I Would Rather Stay Poor

by James Hadley Chase

  Calvin allowed the major to question him about his war record, his golf, his career as a banker until the old man had satisfied his curiosity. Then Calvin felt it was his turn to satisfy his own curiosity.

  ‘I’ve only just arrived here,’ he said, stretching out his long, powerful legs. ‘Miss Craig was good enough to recommend this place.’ He smiled his charming smile. ‘Who is Mrs. Loring? What’s happened to her husband?’

  By now the major, a lean, burnt-up old man, was ready to gossip.

  ‘Mrs. Loring is a remarkable woman,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a better cook in the district. I’ve known her off and on for ten years. Her husband was Jack Loring, a successful insurance agent who worked this district. In some ways, it was a pity they married. They didn’t hit it off. Loring was always after the women.’ The major shook his head and paused to polish his beaky nose with a silk handkerchief. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. There was a child: a girl. Loring was killed in a car crash. Mrs. Loring was left a little money. She bought this house and set it up as a rooming-house and educated her daughter. She has had a very hard struggle and she’s still having a struggle.’

  ‘Does her daughter live with her?’ Calvin asked.

  ‘Certainly. She’s a nice girl and she works hard too. She’s in the box office of a movie house at Downside. She works the late shift.’ The major smiled slyly. ‘She and young Travers, the deputy Sheriff, are courting. He does the night shift at the sheriff’s office more often than not so Iris prefers to have her days free. You probably won’t see much of her. She doesn’t get to bed before two o’clock and is seldom up before ten.’

  They continued to chat until half past ten, then Calvin said he was ready for bed. He went up to his room and lay in bed, smoking and staring up at the ceiling. He never read books. Occasionally, he would flick through a magazine, but reading didn’t interest him.

  He had a habit of talking to himself, and he began a silent monologue as he lay in the double bed, a cigarette burning between his thick fingers.

  ‘This looks as if it is going to be yet another wasted year,’ he said to himself. ‘I’m thirty-eight. I have less than five hundred dollars saved. I owe money. If I don’t do something pretty soon, I’ll never do anything. I’ll never be any good as a banker, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t be good at something else… but what? If only I could lay my hands on a big sum of money! Without capital, I can’t hope to get anywhere. For seventeen years now I have been waiting for the right opportunity. Now, I’ve just got to do something. I can’t go on hesitating. Is there something I can do here in this one-eyed hole? I don’t think there can be. If I’m going to take a risk, it’s got to be for something worthwhile. It’s got to be for big money, and I can’t believe there is big money in Pittsville.’

  A sound coming through the wall from the next room jerked him out of this silent monologue. He lifted his head from the pillow to listen.

  He could hear Kit Loring moving around in the other room. He heard the closet door being opened and he imagined her getting ready for bed. A few minutes later, he heard the bath water running.

  He reached for another cigarette. As he lit it, he heard her walk from her room with a slip-slap sound of slippers into the bathroom. He slid out of bed and silently opened his door and peered into the passage. He was in time to see the bathroom door close. Moving silently, he walked down the passage and looked into the next room.

  It was a pleasant room. There was a double bed: on it lay her dress, a pair of flesh-coloured panties, stockings and a girdle. There were two comfortable armchairs, a writing-desk, a television set and a range of closets. On the wall was a good reproduction of an early Picasso.

  He returned to his room and closed the door. For some moments he remained motionless, his blue eyes fixed in a blank stare at the opposite wall. Then he sat on the bed and waited.

  After twenty minutes or so, he heard Kit Loring come from the bathroom, enter her room and close the door. He imagined her getting into bed. The click of the light switch told him she had turned out the light.

  She was interesting, he thought. She had that something that could compensate him for the dreariness of this job and the town. He had an idea she might be easy, but he wasn’t entirely sure. That amused expression he had seen in her eyes warned him it would be unwise to rush anything.

  He stubbed out his cigarette, then settled himself once again in bed. He turned off the light.

  It was when he was enclosed by darkness that his stifling fear of failure, his pressing need for money, his realisation that unless he broke out of this rut, he would never get anywhere, crowded in on him as it did every night when he turned off the light.

  He lay still, struggling to throw off this depression, saying to himself, ‘You’re no good. You never will be any good. You might be able to kid yourself sometimes, but you’re still no good.’

  It was only when he turned on the bedside light that he finally fell into a restless, uneasy sleep.

  2

  The next four days followed a pattern that Calvin forced himself to endure: a pattern of boredom and meaningless routine. Each morning he had breakfast with Alice, Miss Pearson and Major Hardy. At nine o’clock, he drove with Alice to the bank. The girl seemed embarrassed to be with him in the car, but there was no alternative. He lived where she did: it would be impossible for him to go to the bank by car and leave her to get to the bank by bus.

  The business at the bank was dull and of no interest to him. All the time he was in the bank dealing with this financial problem and that financial problem, he was constantly aware of his need for money and the need to get away from this routine job.

  At four o’clock, the bank closed. Then he and Alice completed the bank business behind locked doors. At five-thirty they left the bank and drove back to the rooming-house. Calvin would remain in his room, smoking and staring blankly at the ceiling until dinner time, then he would go down to the dining-room, eat with the other three, making polite conversation, and then pass an hour watching television before retiring to his room again.

  During these four days, he got to know something about Alice Craig. She was a good worker, and once she got used to him, an easy companion. He found he could leave most of the routine work to her and he was happy to do so. He was thankful she was so completely sexless and negative. To share such long hours with her if she had been otherwise would have been dangerous. Calvin had always made a point never to have an association with any girl employed by the bank.

  During these four days he had seen little of Kit Loring. He had listened to her going to bed each night, and he had got into the habit of lying in his bed, staring fixedly at the communicating door as if he were willing it to open. Each time he met her to speak to, he found her more attractive, but he made no serious attempt to get to know her better.

  On the Wednesday evening while he was completing the work of the day, his desk-lamp alight, papers spread out on his desk, Alice tapped on the door and came in. He looked up, switching on his charm.

  ‘It’s about tomorrow, Mr. Calvin,’ Alice said, hesitating at the door.

  ‘Something special? Come in and sit down.’

  She perched herself on the arm of the armchair.

  ‘The money for the wage pay-out will be coming.’

  ‘What wage pay-out?’

  ‘It’s for the four local factories. The money arrives in an armoured truck at six,’ Alice explained. ‘Sheriff Thomson and Mr. Travers are here to see it into the vault. Then the following day the accountants from the four factories come at nine and collect the money.’

  Calvin rubbed the side of his jaw while he looked at her.

  ‘Seems an odd way to do it. What amount is involved?’

  ‘Three hundred thousand dollars,’ Alice said quietly.

  Calvin felt a sudden rush of cold blood up his spine. He leaned forward, staring at the girl, his blue eyes alive.

  ‘How much?’

  She looked startled
at his reaction.

  ‘Three hundred thousand dollars,’ she repeated.

  Calvin forced himself to relax. He leaned back in his chair.

  ‘That’s quite a sum,’ he said. ‘What’s the idea — leaving it here over night?’

  ‘It comes from Brackley. It wouldn’t arrive in time if they delivered it on Friday. The pay-out always starts soon after nine. We don’t really have anything to do with it. We just house the money for the night. The factory accountants handle it.’

  Calvin stared at the glowing end of his cigarette, his mind busy. Three hundred thousand dollars! You could take quite a few risks to get your hands on that kind of money!

  ‘Has this arrangement been going on for long?’

  ‘Oh, yes, for the past five years.’

  ‘Well, so what do we have to do about it? Are we responsible for the money until it leaves here? It doesn’t seem to be a hundred per cent safe bet. Any determined robber could get hold of it. Our security isn’t all that brilliant, is it?’

  ‘It’s quite safe,’ Alice said seriously. ‘You have the key to one of the locks of the vault and I have the other. There is also a device that protects the vault. No one could rob the vault without being detected.’

  Calvin ran his fingers through his sand-coloured hair.

  ‘That sounds like famous last words to me. Just what is this wonderful device?’

  ‘It is an electronic eye one of the factories installed,’ Alice told him. ‘Once it is switched on you can’t go near the door of the vault without setting off alarms at the sheriff’s office and the Federal Bureau’s office at Downside…’

  ‘Sounds fine: so we just don’t have to bother our heads? It’s not our responsibility?’

  ‘No. We lend the vault, but we’re not responsible.’

  ‘But we do have to remain here late every Friday?’

  ‘Yes, we do have to do that.’

  ‘And it looks as if I’m going to be a little late tonight. I have another half hour’s work to do. Have you finished?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, okay, you get off. I’ll lock up.’

  ‘Can’t I help you?’

  He gave her his charming smile.

  ‘Thanks, no. I have to write this report about Mr. Lamb. I’ll be back in time for dinner.’

  She smiled nervously at him and went out of the office. After a few minutes, she came back wearing her hat and coat.

  ‘I’ll lock myself out,’ she said.

  What an awful taste in clothes this girl has, Calvin thought as he got to his feet. She was wearing a mustard-coloured coat with a green collar that made her complexion seem muddy. Her big dowdy hat half hid her face.

  ‘I’ll let you out,’ he said and walked with her to the door. ‘Tell Mrs. Loring I won’t be late for dinner.’

  He watched her walk towards the bus stop, then as he was closing the door, he suddenly realised that across the street was the sheriff’s office. He could see the sheriff’s ten-gallon hat hanging on a peg through the big, lighted window that was half screened to hide the actual office. As a symbol of authority, the hat made Calvin stiffen and stare. He stood for a long moment staring at the hat, then he closed the door and locked it.

  He remained, his hand on the door handle, thinking, then he went behind the counter, opened the door leading to the vault and descended the ten steps into the cold, steel-lined room. Facing him was the door of the vault with its two elaborate locks. He could see no sign of an electronic eye. He stared at the door for some minutes, then humming tunelessly, he left the vault, closed and locked the door and returned to his office.

  He sat at his desk and stared sightlessly at his half-written report.

  Three hundred thousand dollars! Was this the chance he had been waiting for for seventeen long, dreary years? The sum was certainly worth great risks, but just what were the risks?

  ‘I’m here for at least six months,’ he said to himself. ‘I mustn’t rush this thing. I have plenty of time. I must see how the money is delivered, how this electronic gadget works. I must find out if there is any weakness in the security measures these people have taken to protect their money. If I am going to take this money, I must be absolutely certain no one will know I have taken it. That’s how every bank robbery fails. Once the Federal agents know who has taken the money, you’re as good as cooked. The trick in this set-up is not to let them have a clue that you have taken it. If you can do that, if you are patient enough not to spend a cent of the money until the heat is off, you stand a ninety-nine per cent chance of getting away with it. These odds are worth the risk when three hundred thousand dollars are for the having.’

  With an effort he shelved these thoughts and finished his report about Joe Lamb. Then he turned off the lights and left the bank.

  As he edged his car into the big garage at the back of the rooming-house, he saw Kit getting out of her car.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Have you just got in?’

  She was wearing a short leather coat and black slacks. She rested her hips against the fender of the car and surveyed him coolly.

  ‘I’ve been to the movies. Now I must rush. It’s Flo’s night off.’

  He came closer to her. He took out his pack of cigarettes and offered it. They both lit up.

  ‘I’m a handy man,’ he said, switching on his charm. ‘Can’t I help? I’d like to. I get bored sitting up in my room waiting to eat.’

  Her brown eyes studied him with that odd, amused expression that slightly irritated him. It was as if she were telling him she knew his charm wasn’t to be trusted.

  ‘I never refuse help. Come on then: help me get the dinner.’

  He followed her from the garage, around the back of the house and into the well-equipped kitchen.

  ‘The menu is soup, grilled kidneys and apple pie,’ she told him. ‘Can you peel a potato?’

  ‘I can make soup. Want me to prove it? What have you got?’

  She opened the refrigerator.

  ‘Beef bones, vegetables, cream and flour. Anything else you need?’

  ‘Do fine.’

  ‘Well, all right, then you make the soup. I’ll run up and change. I won’t be a minute.’

  She tossed him an apron and then went out of the kitchen. He watched her go: his blue eyes taking in the shape of her body. When she had gone, he stood for a moment, his smile fixed, then he turned his attention to making the soup.

  When she returned, wearing her black and scarlet dress, he was already well advanced with the soup. She collected the table-ware and went into the dining-room to set the table. By the time she had returned, he had prepared the vegetables and had set the pressure cooker on the stove. He took the kidneys from the refrigerator and was skinning them expertly.

  ‘Where did you learn to cook?’ she asked, moving to his side.

  ‘It sounds corny,’ he said, intent on what he was doing and not looking up, ‘but my mother taught me. She said if ever I fell in love with a girl who couldn’t cook, it would be a good idea for me to know how. It so happened I did just that thing. She couldn’t cook, so I did.’ He looked up suddenly, his blue eyes staring at her. ‘It didn’t save the marriage. I guess my mother was just kidding herself the way most mothers do.’

  Kit lifted her hair off her shoulders with an unconscious, graceful movement.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Oh, the usual thing: we begged to differ and we got a divorce.’

  ‘I suppose I was luckier. I didn’t have to get a divorce. My husband died. It’s a mess, isn’t it when people marry and then stop loving each other?’

  ‘Yes… it’s a mess.’ Calvin scooped up the chopped kidneys and put them in a saucepan. ‘Have you any brandy?’

  ‘Yes… it isn’t much good.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Let me have it. I’ll cook these in a brandy sauce. They’ll make the major’s single hair curl.’

  She went to the store cupboard and took out a half-filed bottle of br
andy.

  He moved to the table towards the brandy and that brought him close to her. She didn’t move out of his way and it seemed to him the most natural thing in the world to reach for her. His thick fingers dug into the flesh of her back as he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. His mouth came down on hers. They stood for a long moment, straining against each other, then she jerked away. They stood looking at each other: her eyes were dark with desire. As he reached for her again, she moved away, holding up her hand.

  ‘This isn’t exactly the way to get dinner, is it?’ she said unsteadily. ‘Are you doing the kidneys or am I?’

  He drew in a long, deep breath, then he managed a crooked smile.

  ‘I’ll do them,’ he said and picked up the bottle of brandy. ‘You’re damned attractive, but you would know that for sure.’ He put a knob of butter in the saucepan and set the saucepan on the stove. ‘I’m surprised you’ve buried yourself in this dead hole. Just why did you do it?’

  She rested her hips against the kitchen table and folded her arms across her breasts.

  ‘I made a mistake. The house was very cheap. I didn’t have much money…’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Money! Ever since I was a kid I’ve wanted money. I’ve been waiting and waiting for money now for over twenty years.’

  He moved the kidneys around in the saucepan with a wooden spoon.

  ‘Yeah… that makes two of us. I want money, too,’ he said. ‘There are people who inherit money and then don’t know how to use it. There are people who even make money but still don’t know how to use it, but there are also people like you and me who don’t have it but would know how to use it. Tough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Then there are people who have the chance of getting a lot of money but are scared of taking risks,’ Kit said quietly. ‘There are people like myself who never have the chance, but wouldn’t be scared of any risk providing the money is big enough.’

  Calvin looked sharply at her, his blue eves suddenly alert.