1979 - A Can of Worms

by James Hadley Chase

  At 19.00, Jarvis arrived at the cottage with Hamel’s butler.

  “Mr. Washington Smith meet Mr. Bart Anderson who is looking after the security of the estate while Mr. Jordan is on vacation,” Jarvis said.

  Mr. Smith smiled as we shook hands.

  “We have met before Mr. Anderson.”

  “That’s right. Glad to see you again.”

  A young negro in white wheeled in a trolley, and quickly laid the table while Jarvis poured martini cocktails.

  “Hey! I thought the boss didn’t dig liquor,” I said.

  Jarvis smiled.

  “There’s an old saying, Mr. Anderson, about what the eye doesn’t see.”

  “The heart doesn’t grieve about,” Smith concluded as he reached for a glass.

  It was during a good meal of pork chops in chili sauce that I began to pump Smith.

  I said it was sad about Mrs. Highbee. I had been at the funeral, and had seen Mrs. Hamel collapse. How was she?

  Smith munched for a few moments, then shook his head.

  “She is recovering. Mrs. Highbee was her closest friend. It was a great shock, but she is recovering.”

  “And Mr. Hamel?” I said, my voice casual. “I found him an impressive personality. He said he was going to use me in his book.”

  Smith sighed.

  “I’m worried about Mr. Hamel. He has never been happy since he took up marriage. I have been with him for the past fifteen years. He made a mistake marrying Mrs. Gloria . . . she was no lady. The divorce distressed him. I thought all would be well when he married Mrs. Nancy.” He looked at me. “I don’t know a nicer lady. I had every hope that the marriage would be a success, but Mr. Hamel is not happy. I don’t understand it.”

  I could have told him. I remember what Gloria Cort had said: You’d think a guy who could write that stuff would be good in bed. Was I conned? He’s as useless to a woman as boiled spaghetti.

  “Well, he certainly makes money with his books. I guess one can’t have everything,” I said.

  “Yes, indeed. Tomorrow, he goes to Hollywood to discuss the film treatment,” Smith said. “The film will bring him a lot of money. Mr. Hamel is most generous. He always gives me and my wife, who does the cooking, a present when he sells a film.”

  “How about the other staff?” I asked, probing. “Do they get something?”

  “We have no other staff. In spite of his wealth, Mr. Hamel likes to live simply. He seldom entertains, and when he does, he hires staff and orders food. It is an easy place to run, and my wife and I are not pressed. He always has cold supper. That is why I am able to grace Mr. Jarvis’s excellent table.”

  “I guess Mrs. Hamel will be going with him to Hollywood? Should take her mind off her loss.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, Mrs. Hamel will stay. It will only be for three or four days. I don’t think she feels like mixing with the Hollywood people.” He frowned. “They are very special.”

  Jarvis, who had been listening without interest, broke in, “You must tell us about these two Indian boys who died, Mr. Anderson. I am sure you have theories about them.”

  “Well, no. Even the police don’t understand it,” I said, thinking how their eyes would bolt out if I told them the facts. “But I can tell you about this odd business the Agency handled last year,” and I launched in to yet another of my made-up cases which kept them on the edges of their chairs until Smith said regretfully he had to get back or his wife would be wondering where he was.

  Jarvis also remembered he had to see the old nut to bed.

  I was left on my own and with my thoughts.

  I had learned a lot from Smith. He had confirmed what Gloria Cort had told me: Hamel was impotent. He had told me Hamel would be away for three or four days, leaving Nancy on her own. Hamel being away, gave me time. It would also keep Bertha quiet.

  My afternoon hadn’t been wasted. I relaxed, and when I relax, my thoughts turn to money. I was still spending a million dollars when Carl arrived to relieve me.

  “I bet you were busy,” he said, grinning.

  “A beautiful dinner,” I said. “Man! Is this the job?”

  I was getting into bed when the telephone bell rang.

  For a long moment, I hesitated to answer it, then I lifted the receiver.

  “Bart!” Bertha’s strident voice hit my eardrum like a sledge hammer.

  “Hi, honey,” I managed to say.

  “What about it?”

  “What about what?” Although I knew.

  She made a sound a train whistle would envy.

  “What’s happening? Have you seen him?”

  “Relax . . . he’s away . . . Hollywood. I have it under control, baby.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “Don’t be so goddam anxious. Three or four days. Quiet down baby. I’m handling this . . . remember?”

  “You’d better be. I’ve sold my apartment, and the furniture. Give with the action, Bart! As soon as he gets back, bite him!”

  “You’ve sold . . .? What the hell are you saying?”

  “Who wants to live in this crummy place when we’re worth millions?” Bertha demanded. “I had a good offer, so I’ve sold. Now the action is in your court.”

  I suppressed a groan.

  “Okay, okay. Three or four days. I’ll fix it.”

  “Do that,” and she hung up.

  * * *

  Some minutes before midnight, I arrived at the Paradise Largo to begin my night’s stint. I stopped to chat up Mike O’Flagherty who was going off duty.

  We talked of this and that, then I steered the conversation around to the Hamels.

  “Any news of Mrs. Hamel?” I asked as I offered him a cigarette.

  “The quack called again today. Mr. Hamel left early this morning. I hear he is going to Hollywood: a film deal.”

  That was what I wanted to know. Hamel was now on his way to Hollywood.

  I found Carl waiting to be relieved. Jarvis had left a stack of sandwiches for me in case I starved during the night.

  “There’s a bottle of Scotch in my drawer,” Carl said. “Help yourself.”

  When he had gone, I ate the sandwiches, had a couple of drinks, then walked to the tree by the gates. I climbed it, surveyed Hamel’s ranch house which was in darkness, and after waiting for more than an hour when nothing happened, I returned to the cottage, lay on the settee and went to sleep. Around five in the morning, I forced myself awake, shaved and showered, and wandered around the garden, trying to look like an energetic guard. At 08.00, Jarvis arrived with coffee, pancakes, maple syrup, grilled sausages and scrambled eggs.

  While I ate, he talked. He said that as I would be on duty tomorrow at midday, he would arrange another dinner with Washington Smith. I said that was fine with me.

  Carl relieved me at midday. I went swimming, then returned to my apartment and slept until 18.00. I didn’t feel like coping with Bertha, so I went to a bar for a drink, then feeling hungry, I headed to where I had parked the Maser. As I was getting into the car, I spotted Gloria Cort coming towards me.

  “Hi, there!”

  She stopped and regarded me, then she smiled, and came up to the Maser.

  “Hi! Where did you spring from?” She leant against the car. Her breasts swung against the flimsy material of her dress.

  “I’m about to feed my face,” I said. “Any chance of your company? I hate eating alone.”

  She moved rapidly to the off-side and opened the passenger’s door.

  “Where?”

  “Do you like seafood?”

  “I prefer meat. There’s a restaurant not far from here: Beef on the Hoof. Know it?”

  Just like Bertha. The prices at this restaurant would have startled an oil Sheik.

  “Not there,” I said firmly. “I know a joint where you can get a steak that sits up on your plate and makes bull noises.”

  She laughed.

  “Well, it was a try.” She settled herself beside me and he
r hand fell into my lap. “Nice car.”

  I gently removed her hand.

  “Not right now, baby . . . later, huh?”

  I drove her to the restaurant which was off Paradise Avenue. It had piped music that blew your ears, a lot of action, and the waiters dressed as bullfighters.

  When we had settled and ordered steaks, she leaned back, thrusting her breasts at me.

  “Where have you been, handsome?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you since you blew into the Alameda.”

  “I get around. What are you doing, footloose? Don’t you do an act there, or something?”

  “Only Saturdays. What do you do?”

  “Me? I chase the fast buck, and sometimes catch it. How’s Diaz these days?”

  She gave me a long, searching look.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  “Bart Anderson.”

  She nodded.

  “Keep clear of Diaz, Bart.”

  “I’ve been told that before.”

  “Now I’m telling you. Keep clear of him.”

  The steaks arrived and we began to eat.

  “If he’s that poisonous, what’s a nice girl like you doing hooking up with him?”

  “Who the hell said I was nice?” She pursed her lips and made a rude noise. “But you’re right. Whenever I meet up with a man, sooner or later, I ask myself what I’m doing with him, and I never come up with an answer. The trouble with me is I get infatuated. I got infatuated with that jerk Hamel. Then I got infatuated with this creep Diaz. If I told you how many goddamn finks I’ve got infatuated with it would take all night.”

  “Tough,” I said. “How’s the steak?”

  “Marvellous.” She started eating again.

  So I let her eat. When she finished, she said she would have a sundae with plenty of bananas and cherries. I let her work through that while I drank coffee. When there was nothing more for her to eat, she nodded, pushed back her chair and stood up.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “I’m going to give you a work out. It’ll be an experience you’ll write up in your diary.”

  “I don’t keep a diary,” I said as I paid the check.

  “But you will, brother! You certainly will!” Catching hold of my arm, she dragged me out of the restaurant.

  * * *

  The telephone bell brought me awake. I clawed open my eyes and squinted at the bedside clock. It showed 10.05. The sound of the bell pounded my brain. I heard a moan, then a four-letter word, and saw Gloria, half sitting up, naked, beside me.

  “Stay still,” I croaked. “It’s nothing.”

  I knew it was Bertha, trying to get to me. I had taken a risk, bringing Gloria to my apartment, but she had dangled her sexual equipment so enticingly, I had been swept off my feet.

  I have bedded many dolls in my past, but Gloria was something else beside. As a bed partner, she was unique.

  I had already told Bertha that I was back to the grindstone, and not to expect to hear from me for a few days, but now Bertha dreamed of sharing my million dollars, she would be hard to shake off.

  After a few more rings, the telephone bell sulked into silence.

  “Hi,” Gloria said, smiling at me. She looked depressingly lively. “That sure was a night, honey.”

  Feeling boneless, I managed to nod.

  “Some coffee. I’ll get it.” She slid off the bed and ran naked towards the kitchen. I watched her with carnal appreciation.

  After a while, she came back with coffee: strong and reviving. We drank, and I slowly became knitted together. After another cup, this time laced with brandy, my brain began to function. Looking at her, as she sat beside me, I realized she could be useful to me: now was, the moment to fish for information.

  “Baby,” I said. “Tell me about Diaz. Why has he lost his glamour for you?”

  “Things are going on at the Alameda I don’t like.”

  “What things?”

  “I found that Alphonso is more dangerous than a rattlesnake. He has me scared.”

  “I know that, but what’s going on at the Alameda?”

  “People who talk come to a sudden end.”

  “Like old Pete.”

  “And those two kids. I’m not talking. I don’t want to end up the way they did.”

  “Who wants to? But something is going on there, huh?”

  “He’s hiding people there. He’s given them the top floor.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know, and don’t want to know.” She set down her coffee cup. “Bart, I want out. I’ve had it up to here with this goddamn city. It’s time I moved on. I want to go to Frisco. There’s a guy there who does an act, and he wants me to join him, but he needs me to put up some money.”

  “They always do, baby. Don’t get conned again.”

  “He’s different. Will you stake me for ten thousand dollars, Bart?”

  I gaped at her.

  “I’ve got buzzing in my ears. For a moment, I imagined you said ten thousand dollars.”

  She nodded.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Ten thousand! Baby! That’s insane! I haven’t even two thousand.”

  “Don’t lie!” Her face turned vicious. “I know Alphonso shut your mouth with fifty thousand. I was listening outside the door. I want ten of that or else. . . .”

  I suddenly realized I hadn’t any clothes on. The happy, sexy atmosphere had suddenly vanished. I slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. I shaved and showered, taking my time, my mind busy. When a woman, looking the way Gloria looked and said or else I knew I had to handle her very carefully.

  When I returned to the bedroom, Gloria was dressed.

  She stood looking out of the window, her back turned to me, cigarette smoke making a spiral above her carroty hair.

  I dressed, then went to the closet for my police special.

  The holster was hanging on the peg, but the gun was missing.

  Bart, baby, I said to myself, you really have to handle this one with extreme care.

  Gloria turned and lifted her right hand. The police special pointed at me.

  “Looking for this, Bart?” Her voice was harsh and her eyes cold as ice.

  “You wouldn’t want to shoot me, would you, honey?”

  “I’ll shoot you in your goddamn leg if you don’t give me that money,” she said, and she looked vicious enough to do just that.

  I moved carefully away and sat down.

  “You squeezed fifty thousand out of Alphonso,” she went on, “now I’m going to squeeze ten thousand out of you.”

  I drew in a long uneasy breath.

  “Baby, I would give it to you if I had it. I’ve spent it.”

  “Don’t give me that crap! No one spends that much money in five weeks!”

  “You’re right. No one does, except me. I have a talent for spending money. I also have a talent for finding expensive dolls. All that beautiful loot went on a four week cruise. Where do you think I got this tan from? Working in a coal mine?”

  She stared at me, and I saw her face start to fall to pieces.

  “I want a getaway stake!” She lowered the gun. “You can’t have spent all that money!” A faint wail of misery crept into her voice. I relaxed a little. I was now over the danger line.

  “I did. I can prove it. We’ll go to my bank, and they’ll tell you.”

  “Oh, shut up!” She threw the gun on the bed and turned her back on me. I slid out of my chair, whipped up the gun and dropped it into my pocket. I began to breathe normally.

  She spun around.

  “What am I going to do? Freddie can’t have me unless I go into partnership with him. Can’t you find some money, Bart?”

  “Rest your fanny, baby. Let’s see what we can do. Now start using your brains. Have you asked yourself why Diaz parted with fifty thousand without even a whimper.”

  She sat down and stared at me.

  “Why did he?”

  “Because I opened such a can of w
orms he had to pay me to keep quiet.”

  “What can of worms?”

  “That’s something you don’t want to know about. It’s to do with this guy Diaz is hiding.”

  “You mean the man and the woman?”

  “A woman?”

  “There’s a woman with him. I’ve heard them talking.”

  I remembered the two beds in the tent on the pirates’ island, and the woman’s things I had seen. I had thought Nancy had used them when visiting Pofferi.

  “Are you sure there’s a woman with him?”

  “I’m sure. Who is he? What’s the fuss about?”

  “Leave it. You want ten thousand to go to Frisco . . .right?”

  “Are you deaf?” She thumped her fists on her knees. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “You could earn it, baby.”

  She moved uneasily as she stared at me. .

  “You kidding?”

  “You could earn it.”

  “How?”

  “I want to know what goes on at the Alameda. I want to know about this man and this woman Diaz is hiding. I want you to find out about them and tell me.”

  She reared back.

  “Do you imagine I’m that crazy?” Her voice was shrill. “I’m not finishing up like Pete and those two kids.

  No way!”

  “Relax! All you have to do is to bug Diaz’s office. I’ve a gimmick which activates a tape recorder when someone starts talking. All you have to do is to plant the bug. No problem, baby. I’ll give you the bug and a recorder. Change the tape when it runs out. In one week from now, I’ll pay you ten thousand beautiful dollars in return for the tapes. How’s about it?”

  I knew I was getting carried away. Unless Hamel came up with a million, I would never find ten thousand, but she wasn’t to know that. If the tapes came up with evidence that Diaz killed Pete and the two kids, I could squeeze him dry.

  “Where will the ten thousand come from?” Gloria demanded. “You’ve just said you have no money.”

  I gave her a confident smile.

  “I haven’t right now, baby, but in a week, I will have. With some of the money I got from Diaz I bought a share of action with a friend of mine,” I lied. “It cost me five, but the return is a certain fifteen. Ten for you: five for me.”