1964 - The Soft Centre

by James Hadley Chase

  'Nice friends you go around with, don't you?'

  'It's business, Pekie. They aren't friends. They put business my way.’

  'You didn't get in until half-past three. You could have murdered this woman, couldn't you?'

  'I could have, but I didn't. Let's drop it, shall we?' he said, a rasp in his voice.

  'I wouldn't like you to describe me as an old, old flame that flickered out ... a nobody ... a tart,' Gina said quietly. 'I wouldn't like that at all.'

  'I wouldn't talk that way about you, Pekie ... you know that.'

  'Well, if you did, if the flame flickered out, darling, I could always tell that cop I made a mistake in the days, and that it was Thursday and not Friday we did the things you said we did.'

  They stared at each other for a long moment. The hardness in her black eyes startled him and he felt a sudden sinking feeling.

  'Come on, Pekie, let's drop it. Let's go to a movie or something. Look, I'll take you to the Coral Club ... how would you like that?'

  'Did you take Sue Parnell there?'

  He got to his feet. Blood rushed into his face and all his smoothness went away. He looked vicious and ugly.

  'Now listen, Gina.

  'Pekie, darling. You always call me that, and don't look so mad. No, we won't go to the Coral Club tonight. You run off and play with your boyfriends. I'll amuse myself on my own.' She got off the settee and carrying her drink, she went across the lounge and into her bedroom.

  Hardy stood motionless, his hands opening and closing, then he went into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  chapter four

  The Hare Investigating Agency advertised that they offered superlative service with quick results. The Agency was controlled by Homer Hare, assisted by Lucille, his daughter, and Sam Karsh, his son-in-law. They were regarded by the police and by those who had had dealings with them as 'The Unholy Trinity'.

  Homer Hare, nudging sixty-five, was an immense man, grossly fat with a turnip shaped head, a bulbous nose, shrewd little eyes and a drooping moustache that half hid a cruel, avaricious mouth.

  His daughter, aged twenty-eight, was small and bony. The sharpness of her features and the brightness of her little black eyes gave her the appearance of a dangerous and suspicious ferret.

  Her husband, Sam Karsh, could have been her brother. He had the same ferrety face, the same dark greasy hair and the same muddy complexion. If he hadn't been offered a job as well as a wife, it wouldn't have occurred to him to have married Lucille. He had a roving eye for any blonde who came up to his high standards, but as he made a reasonable living working with Hare, he accepted Lucille with as bad a grace as possible.

  On the second morning after the murder at the Park Motel, Homer Hare sat in his specially built desk chair, designed to accept his enormous bulk, and regarded Joan Parnell with startled surprise.

  'But this is a murder case,' he said in his wheezy soft voice. 'We don't usually take on murder cases. For one thing the police don't like an Agency to move in and for another, they have the organisation to solve a murder whereas we are necessarily handicapped.'

  Joan Parnell giving off a strong aroma of gin, made an impatient movement.

  'There are other Agencies,' she said. 'I'm not going to beg you to work for me. I'm paying a thousand dollars as a retainer. Are you taking the job or not?'

  Hare blinked.

  'My dear Miss Parnell,' he said hurriedly, waving his great hands that looked as if they had been fashioned out of dough, 'if there is one Agency that could help you, it is us. Just what do you want me to do?'

  'Find my sister's killer,' Joan said in her fiat, hard voice.

  'What makes you think the police won't find him?'

  'They might, but I want the satisfaction of knowing I helped. I want this man found! Are you handling this or aren't you?'

  'Of course I'll handle it,' Hare said and pulled a scratch pad towards him. 'I have read the facts in the papers of course, but let me see if you can tell me anything further that might help. First of all, tell me about your sister.'

  An hour later, Joan Parnell got to her feet: On the desk lay five hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills.

  'You shall have the other five hundred next week,' she said. 'For this money, I want some action.'

  Hare regarded the money with a loving smile.

  'You'll get it. Miss Parnell. We specialise in quick results. We will have something for you by next week.'

  'If I don't get it, you don't get any more money,' Joan said curtly.

  When she had gone, Hare dug an enormous thumb into a bell push on his desk.

  Sam Karsh, followed by Lucille, notebook in hand, came in.

  'We have a job,' Hare said and pointed to the bills on the desk. 'The Parnell murder.'

  Karsh sat down. He pushed his hat to the back of his head, He was a man who would rather go around without his trousers than without his hat. There were times when he was drunk, that he went to bed with his hat on, and would turn vicious if his wife attempted to remove it.

  'What's the matter with you?' he demanded. 'A murder case? You gone nuts? We're in bad enough trouble with the cops as it is. You aiming to lose us our licence?'

  'Relax,' Hare said. 'We're handling this. You leave it to me. I'll talk to Terrell. This woman has money. She's paid five hundred, and next week, she's parting with another five hundred. That's the kind of cabbage we need very, very badly.'

  Karsh eyed the money and grimaced.

  'I don't like it. Terrell is only waiting his chance to slit our throats, but okay, so we take the job. Where does that get us? What can we do better than the cops?'

  'Nothing.' Hare smiled. 'But we will go through the motions and we will give her an elaborate report. It will be convincing enough for us to collect the second five hundred, then we sit back and do nothing further. She'll get tired of us and go to some other Agency, but we'll have picked up a nice, easy grand.'

  Karsh considered this, then his ferrety face creased into a grimace he called a smile.

  'Very nice ... so what do I do?'

  'You read all the newspapers covering the case. You go down to the Park Motel at Ojus and ask a few questions, then you write a report. I'll jazz it up a little and we'll present it to Miss Parnell. We'll collect the rest of the cabbage and we then can forget about her.'

  'I'm not poking my snout into anything until you have talked to Terrell,' Karsh said firmly.' That old bull is dangerous. Once he finds out I've been poking around, he'll break my neck.'

  Hare reached for the telephone. A few minutes later he was speaking to Terrell.

  'Chief, I've had Miss Joan Parnell here,' he said, oil in his voice. 'She wants to hire me to find her sister's killer.'

  The snap of Terrell's voice came clearly to Karsh who winced. Hare listened, breathing wheezily, then he said, 'Sure, Chief, I know all that. That's why I've called you. But I won't get in your way. Sammy will be like a newspaperman. Sure, sure. I give you my word. He'll just ask a few questions here and there, then write a report. If he does come up with anything, you'll be the first to hear about it.' He listened again and looked across at Karsh, lowering one fat eyelid. 'All I'm trying to do, Chief, is to earn an honest buck. You can't object if Sammy goes down to the Motel and looks around. That's all he'll do.' He listened again.

  'Okay, Chief. I give you my word. I told her we didn't take murder cases, but she wants a report ... don't ask me why.' His voice suddenly hardened. 'I'm within my rights, Chief. I'll take full responsibility, and there'll be no stepping out of turn. Okay, Chief,' and he hung up.

  He sat for some seconds staring at the telephone, then he reached for a cigar. 'He can't stop us, Sammy, but watch it. He's ready to drop on us if we play it wrong.'

  'That's terrific,' Karsh said sarcastically. 'You know what? I guess I'll read all the newspapers and make a report from them. I'll stay right here in the office, then I can't go wrong.'

  Hare considered this, then reluctantly, he shook his h
ead.

  'She's no fool. If we're going to collect the rest of the cabbage, we'll have to do better than that. You go to the Park Motel. That's all I'm asking. See this guy Henekey: talk to one or two people there: get some local colour, then come back and we'll cook up something that will convince her.'

  Karsh got to his feet.

  'I wonder why I ever married you,' he said to his wife. 'This caper could land me in jug!'

  'Wouldn't I be happy!' Lucille said, her thin face lighting up. 'Imagine being without you for a couple of years!'

  'Now, children,' Hare said disapprovingly. 'that's no way to talk. You get off, Sam. See you tonight.'

  Karsh grunted. He made a face at Lucille who made a face back at him, then he left the office.

  'I'll never know why I married that heel,' Lucille said bitterly. 'One of these days I'll put ground glass in his food.'

  Hare chuckled.

  'Relax. He's a smart boy. We wouldn't be making much money if it wasn't for him.'

  ‘But you don't have to sleep with him,' Lucille said, getting to her feet.

  Hare repeated, 'He's a very smart boy,' and then drew some papers towards him as he resettled his bulk in his chair.

  Lucille returned to her tiny office. Sitting down in front of the typewriter, she stared moodily out of the window.

  ***

  It took Tom Henekey forty-eight hours to make up his mind what to do about Lee Hardy.

  The reason for his long hesitation was that he was sharply aware of the danger he could walk into if he handled Hardy badly.

  Hardy wasn't the kind of man anyone took liberties with He had an organisation. He kept clear of any trouble himself, but he had been known to give the nod to Jacko Smith when someone was being a nuisance, and that someone walked into a beating that left him a hospital case.

  Jacko Smith was a character who cooled angry tempers faster than any other strong-arm man on the racetracks. He was a mountain of soft white homosexual flesh with mouse-coloured hair that grew low over a narrow forehead, a fat baby face and a lisp. He went around with Moe Lincoln, a handsome, lean, vicious Jamaican who had been known to throw a knife with deadly effect at twenty yards range. Whenever there was trouble on the race tracks, Jacko and Moe were there too, and the trouble lasted only for a few seconds. There was a time when these two had to resort to violence to quell trouble, but now their mere appearances had an immediate cooling effect, and they had only to stand and stare for any combatants to evaporate like ghosts. Jacko's lead pipe and Moe's knife had inflicted too many injuries for troublemakers to need further proof of their deadly efficiency.

  Henekey knew he was risking a visit from these two if he needled Hardy, but after weighing the pros and the cons, he decided the payoff would be worth the risk. So a little after eleven o'clock while he was sitting in his hot little office, he reached for the telephone and called Hardy's office.

  Hardy, himself, answered the call.

  'This is Tom Henekey,' Henekey said. 'I run the Park Motel, Ojus. I'd like you to drop around here tonight: say at ten o'clock.'

  There was a long pause which encouraged Henekey, then Hardy said, 'What's it all about?'

  'This is an open line,' Henekey said. 'Shall we say urgent personal business?'

  'If you have business with me,' Hardy said, a sudden rasp in his voice, 'you come to my office.'

  'I've had a visit from the cops,' Henekey said. 'They are getting nosy. I think you'd better come here and at ten o'clock.' He gently replaced the receiver, marvelling at his courage to talk this way to Hardy. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweating face, then he opened a drawer in his desk and took from it a .38 Police Special. This he examined, satisfying himself it was loaded. He put the gun in his hip pocket.

  It was while he was closing the desk drawer that his office door pushed open and a small, dark man with a ferrety face, wearing a shabby grey hat and suit, walked in.

  Henekey had been vaguely aware of the sound of an arriving car. This was yet another vulture coming to see the murder cabin, he told himself, or to try to stay the night so he could boast to his friends he had slept in the same bed in which Sue Parnell had been ripped.

  Ever since the murder had hit the headlines, Henekey had been pestered with these vultures. The motel was now completely full. He got to his feet to tell this little rat of a man that there were no vacancies.

  'Sorry, full up,' he said, scarcely bothering to look at Sam.

  Karsh who was eyeing him narrowly. Then the light of recognition spread over Karsh's face and he sucked in his breath with excitement.

  'Well, well, well! Joey Shaw of all punks! Hullo, palsy, how's the blackmail racket this year?'

  Henekey froze. His sallow complexion turned grey. No one had called him Joey Shaw for the past three years. He had firmly convinced himself that he had successfully hidden his identity and got himself lost in out-of-the-way Ojus. He stared at Karsh, then his heart lurched.

  Sam Karsh! He of all people; Karsh here!

  Karsh's grin sent a chill down Henekey's spine.

  'Are you supposed to be Tom Henekey?' Karsh asked.

  Henekey hesitated, then he went slowly back to his desk and sat down.

  'Hear me, palsy?' Karsh asked. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and taking out a match, he began to explore one of his side teeth.

  'I'm Henekey,' Henekey said huskily.

  'Well, don't look so sad. Nice meeting you again. Lemme try to remember. Last time we met was around three years ago. You were operating in Key West,' Karsh said. 'Wonderful memory I've got, haven't I? You put the bite on a guy with more money than sense. You had a nice little puss working with you. You tucked her up in his bed and then threatened to tell his wife. You were going to take him for ten grand, only this guy wasn't so dumb as you thought he looked. He talked to Hare who talked to me, then I talked to you ... remember?'

  Henekey said, 'Yes ... that's right.'

  'We had to get a little rough with you. You signed a statement ... remember? We even managed to persuade you to sign two other statements concerning two other more successful blackmail attempts. We said we would hold all these statements so long as you behaved yourself. By the way, what happened to the puss? I could have gone for her myself.'

  'I don't remember,' Henekey said huskily.

  'Pity ... well. I guess there are other pussies around,' Karsh said. 'The cops know who you are, Joey?'

  'Don't call me that!' Henekey exclaimed.

  'So they don't know ... very, very interesting.' Karsh came around the counter and sat in the chair opposite Henekey. 'Well, now what do you know about the Parnell killing, Joey? I'm working on the case. You give me something and I'll give you something ... quid pro quo as they say in the classics. What's the inside dirt?'

  Henekey related a little in his chair.

  'The cops have it all. You can read about it in the papers. She came here, booked in, put in an early call ...'

  'I know all that crap,' Karsh said. 'I want the meat of it, Joey. The stuff you didn't spill to the cops.'

  'There was nothing to spill,' Henekey said, sweat breaking out on his face.

  'But I have something to spill,' Karsh said. 'Quid pro quo, Joey.'

  'I tell you there's nothing to spill,' Henekey said desperately. 'Look, Karsh, I'm going straight. I can't help it if some tart gets knocked off in my motel, can I? Give me a break. If there was something, I'd tell you.'

  Karsh stared at him for a long moment, then he shrugged and got to his feet.

  'I don't mind crooks, thieves, killers or con men. I can even stomach a pimp now and then, but I can't live alongside a blackmailer. Palsy, in a little while, you're going to have a load of law in your lap and they'll be clutching in their big sweaty hands the statement you signed three years ago.'

  Henekey who had been in many tough jams before, thought quickly. He knew if Karsh betrayed him to the police, Terrell would be on his neck long before ten o'clock when Hardy
was due to arrive. Somehow he had to stall Karsh, get at Hardy, raise a getaway stake and disappear once more.

  Karsh was drifting to the door when Henekey said, 'Wait ...'

  Karsh paused.

  'Give me a break,' Henekey said urgently. 'If I knew something, I'd tell you. I don't even know who the woman was.'

  'Yeah?' Karsh sneered and reached the door. 'This is your last chance, Joey. Spill something or stand for the sirens.'

  Henekey appeared to hesitate, then he reached into his pocket and took out a small object which he laid on the desk.

  'Okay, you win. There it is. I swear that's all I've been holding back. I found it by the dead woman's body.'

  Karsh who had been bluffing and hadn't expected to gain anything from his threats, walked to the desk and regarded the solid gold cigarette lighter that Henekey was offering him. He didn't touch it, but he examined it closely. This was a costly item, he told himself. He looked searchingly at Henekey.

  'When I found her,' Henekey explained, 'I was so fazed, I didn't know what I was doing. I saw this lighter right by her on the bed and I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I forgot about it when I talked to the cops.'

  'Yeah?' Karsh sneered. 'You think I have a hole in my head? You saw it and you couldn't resist stealing it.'

  He picked up the lighter and examined it more closely, then he turned it and his eyes narrowed as he read the engraved in inscription on the back of the lighter:

  Chris—with love—Val

  'Who is Chris and who is Val?'

  Henekey shook his head.

  'I wouldn't know. I got the idea this belonged to the killer. Why should it belong to the Parnell woman?'

  'She could have stolen it,' Karsh said, but he didn't sound convinced.

  'That's all I can give out,' Henekey said. 'Honest Karsh, I wouldn't lie to you.'

  Karsh didn't seem to be listening. He continued to examine the lighter, then after a long moment of hesitation, he dropped the lighter into his pocket.

  'Okay, Joey, quid pro quo. I'll keep my mouth shut and you keep yours shut. I could be seeing you again so don't hang out the bunting just yet.'