1963 - One Bright Summer Morning

by James Hadley Chase

In the hangar, Chita, standing well away, watched Lancing get the aircraft to readiness.

  “Listen, buster,” she said, “you're not doing this for free. It's worth a thousand bucks to you if you get us to Mexico. From the look of this crummy joint, you could use that kind of money.”

  “Think so?” Lancing said shortly. “How's about if I crash the kite?”

  “Oh, forget it! You're insured, aren't you? Get going, buster!”

  In the office, as Boswick leaned against the wall, eyeing Riff, he suddenly noticed Riff's swollen, bruised wrist. It flashed into his mind if he could get close enough to Riff and make a dive for the gun, he could get it from Riff without any opposition. With a wrist like that, the guy was practically one-armed.

  “My partner can't run the kite out without help,” Boswick said. “It needs two men to push it. If you're in all that of a hurry, maybe we should go over to the hangar.”

  Riff eyed him suspiciously.

  “Why didn't you say so before?”

  Boswick forced a grin.

  “I guess you sort of upset me,” he said.

  Without looking at Riff, he walked casually to the window and looked out, Riff, alert, covered him with the gun.

  “Yeah, he needs help,” Boswick said, looking over his shoulder. “Let's go.”

  Riff hesitated, then he slid off the desk. He jerked his head at Carrie.

  “Come on! You keep close to me.” To Boswick he went on, “You go on ahead.”

  His muscles tense, Boswick walked to the office door and opened it. He was within three feet of Riff. As Carrie didn't move, Riff, snarling at her, motioned her to the door. In doing so, he half turned his back on Boswick who flung himself at Riff, his hand grabbing at the gun. As the gun was forced down, it went off: the bullet made a hole in the floor a few feet from where Carrie stood.

  For a brief triumphant moment, Boswick thought he had got the gun from Riff, but he had underestimated Riff's strength and he knew nothing of Riff's years of experience of street fighting.

  Unable to use his right hand, Riff stamped down on Boswick's foot with his iron-shod skiing boot. Boswick caught his breath in a gasp of agony and his grip relaxed. Riff drove his shoulder into Boswick's chest, sending him reeling against the wall, then snarling, he lifted the gun and shot Boswick.

  Carrie hid her face in her hands and cowered against the wall. The big man stared at Riff, blood showing on his fawn-coloured shirt, then his eyes rolled back and he slid to the floor.

  A few seconds before the shooting, Lancing had started the aircraft engine. Neither he nor Chita heard the two shots above the noise of the engine. Neither did Vic who had got some hundred yards from the office and had dumped the suitcases in a ditch that ran along the boundary of the airport. He then started back towards the airport as he heard the aircraft engine.

  Cursing, Riff grabbed hold of Carrie and dragged her out into the darkness. He started towards the hangar, then paused.

  “What's the matter with me?” he muttered savagely. “I'm flipping my lid! I nearly forgot the money!” He let go of Carrie's arm, “Wait here,” he snarled at her, then went to the Cadillac, reached into the back seat, groped for the suitcases, groped again, then alarmed, he wrenched open the car door so the roof light came on.

  He stared at the empty back seat, a cold fury of rage and fear sweeping over him. He looked in the front seat. Muttering he ran around to the boot, opened it, stared at its emptiness, then slammed it shut.

  The money was gone!

  He was so stunned, he could only stand motionless, glaring at the Cadillac. A million and a half dollars! Gone!

  Who had taken it?

  Watching him, her heart thumping, Carrie hesitated for a brief moment. To her right, within twenty yards from the light coming from the office window was a dense patch of darkness. If she could reach this sheltering darkness, she might have a chance to escape. She was sure these two would take her to Mexico. This was her one and only chance to get away. If she didn't take it, she couldn't imagine what would happen to her once they landed in Mexico.

  Like a frightened ghost, running as she had never run before, she started towards the protective darkness.

  Riff still stood like a poleaxed bull, glaring at the Cadillac.

  Who had taken the money? He could only think of the vanished money. Carrie was completely forgotten. Then he came up with the answer. Chita! A double-cross! Chita!! It had been Chita who had taken his gun! It had been Chita who had dug up the yellow-skin's body! It had been Chita who had soured his chance to marry Zelda! And now Chita had grabbed the money and was taking off to Mexico and ditching him!

  He looked towards the hangar, some two hundred yards from him. Floodlights suddenly came on, lighting part of the runway. Then he saw the small aircraft taxi out of the hangar. He saw Chita come out and move towards the aircraft. Under the bright lights and in her light dress, she was clearly visible not only to Riff but also to Patrol Officer Benning who had reached the airport and was now lying in rough grass, looking towards the hangar. He had seen Riff and Carrie come out of the office, but he had lost them in the darkness. Now, as he watched the aircraft, he saw Chita and wondered what his next move should be.

  As he lay there, gun in hand, he heard the faint drone of an aircraft. This could be Dennison arriving by helicopter, he thought hopefully.

  His mind a white flame of vicious fury, Riff lifted his gun, steadied it on the roof of the Cadillac and sighted the gun on Chita's back as she paused while Lancing manoeuvred the aircraft on to the tarmac.

  In a few seconds Chita would get into the aircraft with the money and would be away, Riff thought. Slowly, his finger began to squeeze on the trigger. It was a long shot. He hesitated. Maybe he should get closer, but if he did, she might see him. She too had a gun. Even as he hesitated, he was automatically taking up the slack of the trigger. Then the gun suddenly exploded with a flash and a bang.

  * * *

  Vic started back towards the lighted window of the airport's office, the tyre lever clenched tightly in his hand. He had covered fifty yards or so when he came to an abrupt stop.

  He saw Carrie and Riff come out of the office. He crouched down in the darkness and watched them. He saw Riff suddenly pause, speak to Carrie and then go to the car.

  Vic's heart began to thump. This thug would now discover the money had gone. What would he do? He looked at Carrie who was standing motionless, outlined against the light coming from the window. He saw Riff open the car door, then he caught his breath sharply as Carrie suddenly sprang into life and began to run frantically towards him.

  Would Riff see her? Would he shoot after her? But no, Riff seemed to be unaware that Carrie was escaping. Vic waited until Carrie was within twenty yards of him, then he rose to his feet.

  “Carrie! It's Vic!”

  Carrie shied away, stifling a scream, then stopped and looked fearfully at him. She could just make out a dark silhouette, but Vic said again, “It's me, darling.”

  With a choked sob, Carrie rushed to him and he caught her in his arms. She clung to him while Vic looked over her shoulder towards Riff. Relieved though he was to have her safe, he was frightened of Riff. Seeing Riff still hadn't noticed that Carrie had escaped, Vic looked beyond him to the lighted hangar where Chita was plainly visible.

  Then there was the choked bang of a gun that made both Carrie and Vic stiffen. Vic saw Chita give a convulsive start and then drop face down on the floodlit tarmac.

  “Let's get out of here!” Vic said urgently. Supporting Carrie, pulling her along with him, he began to run towards the entrance to the airport, making a long detour to avoid the floodlit tarmac.

  They hadn't gone far when a voice snapped out of the darkness: “Hold it! Stay right where you are!”

  Carrie caught her breath in a shuddering gasp as Vic pulled her to a standstill. Out of the darkness, Patrol Officer Benning appeared, gun in hand.

  * * *

  As Chita fell to the ground, Riff ex
perienced a sharp, agonizing pain inside his body as if a knife had sliced into him. He stood for a long, horrified moment, staring at the collapsed figure of his sister, her skirt riding up so he could see the white flesh of her thighs, the light of the brilliant lamps playing on her badly dyed hair.

  The red haze of fury that had hung over his mind faded. He felt suddenly naked and alone. Then in the grip of panic, he ran frantically towards the hangar.

  Sitting in the pilot's seat, Lancing watched him come. He was tempted to push open the throttle and take the aircraft into the air, but he thought of Boswick. He couldn't leave Boswick to face this hood alone. So he sat motionless, the engine of the aircraft ticking over, the propeller blade spinning, almost invisible in the bright overhead lights.

  Riff reached his sister. He was panting, frightened and sweating. He bent over her. A patch of red stained her dress in the exact centre of her back. Falling on his knees beside her, he put down the gun, then very gently, he turned her over.

  Chita moaned. She opened her eyes and stared up at Riff.

  “Get going!” she gasped. “They're here! Make him take you . . . never mind me! Get going!”

  Riff wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  “Where's the money?” he quavered. “Why did you take it? Why did you do this to me?”

  Chita half closed her eyes. A dribble of blood ran out of the side of her mouth. She shook her head slightly, struggled to speak, then shut her eyes.

  “Chita!” Riff's voice cracked. “Where's the money? What have you done with it?”

  She lay silent for a few seconds, then making an effort, her eyes opened wide.

  “It's in the car . . . what are you talking about? Take it and go! Riff! Don't you understand? They're here! They shot me!”

  Riff sat back on his heels. Watching him from the pilot's seat, Lancing felt a chill sweep over him at Riff's expression. He looked like a man going out of his mind.

  “Didn't you take the money?” Riff yelled. “It's gone! I thought you took it! Hear me? It's gone!”

  Chita moved her legs in a spasm of pain.

  “Take it? Why should I take it? It's ours . . . yours and mine . . . why should I take it?”

  Riff hammered the sides of his head with his clenched fists. He tore off the dirty bandage covering his ear and threw it from him. He was like an animal with a broken back: frantic with misery and pain.

  “Chita . . . I thought it was you! I shot you, baby. Forgive me! I just went crazy. Baby! I'll get you out of this! We'll be all right. I'll get you to a croaker! You leave it to me!”

  More blood dribbled out of Chita's mouth. She reached up and took Riff's hand in hers.

  “Get going, Riff. There's nothing you can do for me. I understand . . . you get going.”

  “I'm not leaving you,” Riff said frantically. He grabbed up the gun. “We're going together. As soon as we get to Mexico, I'll get you fixed. It's going to be all right, baby! To hell with the money! You and me . . . like always.”

  He reached down and scooped Chita up in his arms. She gave a low wailing cry and arched her body so he nearly dropped her. Blood ran out of her mouth and her eyes rolled back.

  Riff held her close, staring at her white, lifeless face, feeling her warm blood against his chest. Then very slowly, he lowered her to the ground.

  It took him several seconds to realize she was dead.

  Chita!

  Dead!

  He stared down at her face that had suddenly become the face of a stranger. This couldn't be Chita whom he had loved, fought with, stole with, lived with, shared everything he had owned with . . . this couldn't be Chita!

  Then a wild, animal cry burst from him. The sound made Lancing grimace and look away. Riff began to pound the ground with his fists, crying and moaning, demented in his grief.

  The pilot of the helicopter pointed.

  “They won't hear us with that aircraft warming up down there. I can put you down . . . they won't even see us,” he said.

  Dennison and Harper exchanged glances, then Dennison said, “Put her down.”

  Two minutes later the helicopter made a gentle landing within five hundred yards of the airport. Guns in hand, Dennison and Harper scrambled out. They could hear the busy drone of the aircraft engine. They saw the aircraft standing outside the hangar. They saw Riff kneeling beside the body of his sister, then they heard a soft whistle to their right. Peering into the darkness, they saw Patrol Officer Benning moving cautiously towards them.

  “Benning, sir,” he said to Dennison. “I have Mr. and Mrs. Dermott with me. There's been shooting. Permission for me to investigate?”

  Beyond the patrol officer, Dennison saw Vic and Carrie.

  He went quickly to them.

  “It's all right,” he said. “This officer will take you to headquarters. There's nothing for you to worry about now. Your baby's being taken care of and is waiting for you. You get off. We'll finish this.” He turned to Benning. “Take Mr. and Mrs. Dermott to headquarters right away.”

  Vic said, “There's a million and a half dollars in a ditch over there.”

  Dennison grinned.

  “Never mind about the money. You two get back to headquarters. I have an idea they'll be glad to see you.”

  As Benning led Vic and Carrie towards his car, Dennison and Harper started cautiously towards the hangar.

  Riff was now walking slowly around Chita's body. He seemed dazed and appeared not to know what he was doing. He suddenly threw up his arms and howled like a stricken animal. The sound lifted the short hairs on the back of Lancing's neck.

  Dennison and Harper were close now. They covered Riff with their guns. Then Dennison raised his voice in a commanding shout: “Drop your gun and up with your hands!”

  Riff spun around. He stared sightlessly into the darkness, then in sudden panic, he turned and ran. He ran blindly into the spinning aircraft propeller that sliced through his head with the precision of a butcher's cleaver slicing through meat and bone.