James Chase: You've Got It Coming

It wasn't so much that he was now pot-bellied, that his hair was thin and had white streaks in it. That was to be expected. He must be fifty-three or four now, but what shocked her was the expressionless face that when she knew him was always alert and lively and sun tanned, and which was now as white as cold mutton and a mask. His eyes scared her: they were granite hard and restless like the eyes of a vulture.

“What is it?” Ben said curtly, determined to cut this interview short. “I have a whale of a lot to do. I wouldn't have seen you only I didn't want to turn you away without having a word. What is it?”

Glorie felt herself go red, then white. He might at least have shown a little friendliness, asked her to sit down, asked her how she was.

She decided on shock tactics. She had to get his interest before he hustled her out of the room as she felt he was likely to “Would you be interested in a consignment of diamonds worth three million dollars?” she asked.

His face remained a set, white mask, but by the way he cocked his head on one side she knew she had caught his interest.

She hadn't studied his mannerisms for fourteen months for nothing.

“What are you talking about? What diamonds?”

“May I sit down or don't people sit in your presence, Ben?”

He suddenly grinned. That was the kind of treatment he liked.

He never had any time for people who fawned on him.

“Go ahead and sit down,” he said, and walked over to his desk and sat down himself. “Look, Glorie, let's have it. I have things to do. What's all this about diamonds?”

But now she had his interest she was determined not to be hurried. She sat down, reached for the gold cigarette box on the desk, took a cigarette and looked at him.

Impatiently he pushed a desk lighter towards her.

When she had lit the cigarette, she said, “A man I know wants to talk to you. He thinks you might do a deal with him. I didn't want to get mixed up in this, but he did me a good turn once and he didn't think you would see him unless he had some sort of introduction, so . . . “ She spread her hands, letting the sentence die.

“He will have three million dollars’ worth of diamonds to get rid of. He thinks you are the only one who is big enough to handle the deal.”

“Where's he getting them from?”

“I don't know. I don't want to know. I happen to owe him something, and that's why I said I'd come to you.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Harry Green and he lives in Pittsburgh. He was a pilot during the war and hurt his leg. He's a bit of a cripple. He sells oil on commission and doesn't do very well out of it.”

Ben frowned.

“What's he doing with diamonds?”

“I don't know.”

“He sounds like a crackpot to me. Look, baby, you're wasting my time. Three million dollars’ worth of diamonds — why, it's ridiculous!”

She looked at him.

“I told him you wouldn't believe it, but he was so sure. He insisted I should come to you. I'm sorry. All right, Ben, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

She stood up.

As Ben reached for the bell that would tell his secretary he was free for the next caller, his eyes fell on the half-concealed balance sheet on the desk.

Three million dollars’ worth of diamonds! If by some miracle this wasn't a crackpot's pipe dream, if by some miracle the diamonds did exist, then here could be the means of getting that yacht built this year.

“Don't rush away,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Is this guy on the level, Glorie?”

“Of course. I wouldn't be here unless I was sure of that.”

“You really think he'll have the diamonds?”

“I suppose so. I don't know. All I know is he isn't a time waster and he's on the level. But if you're too busy to see him, then I guess he'll have to find someone else who'll handle the deal.”

Ben hesitated, then shrugged.

“Well, okay, it can't hurt me to see him. What did you say his name was again?”

“Harry Green.”

“Tell him to come and see me tomorrow. Tell him to call my secretary for a time.”

“He won’t be in Los Angeles until the 16th,” Glorie said. “He doesn't want to be seen coming here. Can he call you and make a date for you to meet him somewhere?”

“Look, baby, if this guy's wasting my time, he'll be sorry.” The hard, white face was suddenly vicious. “Why the hell doesn't he want to come here?”

“That's something you'd better ask him,” Glorie said, feeling a chill crawl up her spine at the sight of him.

Ben shrugged impatiently,

“Okay, tell him to call me. I'll talk to him.” He got to his feet. “You're sure this guy's okay?”

“Yes. It may be hard to believe, Ben, but you can still trust me.”

He laughed.

“Sure. Well, it's certainly a surprise to see you after all this time.” He came around his desk to her. “You okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine. And you?”

Ben shrugged.

“I'm fine too. This guy Green your boyfriend, Glorie?”

“No. He pulled me out of a jam once. That's all.”

“Haven't you got a boyfriend now?” His flat gangster eyes went over her face, inspected her figure: gangster, X-ray eyes.

“I find it less complicated not to have one. Boyfriends are so often unreliable.”

“Oh, I don't know.” He smiled. “Is that what you call it? After all a guy likes a change.” He wandered over to the window. He couldn't resist showing off his new possession. “Here, take a look at that.”

She joined him at the window. They looked down at the swimming pool, through the glass wall at Fay who lay on an air mattress, her red-gold hair around her shoulders, a towel draped across her, under the rays of a sunray lamp.

“Pretty nice, eh?” Ben looked out of the corner of his hard little eyes, contemptuous and proud. “Cute and pretty, huh? I like them young, Glorie: young and enthusiastic as you used to be.”

Glorie felt herself turn white. The sneer hit her where she lived.

“Yes,” she said. “Very nice, but she'll get old. We all do. Even you're not as handsome as you used to be, Ben. Good-bye.”

She crossed the room, opened the door and went out.

Ben stared at the door, his eyes angry. Well, the bitch had had the last word as she always did. He was well shot of her. Who would have believed she would have worn so badly? He had been smart to have dropped her when he did.

He crossed the room to his desk and picked up the telephone.

“Borg? There's a woman leaving here; she's on her way out now. She's tall, dark, wearing a black-and-white costume. Her name's Glorie Dane. Send Taggart after her. He's not to lose sight of her. I want to know where she hangs out, what she does, who her men friends are — the works.”

The voice at the other end of the line, a low, breathless voice, as if the owner suffered from asthma, said, “Okay, I'll take care of it.”

Ben replaced the receiver and stood frowning down at the blotter on his desk. Harry Green? Who was this guy? Where was he getting all these diamonds from? If she said there were three million dollars’ worth of diamonds, then he was pretty sure there were three million dollars of diamonds. He had always been able to trust Glorie.

He wandered over to the window to look once more at Fay.

She'll get old. We all do. Even you're not as handsome as you used to be.

Damn her! To say a thing like that. It spoilt his morning.

II

Glorie was too preoccupied with her thoughts as she walked down the boulevard to notice a tall, slouching man, wearing a dark topcoat and a slouch hat, who sat in a Buick convertible on the far side of the road. His lean, hard face, his hooked nose and thin lips gave him the look of a hawk. He watched her through the windshield of the car, saw her pause at the bus stop, and when the bus arrived, get on board. He shifted the gear lever and drove after the bus.