I'll Get You for This

by James Hadley Chase

  He arrived as I was going off duty. I thought he was a customer when I saw the big Lincoln roll up the driveway, but I soon found out different.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said, getting out of the car. “I’m Kuntz. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

  I had heard of him all right, even before he had taken charge of the Gray Howard Slaying, as the newspapers called it. Gray Howard was the name of the man in the white dinner-jacket. He turned out to be a big-shot movie director.

  I eyed Kuntz over. He was a squat square man with a mulberry coloured face. He had the hardest eyes I’d ever seen in a man’s face, and he gave me the full benefit of them. I stared right back at him, said: “Go ahead. I can give you a couple of minutes, then I want my supper.”

  He shook his head. “A couple of minutes won’t do,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk. You’d better play with me, Cain. I could put you in a hell of a spot if I felt that way.”

  I hesitated, decided that maybe he could put me in a spot, jerked my head to the house.

  “Then you’d better come in.”

  We went into the house, and I showed him into the front room. He looked round, grunted, took up a position by the window. I sat in the easy chair, yawned, pulled my nose, said, “Shoot.”

  “You married?” he asked abruptly.

  I nodded. “What of it?”

  “I’d like to meet your wife.”

  I shook my head. “Not before you tell me what’s on your mind,” I said. “I’m particular whom she meets.”

  His eyes snapped. “Scared to let me see her?” he barked.

  I laughed at him. “You’re wasting time,” I said; “come off your high horse.”

  The door opened and Clair came in. She was wearing a cute frilly apron over a simple little frock in sky blue. She looked a kid, and a pretty one at that.

  “Oh, I’m sorry…” she said, backing out.

  “Come in,” I said. “This is Mr. Clem Kuntz. The Mr. Kuntz.” I looked at the mulberry coloured face. “This is my wife. Satisfied?”

  He was looking narrowly at Clair. There was an expression of startled dismay in his eyes.

  I suddenly got what he was driving at. I grinned.

  “Not what you expected?” I said. “I bet your client told you she was hard, brassy, and on the make.”

  He drew in a deep breath, bowed to Clair.

  “I merely wanted to know, Mrs. Cain, if you spoke to Gray Howard on the night of his death,” he said, clinging to the shreds of his dignity.

  She looked at me, shook her head.

  “Look, Mr. Kuntz,” I said, “I know what you hope to establish. It’s to your client’s advantage if you can prove that Clair was trying to make Howard. She wasn’t, and I don’t think, however hard you try, you’d ever convince a jury she was. Howard was propositioning her. I wanted to fix him, but Clair didn’t want a scene. We had been working hard for three months, and it was our first night out together. It was our hard luck that we should run into Howard. Clair didn’t encourage him. Your client was sore because Howard couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. But that didn’t cause the murder. It touched it off, but it had been coming to a head for some time. A guy doesn’t punch a woman in the lace unless he’s sick to death of her. It was the punch that killed Howard… not Clair.”

  Kuntz cleared his throat, grunted.

  “I wonder if you always look like that,” he said to Clair, speaking his thoughts out aloud.

  “She’ll look like that at the trial, if you decide to call her,” I said. “And she’ll hurt your client’s case if you try to make out she’s a vamp.”

  He passed his fat hand over his bald head, frowned. He knew when he was licked.

  “I don’t think I’ll call her,” he said. “All right, Cain, I guess I’m wasting time. I thought your wife would be a different type.” He looked wistfully at Clair, shook his head, went.

  We breathed again. Maybe it was going to work out all right. Maybe we weren’t going to get any publicity.

  The District Attorney’s man was the next to call. He had a report from the State Highway cop who had arrested Lydia on the drunk while driving charge. As soon as he learned that Lydia had tried to wreck the Cadillac with me in it, he hotfooted over to see me. He said it was just the kind of evidence he wanted. It proved that Lydia was a dangerous drunk, and it’d carry a lot of weight with the jury. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was too burned up with the idea.

  The next morning the press had the story.

  They began arriving before we had breakfast, and they crawled all over us. The little guy who had tried to photograph us on the night of the murder was well in the forefront. He snarled at me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “Hello, wise guy,” he said. “So you don’t like publicity? My editor will sure fix you for smashing that plate.”

  Flash-lights exploded around us for the next hour. We tried to duck out of sight, but it was like a siege. When they had gone, I went upstairs, hunted out Bat’s .38. I sat on the bed, cleaned, oiled and loaded it. It seemed odd to have a gun banging against my side again. I didn’t like the feel of it any more. I was worried too that I was so much slower on the draw than I used to be. It was nearly four months since I pulled a gun, and I knew I’d have to get in some practice if I was going to match Bat.

  Clair found me practising.

  I pulled her down on the bed beside me.

  “I think I’ll send you away,” I said. “If Bat’s going to start anything, he’ll get at me through you. We’ll have to think where you can go.”

  She shook her head. “It’s no use running away, darling,” she said. “They may never come after us, and we’d be separated for months, waiting. Besides, they want me at the trial and things could happen then if they’re going to happen at all. Let’s stick together. I’d never have a moment’s peace without you.” She flung her arms around my neck. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to leave you.”

  I thought for a moment, decided she was right.

  “We’ll wait for them,” I said.

  I was expecting something pretty bad from the newspapers, but nothing as bad as the front page of the Clarion, the paper my friend the photographer worked on. They had dug up the whole story of Paradise Palms and had smeared it all over the front page with photographs of myself, Clair, the service station, Killeano and even Clairbold, the boy wonder.

  I took one look, cursed.

  5

  As the weeks went by and nothing happened, we gradually relaxed. But we still took precautions. I carried a gun, I continued to practice, and I regained my speed. We had a couple of fierce police dogs around the house, but no one can continue to be keyed up all the time waiting for trouble if trouble doesn’t come.

  At first, we both had the jitters, catching each other listening to any unusual sound, breaking off our conversation at an approaching step, looking uneasily at each other whenever the telephone rang. But that kind of tension doesn’t last. After the fourth week we were almost back to normal, although I took care never to approach any car that came into the station unless I could see the driver. If I couldn’t see who was driving, I sent Bones. I never did a night shift either.

  Lydia Hamilton’s trial was a three-day sensation. Kuntz knew she hadn’t a chance to beat the rap so he pleaded her guilty, but insane. The D.A. was after her blood, and he didn’t call me, as my evidence would have helped establish the fact that she was insane.

  Kuntz got his verdict after a terrific battle, and after the usual ballyhoo from the press the story died a natural death.

  A week after the trial, and five weeks after the newspapers had first discovered me, Lois Spence showed her hand.

  I had finished for the night, and had handed over to Ben the old guy who handled the night shift, when the telephone in the office rang.

  “I’ll answer it,” I said to Ben as a car came up the driveway.

  I returned to the office, lifte
d the receiver.

  “Cain?” a woman’s voice asked.

  I knew at once who it was. I felt my lips lift off my teeth in a mirthless smile. So it had come at last.

  “Hello, Lois,” I said. “I was expecting you to call.”

  “Like the wait?” she asked, a jeer in her voice.

  “All right. It gave me time to prepare for you. Coming to see me?”

  “You bet I am,” she said, “but it’ll have to be a surprise. Don’t be embarrassed, we won’t expect you to dress.”

  I laughed, although I didn’t feel like laughing.

  “How’s Bat?” I asked.

  “He’s fine. I shouldn’t laugh, Cain. You won’t like it when we do come.”

  “Why don’t you grow up?” I said. “You always were a dumb red-head. Do you think I care what you do? I can handle Bat and you. Tell him. And don’t forget, Lois, if you slip up, you’ll have a nice stretch in jail ahead of you. Bat’s wanted for murder and that makes you an accessory after the fact. Thought of that?”

  “Listen, you heel,” she said, losing her smooth tone. “I’ve waited too long to even things up with you. It’s been fun making you sweat, but I’m through with waiting now.”

  “Watch your elastic, sister,” I said. “There’s no need to get excited. Tell me, what do you plan to do, or is that a secret?”

  “What do you think? We’ll get that girl of yours, and then we’ll invite you to call and see her. Bat still wants to match his skill against yours.”

  “With an empty gun, of course,” I said.

  “Not this time,” Lois returned. “He’s been getting ready for you. He’s wise to that loose holster trick now. You won’t pull another gag like that. Well, so long, Cain. We’ll be around, so make hay while there’s a sun.” She hung up.

  I stood thinking, then I went out, climbed into the Buick. “Tell Mrs. Cain I won’t be twenty minutes,” I said to Ben, drove on to the highway.

  I paid a visit to the police-station, asked to see Lieutenant Mallory.

  Mallory and I knew each other well. He was always passing the service station, and he knew where he could get iced beer with a smile from Clair whenever he wanted it.

  “What’s on your mind, Cain?” he asked, offering me a cigarette.

  I took it. We lit up. “I want protection,” I said.

  He gaped at me, burst into a roar of laughter. “That’s rich,” he said. “You want protection. I don’t believe it. Why you’re the original tough egg.”

  “I know,” I said, “but this is different. My shooting days are over. Take a pew, Lieutenant, I want to tell you a story.”

  I gave him the story, told him Bat was after us, and that Lois had just called me.

  “You’re not scared of a punk like Thompson, are you?” he asked, blankly.

  “I didn’t say I was scared of anyone,” I said patiently. “I’m respectable now. My wild days are over. I own a wife and a service station. I’m not risking being sent to jail or the chair because you boys can’t do your job.”

  He eyed me thoughtfully. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on your place,” he said. “Will that do?”

  “That’s what I want, and suppose Bat turns up when your eye isn’t on the place. What then?”

  “You deal with him. You’d be within your rights.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve killed about six men now and pleaded self defence. That plea is wearing a little thin. A bright lawyer might sway a jury and rail-road me to the chair. I’m through with that stuff. Have me made a deputy sheriff. I haven’t even a permit for this rod.”

  “Don’t show me,” he said, hurriedly closing his eyes. “I don’t want to know about it. I can’t make you a deputy sheriff. Maybe the D.A. might play.”

  I had an idea. “Say, Bat’s wanted by the Federal Office. Maybe…”

  “Try them,” Mallory said. “In the meantime I’ll detail a patrolman to keep an eye on your place.”

  I thanked him, drove over to the Federal Bureau, asked to see someone in charge.

  It took me an hour, but I came out with a gun permit, and a piece of paper which stated that I was temporarily attached to the Federal Office as special investigator. A long distance call to Hoskiss had got me that.

  I was late back for supper, and Clair was worried, but as soon as she saw the light in my eye, she brightened.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, leading me into the dining-room where supper was waiting.

  I told her about Lois; showed her the gun permit and my authority.

  “I’m a G-man now,” I said. “How do you like that?”

  She looked a little scared, but tried to hide it.

  “I like it fine,” she said. “There’s a cop in the kitchen eating apple pie. He said he had been detailed to keep an eye on me until you returned.”

  I laughed. “Swell idea,” I said. “Well, I’m ready for Bat now. I don’t think they’ll come after you, honey. Lois wouldn’t have told me if that was their idea.”

  Three days went by, and still nothing happened. Every three hours a patrolman would look in, wink at Clair, say “No trouble?” shrug and go on his way.

  I didn’t relax this time. I was sure something would happen before long, and if I didn’t keep on my toes, I’d be surprised.

  It happened the following night.

  We had gone to bed about eleven. I had locked the bedroom door, bolted it. I had fixed the mesh-wire screen over the open window. No one could get in our room without waking us.

  It was a clear moonlight night, and the night air was hot. Ben had been busy up to ten-thirty, and now trade had slackened off.

  Clair and I lay side by side in the big double bed. I was half asleep when I heard a car drive up. I thought nothing of it, relaxed, began to drift off. Then suddenly I was wide awake, listening. Clair also sat up, looked at me in the dim light, whispered, “What is it?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Did you hear anything?”

  “I thought I did,” she said. “But I’m not sure.”

  We listened. Silence.

  “A car came in a minute or so ago,” I whispered. “It hasn’t gone.” I swung my feet to the floor. “I don’t hear Ben around I”

  I went to the window. A big Plymouth sedan stood on the driveway. There was no sign of Ben nor the driver.

  I waited, frowning.

  Footsteps sounded on the concrete below, feet scraped, paused, came on. A woman’s shadow came into my vision. I couldn’t see the woman unless I moved the screen and leaned out of the window. I wasn’t going to do that. I studied the shadow.

  A sudden electric thrill ran down my back. I thought I recognized the shape.

  I turned quickly, grabbed my trousers, slipped them on, dragged on socks, shoes, snatched up my gun.

  “Have they come?” Clair asked in a small voice.

  “I think so,” I said grimly. “There’s a woman down there. I think it’s Lois. Stay here. I’m going to have a look.”

  She whipped out of bed, clung to me.

  “No, don’t,” she said. “Please, darling. Let’s call the police. They want you to go out there. They’ll be waiting for you.”

  I patted her arm. “Okay, we’ll call for the police,” I said. “You better get some clothes on.”

  I slipped out of the room, crept down the stairs. It was dark. I moved cautiously, silently. I suddenly remembered what Clairbold had once said about the art of stalking. It occurred to me that I might have put in a little practice in my room the way he had. It wasn’t such a dumb idea after all.

  I reached the lobby, crossed to the front room where the telephone was. We had drawn the curtains before going to bed, but I didn’t risk putting the light on. I wanted them to think we hadn’t heard them.

  I groped around, trying to find the telephone, found it, lifted the receiver. There was no humming sound on the line. I rattled the cradle once, twice, smiled grimly, hung up. They had cut the wires.

  I crossed to the wind
ow, lifted the curtain an inch, looked out. The Plymouth still stood deserted on the runway. I couldn’t see the woman, but after peering round I saw a dark shape lying by the office building. It could have been Ben or it might have been one of the dogs.

  I went back to the lobby, stood listening.

  Clair came to the head of the stairs; she had a flash-light in her hand.

  “Keep that light off the curtains,” I said softly.

  “Are the police coming?” she asked.

  “The line’s cut,” I returned. “Wait here. I’m going to look out the back.”

  “Don’t go out,” she said breathlessly. “I know that’s what they expect you to do. They’re watching the doors.”

  I thought she was probably right.

  “I won’t,” I said, moved along the short passage to the kitchen.

  Here, the blinds weren’t drawn. I crawled on hands and knees across the room, raised myself, looked out of the window.

  Lois Spence was out there, I saw her distinctly. She was wearing dark slacks and coat. She was looking up at the upper window. I could have shot her easily enough, but I hadn’t the stomach to shoot a woman.

  Clair joined me. We squatted on our heels, side by side, watching Lois, who continued to stare up at the upper windows. The moonlight was bright enough for me to see she still favoured Fatal Apple make-up. She looked as coldly disdainful as she had always looked.

  “I’d like to give her a fright,” I said, “but as long as Bat keeps out of sight, we’ll play possum.”

  “Where is he?” she whispered, her hand on my arm. I was surprised it was so steady.

  “I haven’t seen him yet,” I said. “When I do I’m going to make a little hole in his hide. I’m taking no risks with Bat.”

  Lois suddenly turned, walked away, heading for the front of the house.

  Faintly we could hear through the closed window a clink of metal against metal.

  “What’s that?” Clair asked, stiffening.

  I listened. Something metal dropped on the concrete, out of sight. It came from the gas-pump section of the station.