1977 - My Laugh Comes Last

by James Hadley Chase

  I was looking at her, seeing the hard, drawn face, the vicious, angry eyes, and I didn't recognize this woman I believed I loved. That woman whose soft yielding body had received me, whose pleading voice had begged me to save her life, had vanished, to be replaced by this redheaded, dangerous-looking woman whom the teenager's mother had called a whore.

  Although I thought I was, by now shockproof, the realization that Glenda had used me so heartlessly and ruthlessly, sickened me.

  'What have you done with Harry?' she demanded, her voice shrill. 'What have you done with him, you sonofabitch?'

  'Glenda!' Brannigan shouted. 'Go away! Leave this to me! Hear me?'

  She looked at him, her big eyes scornful.

  ‘Don't tell me what to do, you fat sack of crap! Your daughter! That's a laugh! Do you imagine you can talk this smart bastard into believing your lies?' Turning on me, ‘You're going to get Harry out of that vault!' She waved the gun at me. 'If you don't, I'll kill you!'

  'Go ahead and shoot me, Glenda,' I said quietly. 'No one but me can open the vault, and the air is running out. In another four or five hours, your Harry, and the rest of them, will suffocate to death. This is up to you. Go ahead and shoot!'

  She moved back, her hand going to her mouth.

  'Suffocate?'

  "There is no ventilation now in the vault,' I said. ‘ Right now, four men are using up the remaining air . . . it won't last long.' I held out my hand. 'I'll get him out, but on my own terms. Give me that gun!'

  'You're bluffing, you devil!'

  "You called Klaus that, didn't you? Give me that gun!'

  'Give it to him!' Brannigan shouted.

  She hesitated, then threw the gun at my feet.

  'Take it!' she screamed at me. 'You and your cheap love! Harry is ten times the man you are!' and she ran out of the room, slamming the door.

  I picked up the gun and laid it on the desk, then moving slowly, I returned to my chair and sat down.

  There was a long pause, then Brannigan said uneasily, 'She's hysterical, Larry. You know what women are.'

  I looked up, my fists clenched.

  Your cheap, stupid love!

  That hurt, but now I knew the truth. All along Brannigan had been lying. The scornful way she had said, Your daughter! told me she was his mistress, and the lies he had told me about his secretary had been futile attempts to keep some gilt over his image.

  'So, according to you,' I said, 'she loves me. What a liar you are!'

  He flinched.

  'Is it true these men could suffocate?' he asked.

  'At a guess, they have another six hours. Dixon and I built that vault. There is a ventilation fan, but to get out of the vault, I had to cut the electricity. I don't bluff, and I don't tell lies.'

  He nodded wearily: an old, fat man, shrunken and defeated.

  On the desk was a tape recorder.

  'Mr. Brannigan, I want the truth from you,' I said, "No more lies. I am going to take a recording of what we say to each other.'

  'Don't do that, son,' he said. 'You're telling me I'm at the end of my road.'

  'That's what I am telling you,' and I pressed the start button of the recorder. ‘You told me Glenda was your daughter. That was a lie?'

  ‘Yes, son, that was a lie. She's my mistress. She has a fatal attraction. Let me tell you, Larry, she's made a lot of money out of me.'

  'She told me she was married to Alex Marsh . . . right or wrong?'

  'She was never married to him . . . he was her pimp. He was blackmailing me. He had photographs of Glenda with me . . . photographs that were so damning that Merle would have divorced me if she had seen them. Without Merle's money, I am in financial trouble. I paid heavy blackmail to Marsh. Sooner or later, I knew Merle would question me about this steady drain from her fortune. I had to do something to stop Marsh.' Brannigan eased his bulk back in his chair, then went on, 'Marsh was infatuated with Glenda as I was, but he was greedy. Glenda knew he was blackmailing me, but Marsh, like the pimp he was, never gave her a cent of the money he was getting from me.

  'Marsh suspected that I could be dangerous. He knew I would try to get the photos, and then have him murdered. A few weeks ago, he came to me. "Mr. Brannigan," he said, "don't get ideas about getting those photos and having me knocked off. Those photos are in a safe deposit box in the safest bank in the world," and he grinned at me. "My lawyer holds the key of the box. If anything happens to me, the box will be opened, and you can then explain the photographs to your wife." I realized there was nothing I could do about this. Marsh had played it very smart.' Brannigan paused to wipe his sweating face with the back of his hand. 'There was no way, even for the President of the bank, to get at Marsh's deposit box.' He stared at me, his eyes dull. You made that impossible.' There was a pause, then he said, 'I could do with a drink, son.'

  I got up, went to the liquor cabinet and built him a powerful whisky and soda. He took the glass with a shaky hand, drank, sighed, then put the glass down.

  'So my future life,' he went on, 'was locked up in the vault you built, Larry. I desperately wanted to be financially independent, instead of relying on my wife's money. There was a big deal pending, and this could be my chance. By using Merle's credit, I could get in on the ground floor. Then just when I was fixing this deal, Marsh reappeared. He said he had decided to leave the States. He demanded two million dollars as final blackmail payment, and he would give me the photographs and the negatives. He said he would give me two weeks to raise the money, then, if I didn't pay him, he would go to Merle who, he was sure, would pay up to avoid a scandal. She wouldn't have paid up. She would have divorced me and my future would be ended.' He sat forward, his big hands turning into fists. 'Then I realized there was only one possible solution out of this mess. I had to find some criminal who would break into the bank, get me those photographs and murder Marsh. This was my only solution.'

  He paused to sip his drink. 'I had no contacts with the criminal world. In my position, I couldn't go around trying to find a bank robber, then I remembered Klaus. Now, Klaus…’

  "You can skip that,' I interrupted. ‘ I have it already on tape. Years ago, you and he worked together, you found he had embezzled, and you got him a five-year sentence...right?'

  He looked down at his tightly clenched fists.

  'That's what happened. At that time, I believed anyone working in a bank must be honest. When there is no pressure, it is easy to be honest.'

  'So you found Klaus, and you asked him to break into the bank?'

  ‘There was no one else I could go to.' He finished his drink. ‘You must understand, Larry, I was now desperate. My whole life depended on getting Marsh off my back . . . to get those photographs. After I had talked to Klaus, I realized he was a mental case. Maybe the years he had spent in jail had eroded his mind. He hated me. I could see his hatred oozing out of him while we talked. He had read all the media about my safest bank in the world. It delighted him that he would break into the bank and make a sham of me. "I'll get your photographs," he said, "but remember, every banker in the world will be laughing at you! I'll cut you down to size!" That was how his sick mind worked.' Brannigan pushed his empty glass towards me. 'I would like another, son.'

  I got up and built him another drink, and gave it to him. ‘Thanks.' He sipped the drink, then went on, 'I didn't give a damn about the bank. That's where Klaus made a mistake. He imagined he was punishing me. I had to get those photographs. If there was one man in the world who could break into the bank, it was Klaus. The deal we agreed to was for the men he employed to have the contents of the deposit boxes, for me to get the photographs, and for Klaus to satisfy his pathological hatred of me to prove to the world I didn't own the safest bank in the world.' He lifted his heavy hands and let them drop with a thud on the desk. That's the sordid story, Larry. I've levelled with you. Can you get me out of this mess?'

  I thought back to the time when we had first met, when I had fixed his putting and his hook. I thought of his
influence that had made me an important citizen in Sharnville. Then, to me, He had been a great man, but not now. Looking at him, seated in the chair, sweat running down his heavy face, Farrell Brannigan ceased to be the god I thought he was.

  'You haven't levelled with me,' I said. ‘You know as well as I do Klaus could never have broken into the bank. You knew I was the only man in the world to do that! So you set me up.'

  He moved restlessly.

  'Now, look, son . . .'

  'Don't give me this son routine! Didn't you tell Klaus I was the sucker who could get him into the bank?'

  He rubbed his sweating face.

  'I guess.' He tried to drag a shred of dignity over himself. 'I did mention...'

  "You did more than that! Now, I'll tell you what you did! You knew Klaus hadn't a hope in hell to break into the bank, so you set me up. I was to be the sucker! You and your son routine! You didn't give a damn about me. All you thought of was to hang on to your image. You planted Glenda on me! That crap about Joe going to your place and putting water in your gas tank was just another lie I was fed with. You gambled that I would fall for Glenda, and I did. Her supposed reportage on Sharnville paid off. She not only threw a hook into me, she also alerted Klaus that the Sheriff was dangerous, and Manson was incorruptible. So what happened? The Sheriff was murdered. Don't tell me you didn't know what was happening! Don't tell me you didn't know Klaus was pinning Marsh's murder on me! You once said to me you liked to play God . . . what a god!'

  He waved his big hands as if trying to push away the truth.

  'I swear to you, Larry! I left everything to Klaus!'

  I looked at him in disgust.

  ‘You would swear to anything to save your rotten image.'

  I stopped the tape recorder and pressed the rewind button.

  'At least, I have a chance, but you haven't. I am now going to the police. With this tape, and the other tapes I have I stand a chance. I lifted the spool off the sprocket and dropped the spool into my pocket. 'This is the end of your road. I'll leave you the gun.'

  'Wait, Larry!' There was a desperate urgency in his voice. 'We can still fix this. All I ask you is to hold everything until tomorrow. We two, together, can work a way out of this mess.'

  I regarded him.

  'In another few hours, long before tomorrow, four men will die of suffocation. Do you want that?'

  'Don't you see, son? A madman, and three enemies of society! Who cares what happens to them?' He pounded his fists on his desk. 'With them out of the way, there are no witnesses. If they haven't broken into Marsh's deposit box, then it doesn't matter. If they have found the photographs, I know the shape of the envelope. I'll be there when Manson opens the vault, and I'll get the photographs! Larry! I raised you from nothing! Be grateful! Do this for me!'

  The sound of a car starting up made both of us stiffen.

  'What's that?' Brannigan demanded.

  'No witnesses? At a guess, I think Glenda has been listening to what you have been saying, and she is now on her way to try to rescue Harry.'

  He got unsteadily to his feet.

  'Stop her!'

  He lurched to his feet, gun in hand and jerked open the front door.

  His Cadillac was racing down the sandy road. Brannigan raised the gun. I caught hold of his wrist, and forced the gun down.

  'This is the end of the road for you,' I said. 'Now it's your chance to play god with God,' and I left him, and began my long walk back to my car.

  The teenager was swinging on the gate as I approached.

  'Hello,' she said, with her impish grin. ‘Did you see her?' She hung on to the gate while she lifted her hair off her face. 'She went by just now.'

  The distant snap of gunfire came over the sound of her childish voice, over the slap of the sea on the beach, and over the screech of the gulls.

  I paused.

  She cocked her head on one side.

  ‘That was a gun,' she said. 'Someone shooting! How exciting!'

  I thought of Brannigan. I thought again of all he had done for me. I thought of his ruthlessness. A bullet through a head can solve every problem.

  ‘You've been watching too much television,' I said, my voice husky, and I walked on to my car.

  On the drive back to Sharnville, I banished Brannigan from my mind. As I got into my car, I hoped the sound of gunfire I had heard meant he was free of his wife, free of his ruthlessness, and that the credit and debit balance of his life would add up on the credit side.

  I now had to think of myself. I had some five hours before the air in the vault became exhausted. Before I alerted the police, I had to talk to Manson. He was now my last hope.

  Driving along the highway, I glanced at my watch. The time now was 13.00. I had no idea how Manson spent his weekends. I imagined he was the kind of man to spend his off days with his wife and his two children, probably pottering in the garden.

  Seeing a cafe-bar, I pulled up and shut myself in one of the telephone booths. I didn't want to waste time driving out to Manson's home, which was on the east side of Sharnville, only to find him out.

  I dialled his number and listened to the ringing tone, then just as I was beginning to think he was out, there was a click, then Manson said, 'Who is this?'

  'Larry Lucas.'

  'Oh, Larry.' His voice lifted a note. 'Hold a moment.' I heard him say something indistinctly. He probably had his hand over the mouthpiece. 'Will you come out here quickly, Larry?'

  From the urgency in his voice, I knew Glenda had played it smart. I should have thought of Manson.

  'Hostage, Alec?' I asked quietly.

  'Yes. Just come out here. Don't do anything. You understand? Just come.' The strain in his voice came over the line.

  'I'm on my way,' I said, and hung up.

  I could imagine the scene: Manson, his wife and his two kids facing a gun held by Glenda.

  I hesitated. Should I alert the police? Don't do anything.

  There had been a desperate plea in Manson's voice.

  I remembered Glenda as she threatened me with the gun: You are going to get Harry out of that vault! If you don't, I'll kill you! I remembered the vicious, murderous glare in her green eyes.

  This wasn't the time for the police.

  Leaving the cafe-bar at a run, I got into my car, and headed fast down the highway. At this hour, most people were on the beach or in restaurants, so I had a clear run, but I took no chances. I kept just within the speed limit, but only just.

  As I pulled into the drive leading to Manson's house, I saw Brannigan's Cadillac parked by the front door, then I knew for certain that Glenda was in the house with a gun.

  I got out of my car, and walked fast around the Caddy, and up to the front door which opened as I arrived at the top of the steps.

  Manson stood facing me. We stared at each other. I found it hard to recognize this tall, thin man, wearing a blue cotton shirt and white slacks: the man I had come to regard as an efficient, impersonal banker. Before me, was a terrified, sweating wreck of a man whose mouth twitched, whose eyes were dull with shock.

  ‘For Christ's sake!' he shouted at me. 'What's happening? This woman is threatening to kill my children! She wants me to open the vault! I've told her over and over again, I can't do it until Monday morning!'

  'But you can, you sonofabitch!' Glenda cried from the living-room doorway. 'Come in here!'

  Manson, trembling, moved to one side, and I walked into the living-room.

  I was confronted by the scene I expected.

  On the big settee was Monica Manson, her arms around her two small children. I had met Monica at the occasional banker's cocktail party. She was a nice, housewife type: entirely suitable for Manson. The two children, a boy and a girl, looked scared. The girl was crying.

  Glenda backed away. She was holding a small automatic rifle that could be deadly at any range. She looked devilish as she glared at me.

  ‘You're opening the vault!' she shrilled. "You're going to get Har
ry out!' She turned to Monica. 'If you want to see your fink of a husband alive, do nothing! You alert the cops, and I'll blow his goddamn head off!' She swung the gun to cover me. 'Let's go!' The gun moved to Manson. You too!’

  Then I realized she was making the same mistake that Klaus had made when he had joined in the bank raid. If Glenda had used her head, she would have realized her position was unassailable if she stayed with Monica and the children. Threatening to kill them would have given me no room in which to manoeuvre. I would have had to open the vault, but she was so worked up, she didn't seem to realize she was throwing away her trump card.

  Not giving her a chance to change her thinking, I caught hold of Manson's arm and half dragged him out into the hot sunshine.

  'Leave this to me! Say nothing!' I whispered urgently as I heard Glenda scream at Monica not to do a thing.

  I was now calmly cold. Poor Manson was in such a state, I had to hold on to his arm to steady him.

  "We'll use my car,' I said to Glenda. ‘ I have all my tools in the trunk.'

  'Listen, smart ass,' she said, 'you try anything tricky with me, and I'll blow his goddamn head off! You drive. He sits with you! Get moving!'

  We got in the car; Glenda at the back, the gun barrel nudging Manson's neck.

  'Hurry it up, damn you!' she screamed at me.

  I drove fast to the highway, and headed for Sharnville's Main Street.

  'Glenda, listen to me,' I said quietly. 'I'll get Harry out, but this is the end of your road and his. Brannigan shot himself.'

  I heard Manson catch his breath sharply, but he had the sense to keep silent.

  'It could still be a long road, you sonofabitch,' Glenda said. 'I don't give a damn about Brannigan. There's only one man in my life, and that's Harry! If we're going, we'll go together, and this fink and you'll go with us! Make no mistake about that!'

  I slowed as we approached Main Street. Looking ahead, I saw the bank guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder, standing outside his sentry-box. There were few cars on the street: not more than a dozen people were wandering aimlessly, shop window gazing.

  I pulled up in front of the bank.