James Chase - You've Got It Coming

He undressed and got into bed, poured himself another whisky, drank it, then turned out the light Lying in the darkness, he went over his plan in his mind He knew his life and future depended on its success, and the responsibility made him feel cold and frightened. He wished he had Glorie at his side to give him confidence and to soothe his tears.

It was only at this moment that he realized how much he was going to miss Glorie. He dared not confide in Joan. He knew that from now on, even if he did manage to beat Borg and remain out of trouble with the police, he would have no one to share his tears, no one he could lean on, no one to think for him in an emergency as Glorie had done.

When at last he fell asleep, he dreamed that Glorie was in the room, sitting at the dressing table, brushing her hair. He could see her face reflected in the mirror, she looked gay and happy as she had done on that morning before he had told her he was going after the diamonds. But when he spoke to her, she didn't turn nor seem to hear him, and when he tried to get out of bed to go to her, he found he couldn't move-as if some force were holding him down.

He woke to hear himself calling her name, cold sweat running down his face and his heart hammering with fear.

chapter eight

I

Leaving the Buick in a parking lot on Bay Shore Drive, Harry walked along the promenade to the main entrance of the Excelsior hotel where he was to meet Joan at midday.

He had already been to his bank and had arranged for thirty thousand dollars in bearer bonds to be ready for him to collect during the afternoon. He had drawn ten thousand dollars in cash, and he now carried this sum in a leather brief case.

While he had been arranging about the bonds with the bank teller, he had seen Borg come into the bank.

Borg had given him a sly, sneering smile. Pausing only long enough to watch at a distance the clerk complete a withdrawal form and give it to Harry to sign, he had left the bank, and Harry had seen no sign of him since.

But Harry was sure he wasn't far from him, and as he paced up and down outside the hotel, he had a feeling that somewhere, masked by the heavy traffic and the crowds that swarmed along the promenade and sidewalk, Borg continued to keep watch on him.

He suddenly caught sight of the cream Cadillac convertible as it came slowly along in the tide of the traffic. He stood on the kerb, waiting. As Joan pulled up, he opened the car door and got in.

He looked anxiously at her. She was pale, and there were smudges under her eyes. He could see she was still as tense and as worried as she had been when she had left him the previous night.

“I'm not late?” she asked as she steered the car into the stream of traffic again.

“It's just on twelve. Let's get away from this crush where we can talk,” he said. “Turn left here. We can go out to the golf course. We can lunch there if you like.”

“Yes.”

They drove in silence up South West 27th Avenue. Harry kept his eyes on the driving mirror on the right wing of the car.

He spotted Borg's car turn into the avenue after they had reached the intersection at West Flagler Street.

“Did you speak to your father?” he asked abruptly.

“No.” Joan didn't look at him. “He's busy today.”

Harry moved uneasily. He glanced at her, wondering what was going on in her mind.

“You look as if you didn't get much sleep last night,” he said. “Are you still worrying yourself about nothing, Joan?”

“I wish it were nothing. Did you manage to sleep then?” she returned, slowing at the entrance to the golf course. She swung the car on to the private road, then accelerated, sending the car forward at a fast speed. Neither of them spoke until she had parked the car before the clubhouse, then she said, “We can go on to the terrace.”

As Harry got out of the car, he looked back along the straight drive to the main road. There was no sign of Borg.

He followed her along the begonia-lined path, around the clubhouse and on to the broad terrace with its tables and gay sun umbrellas. There were not more than six or seven people on the terrace, and it was easy enough to find a secluded table. They sat down, and when the waiter came over, Harry ordered a double whisky after Joan had said she didn't want anything.

They waited until the drink was brought, then Harry said, “When do you think you'll be able to talk to your father, Joan? I don't want to waste any more time if I can help it.”

She looked down at her hands, frowning.

“I'm not going to talk to him now, Harry.”

Harry felt as if someone had punched him under the heart.

“You mean you don't want to go ahead with the idea?”

“Yes, that's what I mean. I'm sorry, but I can't go ahead with it now.”

“But, Joan, I have been relying on you,” he said, his voice husky. “We had it all worked out. I can't believe you're going to let me down. Why have you changed your mind?”

“My father trusts my judgment,” she said, looking across at the distant fairway where four men were coming down the hill towards the eighteenth green. “He never questions anything I do or want to do. He would back me if I asked him to put up capital for a business. He'd take my word that it was a sound investment. That puts me in a difficult position. I couldn't tell him the idea is a sound one.”

Harry felt the blood rise into his face.

“I don't understand,” he said sharply. “You know this is a sound idea, Joan. Why can't you tell him so?”

“The idea is sound enough,” she said quietly, and suddenly she looked straight at him, “but I am not sure now it would be sound if you handled it.”

Harry felt himself turn white.

“Are you telling me that you don't love me?”

She shook her head.

“I'm not saying that: love has nothing to do with it, Harry. I've been told often enough by my father that business and sentiment don't mix. He's right: they don't.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. Without Graynor's backing, he would get nowhere, he told himself. He would have to be content to buy one aircraft which would give him plenty of headaches and only a bare living.

“But why have you changed your mind? What have you got against me?” he asked.

“It has suddenly dawned on me that I don't know anything about you,” she returned. “I know I have behaved very badly, and I should never have let you make love to me. You swept me off my feet. I thought you were a wonderful person, but now I'm not sure that you are. Yesterday, I discovered two things about you: you are afraid of the police and you are a liar. I couldn't go into a partnership with a man I can't trust.”

With a hand that shook, Harry picked up his drink and gulped down half the whisky.

“Well, that's pretty good,” he said, his voice off-key. “So I'm a liar and you can't trust me. I didn't expect this from you.”

“What have you done to Glorie Dane?” she asked quietly, her eyes looking into his.

Harry felt sweat break out on his face.

“Done to her? What do you mean?”

“What I say. What have you done to her?”

“I've done nothing to her,” Harry said, sitting forward, his fists clenched. “I told you: I put her on a train for Mexico City. She's gone to her brother's place.”

“Will you give me her brother's address so I can find out if she has arrived there?”

“If I had it, I'd give it to you,” Harry said, talking out of his handkerchief and wiping his face. “But I haven't got it. I don't know where her brother lives, and I don't give a damn either.”

“You saw her on the train?”

“Yes. Now look, Joan . . .”

“What time did the train leave?”

Harry immediately saw the trap. This was something she could check. He cursed himself for giving her such an obvious opening.