1944 - Just the Way It Is

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Do you like him?’

  ‘I’ve just said so, haven’t I? If you mean . . . no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, you’re happy?’

  ‘Very . . . but I must get off. Pinder’s End is out then?’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Sam said, scribbling on his blotter. ‘I’ll look into it.’ He watched her move to the door. ‘And Clare, watch your step with that young man.’

  She laughed. ‘If that’s all I have to watch, I shan’t go far wrong,’ and she closed the door behind her.

  THREE

  Harry Duke sat behind a green-topped table. He tossed red and white dice carelessly in a lean, brown hand. ‘There’s a story running around town that Bellman’s scared,’ he said, throwing the dice with a flicking movement on to the table.

  Kells looked at the dice sleepily. They rolled, wobbled on their edges, then came to rest with the six white spots uppermost. Kells said, ‘Fluke.’

  Duke scooped up the dice and flicked them back on to the table. The six spots showed again.

  Kells relaxed in his chair. He was medium height, dark, thin and cruel. His slouch hat rested at the back of his head and one of his thumbs was hooked in the armhole of his vest. He explored his teeth thoughtfully with a splinter of wood.

  Duke repeated about Bellman.

  ‘Don’t tell me you listen to stories,’ Kells said, in a bored voice. ‘Not you. Maybe, some guy would believe it, but not you.’

  Duke picked up the dice again. ‘All right, he ain’t scared,’ he said, rolling the bones once more. ‘It’s just that he’s got jaundice.’

  The dice showed six spots.

  ‘Bellman wants you,’ Kells said. ‘He thinks you and he ought to hook up. You handlin’ the wheels while he runs the joint.’

  ‘He opened twelve months ago,’ Duke said, reaching inside his coat to bring out a flat cigar case. ‘Suddenly he thinks of me. What a man!’ He took a thin, green dapple cigar, made motions with the case at Kells, who shook his head.

  ‘Bellman’s slow, but he’s damn sure,’ Kells said, his small eyes restlessly wandering up and down the dirty wall behind Duke. ‘Now he’s got the eating end of the joint fixed he can look around. The wheels ain’t so hot. You gotta knack with that angle. Okay, you come and fix it for him. He ain’t going to be tight about it.’

  Duke smiled. ‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘I don’t work. You know that.’

  Kells shifted in his chair. ‘You don’t have to work,’ he pointed out. ‘We’d take care of that end. All you gotta do is to show around the joint. That’d tell ‘em the wheels were worth playin’.’

  Duke put the cigar between his small, white teeth. ‘Got a match?’ he asked.

  Kells put a box on the table. ‘A half a grand a week waiting for you to pick up,’ he said, softly.

  Duke lit the cigar and passed the box back. ‘Then he is scared,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Why doesn’t he come into the open? Why doesn’t he say he wants protection?’

  Kells got slowly out of his chair. ‘Think about it,’ he returned, buttoning up his vest and straightening his coat. ‘I gotta drift. Come out and see Bellman. Have a look at the joint. It’s a fancy set-up. Plenty of swell looking dames with the right ideas. Plenty to eat and drink. You can have a room to yourself with a telephone and a swell desk. Nobody’s going to worry you. If you want a dame to write or answer the telephone, we’ll fix that. If your blood pressure’s at the wrong level, she could look after that too.’ He wandered to the door. ‘It ain’t a bad proposition.’

  Duke began to roll the dice again. ‘I ain’t convinced,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Bellman wants protection. He knows I’ve got a reputation for trouble. He wants to wave that reputation to scare some guy away. It wouldn’t interest me.’

  Kells opened the door. ‘Think about it,’ he said again. ‘Don’t make a mistake. Bellman ain’t scared of anything. You know Bellman.’

  Duke nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I know him. Ain’t he the guy who puts on water wings in his bath?’

  Kells frowned, opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind and went out, closing the door behind him.

  For five minutes, the dice rolled over the green baize. Duke sat staring at the white spots without seeing them. The cigar between his teeth smoked evenly, and the oily smoke drifted past his face, making him screw up his eyes.

  The telephone jangled sharply. He reached out and pulled it towards him. He took the cigar out of his mouth. ‘Yeah?’ he said into the mouthpiece, his eyes on the opposite wall.

  ‘Duke?’ A woman’s voice.

  Duke frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you Harry Duke?’ The voice had a soft, southern accent.

  ‘Yeah,’ Duke said, impatiently. ‘Who’s talking?’

  ‘Listen,’ the woman said. ‘Listen carefully. Leave Bellman alone. I’m not telling you this for fun. Leave him alone. Pack a bag and go south — go anywhere, but don’t get mixed up with Bellman. I should be sorry to see you dead.’

  The faint click told him that the connection was cut. He put the receiver back on its cradle.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, softly, and leaned back in his chair. He picked up the dice again and tossed them into the air, catching them in his hand absently. Then he pushed back the chair, picked up his hat and went out of the room.

  In the smoke-laden atmosphere of the outer room, a number of men stood around a large table, shooting crap.

  Peter Cullen left the table when he saw Duke and crossed over. Duke stopped for a moment to watch someone roll the bones. Cullen said, ‘Look, Harry, I want you to meet my girl.’

  Duke continued to stare at the floodlit table. ‘What girl?’ he asked absently.

  ‘Wake up, Harry,’ Cullen said, shaking his arm. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. I’ve been trying to corner you for weeks. This time, I’m damned if I’ll take no for an answer.’

  Duke gave himself a little shake and turned with a quick smile that lit his hard, long face. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t thinking. So I’m to meet your girl? Swell, Pete, where and when?’

  ‘She’ll be over around eight o’clock. Come and have dinner with us.’

  Duke shook his head. ‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘You two love birds want to be together. Tell me where you’ll be and I’ll join you later.’

  ‘Don’t talk bull.’ Cullen grinned at him. ‘We ain’t all that far gone. Where’ll we go?’

  ‘Okay,’ Duke said, making up his mind. ‘Chez Paree —Bellman’s place. How’s that? Bellman’s at eight-thirty.’

  Cullen nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said, then he lowered his voice. ‘Was that Kells?’

  Duke glanced at him, nodded and fingered his close-clipped moustache. ‘That was Kells.’

  Cullen screwed up his face. ‘That guy’s a heel,’ he said. ‘I’d like to catch him up a dark alley.’

  Duke smiled. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘I only chase dames up dark alleys.’ Then abruptly, ‘Schultz upstairs?’

  Cullen nodded.

  ‘I want to talk to him.’ Duke turned to the stairs. ‘I’ll see you then?’

  Cullen smiled, nodded and turned back to the tables.

  At the top of the stairs, Duke paused to throw away the butt of his cigar, then he crossed the landing and pushed open the frosted panelled door on which was written Paul Schultz, Agent, in faded gilt letters.

  Schultz, fat and bald, sat behind a large desk. His small eyes were very hard and restless; his face was creased into a fixed smile. He said, ‘Ah, Harry,’ and waved a small, fat hand towards a chair. Duke sat down and folded his hands across his flat stomach. He studied Schultz without interest.

  Schultz said, ‘How are you hitting them?’

  ‘I had a load on Silver Wing and Kishibu. They both came in before the field made the last bend.’

  ‘So you cleaned up?’ Schultz pushed a box of thick cigars forward.

  ‘Yeah,’ Duke said, ignoring the cigars. ‘I cleaned up.
’ He looked round the room and then back at Schultz.

  ‘Palozza’s a hot tip,’ Schultz said, producing a black bottle and two small glasses from a cupboard in his desk.

  ‘Not for me,’ Duke said. ‘That horse’s a fugitive from a merry-go-round.’

  Schultz filled the glasses with whisky and pushed one of them over to Duke. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘if that’s the way you feel about it. What’s on your mind?’

  Duke eased himself down in the padded chair. ‘What’s scaring Bellman?’

  ‘Bellman?’ Schultz lost his smile. ‘What do you know about that guy?’

  Duke drummed on the desk with smoke-stained fingers. ‘Someone’s thrown a scare into him. I thought maybe you’d know who it was.’

  Schultz pinched his thick lip between his fingers. His eyes had gone blank. ‘Now if you’d asked me about orchids I could have helped you,’ he said, softly.

  Duke smiled at him. ‘I know all about your orchids, Paul,’ he said. ‘Don’t try and sidetrack me, I don’t like it.’

  Schultz said nothing.

  ‘Would it be Spade?’ Duke asked, after a pause.

  Schultz shut his eyes. ‘Spade?’ he said, as if he had never heard the name. ‘I don’t know, Harry. I didn’t even know Bellman was scared.’

  ‘Never even heard of Spade, have you, Paul?’

  Schultz looked at him quickly to make sure that he was serious and then shut his eyes again. ‘Well, I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? But, that doesn’t mean . . .’

  ‘I’ve an idea that this joint belongs to Spade,’ Duke said. ‘But then, I guess I’m wrong, huh?’

  Schultz leaned forward, scooped up his glass and drank half the whisky. Duke thought he looked like an octopus with his parrot beak of a mouth and saucer-like eyes.

  ‘Quite, quite wrong,’ Shultz said, putting his glass down.

  ‘This is my joint. I bought it five years ago. I wonder what made you . . .’

  ‘That’s the kind of brain I’ve got,’ Duke said. ‘Always thinking the wrong things. It used to worry my mother when I was a kid.’

  ‘You’re wrong about Bellman too,’ Schultz said. ‘He ain’t scared of anything. I saw him the other night. He was looking fine.’

  ‘I think I’ll go over and see him myself,’ Duke finished his whisky and stood up. ‘He wants me to move in to the Chez Paree. He thinks with me around, the suckers will go for his wheel.’

  Schultz was just going to pick up his glass when Duke spoke.

  His saucer-like eyes went glassy and his hand hovered halfway over his drink. He looked up. ‘A little bird tells me that wouldn’t be a smart thing to do,’ he said.

  Duke regarded him. ‘Your little bird wouldn’t be a soft spoken judy with a southern accent, would it?’

  Schultz slopped the whisky. For a moment Duke thought he was going to have some kind of a stroke, but he controlled himself with an effort. He shook his head. ‘Nothing like that,’ he said, his mouth closing into a spiteful slit. ‘Who would she be?’

  Duke looked frosty. ‘She’s my little bird,’ he said.

  ‘I’d forget about Bellman. You’ve just picked up a nice slice of dough. Why not take a vacation? I’ll be easy with the rent. You go off. Get yourself some sun and air.’

  Duke put his hands on the desk and leaned towards Schultz. ‘Listen, Paul,’ he said, seriously. ‘What’s scaring Bellman? We’ve worked together long enough not to stall, haven’t we?’

  Schultz looked blank. ‘I tell you, nothing’s the matter with him. I wouldn’t lie to you, Harry.’

  Duke stood away. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me. I’ll have that put on your tombstone. It’ll scare the vultures away,’ and he walked out of the room, shutting the door sharply behind him.

  Cullen met him at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Got time for a drink, Harry?’ he asked.

  Duke glanced at the big, yellow-faced clock across the room. It showed six-thirty. He shook his head. ‘I want to get home,’ he said. ‘See you tonight at Bellman’s.’

  Cullen nodded. ‘Wash behind your ears, Harry,’ he said. ‘I’ve given you a great build up.’

  ‘I’ll even put on a clean shirt,’ Duke said, smacked Cullen on the back and went into the street.

  The light from the evening sun dazzled and hurt his eyes. It was a crazy sort of life he led, he thought as he stood on the kerb waiting for a taxi. Sitting in a smoke-filled room all day, betting, telephoning and playing crap. It was not as if he were broke. He had plenty socked away in the bank. He didn’t have to sit in his tiny office all day, but somehow it was a difficult habit to break.

  A taxi crowded on brakes as he waved his hand and drew up near him. He gave a downtown address and got in.

  He found he was tired and hot. He took off his hat and relaxed back in the taxi, shutting his eyes.

  He wished in a way that he hadn’t dated himself up with Cullen. He had no great interest to meet his girl but he didn’t want to hurt Cullen’s feelings.

  He found the girls which his friends were crazy about usually bored him. That was the reason why he had so few friends now. Most of them had got married and he had just dropped them.

  He was fond of Peter Cullen. They had known each other for a long time. Five years or so ago, they had been in business together. But Duke got restless and wouldn’t keep office hours and then he got into trouble with the police and Cullen began to worry. Duke didn’t blame him. He knew Cullen was the cautious type and they were not really suited to work together. They split up business and went their different ways, but Duke liked to keep in touch with him. He had a soft spot for Peter Cullen.

  Now, Cullen managed two filling stations and seemed to be making a good thing out of them. Anyway, he always seemed to have money to burn and prided himself in being one of the best dressed men in Bentonville. He had forgotten his wild days and had settled down. Duke thought gloomily that he was about set to get married.

  Duke would never settle down. He was sure of that. He was in too hard a school. Gambling was all very well as a profession if you were prepared to lose everything and start again, but once you had a wife then you had a hostage to fortune. Duke didn’t want any encumbrances.

  It was odd how easily he had acquired the reputation as a killer. Ten years ago, he had killed a man. It was enough for Bentonville. He’d shot a man and he was therefore someone to look up to. That’s the way the citizens of Bentonville reasoned.

  In actual fact, Duke had been forced into the gun battle. It was a question of who drew the faster. Duke beat the other guy by a split second. That was a long time ago and he had nearly forgotten about it except when he had too much to drink, which was extremely rare. Then the man he had killed would sit at the foot of his bed and smile at him and the next morning he’d feel like hell.

  It was amusing to think that Bellman should want to work with him. Bellman with all his money, his women and his nightclub wanting protection struck Duke as being particularly funny.

  Sitting in the bouncing taxi, amid the smell of leather and stale smoke, he brooded about Schultz. He knew something. He was quite sure of that. Schultz knew who the judy was who had rung him. He’d been very careful about Spade too.

  Duke’s mouth set in a hard line. Now there was a guy he’d like to unseat. Spade!

  Spade must be making a fortune out of Bentonville, Duke thought. He had only to look out of the window to see one of Spade’s yellow and blue poolrooms flash by. They were everywhere. Nearly every shop in Bentonville had one of Spade’s automatic machines. That guy was smart. Duke had to admit it. And what was more, he kept under cover. If there was trouble, Korris would take the rap. Maybe Spade was trying to force Bellman out of business. If that was it, then it meant the thin end of the wedge. It meant that Spade was trying to take over the whole of Bentonville.

  The driver suddenly said, without looking round. ‘We’ve got company, boss.’

  Duke glanced through the rear window. He could see a big bla
ck tourer about a hundred yards behind. It was equipped with a blue anti-dazzle windscreen so he couldn’t see the driver.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I guess so,’ the driver returned. ‘Don’t ask me to shake that car. I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Get off the main road and wander round the blocks,’ Duke said, turning so that he could watch through the rear window.

  The driver swung his wheel over at the next turning and went down a narrow street, leading away from the town. The tourer altered direction and came after them.

  Duke’s eyes became frosty. He put his hand inside his coat and loosened his gun a trifle in its holster.

  ‘Keep doing that,’ he said to the driver, ‘I’ll give him another couple of chances.’

  The driver began to sweat. ‘There ain’t going to be any shootin’, boss?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I’ve just had this bus done up.’

  Duke gave a snorting laugh. ‘You’ve been seeing too many movies,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘This ain’t Chicago.’

  ‘That sure gives me a lotta confidence,’ the driver returned, bitterly, and swung into another street.

  The tourer followed.

  Duke took a five spot from his pocket and gave it to the driver. ‘Next corner, crowd on speed,’ he said. ‘When you’ve lost him, brake. I’ll jump out.’

  ‘You got that from the movies yourself, boss,’ the driver returned. He seemed suddenly much brighter.

  They went through the motions without difficulty and Duke ducked into a doorway as the tourer entered the street. It went past swiftly. He still couldn’t see the driver, but he made a note of the licence number.

  He walked quickly down the street, cut left and after a further two minutes walking came to the main street again.

  He turned into a drug store and shut himself in a telephone, booth. He telephoned Police Records.

  ‘This is Harry Duke,’ he said. ‘Is that O’Malley?’

  ‘H’yah, Harry,’ O’Malley said. ‘What do you think of Destroyer for a place?’

  Duke shoved his hat to the back of his head. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘That horse’ll come in so late his jock’ll be using a flashlight. Get on to El Nagani.’