James Chase - You've Got It Coming

What was he going to do if he did succeed in killing Borg? He had about fifty thousand dollars which was quite a piece of money.

His enthusiasm to start an air-taxi business had gone now. He would have to think of something else to do. Perhaps his original plan to go to Europe, to have a look around in London, Paris and Rome might offer a solution. If he did kill Borg, he would be safer in Europe where he could lose himself.

After an hour of continuous brooding, he worked off his bitter mood and decided there was no point in weakly throwing up the sponge. There were plenty of other women in the world, he told himself. He still had a chance of happiness if he could only rid himself of Borg.

He went into the clubhouse and asked the steward to get him a taxi. While he waited, he had a sandwich and a whisky, and, when the taxi arrived, he told the driver to take him to his bank.

Borg, who had been dozing in his car, saw the taxi arrive. He followed it from the golf course to the centre of the town. He watched Harry go to his bank and come out with his brief case bulging. He saw Harry speak to the taxi driver and then walk down the road a few yards to the National Californian Bank.

The taxi crawled after him and parked outside.

Knowing that Borg was tailing him, Harry had to make a pretence of drawing the ten thousand dollars he was supposed to be getting from Joan. He spent some minutes talking to the bank teller about opening an account, then, when he thought he had been in the bank long enough to allay Borg's suspicions, he told the bank teller he would come back later and went out on to the street again. He told the taxi driver to take him to the parking lot where he had left his car.

All the time Borg's car kept behind him. Borg made no attempt to keep out of sight.

As Harry was paying off his taxi outside the parking lot, Borg pulled up by him and leaned out of the window. The two men looked at each other. Neither of them spoke until the taxi had driven away, then Borg said, “You've had a busy day, palsy.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his grip tightening on the briefcase.

Although he felt reasonably safe with the promenade crowded with people, he didn't intend to take any chances with Borg and he wished he hadn't left his gun in the cabin.

“Did you get the dough?” Borg asked, his hard little eyes going to the brief case.

“Yes, I got it.”

“Did she part, palsy?”

“Yes.”

“Was that her bank you've just come from?”

“That's right.”

Borg nodded. He seemed satisfied.

“She didn't look too happy, did she? Didn't she like giving you the dough, palsy?”

“She wasn't overjoyed,” Harry said, his voice tight and hard.

“Well, never mind, it's in a good cause. See you tonight at ten. Don't try anything funny, will you?”

“That goes for you too,” Harry said and, turning his back, he walked over to his car.

Borg looked after him, his little eyes sleepy, then he set the car in motion and drove away. By the time Harry had manoeuvred his car out of the packed parking lot, Borg was out of sight.

Harry returned to the motel. He went over to the office and asked the manager to put his brief case in his safe. As he walked over to his cabin, he saw Borg's car was parked outside Borg's cabin, and he guessed the fat killer was at his window, watching from behind the curtain.

Harry entered his cabin, shut and locked the door, then he unlocked the drawer in his chest where he had put the gun and box. He satisfied himself that nothing had been disturbed, relocking the drawer. He collected his swimming trunks and a towel and, leaving the cabin, he went down on to the beach.

He spent the next two hours swimming and lazing on the sand, determined to keep his mind empty and refusing to let himself think of what lay ahead of him. On his way back to the motel, he stopped in at a bar and spent half an hour over two whiskies and the evening paper. It was just after seven o'clock by the time he got back to his cabin. He noticed Borg's car had gone. He entered his cabin, shaved, showered and changed into a dark lounge suit. Then he went over to the restaurant, taking with him the tools he had borrowed, carefully wrapped in the napkin in case Borg happened to be still watching him. He had dinner, then he walked over to the manager's office and collected his brief case.

By then it was half-past eight, and growing dusk. He locked himself in the cabin, turned on the light and pulled down the blind. He took the box, containing the gun, from the drawer and set it on the table. He was now aware of a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Up to this moment he had managed to keep his mind clear of what was to happen within the next two hours. But, as he looked at the gun in the box, the full force of his predicament hit him. He was going out to the beach alone where Borg would be waiting for him. One of them would survive the meeting; one of them would die. Borg had everything in his favour. He was an expert killer. All Harry had in his favour was the element of surprise and the hope that Borg wouldn't kill him until he was sure Harry had brought money with him.

Harry poured himself a shot of whisky which helped to steady his jumping nerves. He picked up the evening newspaper he had brought with him and tore it into two parts. He made two pads from the folded paper and wedged them into the box. He opened the brief case and took out a packet of $100 bills. One of these he slid between the gun barrel and the hole-in the box, masking the gun barrel. The rest of the bills he put on top of the box and fastened them with an elastic band. He stood away and examined the box. It looked as if it were packed tight with one-hundred dollar bills, and that was the way he wanted it to look.

There was no sign of the gun. Picking up the box, he again assured himself that he could get his finger through the hole in the bottom of the box and around the trigger.

He put the box back on the table, and then fastened the strap of the brief case. He would have preferred to have taken the case with him but he was determined that if anything went wrong with his plan and he was killed, the case shouldn't fall into Borg's hands. Not sure that Borg might still be watching the cabin, he decided against taking the case over to the manager's office. If Borg saw him, he would know at once that he was planning a double cross.

Lifting the mattress on the bed, he pushed the brief case tinder it and then straightened the bedspread.

It was now time to go. He put on his hat, lit a cigarette, picked up the box and left the cabin, locking the door after him.

He got into his car, put the box on the seat beside him and drove quickly along Bay Shore Drive, up Le Jeune Road towards Highway 27. It was dark by the time he reached Tamiami Canal. The broad highway was alive with traffic coming into Miami. He seemed to be the only one leaving town, and the continuous blaze of headlights coming towards him irritated him.

The luminous hands of the dashboard clock showed twenty minutes after nine as he passed the wood where he and Glorie had stopped to argue and where the oil-truck driver had asked the way to the Denbridge service station.

Harry thought then of Glorie. He realized now that he should never have left her. She was his kind whereas Joan was way out of his class. Nothing he did would have ever shocked Glorie. If she had been alive now, she would have come with him to face Borg. She would never have let him do this drive alone.

He came to the intersection that led to Collier City, and he turned left. The time was now five minutes to ten. He was aware that his heart was pounding and his hands were cold and clammy.

After five minutes driving he saw on either side of the road the mounds of clam shells in his headlights. He pulled up just clear of the wall of shells. He turned off the headlights and sat for a long moment staring through the windshield at the open beach and the sea glistening in the moonlight.