Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Chapter Nine

One more day, I thought as I waited for Mrs. Brody to bring my breakfast. The set-up looked good to me. I had turned the screw last night and Ross hadn’t accepted the challenge. Had I been in his place, I knew that stone and the broken window would have been such a challenge, I would have come out fighting... but not Ross.

Yes, it looked good to me.

As Mrs. Brody set down the tray, she said, ‘I have to go out, Mr. Lucas. A neighbour of mine has been taken ill. Would you mind if lunch is late: I won’t get back before two o’clock.’

‘Suppose you leave me a sandwich? Then you needn’t worry to hurry back.’

She beamed.

‘Thank you. That’s real considerate. I’ll leave it in the kitchen.’

After breakfast, I went to the window and watched. A few minutes after nine o’clock, Beth appeared and went to the car. Even from this distance I could hear the engine growling as she tried to start it. Finally, she gave up and went back to the bungalow. I guessed she was telling Ross the car had broken down. Would he show?

I waited. Some fifteen minutes later, Beth appeared and drove off on her motor scooter.

So it would seem Ross was still too scared to come out in the open.

Beth hadn’t been gone more than three minutes when I heard the telephone bell ringing in the living room. I went to my door, unlocked and opened it.

I heard Mrs. Brody say, ‘Hello?’

There was a pause, then she said, ‘Who? No one of that name here... what name again? Devery? No.’ A long pause, then she said, ‘There’s a Mr. Lucas here.’ Another pause. ‘Yes, that’s right: he’s staying here.’ Another pause. ‘Hold it. I’ll ask him.’

So Ross, the ex-cop, had found me. I wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. I went out on to the passage as Mrs. Brody, dressed to go out, came from the living room.

‘There’s a man asking for you, Mr. Lucas. I must go: I’m late already.’

‘Thanks. I hope your friend isn’t too bad.’

I watched her leave, then I went into the living room and picked up the telephone receiver.

‘Yes?’

‘Is that you Devery?’ Ross’s voice sounded shaky.

‘Suppose it is?’

‘I’ve got to talk to you!’

‘I don’t need to talk to you, Ross. I talk only to Beth.’

‘Listen... I’ve got to talk to you! She won’t be back for an hour. This is my chance. I want to come to you.’

A voice can convey a lot of things. His voice conveyed fear.

‘Okay, Ross. I don’t know how good a shot you are, but I’m good. So if you want a shootout, come and have one.’

‘I haven’t got a gun! I swear I haven’t a gun!’ He was almost babbling.

He was either telling the truth or he was a great con man.

‘Here’s what you do, Ross. Come to the house. The front door will be open. Come in, walk down the passage and enter the third room on the left. I’ll be waiting with a gun,’ and I hung up.

I went to the window and watched. Two minutes later, Ross appeared. He was wearing a sweat shirt and cotton slacks. I put the field glasses on him. I couldn’t see any bulge made by a hidden gun. I lifted the glasses and examined his face. As he walked towards me, half-running, half-walking, his face became bigger and bigger in the lenses of the glasses. I scarcely recognized him from the hard, tough cop who had whistled to me when first we had met. This was a wreck of a man: white face, dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes and a slack twitching mouth.

It seemed my war of nerves had reduced him to pulp.

I left the front door open and my bedroom door. Then I went into Mrs. Brody’s bedroom, Mauser in hand and half shut the door. I was taking no chances.

After five minutes or so, I heard him come in. He shut the front door.

‘Devery?’ There was a quaver in his voice.

I waited.

He walked slowly down the passage and stopped at my door as I moved on to the passage.

‘Stay right there, Ross,’ I said, a snap in my voice.

He froze.

I moved up to him, dug the barrel of the Mauser into his spine and ran my hand over his body. Satisfied he wasn’t carrying a gun, I shoved him into my room.

He walked unsteadily to the middle of the room and stopped. He didn’t turn.

‘I’m quitting, Devery,’ he said. ‘You’ve no quarrel with me. I’ve had enough.’

I moved away from him.

‘Sit down.’

He went to an armchair and flopped into it. I sat on the bed, pointing the Mauser at him.

We looked at each other. This was no con trick. Here was a frightened, sweating creep who was only thinking of himself.

I put the gun down beside me and took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, then tossed the pack to him. He fumbled the catch, let the pack fall to the floor, scrabbled for it, then with a shaking hand, lit up.

‘Go ahead, Ross,’ I said. ‘Talk.’

‘She’s crazy!’ he blurted out. ‘I can’t take any more of her! I’ve been shut up with her now for days. She’s out of her mind! She’s gone down town to buy a gun! She wants me to come out here and kill you!’

I regarded him, feeling only contempt.

‘Don’t you want to kill me, Ross? Think of all that money you’ll have if I’m dead.’

‘Money?’ His voice turned shrill. ‘I don’t give a damn about money now!’ He slammed his fists together. ‘I want out! All her talk! She drives me crazy! Listen, Devery, I swear I didn’t know she was planning to murder her husband! I swear it! You’ve got to believe me! The moment I met her I knew she was a nutter, but she was a good screw. I couldn’t keep away from her. I did tell her about your record, but I didn’t know what she was planning. I swear it, Devery! I don’t go along with murder. Not for all the money in the world! When she told me what you and she had done... killing Marshall, I flipped my lid. I wanted out, but she showed me how she could involve me. She’s crazy about me, but to me, she’s just a lay.’ He paused and looked wildly around the room. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I want out but she said if I make a move you’ll shoot me! I don’t want to die! I don’t want her nor her money... I want out!’

‘You should have thought of that before,’ I said to keep him talking.

‘Thought?’ He clutched his head. ‘I’ve done nothing else but think! I want out!’

‘Oh, shut up! You knew what she was planning. You wanted the money. You covered up for her. An open and shut case. Remember? It was you who persuaded McQueen to leave her alone. It was you who got me to play killer while you stood on the sidelines, waiting to pick up the money. The problem with you is you’re yellow. So long as you felt safe, waiting to pick up the money, you were happy, but when Beth told you I was gunning for you, you couldn’t take it. Now listen to me: unless Beth agrees to give me five hundred thousand dollars, you’re dead.’ I picked up the Mauser. ‘There are ten slugs in this gun. They are all for you. You either talk Beth into playing or else... and I’m not bluffing.’

His face turned grey.

‘I can’t talk her into it! I tell you... she’s out of her head!’

‘Then it’s too bad for you.’ I stood up. ‘Get out!’

‘Devery...’ He was shaking. ‘What have I done to you? Give me a break! Let me get away. I’ll go now!’

‘Haven’t you got the message, Ross? Without you, I’d never get the money from her. You make one false move and you’re dead. Now get out!’

He got unsteadily to his feet. He stared at me, started to say something, then stopped.

‘Beat it!’ I barked.

He went, his head down, his shoulders hunched, shaking.

Lack of moral fibre? Yellow through and through.

I was at the window when Beth arrived back on the motor scooter. She was carrying a shopping bag and I wondered if she had bought the gun. I was pretty sure Ross wouldn’t have the guts to come here, but she could. She wouldn’t come until it was dark. I would have to sit up all night. I went into the kitchen, found the pack of sandwiches Mrs. Brody had left and returned to my room. I locked the door, ate the sandwiches, then stretched out on the bed.

The idea of Beth coming here with a gun was a joke. I was sure she had never handled a gun in her life... so let her come! I was confident I could handle her. I went to sleep.

When Mrs. Brody brought me my dinner, I had been up for over an hour. There had been no activity at Apple Trees and I didn’t expect any until it was dark.

I inquired after Mrs. Brody’s friend and was told she was better. Mrs. Brody had brought the evening newspaper.

‘You’ve been so busy, Mr. Lucas, I do believe you haven’t heard all the news... not that it makes happy reading. I’ve finished it. I thought you would like it.’

I thanked her. She was right. I had forgotten the world, outside this room and inside Apple Trees existed, but I wasn’t interested. I ate the dinner, then as it was still light, I sat down by the window and glanced through the paper. When I reached the financial page, I received a shock. Charrington and Pittsburgh steel corporations had merged! There was a photo of Jack Sonsan of Charrington steel looking smug. The report said that after six years of secret negotiations, Sonsan had finally persuaded Pittsburgh to take over. The Charrington shares had trebled overnight.

So drunk Marshall had been right and I had been wrong! This was the bitterest blow I had ever experienced. Had I waited before murdering him and let the deal go through both Beth and I would now be worth three million instead of less than one.

I sat there, absorbing this frustrating and bitter blow. Too late! With me, it seemed it was always to be too goddamn late! But at least I would get five hundred thousand out of her, but how hollow that sounded to a million and a half!

I remained by the window, watching Apple Trees until dark. I could hear the TV set in the living room. Mrs. Brody was occupied. Taking the Mauser and leaving my light on, I silently left the house and made my way to Apple Trees. Three quarters of the way up the dirt road there was a clump of shrubs and trees. I paused there. I could see Beth’s bungalow clearly so I got behind the shrubs, nursing the Mauser and prepared for a long wait. I could see the lights were on behind the red curtains in the living room and I wondered what was going on. I was sure Beth would get no help from Ross.

When fighting in the Vietnamese jungles, I had seen men go to pieces. Ross had gone to pieces and no amount of threats or persuasion from her would stiffen his broken spine.

So Beth would have to make up her mind either to handle me herself or pay up. One thing I was sure of: she was no quitter so I had to be prepared for her to do something desperate.

Around 23.30, I heard her coming down the road.

Trained in jungle warfare, to me, her cautious approach was pathetic. She had no idea how to move silently. She kicked stones, moved too fast, brushed against brambles and did everything I had been trained not to do.

It was moonless and dark, but I had been sitting there for three hours and my eyes were now accustomed to the dark. I saw her coming. She was wearing black, but her white face was a complete give away.

I got into a crouching position and waited. Then as she passed me, I jumped her. My hands gripped her arms, my knees slamming into her back. She went down with a stifled scream. It took a moment to wrest the gun out of her hands, then still kneeling on her, I said, ‘Not even a good try, Beth.’

She lay flat and still.

I shifted off her and stood up, moving away from her.

‘You have until tomorrow,’ I said.

Slowly, she got to her feet and faced me.

‘Don’t go buying another gun,’ I said. ‘You are not using your head. You would never get away with killing me. I’ve left a letter with my bank. It tells the whole story. So don’t try any more of this nonsense. Pay up or I’ll put ten slugs into lover boy.’

She just stood there, motionless and silent. I wish there had been enough light to see her face. All I could see was a white blob.

Then moving around her, I started back to Mrs. Brody’s bungalow. The gun I had taken from her wasn’t much: a .22. It could cause damage at close range, but useless at a distance.

Instinct, born in the jungle, alerted me to look back. She was coming at me like a charging wild cat. Her arm upraised.

Many Viets had come at me this way. It was too easy. I waited until she was almost on me, then dropped on hands and knees as the knife she was holding slashed harmlessly. Her knees thudded against my shoulder and she went flying, landing with a thud, face down, on the road.

Going over to her, I took the knife from her.

‘You have guts, Beth,’ I said, and meant it. ‘You are way out of my class. Go back to that gutless, yellow cop and tell him how brave you are.’

Holding the knife and the gun, I continued on down the dirt road, leaving her lying here.

When Mrs. Brody brought my breakfast, she said she had to spend the day with her sick friend.

‘She needs cheering up, Mr. Lucas and I’m good at cheering people up. I’ve left you some cold chicken and ham in the refrig, and tonight, I’ll give you a pot roast.’

I told her not to worry. I would be busy all the morning and the cold chicken would be fine.

She left the house soon after 09.00. I now had the place to myself.

Today was the day.

Beth had made her try and had failed. Now it was my turn. Pay up or else! While eating my breakfast, I thought about her and Ross and wondered what they were saying to each other. Was she hatching up a new scheme to get rid of me? But time had run out for her. I was now confident she would pay up.

After breakfast, I sat at the table and typed out instructions to her as to how she was to pay the money to me. Five hundred thousand was a lump and I would have to spread it to avoid awkward questions. A hundred thousand could go to the Chase National branch who already had my account. Another hundred thousand could go to Wicksteed. The rest of the money could go to the American Fidelity Bank in Los Angeles where I once had an account.

Around 10.00, I phoned Beth.

When she answered, I said, ‘Today is the day, Beth. What’s the answer... yes or no?’

There was a pause, then she said in her cold, flat voice, ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘What’s there to talk about? It’s either yes or no. What is it?’

‘Bernstein says the probate is delayed. I won’t get the money for at least another month.’

‘Quit stalling! You can get credit. Tell Bernstein you must have five hundred thousand dollars by the end of the week. He’ll fix it.’

There was another long pause, then she said, ‘He’ll want to know why. What can I tell him?’

I felt a surge of triumph run through me.

‘So the answer is yes?’

‘I must talk to you. This is something I can’t discuss over the telephone.’

‘Is it yes or no?’ I barked.

‘I’m coming to see you now,’ and she hung up.

Another trick?

I went to the window and focussed the field glasses on Apple Trees. She appeared. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress and carried no handbag. Her hands were in sight. She wasn’t carrying a gun nor a knife. I left the front door open and then retreated to my room. I trusted her the way I would trust a rattlesnake. Holding the Mauser by my side, I waited.

After a while, I heard her at the door.

‘Come on in, Beth,’ I called.

A moment later she appeared in the passage, her hands clasped in front of her, her black eyes remote, her face deadpan.

I moved back, waving her into my room. She walked in and I shut the door.

She was the original ice woman. Moving to a chair, she sat down, crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. Her black, glittering eyes regarded me.

I went over to another chair away from her and sat down, holding the Mauser so she could see it.

‘Quit stalling, Beth... is it yes or no?’

Her cold remoteness fazed me.

‘I have something to say first,’ she said.

‘You have? Okay, then make it short. What do you want to say?’

I wanted to put pressure on her, but I could see she was determined to take her time. She leaned back, completely relaxed, then she smiled at me: that hateful, jeering little smile I had come to know.

‘I wanted to thank you for doing me the greatest favour anyone could have done for me.’

I stiffened, staring at her.

‘Favour? What do you mean?’

‘I’ll tell you. For years sex and men were the only things I could think about. To me, men were my food and drink. When Ross turned up, ruthless, young, marvellous in bed, I became utterly besotted with him. He was my ideal man: tough, ruthless and utterly wonderful, sexually. My life revolved around him. I could think of nothing else but him. When he wasn’t with me, I burned for him.’

I moved uneasily.

‘Do I have to listen to your erotic talk? I’m not interested, I...’

‘You had better listen!’ The snap in her voice cut me short. ‘He was ambitious. He longed for money. I married Frank, knowing he would be rich, only to please Ross. I told myself I would do anything so he could have the money, even letting a creep like you make love to me... even murder because I believed Ross was a real man.’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair, then let them drop to her lap. ‘What is a real man? Not you. You with all your talk about being an expert with money! Frank, drunk as he was, knew so much better than you did. I could have had three million instead of one million if you had let him alone to do that steel deal, but you thought you were so smart. Then you turned blackmailer. A real man? Ask yourself. How do you think you add up?’

‘Never mind the talk, Beth. That’s all water under the bridge,’ I said, hating her. ‘Anyone can make a mistake...’

She went on as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘For four years, I idolized Ross and now what do I find I have been idolizing?’ She leaned forward, her black eyes glittering and spat out the words: ‘A cringing, gutless, cowering coward! A yellow creep who is so frightened he is impotent! A louse who cringes in a dark room because he is afraid of you... that’s what I find I have got!’ She drew in a deep breath, then went on, ‘So that’s why I am thanking you for a big favour. You have shown me the kind of gutless louse I thought I loved. Well, thanks to you, I love him no more. I now hate the sight of him. Go ahead and shoot him. That’s all he deserves. You are not getting one cent from me! Go ahead and shoot him. I’ll be glad to be rid of him!’

I stared at her. Looking at her hard deadpan face, I felt a sudden uneasiness. I told myself she was bluffing. She had to be bluffing!

‘You don’t fool me!’ I shouted at her. ‘I’ll kill him! That’s for real, but I’ll give you one more chance. Now come on... you know you are bluffing and I don’t bluff.’

She got up and walked to the door.

‘Wait, Beth!’

She paused and looked at me. Her contemptuous little smile was like a knife thrust.

‘I’m going to have that money!’ I yelled at her. ‘You either pay up or Ross gets shot!’

She nodded.

‘I would like that. Do me a favour... kill him,’ and leaving the room, she walked down the passage.

I jumped up and ran to the door.

‘Beth!’

She didn’t pause. She opened the front door and walked out into the sunshine and back to Apple Trees.

Was she bluffing?

I sat at the window, staring at Apple Trees. I watched her walk into the bungalow and shut the door. The red curtains were still drawn. Was Ross cringing in the darkened room or was he waiting for her, a grin on his face while she told him of her bluff?

I fingered the Mauser.

Then I suddenly realized, if she wasn’t bluffing, if she really had had enough of Ross, I would have to think twice about going out there and shooting him.

I had got away with Marshall’s murder, but shooting Ross was something I couldn’t hide up. Beth would call the police and give them some story that I was blackmailing her and Ross had tried to protect her and I had shot him. With Bernstein and her money behind her, I wouldn’t stand a prayer.

My bluff had looked good to me, but she had called it. So long as she was infatuated with Ross, my threat stood up, but Ross, turning coward, had fixed me. With sick frustration, I knew now I wouldn’t kill him.

I could think of no other way to get the money from her. Once again I had the sickening feeling that no matter what I did to lay my hands on big money, I always fluffed it.

I had to admit it. Beth had beaten me. There was now no reason for me to stay in this little house. I would pack and get out. I thought of my life ahead: grabbing at any damn job for eating money. Then I remembered Bert and his offer to make me his partner. Why not? I remembered what Sheriff McQueen had said: Why not stay on at Wicksteed? Bert still wants you to be his partner. Why not? I thought of Wicksteed and Mrs. Hansen and Maisie and the rest of them: a nice little town and nice people. Why not? I could settle there. Maybe later, I could get married. Suddenly, I didn’t give a damn about Marshall’s million nor Beth nor Ross. I would go back to Wicksteed. I would help Bert set up a U-drive service. I’d organize a Travel agency for him. In a couple of years, I could be as prosperous as Joe Pinner!

Getting to my feet, I felt a surge of confidence. Okay, I would never be in the real money class, but at least, I could be a success in Wicksteed and what was the matter with that? Let Beth and Ross go to hell together. If she didn’t want him, if she hadn’t been bluffing, let her go off on her own. Why should I care?

I looked at the Mauser in my hand. It now seemed incredible to me that I had bought the gun and that I really meant to kill Ross. I must have been out of my mind. I must get rid of the gun as soon as I could... throw it in a ditch or somewhere.

I now had an urgent need to get away. Then I thought of Mrs. Brody. I couldn’t just walk out without giving her some explanation. After a moment’s thought, I decided I would tell her my wife had been taken ill. That would do. I would leave her a note.

Taking my suitcase from the closet, I packed. In ten minutes I was ready to go.

I wrote a brief note to Mrs. Brody and I enclosed two weeks rent. I wrote that as soon as my wife recovered, I would get in touch with her.

Shoving the Mauser in my hip-pocket, picking up the suitcase and the typewriter, I started down the passage, then as I reached the living room, I paused.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed and confident. The thought that in a few hours I would be in Bert’s office, drinking a shot of whisky, talking about our future plans was like a shot in the arm.

I thought of Ross, probably still hiding behind the red curtains. I felt suddenly magnanimous. I put down the typewriter and suitcase. Why not? Why not call Beth and tell her she had won? What was the matter with that? Why not wish her luck with the money that was coming to her? Why not show her I was, after all, a real man?

I went into the living room and dialled Beth’s number. As I waited, I heard myself humming under my breath. In a few minutes I would be rid of them both and driving to Wicksteed. I could imagine Mrs. Hansen’s pleased expression when she saw me and Bert’s delighted grin.

Then I heard a click and Ross said, ‘Who is it?’

‘Devery,’ I said. ‘I want to speak to Beth.’

A long pause, then Ross said, ‘You’re too late. I’ve fixed her and I’ve fixed you,’ and he gave a hysterical giggle that sent a surge of cold blood up my spine.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You made me do it! There was only one way out for me. I wanted to call the cops, but she wouldn’t let me! So as she couldn’t fix you, I’ve fixed her! I would rather spend fourteen years in a cell than walk into a bullet! I’ve called the police. They’ll protect me from you. They are on their way now.’

The cold dead finger crept up my spine.

‘Ross! What are you saying?’ I shouted.

He giggled again. He sounded slightly out of his head.

‘I worked it out. If she didn’t get the money, you wouldn’t shoot me. She came back and told me to get out. She said she had had enough of me. She said she would be glad if you shot me! She wouldn’t let me near the telephone. I wanted to call the police, so I fixed her. I hit her with an axe. Her brains are all over the goddamn room.’ He caught his breath in a sob. ‘The police are coming. I warned you... you made me kill her... I’ve had enough.’

I dropped the receiver on its cradle.

His voice, the hysterical giggles, the sob told me this wasn’t bluff.

My world began to fall to pieces. Even as I stood there, cold sweat running down my face, I heard the sound of a distant siren.

I had to get out!

I snatched up my suitcase and typewriter, ran down the path and got in my car. As I started the engine, a police car swept by.

As I drove down to the highway, panic gripped me. Ross would talk. He would tell the police the whole story, then they would come after me. Reaching the bottom of the road, I waited for the lights to change. Where would I go? Not to Wicksteed. I would head north.

The lights changed, but I didn’t drive forward. My brain was beginning to function: panic was subsiding.

Marshall’s murder was foolproof. I was sure of that. No matter what Ross said, the police wouldn’t be able to pin a murder rap on me. If I could keep my nerve, stand up to their questions, I could still get away with it, but not if I ran away.

As I was thinking, an ambulance stormed by me, heading for Apple Trees. Then two more police cars went by. Again panic nibbled at my mind.

I thought of Wicksteed. If I could beat the rap, I could go I back there. It was a gamble. It would be tough going with my I jail record, but what had I to lose? I could get away with it. It would be Ross’s word against mine. Maybe the police would be convinced I had killed Marshall, but they couldn’t prove it. It would depend on the jury. Everyone in Wicksteed liked me and they hated Beth. They wouldn’t believe I had murdered I Marshall. They would put all the blame on Beth and Ross.

Rather than run, I decided, I would gamble. I shifted into reverse and drove slowly back up the road towards Mrs. Brody’s house.

Then I remembered the Mauser. The gun would be a complete give away. It would support Ross’s story.

Pulling up, I took the gun from my hip-pocket. It wouldn’t take the police long to find the pawnbroker who had sold it to me and from him they would get my description. I remembered his long thoughtful stare as he sold me the gun. He would remember me all right. The police then would have a foot in the door and they would crowd around me, shouting questions, want to know why I had bought the gun if Ross was lying, why I was staying with Mrs. Brody under the name of Lucas. They would keep on and on and sooner or later, they would break me. I couldn’t face that. I looked at the Mauser. I would keep it with me. It offered a quick way out, but first, I would give them a run.

I turned into a lay-by, backed the car and headed back to the highway.

The sun was shining and the sky was blue as I headed north, I thought of the five years of hell I had spent in jail. I wasn’t going to spend another fourteen years locked in a cell. I patted the Mauser: a quick way out.

As I drove I thought of Frank Marshall. Drunk though he had been, he wasn’t a bad guy. I thought of Wicksteed and all the nice people who lived there, but I had no thoughts of Beth.

Before long, the police would catch up with me, but I still had some money and my freedom for a few more days.

As I trod down on the gas pedal, I touched the Mauser again.