Not My Thing

by James Hadley Chase

  He saw Tarnia and Jamison and, as he sat down, he thoughtfully picked his nose. Hey! Hey! he thought, well what do you know?

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that fat creep,’ Jamison said. ‘I have him where I want him. Once he printed a smart piece about me. One of his ‘a little bird tells me…’ I fixed him good. My attorney told him if he ever mentioned my name again in his rag, he would lose his job. Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘He could mention me,’ Tarnia said, agitated. She reached for her sling-bag, opened it and took a number of papers from it which she spread on the table. They were receipts and customs papers. ‘We are here on business, Sherry. I can’t afford any scandal.’

  Irritated, Jamison nodded, he picked up some of the documents and pretended to study them, aware Drysdale was watching.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Tarnia said. ‘We shake hands. Stay here for a little while. This must appear to be a business dinner.’

  Jamison folded the papers and handed them back to Tarnia.

  ‘Just relax. He won’t dare to print a thing about us. I’ll telephone you tomorrow. In six months’ time, we will be married.’

  Tarnia stuffed the papers back into her bag. She didn’t seem to have heard what he had said. He could see her one thought was to get away from the restaurant. She stood up, offering her hand.

  A quick, business-like hand-shake. The touch of her hand sent a tingle through Jamison, but he kept his face expressionless.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he murmured, then she gave him a quick, impersonal smile and walked out of the restaurant. He sat down and signalled to Mario, who came hurriedly to the table.

  ‘A cognac, Mario,’ Jamison said, and lit a cigarette.

  Drysdale watched this performance. He was too experienced a muck-raker to be conned.

  Well, well, he thought. So S.J. is having it off with the Lawrence piece. Lucky guy! Business dinner! A joke!

  Three beautifully dressed crabs were set before him. As he began to eat, he continued to think. Nothing here for me. This rich bastard is too dangerous to write about.

  All the same, he told himself, there’ll come a time when I’ll fix him!

  As he finished his first crab and sipped a cold beer, Jamison called for the check, paid, left a handsome tip and walked past Drysdale’s table without looking at him, and out to his parked Rolls.

  * * *

  Ernie Kling replaced the telephone receiver and hoisted himself out of the lounging-chair. He walked into the kitchen where Ng was standing over a saucepan which produced an aroma that made his nose twitch.

  ‘Smells great,’ he said, leaning up against the door frame of the kitchen. ‘What is it?’

  Ng smiled at him.

  ‘I think you will like this, sir,’ he said. ‘It is a national dish which my mother taught me to cook. Saffron rice, tender beef, green peppers and many other herbs.’

  ‘If it tastes as good as it smells, it is okay with me,’ Kling said.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I am sure you won’t be disappointed.’

  Relaxing against the door frame, Kling watched Ng as he stirred the contents of the saucepan. Man! he thought, was I lucky to find him!

  ‘A job’s just come up, kid,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you with me. You’ll have fun. We’re going to Paradise City, Florida. Loads of sun, sea, swimming. It’ll be a real vacation for you, and, maybe, you could help out. Like the idea?’

  Ng began to serve the savoury-smelling food onto two plates.

  ‘I am always at your service, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Sure… sure. But I want you to have a vacation. I want you to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘When I am with you, sir,’ Ng said quietly, ‘I always enjoy myself. Are you ready to eat?’

  Carrying the two loaded plates, Ng went into the living-room and set them on the table.

  A real character, Kling thought. He shrugged, then joined Ng at the table.

  4

  A few minutes before 22.00, Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski walked into the Detectives’ room to find Sergeant Joe Beigler, the doyen of the Paradise City police force, reading through the afternoon’s crime sheet, a carton of coffee at hand and cigarette dangling from his lips.

  ‘Hi, Tom,’ he said, glancing up.

  ‘Anything for me?’ Lepski asked, sitting at his desk. He liked the 22.00 to 04.00 stint. It came around once a week, and there was usually more action during that period than during other stints.

  ‘Nothing for you, Tom,’ Beigler told him. ‘The usual small time stuff. Mostly kids: car stealing, stealing from shops. Right now, it is quiet.’

  Lepski snorted.

  ‘Sometimes, Joe, I wonder about staying in this goddamn city. Here I am, the best detective on the force, and I rarely get a chance to reveal my talents.’

  Beigler concealed a grin.

  ‘You never know, Tom. Something could come up, and then you’ll be in business.’

  ‘I want a full-blooded killing. I want a snatch. I want a big break-in. Something to get my teeth into.’

  Beigler had heard this so often, he winced.

  ‘I’m just going through the unwanted visitors’ list. I see Lucky Lucan is in town.’

  Lepski released a snort that would have startled a bison.

  ‘That creep! Man! Would I like to nail him! Where’s he staying?’

  ‘At the Star Motel. He believes in doing himself well.’

  ‘I would like to put him away for ten years!’

  ‘Look, Tom, don’t waste your energy. Lucan has a gold-plated racket. He preys on old, rich women and swindles them. We can’t do a thing unless these stupid randy old women make a complaint. Can you imagine them doing that?’

  Again Lepski snorted.

  ‘He could slip up. I’m going to watch him. If there’s one creep in this city who deserves to be tossed in the slammer, it’s Lucan.’

  Beigler was getting bored with this. To change the subject, he asked after Lepski’s wife. ‘How’s Carroll?’

  ‘Ah!’ Lepski pushed his hat to the back of his head and gave a hoot of laughter. ‘I’ll tell you, Joe. This afternoon, Carroll said she was going to give me a chicken dinner, but first I had to cut the goddamn lawn and wash the goddamn car. So, okay. I like chicken: finger-licking on the spit: very tasty, but Carroll had found a new recipe. Where the hell she finds these disasters beats me. No chicken on the spit. She was going to treat me to a real dinner. She explained the recipe. You cut the goddamn bird into pieces. You put red wine in a saucepan. You add onions and God knows what, then you cook the chicken in this. She said it would be terrific. So, okay, I went along, but I’d rather have had a chicken on the spit. So I cut the lawn and washed the car, while she spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen with the radio going full blast and she singing. I must admit when I went into the kitchen – what a godawful mess it was in – the smell was terrific. Now, I did a stupid thing. We were out of beer and cigarettes, so I drove down and got the stuff. I ran into Max, and we got talking, so I didn’t get back for over an hour.’ Lepski heaved a sigh. ‘Carroll has two big problems. First TV. She will look and watch the little white dots on the screen if the set breaks down. She’s an addict. Then she can’t resist a telephone call. All her friends keep calling her. So when I get back, Carroll is yakking with some girl friend who is asking her advice about a pain in her turn. If there’s one thing that Carroll loves it’s talking about health problems. She reads every goddamn woman’s magazine published: specializing on the health section. She’s known by her friends as Dr Lepski. You ask her: she has the answer. So there’s Carroll yakking and smoke coming out of the kitchen.’

  ‘These things happen,’ Beigler said who liked Carroll.

  ‘You’re right. No chicken dinner. We had cheeseburgers.’ Lepski gave a chortle. ‘Carroll was upset. I told her to relax. I said, like you’ve just said, that these things happen. Then I got a shade too smart. While we were chewing these godawful cheeseburgers, I thought I’d try and cheer her up. I said
it would be a great idea if I retired from the force, and both of us set up a restaurant. She’d do the cooking, and I’d act as the front man.’ He gave a bellow of laughter. ‘Well, Carroll fell for this. She asked me if I really was serious. I said we could give it a try, and I had a great name for the restaurant,’ Again he became convulsed with laughter. When he had recovered, he went on, ‘I said the restaurant should be called ‘The Burnt Offering’.’

  Beigler clapped his hand over his mouth to prevent from laughing. Trying to look grave, he said, ‘I bet Carroll didn’t dig that.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Lepski again bellowed with laughter. ‘The Burnt Offering. Not bad, Joe?’

  ‘How did Carroll react?’ Beigler asked, knowing Carroll’s temper.

  Lepski grimaced.

  ‘Well, you know Carroll. She blew her stack. Another of Carroll’s problems is she doesn’t share my sense of humour. She stormed out of the house, shouting she was leaving me forever, got in her car and went off like a rocket.’

  Beigler, who loved the chance of pulling Lepski’s leg, put on a worried expression.

  ‘That’s bad, Tom.’

  Lepski stiffened, then alarm showed on his face.

  ‘You don’t mean she meant it, do you, Joe?’

  ‘Well that kind of joke isn’t in good taste,’ Beigler said. ‘She didn’t pack her clothes?’

  Lepski came out in a sweat. He wiped his face with his handkerchief.

  ‘She just rushed out.’

  ‘Of course, once she knew you were here on duty, she could be packing and will leave you for good.’

  ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ Lepski said, mopping his face. ‘We love each other.’

  Beigler heaved a dramatic sigh and looked mournful.

  ‘Well, Tom, take the advice of an unmarried man. That was a heartless joke. If you don’t want to be in the dog-house for months, you’ve got to placate Carroll. You’ve got to explain it was a thoughtless joke, and you are ashamed of yourself. Then you back that up with flowers – long-stemmed roses – a big box of candy and a big bottle of her favourite perfume. Do that, and you could just get off the hook.’

  Lepski gaped at him.

  ‘Flowers? Candy? Perfume? All that costs money, Joe.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ Beigler said with a smug smile. He loved spending other people’s money, ‘but then, you’ve had your fun, so you have to pay for it. Now, Tom, when you come off duty, you drive to the airport and get the stuff and, when Carroll wakes up, she’ll find all that luxury waiting for her. Get the idea? You will tell her how sorry you are. My bet is she’ll forgive you and she’ll cook for you again.’

  ‘Flowers… candy… perfume,’ Lepski muttered. ‘Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?’

  He got to his feet and, with dragging steps, he left the Detectives’ room.

  When Beigler was sure he was out of hearing, he exploded into a guffaw of laughter.

  ‘The Burnt Offering!’ he exclaimed. ‘I love it! This is too good to keep to myself! I must tell the boys! They’ll bust their guts!’

  In a sour, vicious mood, Lepski drove to the Casino and parked. The Casino was a certain spot where action might happen. He felt in the mood to scare the crap out of the con-men and the card-sharpers who always frequented the Casino at this time. He hadn’t long to wait. He spotted Johnny Four Aces, a sleek Italian, whose reputation as a sharper was notorious. Lepski pounced on him and so frightened him, he returned to his car and drove away. Lepski found more successful pounces, scaring away more hopeful sharpers.

  Then he saw Lucky Lucan come down the steps of the Casino.

  Lepski gave a snort that made the birds in the palm trees flutter up in panic into the night sky. He strode up to Lucan, who was unlocking the door of his rented car.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing in this city?’ Lepski barked in his cop voice.

  Lucan’s heart missed a beat. He turned and regarded Lepski. He knew him to be a tough, dangerous cop. This wasn’t the time to tangle with him.

  ‘Hello, there, Mr Lepski. Good to see you again,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘Don’t feed me that crap!’ Lepski snarled. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Me? Getting a little sun, relaxing, a short vacation.’

  ‘Creeps like you are not wanted here,’ Lepski said. ‘Take a vacation some place else!’

  Lucan pulled himself together. He was sure, during the next three weeks, when he would be working with Kling, he would meet again this bastard cop.

  ‘Is that official, Mr Lepski? You want me to take it up with the Mayor? Now listen, Mr Lepski, until you get a complaint about me, don’t lean on me. I don’t appreciate it!’

  He got in his car, started the engine and drove away.

  Lepski watched him go, clenching and unclenching his fists, making a low growling noise that would have done credit on the sound track of a horror movie.

  At 05.50, Lepski arrived back home. He took from his car gift-wrapped perfume and a big box of candy, plus twelve long-stemmed roses. He was still horrified at what this junk had cost him. He unlocked the front door, listened, then tiptoed into the living-room. He found a vase and put the roses in it, then put the candy and the perfume on the table where Carroll would see them the moment she came down stairs. He surveyed the scene. It looked pretty good. Well, maybe, he consoled himself, it was money well spent.

  ‘Is that you, Tom, dear?’

  Carroll’s voice.

  Lepski stiffened, then hurried into the lobby. There was Carroll, wearing a see-through night-dress, standing at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Poor Tom, you must be tired,’ she said. ‘Come on up. Let’s go to bed. We have lots and lots of time. Never mind coffee. Come on up!’

  Lepski eyed Carroll, thinking she was really the most glamorous girl he knew. In a bewildered daze, he climbed the stairs, and Carroll put her arms around him and gave him a hug.

  ‘Do you forgive me?’ she asked. ‘I was sorry I got mad yesterday. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘I – I thought… ’ Lepski mumbled.

  He was led into the bedroom.

  ‘Take a shower, pet.’ Carroll slid into bed. ‘Hurry.’

  Lepski threw off his clothes.

  ‘I should apologize,’ he said, ‘I… ’

  She burst out laughing.

  ‘Okay, so I was mad. I went to my club and told the girls. They just split their sides. ‘The Burnt Offering’. They loved it. They said it was the wittiest thing they had ever heard, and they are right. You are very clever, Tom. Who else but you would have thought of that?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Still walking in a daze, Lepski went into the bathroom and took a shower. As he stood under the flow of water, he thought of the money he had spent and the gifts downstairs.

  But he forgot about that when he got into bed and Carroll wrapped him in her arms.

  * * *

  Ernie Kling lay full length on the comfortable settee in the well furnished living-room of his Star Motel’s cabin,

  Seated near him in a lounging-chair was Lucky Lucan. At the far end of the room, sitting on a hard-backed chair, was Ng Vee, his expressionless eyes continually watching Lucan.

  Kling and Lucan had gone through the chat about the trip from Washington, and how Kling had found Paradise City. He said it looked like his scene.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucan said. ‘You’ll love it. Well, Ernie, money first, huh?’ He picked up the briefcase that Jamison had given him. ‘I’ve got you four thousand dollars in cash to cover your immediate expenses.’ He had removed a thousand dollars from the briefcase for himself. ‘Okay?’

  ‘If it’s for immediate expenses, I’m not squealing.’

  ‘That’s what it’s for.’ Lucan handed the briefcase to Kling.

  Kling said, ‘Hey kid, stash this away somewhere safe.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ng said and, taking the briefcase, he left the room.

  ‘Who the hell’
s that chink?’ Lucas asked, lowering his voice.

  ‘Don’t get your lines crossed, Lucky. He’s Vietnamese, and he’s my partner.’

  Lucan frowned.

  ‘I didn’t know you used a partner.’

  ‘I do now, and let me tell you something. He is fifty times the man you are or ever will be. Remember that. Never tangle with him. He’s deadly.’

  Lucan moved uneasily.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Right. Now what’s the caper about?’

  ‘A rich man wants to get rid of his wife,’ Lucan said. ‘She’s a strict RC and won’t give him a divorce. They can’t produce kids and that’s what he wants. He’s found a woman, and now wants to marry her, so he wants his wife knocked off. That’s the story.’

  Kling lay still, slightly resembling a deadly snake, basking in the sun, then he nodded.

  ‘Sounds okay. So this creep will pay me three hundred thousand for getting rid of his wife?’

  ‘That’s it,’ Lucan said, uneasily. ‘There are conditions.’

  Kling smiled evilly.

  ‘There always are. So…?’

  ‘A perfect job. No blow-back. No cops. A lethal accident.’

  ‘There’s never a blow-back when I do a job. Okay, tell this creep I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him how I’ll handle the job. I’ll want information about his wife.’

  Lucan blotted his forehead with his handkerchief.

  ‘No, Ernie. He insists on dealing with only me as a go-between. That’s the last thing I want, but the deal isn’t on unless he deals with me.’

  ‘Why?’ Kling asked, now alert.

  ‘Well, he wants to remain anonymous until he is sure you come up with the perfect method.’

  ‘Sort of playing cagey, huh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is this guy, Lucky?’

  ‘I’ve asked around and through my connections which cost me, Ernie, I… ’

  ‘Cut out the crap, Lucky!’ Kling snarled. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Sherman Jamison.’

  Kling sat bolt upright, swinging his long legs off the settee.