1960 - Come Easy, Go Easy

by James Hadley Chase

  On the following morning, while I was clearing up after the lunch-hour and when Jenson was minding the pumps, I said to Lola, “Get me the number of the safe. I’ve got to have it before I can handle it.”

  She looked sideways at me out of her hard green eyes. “I’ll get it.”

  Later in the day, when Jenson was out of the way, she gave me a slip of paper.

  The safe number told me Jenson had been sold an obsolete model which was now off the market. It hadn’t been a success because when the safe door was shut it locked automatically. Most safe users preferred to lock the door with a key, and besides, this model had proved to be one of the easiest safes to break into.

  It suited me. It wouldn’t take me ten minutes to open, and time was an important factor in this set-up.

  On Thursday, when Jenson and I were working together in the garage, he said, “I’ve to go to Wentworth on Saturday night: there’s a Legion meeting on. Lola is on night shift. I’ll be glad if you’ll keep an eye open just in case she runs into a trucker who doesn’t know his manners.”

  I got a tight feeling in my chest.

  Jenson trusted me. He was leaving his wife here alone with me and he wanted me to look after her in case some trucker got fresh. It didn’t cross his mind that, being alone with her, I might get the same idea.

  “I’ll watch it, Mr. Jenson” I said. “You don’t have to worry.”

  He grinned at me.

  “I know that, Jack. When it comes to men, I don’t make mistakes. You’re all right.”

  Friday was my day off. I asked Jenson if I could borrow the Mercury.

  “I thought I’d take a look at Tropica Springs.”

  “You go ahead: sure, take the car.”

  “I could do with some money. Let me have a hundred, will you, Mr. Jenson?”

  “I’ll get it right away.” I could see he was a little surprised. I was asking for so much, and again I cursed myself for letting him handle my savings.

  He went off to the bungalow, and after a while he came back with the money.

  I asked him if there was anything I could get him in Tropica Springs. He said no, and then gave me a nudge in the ribs.

  “Keep away from the cat houses, Jack, and don’t come home drunk.”

  As I drove off, I saw Lola watching me from the kitchen.

  You would look a damn sight more sulky, you chippy, I thought; if you knew what I was cooking up for you.

  The road over the mountain was tricky with a lot of hairpin bends, and although I kept pressing, it took me close on four hours to reach Tropica Springs, That worried me. It cut my escape time down.

  I had my escape plan pretty well organised. I had decided against taking a plane. The airport would be the first place the police would check, and besides, it was unlikely there would be a plane to New York at that hour of the morning.

  Parking the car, I went to a travel bureau and inquired the time of trains leaving for New York. I was told there was one leaving Tropica Springs at 12.30 a.m.

  As Jenson was leaving for Wentworth at seven, I could get the safe open and the money packed by seven-thirty and could be on my way to Tropica Springs by seven-forty-five. It would only take me a few minutes to fix Lola. That gave me three-quarters of an hour to get the train.

  Leaving the travel bureau, I went to a nearby store and bought myself a pair of fawn-coloured trousers and a sports coat in grey with big green pouch pockets: the kind of coat you can see corning a half a mile off. I bought a nigger brown straw hat with a red band and a pair of moccasin shoes. I also bought a big suitcase in which I put the clothes. I locked the suitcase in the trunk of the Mercury, then I went to a chemist shop and bought a pair of sun goggles and a bottle of hair bleach. These, too, I locked in the trunk.

  Lola would give a description of me to the police: she would tell them what I was wearing and it was essential to have a complete change of clothing as unlike what I would wear when I left point of No Return as possible, and to make the change before I reached Tropica Springs.

  Satisfied that I had taken ore of everything, I drove out of Tropica Springs and headed for Point of No Return.

  At the end of the mountain road just as I came out into the desert there was a big patch of scrub and prickly cactus. I stopped the car by it, and taking the suitcase from the trunk, I set it down in the middle of the scrub.

  I could easily find it again, and the chances of anyone else finding it was remote enough not to bother me.

  I got back to Point of No Return soon after seven, in time to help with the dinner hour. We served eighteen dinners, and we were all kept on the go until eleven o’clock.

  It was my night shift, and Jenson went off to bed soon after eleven, leaving me to look after the pumps and Lola to finish up in the kitchen.

  Around eleven-thirty, as I sat in the basket chair by the pumps, smoking and looking at the evening paper, Lola came over to me.

  “What were you doing in Tropica Springs?” she asked, pausing by me.

  “What do you imagine I was doing?” I said, staring at her. “I went out there to book a seat on a plane for San Francisco.”

  “Is that where you are going?”

  “Why should you care where I’m going?”

  She lifted her shoulders indifferently.

  “I don’t: so long as you open the safe.”

  “I’ll open it.”

  “Yes, you’ll open it,” she said, and walked away towards the bungalow.

  I leaned back in the chair and| looked the place over. One more day, and then I would never see it again. I had grown to love it. I took as much pride in it as Jenson did. I was going to miss him too.

  For the rest of the night I sat and brooded. I felt depressed. I wondered what I would be doing in a week’s time. It was a joke to think I would have a suitcase crammed full of money that didn’t belong to me, and which I was determined to send back to Jenson. With that kind of money I could go anywhere and do anything. I could buy a place like this somewhere on the Florida coast, get married and settle down in comfort and safety for the rest of my days.

  But I couldn’t do it to Jenson: Not after the way he had treated me. I had to send the money back to him. I could never live with myself if I didn’t.

  Around six o’clock on Saturday evening, Jenson came out of the lunch room and joined me in the garage where I was working on the outboard motor.

  “Going to wash now, Jack. You okay?”

  “All fixed, Mr. Jenson.”

  “I don’t reckon I’ll get back much before two o’clock,” he said “These Legion shindigs get a little wild after the business end of it.” He winked at me. “Don’t tell Lola that.”

  “You have a good time,” I said. I couldn’t dig up a smile for him, I was feeling too bad. In an hour he would walk out of my life and I would never see him again.

  When he had gone, I went over to the station wagon we used to collect anything too heavy for the Mercury and not heavy enough for the truck. I made sure the gas tank was full and checked the oil. It was in the station wagon I was going to make my getaway.

  For the next twenty minutes we had a stream of cars going through Tropica Springs and I was kept busy. I didn’t encourage any of the drivers to stop off for a meal. As soon as Jenson had gone, I wanted to get at the safe.

  There was no sign of Lola, but I could hear her clattering dishes in the kitchen. Around five minutes to seven, Jenson out of the bungalow. He was wearing his best suit and he had cigar clenched between his teeth. He looked pretty good. He went into the lunch room to say goodbye to Lola.

  I was getting the jitters now. I wished he would go so I could tackle the safe. This hanging around was tearing my nerves to shreds.

  Finally, just after seven, he came out and I joined him in Mercury.

  “Well, have a good time,” I said, looking at him and thinking this was the last time I would see him.

  “Take care of things here, Jack. I don’t really want to go, but you know
how it is.”

  “Sure. You don’t have to worry your head. Mrs. Jenson and I will handle it”

  “Yeah.” He got into the Mercury.

  I would have liked to have shaken his hand. Instead, I could only give him a casual wave.

  The evening sun was just beginning to sink behind the mountain: in another half-hour it would be dark.

  “So long, Jack.”

  “So long, Mr. Jenson.”

  I watched the Mercury drive off in a cloud of dust. I stood there until I had lost sight of it as it entered the foothills, then I started towards the bungalow.

  Lola was already there, waiting at the door. She looked pale and her eyes were glittering.

  “Where is it?” I said as I joined her.

  “In the sitting room behind the sofa.”

  “You’d better stay by the pumps,” I said. “It’ll take me a couple of hours to open.”

  I saw suspicion jump into her eyes.

  “As long as that?”

  “I told you, these safes are tough. I haven’t the combination. It’ll take at least two hours. Get out there and take care of the pumps.”

  I went into the sitting room and looked at the safe. It was a combination job with no lock and key.

  She stood in the doorway watching me.

  “I’ll get some tools. Hadn’t we better shut the lunch room? You don’t want a party coming in and yelling for food.”

  “I’ve shut it,” she said.

  I went past her and across to the garage. I collected some tools and put them in a big canvas bag. The bag would do to carry the money when I got at it. As I came out of the garage I saw a Packard coming fast along the desert road.

  Lola saw it too, and she left the front entrance of the bungalow and went over to the pumps. I started for the bungalow as the Packard pulled up.

  I glanced at the two men in the car and I felt a cold chill snake up my spine.

  They were cops. Although in plain clothes, there was no mistaking them: two big, hard-faced men with aggressive jaws and cold alert eyes.

  I kept going, feeling sweat break out all over me.

  A voice bawled, “Hey! You!”

  I stopped and turned.

  Both men got out of the car. Both of them were looking at me.

  Lola was staring at them. She knew what they were. She was as tense as I was.

  I walked slowly over to them, fighting down my rising panic.

  “I’ve got a flat,” the bigger of the two said. “It’s in the trunk. Fix it, will you? I don’t want to go over the mountain without a spare.”

  “Why, sure,” I said, and taking the key he offered me I went around to the trunk and opened it.

  The other cop said to Lola, “Fill her up, sister, and how about some food while the flat’s being fixed?”

  I saw Lola hesitate. She hadn’t the nerve to refuse them.

  “Sandwiches okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Hurry it up. We’re late already.”

  I pulled the tyre out of the trunk and trundled it into the repair shed. It had never been off the rim and it took me twenty minutes to get it off. By then sweat was streaming off me. My escape time was running out. It took me another twenty minutes to repair the flat. While I worked the cops ate sandwiches and drank beer.

  It was ten minutes past eight by the time I had fixed the tyre and put it back into the trunk. By that time I should have been on the mountain road, heading for Tropica Springs. It looked now as if I wasn’t going to make the New York train.

  As the two cops drove away, two cars, loaded with a bunch on vacation, pulled up. All of them yelled for food and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  I said to Lola, “It isn’t going to work out. We’ll have to some other time. I thought all along this was a cockeyed idea. The timing is wrong.”

  She gave me a stony look, then went to the lunch room and opened up. The timing was wrong.

  For the next two hours we worked like galley slaves. Cars came in in a steady stream: everyone wanted food. It wasn’t until ten o’clock that the traffic dropped off.

  Both of us were sweating and tired. The night was oven hot: the hottest night I had known out here.

  We stood together in the lunch room, looking around at the pile of dishes, the trays of used glasses, the ash trays crammed with butts.

  “Go and open the safe,” Lola said.

  “Not tonight,” I said. “It’s too late. We’ll have to try some other time.” She stared fixedly at me.

  “You heard what I said. Open the safe!”

  “He’ll be back in four hours. That doesn’t give me time to get away.”

  She came out from behind the counter and crossed to the wall telephone.

  “You either open the safe or I’ll call the police. Please yourself.”

  “You said you would give me twenty-four hours!”

  “He won’t know you have gone until eight o’clock tomorrow morning. He won’t think to look in the safe for maybe a day or so. You have all the time you need. Go and open the safe or I’ll call the police!”

  I saw she wasn’t bluffing. I went back to the garage and collected the bag of tools. The time was ten minutes after ten. I couldn’t hope to reach Tropica Springs now before three o’clock in the morning. There would be no train. I would have to ditch the station wagon as soon as I got into town. Jenson had only telephone the police that I had taken the station wagon for them to descend on me like a swarm of flies. I would now have to hide up in Tropica Springs until the morning. With the hair bleach and a change of clothes, I still stood a good chance.

  As I crossed over to the bungalow a truck pulled up by the pumps. I saw Lola come out of the lunch room and go over to the truck.

  I went into the sitting room, turned on the light, pushed aside the settee that hid the safe and squatted down on my heels beside it.

  I spun the knob of the dial. It worked smoothly and that was a good sign. Then crouching forward, with my ear pressed against the cold steel of the door, I began to move the dial very gently and slowly from left to right.

  In a few seconds I heard the first tumbler drop into place. I reversed the dial and began again. There was nothing to it. You just had to know by experience when the faint sound told you the tumbler had dropped. As a safe, this one was the biggest swindle of them all.

  Six times I went through the operation, then I reached out and pulled the door open. It had taken eleven minutes by my strap watch.

  The money was there. Neatly stacked in 100-dollar bills: one hundred packets, lovingly put away for the three-year trip around the world.

  I reached for the bag, then took hold of the first pack of bills. I heard a sound behind me.

  “What in God’s name are you doing, Jack?”

  Jenson’s voice went through me like a sword thrust. For maybe two seconds I remained crouched before the open safe, my hand still on the stack of bills, then slowly I looked over my shoulder.

  Jenson stood in the doorway, staring at me. His expression was shocked and bewildered.

  I became vaguely aware of the roar of the truck’s engine as the truck moved off. I remained crouching before the safe, unable to do anything but stare at Jenson.

  He moved his ponderous bulk into the room.

  “Jack! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Slowly I stood up.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jenson,” I said. “It must look to you as if I were going to steal your money, but I wasn’t. I give you my word. I know it looks like it, but you’ve got to believe me.”

  Then Lola appeared in the doorway. She was white as a fresh fall of snow and she was shaking.

  “What’s going on here?” she cried, her voice shrill. “Did he open the safe? I knew it! I warned you, Carl! I knew he wasn’t to be trusted. He must have sneaked in here while I was in the kitchen!”

  Jenson didn’t seem to hear her. He was still staring at me.

  “What are you doing in here, Jack?” he asked. Ther
e was real agony in his voice. It cut into me like the thong of a whip. “How you got an explanation?”

  “Yes. I’ve got an explanation. First, I’m not Jack Patmore: that’s not my name. I’m Chet Carson. I escaped from Farnworth jail six weeks ago.”

  I saw his heavy face tighten. Moving slowly, he went over to the settee and sat down.

  “I read about that. So you’re Carson . . .”

  “Yes. She saw a photograph of me in an old paper that came in the groceries box on Tuesday. She recognised me. She said if I didn’t open the safe so she could steal your money she would give me to the police.”

  “You liar!” Lola screamed. “Carl! Don’t listen to him! He’s lying! He’s trying to save his rotten skin! I’m going to call the police!”

  Jenson turned slowly and stared at her.

  “I’ll call the police when I want them. You keep out of this.”

  “He’s lying, I tell you! You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “Will you be quiet!”

  She leaned against the wall. Her breasts under the white overall heaved as she tried to steady her breathing.

  To me, he said, “What else, Jack? Or isn’t there anything else?”

  “I planned to take the money,” I said. “I was going to clip her on the jaw and take the money to Tropica Springs. I was going to send it back to you with a letter telling you the truth. That way you would believe me and save yourself a lot of grief in the future.”

  He stared fixedly at me for fully five seconds. I stared right back at him. Then he turned slowly and stared at Lola. She flinched from his probing eyes.

  “You say he is lying, Lola?”

  “Of course he’s lying!”

  “Then look at me.”

  But she couldn’t. She tried, but every time her eyes met his, her eyes shifted. She just couldn’t take that probing, steady stare.

  Slowly he got to his feet. Somehow he seemed now older and his great shoulders sagged.

  “Go to bed, Lola. I’ll talk about this tomorrow. Never mind the night shift. I’ll handle it. Go to bed.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?” she demanded. “I’m going to call the police!”

  He crossed the room and took her arms in his great hands and gave her a hard little shake.