it.”

He looked deliberately at the Cadillac convertible. “That your car?”

“No,” Harry said, opening the cabin door and moving back into the room.

“Nice job,” Hammerstock said. He looked at Harry and grinned. “And it seems you're a fast worker. Off with the old and on with the new, huh?”

“So long and thanks,” Harry said woodenly and shut the door in Hammerstock's face.

III

As Hammerstock walked down the asphalt path to where a dusty Lincoln was parked, Harry and Joan stood at the window, looking through the curtain at him. There was a tight, still silence in the cabin and, when the Lincoln had disappeared, Joan moved from Harry's side and wandered over to the dressing table.

Harry was aware of the tension in the room. He felt it wasn't entirely due to Hammerstock's visit. He had a feeling that the tension was also coming from Joan.

Trying to speak casually, he told her briefly why Hammerstock had called.

“I can't understand Glorie letting that dumb redhead make such a mistake,” he said. “Usually, she's pretty smart. I've never known anyone to get the better of her before.”

Joan didn't say anything. She opened her handbag, took out a comb and tidied her hair. Looking sharply at her, Harry was startled to see how pale and set her face was. He was still badly shaken by Hammerstock's visit. He realized he must make an effort to pull himself together. It was obvious to him that Joan was upset by something, and he had to find out what it was.