1949 - You're Lonely When You Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Why don’t you use your head and keep out of this?’ I said to Bannister. ‘Turn Mrs. Cerf over to me and you’ll hear no more about it.’

  He eyed me over and sat down in the only armchair in the room. His movements were like those of an old man who is stiff in the joints and very tired.

  ‘It’s not going to be as easy as that,’ he said.

  Shannon’s flat feet came thumping along the corridor.

  The door swung open and Miss Bolus came in. Shannon followed her in, pushed the door shut and set his back against it.

  Miss Bolus looked calm and indifferent. Her chinky eyes took in the scene. They shifted from Gates and his gun to me, to Bannister and to me again.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, brightly. ‘How did you get up here, and what’s the idea of the gun?’

  Bannister pointed a long white finger at me.

  ‘Did you bring him here?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and her eyebrows went up. ‘Don’t you want custom?’

  ‘Not his, nor yours. I always thought you’d turn out to be a trouble maker.’

  ‘How nice!’ She laughed. ‘I’m so glad you’re not disappointed. But do stop acting like Adolphe Menjou and tell your cheap bouncer to put away his gun.’ She looked over at me. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here. They can’t stop us.’

  It was a brave little speech, but it didn’t inspire me with a lot of confidence. Up to now I hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch. I didn’t like the hungry, ferocious expression in Gates’s eyes. I had a feeling that if I gave him the slightest opportunity he would start spraying lead.

  ‘Shoot if he moves,’ Bannister said to Gates, and made a sign to Shannon: a flicking movement with his wrist.

  Shannon sidled up to Miss Bolus, tapped her on her bare shoulder. As she jerked away and turned angrily, he hit her on the side of the jaw. It was a punch that would have put Joe Louis on his back. Miss Bolus went across the room as if she had been caught up by the blast of an exploding bomb.

  She smashed into the dressing table. One limp arm scattered the bottles and powders with a crash of glass to the floor. The dressing table rocked and shot away from her, leaving her lying amid broken bottles; a trickle of blood ran down her face from a cut above her eye. She lay still, her eyes half-open, motionless.

  All this happened in a second or so. Gates, who hadn’t seen Bannister’s signal, was startled and shifted his eyes from me to Miss Bolus.

  I sprang at him, my right hand smashing down on his wrist. The gun jumped out of his hand and went sliding across the carpet to land up at Bannister’s feet.

  Gates let out a startled oath, clutched at his wrist and staggered forward. I socked him in the face and sent him reeling across the room as Shannon closed in on me. He hit me in the body with his left. It was like being hit with the buffer of a train. I ducked under the right cross that came whistling through the air and slammed a couple of quick ones into a body that felt like a sack of concrete. Shannon grunted and gave ground. I jumped out of range as Gates came staggering across the room at me. I tapped him on the bridge of his nose and then sank a hard one into his midriff-lie went down on hands and knees. Shannon came charging in and I spun round a fraction late. I managed to duck under his left, but walked into a right hook that came up from the floor. A blinding flash of light exploded before my eyes and I went down into a pit that had no bottom.

  II

  A single, naked electric-light bulb hung from a ceiling that had big patches of damp on it. It’s hard, bright light cast sharp etched shadows on the brick wall opposite me: the shadows of two men playing cards on an upturned packing case.

  I closed my eyes against the light and tried to remember what had happened. The scene in the bedroom came back bit by bit. I wondered where Miss Bolus was. I opened my eyes and without turning my head looked around the room.

  As far as I could see the room was big: some kind of cellar, and full of packing cases. There were no windows, and by the damp ceiling and the sweating walls I guessed it was well underground. I turned my attention to the two shadows on the opposite wall: Shannon and Gates. The smoke from their cigarettes moved up the wall in spirals. Gates was shuffling the cards, and as I watched, he began to deal, his hand flicking the cards across the packing case so quickly that the shadows of his hand and the cards falling on the packing case were moving blurs on the wall.

  I was lying on the bare springs of a creaky iron bedstead.

  They hadn’t bothered to tie me, and by now the effects of Shannon’s punch were wearing off. But I didn’t want them to have any warning I was ready to start trouble until my head cleared, so I lay quiet. I thought of Gates and his gun.

  That was something that had to be risked. If I could put Shannon out of action I felt confident I could handle Gates, but Shannon presented a problem. I would have to hit him no hard enough to put him out. From the scar tissue on his face he had taken plenty of punches in his time, and I didn’t kid myself I could hit him any harder than he had been hit before.

  Then suddenly, as if he had picked up my thought waves, Gates said, ‘It’s about time this punk came to. The boss wants to talk to him.’

  ‘When I hit them, they stay hit,’ Shannon said in a complacent growl. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ A sneer crept into his voice. ‘I thought you liked losing your dough.’

  I turned my head slowly. They were sitting about three yards from me to the rear of the head of the bed. I didn’t expect them to be that close: the shadows were deceptive.

  My movement attracted Gates’s attention. He swung round as I put my one hand on the springs to give me a lever for my spring and his gun swung up and on me.

  ‘Don’t try anything funny,’ he said in his grating voice. ‘Or it’ll be too bad for you.’

  I looked at him and then at Shannon, who had put down his cards and was easing the great ropey muscles in his shoulders.

  ‘Better tell the boss,’ Gates said, without taking his eyes off me. ‘I’ll watch him.’

  Shannon got up, gave me a hard scowl and went pounding across the concrete floor to a door at the far end of the cellar.

  ‘What’s happened to Gail Bolus?’ I asked and touched the lump on my jaw with tender fingers.

  ‘You don’t want to worry about her,’ Gates said. ‘It’s you you want to worry about.’

  I decided it wouldn’t be safe to jump him. There was a bleak look in his eyes that told me he’d shoot if he had to, and by the way he held the gun I hadn’t a hope that he’d miss.

  ‘All the same I worry about her,’ I said. ‘I have that kind of a mind. Just where is she?’

  ‘She’s being taken care of,’ he returned, and a thin smile twisted his lips. ‘You pipe down and take it easy unless you want a smack in the puss with this rod.’

  I glanced at my wristwatch. It was twenty minutes to eleven. That meant I had been in the club a little over an hour and a half. I had no idea what was coming, but I didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know whatever it was wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Except for an occasional drip of water from a leaky tap in the distant comer of a cellar there was no more sound for several minutes. Gates held the gun on me and smoked.

  During those minutes he didn’t once look away or give me the slightest hope of surprising him.

  The cellar door swung open and Bannister came in, followed by Shannon. Bannister moved across the floor slowly, his hands in his pockets, his eyes distant and cold. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me. Shannon moved to the head of the bed. He was close enough for me to smell the odour of stale tobacco and sweat that clung to his clothes.

  Bannister’s first words came as a complete surprise to me.

  He said, ‘I owe you an apology, Mr. Malloy. Why didn’t you tell me who you were? I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone else.’

  I swung my legs off the bed and ran my fingers over the side of my face.

  ‘You didn’t g
ive me much time to introduce myself, did you?’

  ‘You had no business to be on the third floor. I was misled by Mrs. Cerf. I’m sorry you were manhandled. You’re free to go just as soon as you are ready.’

  ‘Then how would it be if Weasel-face put away his rod?’ I asked.

  Gates snarled at me, but at a sign from Bannister he shoved his gun into its holster and moved away to glower at me from the shadows.

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Now, where’s Mrs. Cerf?’

  ‘She’s gone. I’ve thrown her out.’

  ‘Where’s she gone to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I told her to pack and take her car and get out. She left about ten minutes ago.’ He offered me a cigarette from a leather case. ‘I’m interested in the necklace,’ he said. ‘You seem to know something about it.’

  I took the cigarette, lit it and blew the smoke at him.

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What’s the necklace to you?’

  ‘She promised it to me,’ he said, and pulled thoughtfully at his long, thin nose. ‘That’s why I had her here.’

  ‘You mean - Mrs. Cerf ?’

  ‘Yes. A couple of nights ago she came to see me. She said she needed protection and was willing to pay for it. She wanted a room in the club for a week. She offered five hundred dollars.’ A bleak little smile came to h s grey face. ‘It wasn’t enough. She was obviously in trouble, and besides she’s married to a millionaire. I finally agreed to give her a room and protection, and in return she promised me the necklace. I’m being quite frank with you, you see. But when she arrived last night she said the necklace had been stolen. I thought she was lying, but I wasn’t sure. She was in a bad way: hysterical and frightened. She wouldn’t say why. I let her stay the night. We were negotiating terms when you interrupted us. The neck ace belongs to me. At least I have the first claim. Where is it?’

  ‘You wouldn’t want it,’ I said. ‘It was found in the room of a girl who was murdered last night. Dana Lewis. You’ve read about her in the papers. The police don’t know we have it, but they’ll come around to it sooner or later. I should forget about it quick. I should forget about Mrs. Cerf too.’

  He drummed on his knee with white fingers, thinking, then he lifted his shoulders in a tired shrug.

  ‘Who is Dana Lewis?’ he asked. ‘What has she to do with Mrs. Cerf?’

  ‘Dana was one of my operators. Cerf hired her to watch h’s wife. That’s all I can tell you, and you can keep that to yourself too.’

  You think she killed this girl?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe I’d better forget the necklace,’ he said, half to himself.

  ‘What was frightening her?’ I asked. ‘You saw the way she acted. She was scared of something. What was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was like that all the time she was here Every time she heard someone in the corridor she would start out of her chair. When I told her to get out, there was a look of death in her face. I was glad to see her go.’

  ‘When she came to you she asked for protection - is that right?’

  ‘She said a man she knew was pestering her, and she wanted to get out of his way for a while. She said he was dangerous. She wanted to be sure if he came to the club looking for her I’d take care of him That’s why you were pushed around. I thought you were the fella she was scared of. When we went through your pockets and found who you were I guessed she had been lying.’ He stood up. ‘That’s all. I have work to do. Keep clear of this place from now on. I don’t want any more of this kind of trouble.’

  I got off the bed.

  ‘How about Gail Bolus?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s in your car, waiting for you.’

  ‘Doesn’t she collect anything for that punch in the jaw? She could sue for assault.’

  Bannister gave a tired smile.

  ‘She could but she won’t. We know her. She’s been cheating the house for weeks. A punch on the jaw will do her good. I hope so anyway.’

  ‘If that’s how you feel about it,’ I said and shrugged.

  ‘Which way do I go?’

  ‘Show him,’ Bannister said to Shannon. ‘And neither the girl nor Malloy is to come here again. Understand?’

  I went across to the door, opened it and found myself in a dimly lit passage. Shannon came pounding after mc.

  ‘Straight ahead,’ he said. ‘The door at the far end takes you to the car park. Now scram out of here, and don’t show your mug here unless you want it flattened.’

  I turned and grinned at him.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘and don’t you punch any more girls in the jaw. One of them might get annoyed.’

  He was beginning a slow, leering smile when I hit him. I didn’t give him a chance to duck. The punch travelled about four inches, and it had all my weight behind it. My fist bounced against the side of his jaw with a crack like the snapping of dry wood. As he began to fall I slammed in another punch to the same spot and stood back to watch him fold up on the floor. Then I grabbed his arm and rolled him over on his back. I had to work fast. Gates might come out to see what the row was about. When I had him on his back, I placed the heel of my shoe squarely on his nose and mouth and put my weight on it.

  If there’s one thing that makes me madder than another it’s the louse who hits women.

  III

  I pulled up outside the gates of the Santa Rosa Estate, and tapped my horn button. It was now a little after one o’clock in the morning, and I wasn’t sure whether there’d be a guard on duty at that hour. There was, and he wasn’t Comrade Mills. The guardhouse door opened and a tall, thickset man in a peaked cap and knee boots, opened one of the gates and came out.

  ‘Is Mr. Cerf back yet?’ I asked as he threw the beam of a powerful flashlight on me.

  ‘Well, he’s back, but I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone. It’s kind of late, mister. Who are you?’

  I told him.

  ‘Stick around,’ he said. ‘I’ll find out,’ and he went back into the guard house.

  I got out of the car and fidgeted around like an expectant father waiting for news. Since leaving L’Etoile I had taken Miss Bolus to her two-room apartment on Jefferson Avenue, and had driven right over to the Santa Rosa Estate in the hope that Anita Cerf had come home, or at next best Cerf would know where she was.

  The guard returned.

  ‘Yeah, he’s in and will see you,’ he said. ‘I’ll open the gates and you can drive up.’

  I drove up.

  The house was in darkness, but the regal looking butler was waiting on the doorstep as I ran up the steps. He took my hat without a word. His back was stiff with disapproval.

  Maybe he didn’t like me keeping him out of bed, or maybe he just didn’t like me.

  We tramped through the big hall, along the passage lined on either side with suits of armour, into the elevator that took us up to the second floor, along another mile of corridor to Cerf s study.

  The butler opened the study door and said in a low, dismal voice, ‘Mr. Malloy, sir,’ ushered me in and shut the door behind me.

  Cerf was sitting in a big armchair, a cigar between his fingers, a book open on his knee. As I crossed the room towards him, he closed the book and placed it on the table beside him.

  ‘Well? What do you want?’ he demanded, as aggressive as a pneumatic drill.

  ‘I want Mrs. Cerf, and I want her quick,’ I snapped back, matching his tone.

  He stiffened and the mauve in his face deepened.

  ‘We’re not going over that again. I told that girl what would happen if you tried to drag Mrs. Cerf into this. If that’s all you want you can get out!’

  I said, ‘That was this morning. A lot of things have happened since then. I’ve dug up something that connects your wife with the murder. It’s just a matter of time before the police get on to it too.’

  ‘What have you dug up?’
/>   ‘It’s a long story. Where’s Mrs. Cerf?’

  ‘She’s out of town. I’m keeping her out of this, Malloy. You can forget Mrs. Cerf. You’ll have no opportunity to talk to her. I’ll see to that.’

  ‘I’ve already talked to her.’

  The cigar slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the floor. Muttering under his breath he bent to pick it up and remained bent, his face hidden for much longer than it takes to pick up a cigar. When he finally straightened, his nice mauve sun-tanned complexion was a shade paler, and there was a worried look in his eyes.

  ‘You’ve . . . what?’

  “That’s right,’ I said, pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘You told Miss Bensinger this morning you were sending Mrs. Cerf out of town. The truth was, Mr. Cerf, you didn’t see your wife after she had gone out last night, and I don’t think you have an idea where she spent the night. You think she’s connected with Dana Lewis’s death. You may even think she shot Dana, and you’re trying to cover her up. It won’t work. And I’ll tell you why. Mrs. Cerf came to see me last night a little after ten o’clock. She wanted to know why she was being watched. I didn’t tell her. She offered a bribe, but I referred her to you. She left my place and contacted Dana Lewis. The two of diem went to Dana’s apartment. They arrived there about eleven-thirty. They were seen together. About twenty minutes later, Mrs. Cerf left. She took a taxi to East Beach. Nearly an hour later Dana had a phone call, and she left her apartment. She was later discovered by a guy named Owen Leadbetter, shot to death in some shrubs out at East Beach. One of my operators went to her apartment to make certain there was nothing in the apartment that would connect you with her murder. He found Mrs. Cerf’s necklace under Dana’s mattress.’

  He had been listening to all this in motionless silence. His face had been as expressionless as the wall behind his head, but the reference to the diamond necklace was a little too much for him. The muscles in his face went suddenly slack and he nearly dropped his cigar again.