1953 - The Sucker Punch

by James Hadley Chase

  I realized too that I had been a mug in not pressing Burgess for more money. I might have squeezed Howe up to three thousand. I made up my mind that in the future I wasn't going to be modest in my demands. I had something to sell, and if they wanted to buy, they would have to pay for it. After I had completed a draft letter to Howe for Vestal's signature, I called Jack Kerr, a young downtown attorney I knew.

  I told him I wanted him to handle the sale of 334 Western Avenue, and promised to let him have all the necessary papers during the day.

  Then I spent an instructive hour going through Vestal's investment book. As I had thought, every dime was in government bonds, gilt-edged stock and stuff that was as safe as the cross-eyed virgin who once wandered into a stag party.

  I did some more heavy thinking, then shoved back my chair and reached for my hat.

  I drove over to West City Street and pulled up outside a big block of offices.

  I took the elevator up to the fifth floor and walked down the corridor until I came to Ryan Blakestone's office.

  I had known Blakestone for some years. He was young and gay and a regular guy. He had taken over his father's stock and bond business, and was now a pretty successful broker.

  He was surprised to see me.

  "What brings you down here?" he said. "Come on in."

  When we had settled into chairs, I said, "How would you like a slice of the Shelley account, Ryan? I took over the account yesterday. I might be in a position to put some business your way."

  "I'd like nothing better."

  "I've been checking through Miss Shelley's stock records. Leadbeater hasn't turned over a dime of hers in months. I think I could persuade her to give you a trial, but I would have to set the stage first."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Know anything that's heading for a rise?"

  "There are several things that might rise, but I couldn't guarantee them of course."

  "Suppose you had a quarter of a million to stick into the market. Wouldn't that force a rise?"

  He looked startled.

  "Put that amount in the right stock and it certainly would."

  "What I want is a stock that's already moving. We put in a quarter of a million and let the suckers imagine the stock is going to hit the ceiling. Got anything like that?"

  "There's Conway's Cement. It has moved up five points in the past few days, but it's a risk, Chad."

  "Okay, so it's a risk. The account will stand it. We can't lose more than ten grand, can we?"

  He gaped at me.

  "I'll be damned if you sound like a banker. Suppose we lose ten grand?"

  "What are the chances?"

  "Fifty to one, I'd say; but wait a minute, Chad, have you the bank's authority for a deal like this?"

  "I don't need the bank's authority. I have Miss Shelley's authority. I told her I would try and find an up-and-coming broker, and would she be prepared to lose ten grand if the gamble didn't come off. She said she would."

  He studied me for a long moment.

  "If you want me to invest that money, Chad, I would like that statement in writing."

  "You can have it in writing. Give me a sheet of notepaper."

  I wrote to his dictation, but I didn't sign it.

  "There's your signature, Chad."

  "Yeah."

  I laid down the pen. "But there's something to settle first."

  "What?"

  "Be your age. What do you think makes me offer you the biggest account in the state? You have the chance of handling more money than you have ever dreamed about; you have the chance of being pointed out by all the established firms as Vestal Shelley's broker, so let's ask the inevitable question: what's in it for me?"

  He gaped at me.

  "What is this? You can't talk that way while you're working for the bank?"

  "Can't I? Okay, then I'd better go along and talk to Lowen & Franks. I can't see them turning down an offer as big as this just because I happen to work in a bank."

  "Wait a minute," he said hastily. "Does the bank . . .?"

  "To hell with the bank! This is between you and me. If you don't like it this way say so and I'll go elsewhere."

  He lifted his shoulders.

  "Okay, but I hope you know what you're doing."

  “I know what I'm doing. Now, listen, you get the account if you give me half the commission."

  That really shook him.

  "For crying out loud! Half...!"

  "Half the commission on all deals you put through for Miss Shelley. Take it or leave it. What's it to be?"

  He studied me for a couple of seconds and then grinned.

  "You're a goddam robber, but of course it's on. You're really convinced about Conway's Cement?"

  "Of course I am."

  I signed the letter and flicked it across the desk.

  "Buy a quarter of a million, then duck out as soon as it rises two or three points. You might even get out today."

  "What if it starts a run and really climbs? Shall I stay in?"

  "No! Get out today if you can. I want to make her a fast profit. She's a greedy bitch, and if she sees I can make her a quick profit there's no knowing how much business she'll put our way."

  I left him after we had talked some more and I drove over to the Western California Bank. Using a hundred dollars of Moe Burgess' money I opened an account.

  Then I headed back to the bank.

  At that moment I was right on top of the world. I had a car, an office of my own, a stenographer, money in the bank and the prospects of a whale of a lot more money coming my way.

  On top of the world? Why I was up among the planets. I was just thinking about a nice expensive lunch, at the Florian restaurant when the telephone bell rang. I scooped up the receiver impatiently.

  "Mr. Winters?" A woman's voice. "This is Miss Dolan."

  '"Miss Dolan. Oh yes, Miss Shelley's right hand. How are you, Miss Dolan?"

  "Miss Shelley wants you to come over right away."

  Miss Shelley was going to be unlucky. I was hungry, and besides, I was determined I wasn't going to jump through the hoop every time she snapped her fingers.

  "I'll be around after two, Miss Dolan. I have some papers for Miss Shelley's signature."

  "She said right away."

  "Make my excuses please. I'm tied up until after two."

  There was a pause, and she said, "I don't think you understand. It is to do with Mr. Howe."

  An invisible fist hit me like a sledgehammer.

  "Howe? You mean Bernie Howe? What about him?"

  "He has just left. Miss Shelley told me to get you here at once. I have never seen her in such a rage."

  So the son of a bitch had betrayed me!

  Suddenly I was in such a panic I couldn't even speak. Just when I was halfway through the door! I might have known the shyster wouldn't have bothered to go to Stern wood. He would go to Vestal who would cause me most grief.

  "Are you there, Mr. Winters?" the quiet voice said in my ear.

  "Yes." I managed to get out, but it sounded like the croak of a frog.

  "Listen, Mr. Winters," the voice went on, "please pay attention to what I'm saying. There's only one way to deal with her when she is in a rage like this. Don't apologize. Don't excuse yourself. You must shout back at her. You must give her better than she gives you. Do you understand? You have nothing to lose. Anyone who has the nerve to shout louder than she can will flatten her. I know her. She's just sound and fury, and she has no courage. Are you listening to what I'm saying?"

  I was listening all right. I was listening as if my life depended on it.

  "You wouldn't kid me?"

  "Of course not! It is your only hope. I don't say it will do any good, but it is your only hope. Whatever you do, don't make excuses. Can I tell her you are coming now?"

  "Yes. Tell her I'll be over in a quarter of an hour. And Miss Dolan, I don't know why you are giving me this advice, but I appreciate it."

  I became a
ware that she had hung up. I dropped the receiver back on its cradle, wiped my face and hands and pushed back my chair.

  I wasn't kidding myself. Even if I could find the nerve to shout the roof off, Vestal still had the last word.

  The car, the office, the smart Miss Goodchild, Howe's thousand dollars, Blakestone's half commission and my job were on their way out.

  I left the office, walked along the corridor to the back entrance where I had left the Cadillac and drove fast to the nearest bar. I pulled up and went in and threw three double whiskies down my throat as fast as the barman could pour them.

  The whisky put me back on my feet again.

  I did the trip to Cliffside in a shade over seven minutes. The way I stormed up that cliff road would have given me the creeps at any other time.

  By the time I reached the iron gates I was cursing Howe as I had never cursed anyone before.

  Hargis opened the door and took my hat. His face was expressionless, and yet I was sure he knew why I had been sent for. I guessed he would be waiting to hand me my hat when I came out. If he grinned or showed his triumph I promised myself I'd ram his bridgework down his throat.

  "Miss Shelley will see you, sir," he said, and conducted me along the wide corridor to a big lounge, opening out on to the terrace. "You will find her on the terrace, sir."

  I drew in a deep breath and walked out on to the terrace.

  She was sitting on the balustrade in a pair of bottle-green lounging pyjamas. From the back she looked like a child, but there was nothing childlike in the pinched, white, rage distorted face she turned to me.

  "Oh, the clever Mr. Winters," she said, swinging around on the balustrade, her voice strident, her eyes glittering. "Well, Mr. Winters, what have you to say for yourself?"

  I moved further on to the terrace, my hands in my pockets, my bean banging against my ribs, my face politely inquiring.

  "What am I expected to say?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know, and don't you dare lie to me!"

  "What is all this about? Am I supposed to have displeased you or something?"

  She was shivering with rage and her claw-like hands opened and closed as if resisting the temptation to scratch my eyes out.

  "Do you know Bernie Howe?" she demanded in a strangled voice.

  "Why, yes. He is a smart criminal lawyer. I was going to talk to you about him, Miss Shelley. I thought he might be just the man to collect the Foundation rents for you."

  "Never mind that!" she screamed at me. "Did you or did you not offer him the work in return for a thousand dollars?"

  "Why, certainly. That's the usual practice when dealing with a shyster like Howe. He expects to pay a commission on the jobs he gets offered. But surely that's not what has put you out of temper, is it, Miss Shelley?"

  She slid off the balustrade and came up to me. Her head didn't reach my shoulder and she was at an immediate disadvantage, but she didn't seem to realize it.

  "And you intend to keep that money for yourself?" she demanded.

  Here was a chance for an out. I could tell her I intended to hand the money to her, and she might be greedy enough to take it and calm down.

  Maybe those three whiskies had made me reckless. I was suddenly damned if I would offer her the money.

  "What did you expect me to do with it?" I asked, smiling. "Give it to some charity?"

  "So you demanded a bribe, and in return for this bribe, you were going to give Howe my authority to collect the Foundation rents, is that it?"

  "Bribe is the wrong word, Miss Shelley. I was collecting a commission to which I am entitled."

  "Are you? Why, you cheap crook!" she screamed violently. "How dare you stand there grinning at me like a goddam monkey! How dare you use my name to fill your filthy pockets!"

  I took a sudden step forward and shoved my chin at her.

  "Are you calling me a crook?"

  "Yes, I am! You're nothing better than a shyster! You're a damned racketeer!" Her voice rose until everyone in the house must have heard her. "The moment I set eyes on you in your flash suit and with your smooth smart-alec ways I knew you were a crook!"

  "You're making an exhibition of yourself! Do you have to scream at me like one of Burgess' street walkers?"

  She stepped back, her thin, spiteful little face livid.

  "What did you call me?" she said, her voice suddenly hushed.

  "I told you to stop screaming like a floosie," I said, also lowering my voice.

  "I'll make you pay for that! I'll have you thrown out of the bank! I'll have you hounded out of this town. I'll see you never get another job as long as you live!"

  "Don't be so dramatic," I said contemptuously. "Do you imagine you can scare me? You're not dealing with a spineless sob sister like Leadbeater now. Do you imagine I care a damn for your ranting and raving?" I took another step forward, my face as tough as I could make it. "Do you?"

  I imagined I saw surprise behind her rage.

  "We'll see about that!" she screamed. "Get out of my way! I'll talk to your boss and see what he has to say."

  She stormed past me into the lounge.

  This was it. If I let her talk to Sternwood I was sunk. What had I to lose?

  I was in a flaming rage myself by now, and I went after her, caught up with her as she was picking up the receiver and my hand came down on hers.

  "Just a moment!"

  She swung around and her left hand flashed up and struck me on the side of my nose; her bony little knuckles scraping the skin.

  I guess I must have flipped my lid. I don't exactly remember what happened for a few seconds. I suddenly found myself shaking her by her shoulders, jerking her carrot-coloured head backwards and forwards, glaring down at her as if I could murder her.

  She tried to scream, but she just didn't have any breath left in her body.

  Her mouth hung open, her eyes started out of her head, and she looked scared out of her wits.

  I slammed her down in a chair so violently she nearly bounced right out of it, and still keeping my hands on her shoulders, my face close to hers, I let the words pour out in a low, violent rush.

  "Listen to me! For weeks you have been hammering at Leadbeater to get that goddam mink coat of yours accepted as an expense claim, to raise your rents and to sell your house. You kept after him until he became a nervous wreck, but you didn't succeed in getting your own way. I fixed your coat, your rents and your house. I fixed them in one day! Do you hear? In one day, after you had been struggling with Leadbeater for weeks! All right, so what's happened? You clean up thirty thousand dollars on the coat! You make yourself five thousand dollars a year on the increased rents! You get rid of five tenants you hadn't the guts to get rid of, and you sell a house at a profit! Because of me!" I shook her again. "Do you hear?" I leaned forward and yelled it at her: "BECAUSE OF ME! I did it! What the hell do you imagine I did it for? Because I want to curry favour with you? Because I want to drag you into my bed? Like hell! I am in this racket for the same reason as you are! I want to make money out of it as you want to make money out of it! And what do I do? Cheat you? Take your money? Do I?" I shook her again. "Like hell I do! I make money for you and I get my cut from the suckers who pay you. So what are you yelling about? Have I stolen anything from you? Have you lost a dime because of me?" I let go of her and stepped back. I was shaking and there was sweat on my face. "Go ahead and call Sternwood. Tell him! Whine to him! Okay, I'll lose my job, but what will you lose? Do you imagine you will be able to swing that tax fraud without me? Go ahead and see for yourself. See how fast you'll land in jail! You'll talk yourself out of thirty thousand dollars! But go ahead and talk yourself out of it! Do you imagine I care?"

  I turned my back on her and walked out on to the terrace. I felt as if I had been in a fight, and I didn't give a damn now one way or the other.

  I sat in a basket chair and stared at the view for perhaps five minutes, then I became aware she was standing beside me.

  There was somethi
ng rather pathetic about her tiny, thin ugliness.

  "You hurt me," she said plaintively. "You've bruised me."

  "What do you imagine you've done to me?" I said, dabbing the side of my nose with my handkerchief. Where she had broken the skin, blood oozed slowly. "You're lucky I didn't wring your neck."

  She sat down beside me.

  "I think I would like a drink. Are you too occupied with your own selfish feelings to get me one?"

  I went into the lounge and rang the bell.

  Nothing I can say can give you an adequate idea of my feelings. I had fought and licked her! I knew it, and she knew it too. It meant I was through the door now and nothing could stop me! It was the greatest triumph of my life.

  Hargis came in. I could tell by his expression that he was expecting to be told to throw me out. When he saw me with my thumb jammed in the bell, he came to an abrupt standstill.

  "Bring a bottle of your best champagne," I said.

  He looked from me out on to the terrace where Vestal had opened her pyjama jacket to examine her bruises. She was humming a little tune under her breath.

  "Yes, sir," he said, his face expressionless.

  "And make sure it is your best champagne this time," I went on. "I'll break the goddam bottle over your head if it isn't!"

  His eyes dwelt on my face. There was a lot of hate in them.

  When he had gone I went over to the telephone and called Blakestone's number.

  "Any news yet on Conway, Ryan?"

  "Sure. I've just got out. There's a profit of thirty-five thousand dollars for Miss Shelley, and I'm crediting you with nine hundred dollars commission. Okay?"

  I glanced out on to the terrace.

  Vestal was still examining her bruises. She had half-twisted around in her chair, and from where I stood I could see her white emaciated chest and her flat, unformed bosom. I shifted my eyes. There was no beauty there; just something dried up and unlovely.

  "Fine," I said. "Make Miss Shelley's cheque out to me."

  "But look, Chad…"

  "You heard what I said!" I snapped. "You work for me, not for her. I'll give her my cheque. Understand?"