Come Easy, Go Easy

by James Hadley Chase

It wasn't until after ten when things had slackened off that we three sat down to supper. It seemed odd to have Roy opposite and Lola on my right.

  Roy was enthusiastic about the job.

  "This is certainly some place!" he said. "Boy! Am I glad I walked in the way I did! This is a lot better than selling safes."

  We were eating Lola's famous spaghetti and veal cutlets. Lola, her spaghetti neatly rolled up on her fork, paused to look at him.

  "Is that your line—safes?" she asked.

  "I'll have you know, Mrs. Jenson," Roy said, grinning at me, "Chet and I are the two best safe men in the country. That's right, isn't it, Chet?"

  "Well, we're not so lousy. I've known worse."

  "Chet and I started in the same business on the same day," Roy said to Lola. "He is a better safe man than I am, but I'm better at locks. The trouble with him is he is too conscientious. Ever since I've known him he's pulled me out of jams. Usually, I get him into a mess and he gets me out of it."

  "You're going to find it pretty quiet here, Roy," I said. "There's not much to do except work."

  "It'll suit me," he said, his expression suddenly serious, "but what will Mr. Jenson say when he comes back and finds he has another mouth to feed?" He looked at Lola. "I would like to think this is a permanent job, Mrs. Jenson."

  "I'm not sure he is coming back," Lola said, picking up her cue fast.

  Roy blinked.

  "Is that a fact?" He looked quickly at me, then at her. "Some trouble?"

  "The usual." She made it sound very casual. "I haven't told anyone yet, but I don't think he's coming back. He's found someone he likes better than me."

  Roy looked embarrassed.

  "I'm sorry …"

  She smiled at him.

  "You don't have to be." She reached out and put her hand on mine. "You see, Chet and I . . ." She stopped and squeezed my hand. "At least my husband left me this place—and Chet."

  Roy shook his head wonderingly at me.

  "What a guy! Talk about luck!"

  "That's the way it is." I pushed back my chair. "Come over to the cabin, Roy. You may as well get settled in."

  Roy stood up.

  "Thanks for the swell meal, Mrs. Jenson."

  She smiled up at him.

  "You'd better call me Lola. We're not formal here."

  "Okay. How about helping with the dishes?"

  "I'll do it. You go with Chet."

  As we walked across the moonlit sand to the cabin, Roy said, "Some chick! I'm glad for you, Chet. You're sure I won't be in the way?"

  "Of course not. The one thing this place lacks for me has been male company."

  I unlocked the cabin door and we went in.

  "This is pretty good," Roy said, looking around. "Even a TV set." He moved to the window and looked across at the bungalow. "Is that where you are?"

  "Where else do you think I'd be?"

  "Yeah—your way with women." He lit a cigarette, then dumping his bag on a chair, he began to unpack. "This guy Jenson must have been nuts to have walked out of here for a woman. I can't figure it. Seems to me his wife has it all—what more does he want?"

  "It's my guess he's settled for some fat, comfortable woman of his own age," I said. "Lola is twenty years younger than he is, and she isn't all that easy to live with."

  Roy drew on his cigarette, sucked down smoke, then exhaled in a long, steady stream.

  "Why didn't he get rid of her then and keep this place for himself?"

  Roy was no fool. I could see he was puzzled by the set-up. I had to convince him or he might begin to suspect the truth.

  "That's easier said than done," I said. "You can't just get rid of your wife when you happen to feel like it."

  His dark, quizzing eyes searched my face.

  "How long has he been gone?"

  "Four or five weeks."

  "And she's heard nothing from him?"

  "No."

  "She doesn't know for certain there is another woman?"

  "She's pretty sure."

  He shook his head.

  "But he could walk in here at any moment and catch you in bed with her?"

  "He's not coming back, Roy."

  He looked sharply at me, then away.

  "Does she know you're in this fix, Chet?"

  "Yes. I told her."

  He had emptied his bag by now. His things were scattered on the bed.

  "This place must be quite a gold mine. What's the weekly take?"

  The take had been less than I had expected it would be. Jenson had made his money from his scrap deals. This I had discovered after the first week of his death. Scrap was something I didn't understand, nor did Lola. Since Jenson's hand had come off the wheel, the scrap trade had come to a standstill. Lola and I had had to rely on what the lunch room, the gas pumps and the repair shed brought in. This turned out to be a lot less than I had thought. We made a net profit of around 200 dollars a week, and this we divided: half for her, half for me.

  With nothing to spend my share on, I had put it every in the safe to accumulate with the rest of my savings. What she did with hers I didn't ask.

  "It's not as good as you might think—around two hundred week."

  Roy pulled a face.

  "You surprise me. I'd have thought it would be a lot more." He crossed to the window and looked out. "There must be ways of turning a set-up like this into big money, Chet."

  "You're wrong. It's too off the beaten track."

  "But that's the whole point." He looked steadily at me. "This is just the place for some kind of racket. You can see that, can't you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You don't want to stay here buried for the rest of your days. You and I have always been after the big money. We could dream up something that would turn this place into a gold mine."

  I sat on the bed, frowning at him.

  "Dream up—what?"

  "I'm just coasting, but how about the Mexican emigrants? You could land them here at two hundred bucks a head. It's the ideal place for them. Have you thought of that?"

  "If you had been in Farnworrh for a couple of months, Roy," I said quietly, "you wouldn't talk this way."

  He ran his fingers through his hair and grinned uneasily at me.

  "Yeah, I know how you feel. We handled that job wrong. We acted like a couple of dopes. We should have watched that guy Cooper for at least a week. We should have found out what his habits really were. We handled that job badly."

  "We shouldn't have handled it at all. We asked for trouble and we got it—at least I did. Let's get this straight, I'm through with rackets of any kind."

  "I understand that, but I've still got the money itch. Sooner or later I've got to get my hands on a big slice of money. If I don't get it soon, I'll never get it."

  "You're not going to get it here; make up your mind about that," I said.

  He shrugged, then grinned.

  "Well, okay. So we're through with rackets." He went over to the chest of drawers and pulled open a drawer. "Just so long as I know." He dumped some shirts into the drawer, then he looked at me. "Haven't you the urge to make big money any more, Chet?"

  "No," I said. "Farnworth cured me. If you had been there, it would have cured you too."

  "Pretty tough, huh?" He took a collection of handkerchiefs and socks off the bed, pulled open the second drawer and tumbled them in. Then he said sharply, "Hell! What's this?"

  The tone of his voice made me stiffen.

  "What's what?"

  He put his hand into the drawer and lifted out the .45 Colt that had shot Jenson. I had forgotten I had put it into the drawer after Lola had killed Jenson. I had forgotten it even existed.

  The sight of the gun in Roy's hand turned me cold. I made a movement to snatch it from him, but just managed to control myself.

  "That's Jenson's," I said, trying to make my voice sound casual. "I found it when he left."

  Roy was staring at the gun. He spun the cylinder, then he sniffed at the
barrel.

  "This has been fired recently," he said. He drew out the empty cartridge case and dropped it on the bed. "Did you know that?" He looked searching at me. "Who got killed, Chet?"

  It was an effort for me to meet that stare, but I did it.

  "No one got killed," I said. "Jenson used to shoot at hawks. He must have forgotten to clean the gun."

  "Shooting hawks with a .45?" Roy put the gun down on the top of the chest. "He must have been some shot."

  "He never hit anything." I went over and picked up the gun, shoving it into my hip pocket. "Well, it's getting late. I guess I'll turn in. You got everything?"

  "Couldn't be better." There was a flat note in his voice made me uneasy. "How about night work? What happens?"

  "We'll take it in turns. I'm on tonight. You can take tomorrow night."

  "Fine. Well, it's been good—this talk. It's wonderful to see you again, Chet. I can't believe my good luck."

  I slapped him on the shoulder.

  "Nor can I." I was now at the door. "Get a good sleep."

  "I sure will ... and Chet …"

  I paused.

  He rubbed his jaw as he stared at me.

  "Yeah?"

  "Clean that gun. A dirty gun is a dangerous thing to leave leave lying around."

  I couldn't meet his eyes.

  "You're right. Well ... so long ..."

  "So long, pal."

  I went out of the cabin. Seeing no lights on in the lunch room, but a light on in Lola's bedroom, I walked over to the bungalow.

  Lola was in her bra and panties, sitting on the bed. As I came in, she began to strip off her stockings.

  "Gee! I'm tired," she said, yawning. "I like your friend, Chet."

  "Yes, he's the best." I took the gun from my hip pocket and put it in the top drawer of the chest. Her back was to me and she didn't see me do it. I told myself I would clean the gun tomorrow. "We three will get along all right. You know, it's a funny thing, but Roy isn't interested in women. It beats me, but since he married and since she walked out on him, he has never looked at another woman."

  Lola got up and took off the rest of her clothes. She reached for her nightdress while I watched her.

  As she slipped the nightdress on, she said, "Every man is interested in a woman—it depends on the woman."

  "I've known him for thirty years," I said. "There was only one woman—the one he married, and he was sick of her in a couple of years."

  Lola got into bed.

  "She couldn't have been much." She raised her arms above head, stretching and yawning. "You'll be in by one, Chet?"

  "Yes." I came over to her and kissed her. "Sleep well. I'll try not to disturb you."

  "You won't. I feel dead." She pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and smiled at me. "I forgot to ask you—everything all right while I've been away?"

  I felt a little kick under my heart. I had forgotten Ricks. The excitement of meeting Roy had put that thin vulture right out of my mind.

  Lola saw my change of expression and she sat up abruptly.

  "What is it, Chet?"

  "Ricks was here this afternoon. He needled me into hitting him."

  "You hit him?"

  Her voice shot up a note.

  "I hit him. I had to."

  She gripped my arm.

  "Tell me! What happened?"

  I told her. She sat boll upright in bed, the bedclothes clutched to her, her green eyes wide as she listened.

  "I offered him ten bucks," I concluded, "and he threw them at me. He said he was going to talk to the cops."

  She dropped back on the pillow.

  "He won't," she said. "Even if he did, they know what a scrounging rat he is. They won't listen to him."

  "I hope you're right."

  "You were crazy to hit him, Chet."

  "I know. Well, we'll see."

  "I'm sure they won't listen to him."

  I bent and kissed her.

  "Go to sleep. I'll be in around one o'clock."

  "Tomorrow night we'll go to bed early and let Roy look after the place."

  I ran my fingers through her silky hair.

  "That's a date," I said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I

  It was while we were having breakfast that I told Roy about Ricks.

  "You have got to watch out for him," I said. "He's always dropping in unexpectedly. He was in yesterday, and he needled me into socking him. It was a damn silly thing to do but I did it. He talked of going to the police."

  Roy looked up sharply.

  "The police? Why?"

  "He caught Lola and me fooling around together. He doesn't know Jenson has gone off with some woman. He wants to find him and make trouble."

  Roy finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. We were eating alone. Lola hadn't got up yet.

  "Why doesn't Lola tell him that Jenson isn't coming back?"

  "For one thing it isn't his business," I said. "For another, he wouldn't believe it."

  "I can imagine that." Roy shook his head. "It certainly foxes me that a guy could be so dumb as to leave a set-up like this and a wife who can cook as well as she can."

  "If he comes around when we're not here, Roy, watch him. Don't let him have a thing and don't tell him anything."

  "Will he talk to the cops?"

  "No. Even if he does, they wouldn't listen to him." I stood up. "How about giving me a hand? This place has to be cleaned every morning. I guess Lola's taking advantage of the new hand. She's still in bed."

  While we set about cleaning the lunch room, Roy said, "Tell me about Farnworth, Chet. How did you manage to get away? They said in the papers you're the first man who has got out and survived."

  I told him.

  He was so fascinated that he leaned on the broom handle, listening, and every now and then he shook his head in wonderment.

  "Gee! You've got guts!" he said when I had finished. "I'm damned if I would have risked those dogs."

  "You would have risked anything to have got away from that place," I said. "I'm not going back. I would rather be dead."

  Roy grimaced.

  "You should be safe here. You're a long way from Farnworth. Who would think of looking for you here?"

  "That's the way I figure it."

  Through the window I caught sight of Lola coming over from the bungalow. She was wearing her halter and shorts. She had piled her red hair to the top of her head and had caught it back with a strip of green ribbon.

  I felt a sudden stab of uneasiness at the sight of her. She hadn't worn that get-up for weeks. Now, when another male was on the scene, she had suddenly decided to show off her body. I looked quickly at Roy, who was polishing the counter.

  Lola came in, smiling. She made quite an entrance.

  "Hello," she said. "That's what I like to see—my two slaves hard at work."

  I was watching Roy. He paused, looked up and stared at her. She was leaning against the door post, looking directly at him. I've never seen her look so provocatively sexy and attractive.

  Roy's expression didn't change. He just stared indifferently at her, then went on polishing the counter.

  "Hello there," he said. "Are we the only two who work around here?"

  I saw her expression harden. This wasn't the reception she had expected. She had anticipated that Roy would have reacted to this display of feminine charm. I relaxed, turning away so she couldn't see my smile of satisfaction. It was still the same Roy: women meant nothing to him.

  She walked across to the kitchen door. There she paused to look at Roy again, but he had his back to her and he was whistling under his breath. She went into the kitchen and slammed the door.

  Roy winked at me.

  "Women ... I don't know," he said. "They're never satisfied."

  "It was my fault," I said. "I told her you weren't interested in women. She couldn't believe it. Maybe she will now."

  A truck pulled up by the gas pumps and the driver honked on his horn.

/>   "I'll take care of it," Roy said, and he went out to the truck.

  I went into the kitchen.

  Lola looked sulky. She had put on her overall and was busy preparing chickens for the spit.

  "Let's go to the movies tonight, Chet," she said. "Roy can look after the place. We can catch the midnight performance. We'll be back here by three."