You Never Know With Women

by James Hadley Chase

  The gambling joint dominates the town. You can see its big electric sign long before you even know there’s a town down there in the darkness. It is the only brick-tile building in the town, and it stands in a vacant lot with a broad concrete driveway up to the entrance.

  “I’ve known Casy for a long time. I ran into him years ago before he was in the money. He used to play pool for a living in those days. There wasn’t a smarter guy with a cue in the country, but his reputation went ahead of him and he had trouble in getting a sucker to play with him. He was always broke at that time, and when I ran into him he had got himself mixed up in a shooting affair in Mac’s old place on the San Francisco waterfront. It had been a political killing, and the cops were looking for a fall guy.. They picked on Casy, and the frame would have stuck if I hadn’t come forward as the surprise witness at the trial. I proved Casy didn’t do the shooting because I swore he was with me at the time. He wasn’t, but it didn’t seem right to me that because a guy was broke and had no influence, the cops could pick on him to save the neck of some greasy politician who was too weak in the head to hold his liquor.

  My testimony swayed the jury, and they threw out the case. Casy and I had to leave town fast. The cops would have given us a going-over if they’d’ve caught us, but we were too quick for them.

  Casy took himself very seriously. He swore I’d saved his life. He said he’d never forget it, and he didn’t. Whenever I looked him up everything was on the house, and he’d get mad if I wanted even to settle my gambling debts. It embarrassed me and I gave up seeing him. I hadn’t seen him now for maybe six months.

  Until I found out more about the compact and why Gorman wanted it so badly I decided to hole up with Casy. I’d be safe there and so would Veda. If Gorman tried any tricks, he’d find he wasn’t only bucking me but Casy and the whole town as well.

  I explained to Veda about Casy as she drove down the mountain road to Santa Medina.

  “All right,” she said out of the darkness. I could just see the outline of her head and the red spark of the cigarette she had in her mouth. “But I don’t want to talk now. I want to think. Do you mind if I think? We can talk later, can’t we?”

  I didn’t get anything else out of her until she pulled up outside Casy’s joint.

  “Is this it?” she asked.

  I helped her out of the car and pointed to the electric sign. It was twenty-four feet square, and even from where we stood we could feel the heat from the neon lights.

  “Speaks for itself, doesn’t it—” I said. “Come on in and meet Casy.”

  The guard at the door gave me a quick, hard look, then touched his cap. He was paid to know who could go in there without a frisk and who couldn’t. I guess he earned his money.

  “The boss around?” I asked him.

  “In the office.”

  “Thanks.”

  I took Veda’s arm and we went through the lobby, across a sea of drugget, past one of the five bars and down a passage that led to Casy’s quarters. Close by a very hot band was playing. There was a smell of tobacco smoke and whisky in the air.

  It wasn’t a luxury joint, but it served its purpose. You could find anything you wanted within its walls from a willing blonde to a poker chip. Casy catered for all vices. The only reason the cops hadn’t slammed the place shut was the Police Chief himself had a kink and Casy looked after him.

  A guy with a profile like Byron, only better, in a nifty white flannel suit and with a cornflower in his buttonhole, drifted out of a room and minced towards us. He looked at Veda with eyes like the eyes of Disney’s Bambi, fluttered long lashes at her and minced on.

  The expression on her face made me laugh. I took her into the bar that was reserved for Casy’s friends. The room was full of men and tobacco smoke. Joe, Casy’s bodyguard, a short, thickset guy with a flat, ugly puss and eyes like chips of ice, heaved himself away from the bar and came scowling towards me. But he grinned when he recognized me and gave me a light punch on the chest. Then he saw Veda and he pursed his thick lips.

  “Hello, chummy,” he said to me. “Where did you spring from? Ain’t seen you in months.”

  “Casy around?”

  He jerked his head to the door at the far end of the room.

  “Go ahead. He ain’t doing nothing.”

  All the men had stopped talking and were staring at Veda. I didn’t blame them. I guess if she took a walk through a burial ground the graves would give up their dead. But I hunched my shoulders and looked tough just to let them know it wouldn’t be healthy to get the wrong ideas. She walked past those guys as if they were poles in a sheep fence.

  “That door there,” I said to her, and she turned the handle and walked right in.

  Casy was sitting at his desk, a bottle of Scotch at his elbow, a cigar in his small white teeth. He was in shirt-sleeves and his tic hung loose and his collar was open. His black thick hair looked as if he’d just run his fingers through it.

  “Floyd!” He jumped to his feet. “Well, what do you know! How are you, soldier?”

  I shook hands and we tried to crack each other’s bones. Casy has quite a clutch.

  “I’d like you to know Miss Rux,” I said, grinning at him. “Veda, this is Mick Casy: the guy I told you about.”

  “Glad to know you,” Casy said, a little uneasy. “Sit down. Have a drink?”

  Veda sat down. She seemed to throw Casy out of his stride. He began to do up his collar and retie his tie.

  “You’ll excuse me. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  “Be yourself, Mick,” I said, pulling up another chair. “Veda’s a regular fellow. You wait until you know her like I do.”

  Casy smiled uneasily. I could see Veda had knocked him.

  “Is that right? Well, you certainly can find ‘em, Floyd. Damn it, have a drink?”

  While he set up glasses, Veda studied him. Casy was short, with a chest like a barrel, nearing fifty and looked what he was: the owner of a successful gambling joint.

  “Where’ve you been all this time, Floyd?” he asked, shooting me a puzzled glance. “I haven’t seen you in months. What’s cooking?”

  “Trouble in one form and another,” I said, and picked up the glass he had pushed towards me, shot the whisky down my throat. “A couple of guys are being difficult, Mick. I want to hole up for a while.”

  “Cops?”Casy again glanced at Veda as if he couldn’t place her.

  I shook my head.

  “Not yet it isn’t cops, but it could be later.”

  “Two guys, huh? Like me to take care of them? For the love of Pete, Floyd, use your head. What do you want to hole up for? Joe will take care of anyone bothering you, you know that.”

  “Yeah, but this is a kind of a family affair. I’ll take care of them when the time comes, but the time hasn’t come yet. Veda and I just want to stay out of sight for a few days. Can you fix it for us?”

  Casy ran his fingers through his hair, frowned.

  “Sure I can. Come over to the hotel with me if you like. Plenty of protection, drinks, and nice beds. You’d like it. That suit you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I was sort of figuring on being alone.”

  He took another look at Veda. This time he smiled.

  “Yeah, I should have thought of that. There’s the penthouse on the top floor. A couple of boys are in there now, but they can come out. How’s about it?”

  I knew the penthouse. I was hoping he’d let me have it.

  “Fine,” I said.

  He seemed glad to show what he could do for me. He shouted for Joe.

  “Big shot,” I said to Veda. “Watch his smoke.”

  Veda didn’t say anything. She had gone back to her statue act. Her eyes were watchful and she sat very still.

  Joe came in.

  “Get those two punks out of the penthouse, Joe,” Casy ordered, “And have someone clean up the place. Make it snappy. Floyd’s moving in.”

  Joe looked surprised, but he
didn’t ask questions.

  “Sure, boss,” he said and went away.

  “Anything else I can do?” Casy asked. “If there is, just name it.”

  I produced Gorman’s diamond, tossed it on the blotter.

  “I’d like to raise a little folding money on that, Mick.”

  He picked up the diamond, held-it under the light, frowned at it.

  “Nice stone.”

  “Yeah, but it’s hot.”

  He looked up sharply, his frown deepening.

  “Not a copper job, Mick. I took it off the guy who’s making trouble for me. He won’t go to the cops.”

  Casy’s frown went away.

  “Okay. What do you want?”

  “It’s worth four, five grand. Three will do.”

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah.”

  He went to an open safe, dug out a wad of notes, tossed a thick packet on the desk in front of me.

  “There’s a grand there. That’ll hold you, won’t it? You can have the rest whenever you want it.”

  I stuffed the notes away in my hip pockets.

  “You’re a pal, Mick.”

  “Sure, I’m a pal.” He looked at Veda. “He saved my life once. He’s a good guy. I’m telling you. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “I won’t,” Veda said.

  Casy poured more drinks.

  “About these two guys,” he said. “Sure you wouldn’t want me to take care of them?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not yet. Still, you never know. One of them is tough.”

  “I like them tough,” Casy said simply, and meant it.

  Joe put his head round the door.

  “All clear up there. I’ve taken your bags up, miss.” He leered at Veda.

  She thanked him. In spite of her calm, I could see she was a little bewildered by all the attention.

  “Come on then,” Casy said, struggling out of his chair. “We’ll go up.”

  I put my hand on his shoulders and shoved him down again.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mick. We’ll have a little talk then. Right now I have business with the brunette.”

  Joe coughed behind his hand. Casy looked startled.

  “I guess I’m slipping,” he said apologetically. “Why sure, you go right on ahead.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said and took Veda’s arm. “Let’s go,” I said to her.

  At the door I looked back.

  Casy was staring; his mouth a little open. Joe was kissing his thick fingers to the ceiling.

  “And thanks, Mick,” I said, opened the door and followed Veda across the bar.

  The guys all stopped talking again. They X-rayed Veda as she walked to the far door. One fella began a low long whistle. I scowled at him. He cut the whistle short.

  I showed her to the elevator in the lobby and we rode up together to- the roof level.

  A negro with a big friendly smile opened the door of the penthouse for us. He said it was all ready, and after showing me where the whisky was, he went away, rolling his eyes.

  The penthouse was a gaudy little love nest that at one time Casy had thought of using for himself. Although he had plenty of ideas about women, he had never found one that could interest him for more than a couple of hours. He was always too busy thinking up new ways of making money to take a woman seriously, and when he bought up the local hotel, he took over the largest suite and lived there, surrounded by hard-drinking, hard-swearing gamblers who shared his itch for money. The penthouse, as far as Casy was concerned, was a white elephant, but it came in handy for his friends: it was seldom empty.

  It consisted of a big lounge, a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and a roof garden. It had been decorated and furnished by a swank firm in Los Angeles, and it looked as if it had been decorated and furnished by a swank firm in Los Angeles.

  Veda looked around the lounge, her hands in her pockets, her head on one side.

  “Like it?” I asked.

  She turned slowly on her heels to face me.

  “What have you done with the compact?” she asked.

  “Sit down,” I went over to the cocktail cabinet. “Before we talk about the compact we’ll talk about you. Where do you figure in this?”

  She sat down, crossed her legs and frowned at her slim hands.

  “I want to know about the compact,” she said. “What have you done with it?”

  “One thing at a time.” I mixed a couple of highballs, came over to her. “Who are you? Let’s begin at the beginning. How did you get mixed up in this?”

  She took the drink, brooded for a moment, then said: “I couldn’t help myself. I wanted money.”

  I sat opposite her, lowered half the highball, set the glass on the floor by my feet, reached for a carton of cigarettes on a nearby table, threw her one, lit up, tossed the matches over to her.

  “How did you run into Gorman?”

  “He’s my agent.”

  I studied her.

  “He told me you were a stripper. That right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, don’t make me drag it out of you like I was pulling out your teeth. Start in from the beginning. I want to know as much about you as you know yourself.”

  She sipped her highball and studied me. She had a way of looking at you from under her lashes. You couldn’t see her eyes when she looked at you like this: but you could feel them.

  “Why should I tell you anything about myself?”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  She shifted her gaze from me to the opposite wall. There was a thoughtful, far-away expression in her eyes; she began to talk.

  Her old man was a farmer, she told me. He had a small farm near Waukomis, Oklahoma. There was her Ma, four brothers and five sisters. Ever since she could remember things had been tough. The farm was a ruin; her old man had done what he could to hold the place together, but it licked him. It licked her Ma too, and she was hard and bitter with the misery of it all. The kids were half starved and wild. When Veda was sixteen they found her old man by a water-hole. He’d worked himself to a standstill and had fallen face down in four inches of water and had drowned. He hadn’t had the strength left in him to turn his face for air.

  The family split up after that. Veda got a job in a roadside restaurant, washing dishes and serving meals to hungry truckers who came in at all hours of the day and night.

  She was crazy about the movies and her one thought was to get to Hollywood. She was sure she’d get a job as an extra and then when someone important saw her she’d be made a star. She talked to a trucker about her chances. He told her she couldn’t miss. A girl with her looks, he said, and with her figure, was a snap for the movies, and offered to stake her to the trip.

  At first she couldn’t believe him, but he assured her he wasn’t kidding. Of course, he told her, looking at her with his hard, intent eyes, there was a little ceremony attached to the offer. She couldn’t expect him to give her the money, but she wouldn’t mind earning it, now would she. There was a sweaty animal look on his face that turned her cold.

  How’s about it, kid? he wanted to know. How’s about it?

  She felt in her bones if she could get to Hollywood she’d be a star. She wouldn’t have to wash dishes or smell stale cooking or wash her own clothes or go to the outhouse in the cold and the dark; she wouldn’t have to do any of those things again if she could get to Hollywood. She wouldn’t have to make do on five dollars a week and all if she got to Hollywood. She said she’d meet him in the barn that night.

  Of course he gypped her out of the dough, but she got to Hollywood a year later. It took her three weeks to do the trip. She hitch-hiked all the way, and paid her fare like any other of the hundreds of road floozies travelling that route, and she landed in Hollywood with a veneer you couldn’t crack with a steam hammer.

  She got a job as a waitress in a smart café opposite one of the big film studios. After a while of playing around with various studio technicians, she
met one of the lesser-known directors. He traded a film test for a week-end in his caravan, and was honest enough to tell her, although she looked fine in the flesh, she just didn’t photograph. He let her see the test, and she was smart enough to see he was right.

  The director had practically promised her a job on the screen and he felt bad when he saw the way the test turned out. He told her he wanted to do something for her and gave her an introduction to Gorman.

  Gorman, he told her, ran a team of strippers who were in big demand at Stags, Reunions and wherever a party of men had got together to celebrate. The job was worth fifty to a hundred bucks a night and all she’d have to do was to sit in a bath-tub full of champagne or in a glass bowl or dance on a table or stuff like that. She’d be unlucky if she didn’t get one or two engagements a week.

  Gorman signed her up and she worked with him for a year or so. She soon got used to the work and she was popular and in demand. She earned money, spent money and never had any money. Then Gorman came to her with a proposition.

  All the time she’d been talking she had stared at the wall. It was as if she had been talking to herself. When she came to Gorman’s proposition she got up for a cigarette, and when she had lit it she said: “He told me he’d fixed up for me to do my act at Lindsay Brett’s in San Luis Beach. I didn’t think anything of it. I was used to going to people’s houses and around the country. Then he said I could make myself a lot of money if I found out the combination of the safe in this house, and if there were any alarms and what the routine of the guards were and stuff like that. I thought he was fooling at first. There’d never been anything like that before. But he wasn’t fooling. He said it’d be worth a thousand dollars to me if I got the information he wanted. I said I’d think it over.”

  She wandered around the room, her hands in her pockets, the cigarette held tightly in her lips, showing herself off. She had a shape to set a man crazy.

  “I told him I’d do it,” she said, paused to look at me and then continued her prowling. “It was easy. Brett opened the safe to show his friends a diamond he’d bought. He had the combination on a card he took from his wallet. It was easy to get hold of the wallet and copy the combination without him knowing it. He got pretty drunk as the evening went on. They all did: it was some evening. I asked him about the alarms and he showed me how they worked. He was proud of them and got a lot of fun making the bells ring and bringing the guards arunning. I even took a wax impression of the back door key. I was pretty efficient, and they were all as drunk as an Irishman on St. Patrick’s Day.”