Have a Change of Scene

Four

I drove to Jenny’s office, found parking with a tussle, then walked up the six flights of stairs.

Since I had left Jenny, I had returned to the hotel. I had stayed in my dreary little room for around half an hour, during that time I had thought of Rhea Morgan. I had paced up and down while my mind dwelt erotically on her. I wanted her so badly it was like a raging virus in my blood. The thought of stripping off her clothes and taking her made sweat run down my face, but I reminded myself of what she had said: Man! Don’t you want me! When you have me, it’ll cost you more than a meal.

But I wasn’t a sucker like Jenny. When I had her, as I was going to have her, it wasn’t going to cost me a dime.

But first, I had to know a lot more about her. Jenny would have kept her record and I now wanted to read it. It might give me a lever to turn an attempt to bargain into a sale.

This was my thinking, so I drove to Jenny’s office.

I paused outside her office door. Through the thin panels I could hear the clack of a typewriter, and this surprised me. I knocked, turned the handle and walked in.

A thin, elderly woman sat behind the desk. Her face looked as if it had been chopped with a blunt axe out of teak. Squashed in a corner was a teenager doing a peck and hunt routine on the typewriter. They both stared at me as if I had landed from the moon.

‘I’m Larry Carr,’ I said and gave Hatchet face my best smile. ‘I’ve been working with Jenny Baxter.’

She was a professional welfare worker — not like Jenny: no sucker. I could imagine the old women would take one look at her and then scuttle.

‘Yes, Mr. Carr?’ She had a voice a cop would envy.

‘I thought I’d look in,’ I said, my eyes moving to the filing cabinets that stood behind the teenager who had stopped typing. She was just out of High School, very earnest, completely sexless and a drag. Somewhere in those cabinets, I thought I would find Rhea’s background. ‘If I can be of help,’ let it hang.

‘Help?’ Hatchet face stiffened. ‘Are you qualified, Mr. Carr?’

‘No, but I’ve.’ I stopped. I was wasting my breath. I was sure she knew about me.

‘Thank you, Mr. Carr.’ She stared me over. ‘We can manage very well.’

‘I just thought I’d look in.’ I backed towards the door. ‘I’m at the Bendix Hotel. If you want help, just call me.’

‘We won’t trouble you, Mr. Carr.’ Then with a sour grimace, she added, ‘Miss Baxter was always calling on amateurs. That’s not my method.’

‘That I can imagine,’ I said and stepped into the passage and closed the door.

I would have liked to have done it legally, but if the old cow was this way, then I would have to do it illegally. I still had the key Jenny had given me to the office.

So I walked down the six flights of stairs and out on to the cement-dusty street. The time was 17.00 and I walked to a bar opposite and sat in a corner where I could survey the entrance to the office block. I ordered beer, lit a cigarette and waited.

Time moved on. People came and went. A barfly tried to get talking with me, but I brushed him off. After a second beer, taken slowly, I saw Hatchetface and the teenager emerge and walk together down the street. Hatchetface held the teenager’s arm in a possessive grip as if she expected some man would leap out and rape the girl.

I was in no hurry. I had a third beer, smoked yet another cigarette, then getting to my feet, I walked out on to the street. By now it was 18.15. Two giggling girls, in miniskirts, came out of the office block as I entered. In another hour it would be dark. I didn’t want to turn on the lights in the office. That could be a giveaway. I walked up the six flights of stairs. The owners of the one-room offices were going home. They brushed by me as I climbed: little men, tall men, fat men, thin men: some with their typists. They didn’t notice me. They were too eager to get back to the discomfort of their homes, to eat, to watch television and then go to bed with their dreary wives.

As I reached the sixth floor, a woman with a face like a wrinkled prune came out of an office, slammed the door shut and edged by me as if I were the Boston Strangler. I unlocked Jenny’s door, slid into the tiny office, shut the door and turned the key.

It took me some ten minutes to find Rhea Morgan’s file. I sat at the desk and read her case history the way I would have read my own case history.

Jenny had done a good job. The report was written in her sprawling handwriting. She must have felt it was too personal for a helper to type.

Rhea Morgan, I learned, was now twenty-eight years of age. At the age of eight, she had come before the law as uncontrollable. She had been sent to a home. At the age of ten she had been caught stealing lipstick and perfume from a self-service store. She had been sent back to the home. At the age of thirteen, she had had sexual relations with one of the executives of the home. They had been caught in the act and a few hours later, before the police arrived, the executive had cut his throat. She had been moved to a stricter home. After a year, she had run away. A year later, she had been picked up while prostituting herself to truck drivers on a freeway to New York. She had come before the law again and had been sent for psychiatric treatment. No success there for she had slipped away and had gone missing for two years. She had then been picked up in Jacksonville with three men who were attempting a bank robbery. There had been a plea for her age and she drew a year. By this time, she would be around seventeen years of age. After serving the sentence, she dropped out of sight, then she reappeared three years later. This time she was involved with two men in a jewel robbery. She was handling the getaway car. The two men, armed with toy pistols, had walked into a cheap jewellery store in Miami. They were amateurs and came apart at the seams when a guard appeared with a .45 automatic in his fist. Rhea could have driven away, but she stuck and was arrested. With her past record, she drew four years. Out again, she was involved with three men in a gas station holdup. This time the judge threw the book at her and she went away for another four years, and that was her life up-to-date.

I dropped the report on the desk and lit a cigarette. I now knew her background and I was now curious about her brother. I searched through the files, but came up with nothing. It looked as if Jenny had had no dealings with him, but I was sure he was in Rhea’s league.

As the light began to fade, I sat on the desk and thought of Rhea. I thought of the life she had led and I found I was envying her. I thought of my own dull home life, and my mother, kind, who had died when I was fifteen years old, and my father who had slaved in a diamond mine, had made a lot of money, had invested badly and had been defeated when he had died. Rhea had lived a vicious life, but she hadn’t been defeated. The moment she had got out of prison, she had followed her destiny of crime. At least she had purpose and drive. The purpose was bad, but she had set her signals and had driven ahead.

Bad?

I crushed out my cigarette and lit another.

I had been taught that stealing was bad, but was it in this modern world in which I lived? Wasn’t it rather the survival of the fittest? Wasn’t it a brave, private war waged by one individual against the police? Wasn’t that better than living the dreary life the people lived who scrounged on Jenny?

Half my mind told me I was wrong, but the other half argued. I knew Rhea had suddenly become the most important person in my life. The fascination was sexual, but also there was this envy that she could have more courage than I had. I wanted suddenly to experience what she had experienced. She had been hunted by the police. This was an experience that I found myself wanting. I thought of how she must have felt when the pressure was on and yet she hadn’t panicked and driven away from the jewellery store. I envied her that experience. I felt the urge to find out if I had the guts, under pressure that she had.

It was getting dark now so I returned the report to the filing cabinet, emptied my ash and two cigarette butts into an envelope which I put in my pocket. I didn’t want Hatchetface to know someone had been in the office, then I left.

As I walked down the stairs, I kept thinking of Rhea, with her brother in the sordid bungalow, and I envied them.

Judy?

I continued to walk down the stairs.

Judy was dead, I told myself, but Rhea was alive.

What I should have done was to have checked out of the Bendix Hotel and driven back to Paradise City. I should have talked to Dr. Melish and put myself in his hands. I should have told him I had met a woman with a vicious criminal record and had become sexually obsessed with her. I should have confessed to him that I now had an overpowering urge to do what she had done, trying to explain that when I had her, she and I had to be on equal terms: I as bad as she was, and she as bad as I was. I should have admitted that, because I was male and she was female, I had this thought now hammering in my mind that whatever she could do, I could do better. Maybe it would have helped me. I don’t know because I never gave him the chance. I didn’t check out of the hotel, nor did I run away to Paradise City.

I sat in a dreary bar and toyed with a stale sandwich and a beer and thought about Rhea. Finally, I got in the Buick and drove out to her place.

She was pulling me with such magnetic force I was powerless to resist.

At the top of the dirt road, I parked the car, turned off the lights and walked the rest of the way. As I approached the bungalow I could hear strident jazz from a transistor, blaring across the debris. Then I came around the slight bend in the lane and saw the lighted windows.

I went as far as the broken down fence and I stood in the shadow of a tree, looking at the windows the way a man lost in a sun-scorched desert looks at an oasis without knowing it is a mirage.

It was a hot night and the air was close. The windows were open. The time was 22.00. I saw a figure move across the light... the brother. So he was there! I moved cautiously forward, picking my way through the empty cans, the oil drums, stepping carefully to make no noise, but I need not have taken this precaution. With the transistor going at full blast I could have made any noise and still not have been heard.

With my heart thumping, I got close enough to be able to see through the window and yet still not be seen.

Now, I could see the brother clearly. He was stomping around the room in time with the music, an open can in one hand, a spoon in the other. While he stomped, he kept shovelling some gooey looking mess into his mouth. I looked beyond him and found Rhea. She lolled in a beat-up chair, the leather split, the dirty stuffing showing. She had on a red smock and pants that could have been painted on her. I felt my heartbeat quicken at the sight of her long legs and slim thighs. A cigarette dangled from her thin hard lips. She was staring up at the ceiling, her face an expressionless marble mask, while he continued to jerk, weave and stomp to the music as he fed himself.

As I stood there watching, I wondered what was going on in her mind. What a couple! Part of my sane mind said this, but the other half was envious. Then suddenly she leaned forward and snapped off the transistor that stood on a chair by her side. The silence that descended over the bungalow and around me was like a physical blow.

‘Cut it out!’ she yelled at him. ‘Must you always act like a goddamn moron?’

Her brother stood motionless, his shoulders hunched, his hands held forward. His attitude was threatening.

‘What the stinking hell do you mean?’ he bellowed. ‘Turn it on!’

She picked up the transistor, got to her feet and with vicious violence, threw it against the wall. The case broke open and the batteries fell out.

He was across the room and his open hand slapped her across the face, sending her reeling. In four letter words, he yelled at her and then hit her again.

I was already on the move, the forest fire of rage blazing inside me. I charged into the room as he was raising his hand to slap her again. I caught his wrist, swung him around and drove my fist into his face.

He went staggering away. I jumped after him and while he was still off balance, and half dazed, I hit him in the groin.

He gave a low moan as he dropped to his knees. I stood over him, laced my fingers together and hit down on his neck with both hands. I didn’t give a goddamn if I killed him as I hadn’t cared if I had killed Spooky Jinx. He stretched out, unconscious, at my feet.

I turned and looked at Rhea, who was leaning against the wall. Her left cheek showed a bruise. She was still a little dazed from the slaps she had had, but her eyes were on the still body of her brother.

‘He’s all right,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about him. Are you all right?’ The fire of rage inside me was now dying. ‘I just happened by.’

She knelt beside her brother and turned him over. Blood leaked from his nose, but he was breathing. She looked up at me, her green eyes glittering.

‘Get out! You’re not wanted here!’ Her voice was vicious. ‘Get out and stay out!’

We stared at each other for a long moment.

‘When you’re ready,’ I said, ‘you’ll find me at the Bendix Hotel. I’ll wait.’

I went out into the hot, dark night, aware my knuckles were aching from the punch I had rammed into his face but not caring.

I drove back to Luceville. I had made a step forward, I told myself. I had shown her I was a better man than her brother. But that wasn’t enough. I had to prove to myself that I had more guts than she had.

The telephone in my dreary little hotel bedroom was ringing as I walked in. I hesitated for a brief moment, then I lifted the receiver.

‘Larry... my dear, sweet boy!’

My mind crawled back into the past. No one else could talk like this except Sydney Fremlin.

I dropped on the bed.

‘Hi, Sydney.’

He told me he had been trying to reach me. He didn’t know how many times he had called the hotel, but I was always out. The reproach in his voice made no impact on me.

‘How are you, Larry? When are you coming back? I need you!’

My mind shifted away from his burbling voice and I thought of Rhea with her bruised face.

‘Larry! Are you listening?’

‘I’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Give me a little more time. Maybe in a month... how’s that?’

‘A month?’ His voice shot up. ‘But, Larry, I need you here now! People keep asking for you. Tell me how you are. Couldn’t you come back next week?’

‘Isn’t Terry doing a job?’

‘Terry?’ His voice rose a notch. ‘Don’t mention him to me! He’s quite... unspeakable! Come back, Larry, and I’ll throw him out!’

I was bored with him and cut him short.

‘I’ll be back but not for a month.’

‘A month?’ Sydney’s voice rose to a squeak.

‘That’s it,’ and I hung up.

I went to the bathroom and let cold water run over my aching hand. The telephone started up again. That would be Sydney. I ignored the bell. After a long, desperate try, it stopped ringing.

I stretched out on the bed.

My thoughts made me feel ten feet tall.

I was quite a man, I told myself. Spooky... seven of his thugs... now I had taken care of Rhea’s brother.

Soon she would come to me. I was sure of this and that was the way I wanted it. For her to come to me and give herself. I was prepared to wait.

But first, I had to get on parity with her.

The usual incentive for most crimes is money, but I had plenty of money so long as Sydney paid me $60,000 a year. Thinking about crime, I realised I was in a unique position. I now wanted to commit a crime so as to experience the same tension, the same danger, the same excitement as Rhea must have experienced, yet I would have no use for whatever I stole. It would be the act of stealing that would give me satisfaction: the end product was of no importance.

I had to break the ice, I told myself. After some thought, I decided the first thing I would steal would be a car. That shouldn’t be difficult. I would drive the car around the town, then leave it not too far from where I had stolen it. Once I had done that, I would be a thief... and this I wanted to be as Rhea was a thief. The chances of getting caught were remote, but the steal would provide a certain amount of tension, and this was what I wanted.

Why think about it? Why not do it?

I looked at my watch. It was eight minutes after midnight.

Still feeling ten feet tall, I put on my jacket, turned off the light and left the room. I didn’t use the elevator, but walked silently down the stairs, through the lobby where the night-man was dozing and out into the hot night.

Stealing a car proved more complicated than I had imagined. I walked to the nearest parking lot, but found a guard patrolling, and he looked suspiciously at me, fingering his club as I lingered at the entrance.

‘You want something?’ he demanded in a cop voice.

‘Not you,’ I said and moved on.

I tramped down a number of side streets where cars were parked, bumper to bumper. Whenever I paused to see if a car door was unlocked, someone would appear out of the darkness, stare at me, before walking on. I found I was sweating and my heart was thumping. This certainly was tension and I had to admit I didn’t like it.

It wasn’t until 01.00 when my nerves were wilting, that I finally found a car, unlocked and the ignition key in place.

Here I go, I thought and wiped my sweating hands on the seat of my jeans. I looked up and down the deserted street, then with my heart pounding, I opened the car door and slid into the driving seat.

With an unsteady hand, I turned on the ignition and pressed down on the gas pedal. There was a faint growling sound which petered out into a whimper. Sweat running down my face, I stared into the car’s darkness. I fumbled for the switch to turn on the parkers, found it and the parkers came on: a faint yellow glow which faded into nothing.

I was trying to steal a car with a flat battery!

My nerve cracked. I had had enough tension for one night. I got out of the car, eased the door shut, then started down the street. I had a raging thirst and my thigh muscles were fluttering as if I had run, flat out, a mile.

So this is tension, I thought, and yet, what had I done? I had tried to steal a car — something thousands of teenagers did every day of the week — and I hadn’t succeeded. Some thief! I thought. How Rhea would have jeered had she known of this gutless performance!

I began to realise that stepping from honesty which had been my background for thirty odd years into dishonesty presented an obstacle that needed more nerve and more courage than I had at this moment.

At the corner, at the end of the street, was an all-night bar. I went in for a beer. There were only three people in the bar: the usual drunk, a fat middle-aged whore and a homosexual: a boy of around eighteen, in a cherry-coloured suit, his hair to his shoulders and around his slim wrist an expensive gold watch. He simpered at me, then seeing his watch, I had a sudden idea. I carried my beer to a distant table, then looked directly at him. He was at my side in an instant.

‘Can we be friends?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I’m sure you’re as lonely as I am.’

I stared him over.

‘The price?’

‘Ten dollars. I’ll give you a wonderful time.’

‘Have you a pad?’

‘There’s a hotel up the street... they know me.’

I finished the beer and got to my feet.

‘So what are we waiting for?’

We went out into the hot darkness and started down the street. He smiled anxiously at me from time to time, keeping close to me as if he was afraid of losing me. He drew away from me as we passed a cop who stared at us and then spat in the gutter.

‘It’s not far, dear,’ the boy said, ‘just at the end of the street.’

I looked back. The cop was out of sight and there was no one to be seen. We were passing an alley lined with stinking trash bins. I caught hold of him and shoved him into the alley.

He gave a startled squeak of protest, but it was no more than a squeak. I took pleasure in hitting him because his kind wasn’t my kind. My fist thudded against his jaw and I eased him down into the muck, letting his head fall on a pile of mouldy potato peelings. Then bending over him, I took off his gold watch — probably a present from an infatuated client. With a quick look up and down the street, I walked away.

I headed back to my hotel.

Passing another stinking trash bin, I paused to drop the watch into it. I moved some litter to cover the watch and then walked on.

Now, I really felt ten feet tall.

I had broken the ice. I was a thief!

I woke the next morning from a restless sleep and I heard a voice speaking clearly in my mind. The voice was saying, ‘You must leave here this morning and go back to Paradise City. You must see Dr. Melish and tell him what is happening to you. You must tell him what you did last night and ask for his help.’

I became fully awake and looked around the room. The voice had been so loud and clear that I thought someone was in the room.

Then I realised I had been dreaming and I dropped back on the pillow.

There was no question of going back. Melish couldn’t help me because I didn’t want to be helped. I thought of Rhea and my desire for her became so bad, I had to get out of bed and stand under the cold shower until the heat of my body diminished. Then I shaved, put on the sweat shirt and jeans and went down to the restaurant to drink two cups of bad coffee.

There were several elderly salesmen eating breakfast while they consulted their notebooks. None of them paid any attention to me. I lit a cigarette and thought about last night.

What a gutless performance!

How Rhea would have sneered had she known!

How I had fumbled the operation of stealing a car! Then this stupid little pansy. Anyone could have done that! What risk had I taken? I had stolen his watch which was probably his dearest possession. That was nothing to be proud of. I remembered Spooky Jinx had called me Cheapie. On my record of last night that was exactly what I was: Cheapie.

But tonight, I told myself, would be different. Tonight, I was determined to move into the big league, but this needed planning. I sat there, smoking and thinking, and finally I came up with a plan of operation.

Leaving the hotel, I got into the Buick and drove out of town. Some hundred miles north on the freeway was a little town called Jason’s Halt. It was an orange-growing town: clean, prosperous and small. Its main street was crowded with trucks and orange brokers doing deals. I found parking space, then walked along the hot sidewalk until I found a self-service store. I shoved my way through the crowd, busy getting in the weekend groceries: a surging mass of people, and to them, I was the invisible man.

I found my way to the snack bar, ate a steak sandwich and drank a beer, then took the escalator to the toy department. There, I asked the girl for a toy revolver, mentioning a non-existent nephew. She showed me an assortment of revolvers, automatics and even a Colonel Cody Colt. I chose a Beretta, made famous by 007. It was an exact replica and looked menacing when I held it in my hand. I then went down to a lower floor and bought a sling bag with TWA stamped on its sides. From there I went to the men’s shop and after a search, I bought a dark red jacket with black patch pockets: a jacket that would be remembered. From there, I went into the gimmick department and bought a Beade wig and a pair of silvered sunglasses through which you could see, but rendered your face anonymous.

All these items I put in the sling bag.

I got back to Luceville around 16.15.

As I was driving to the hotel I passed the city hospital and I remembered I hadn’t seen Jenny and she would be wondering about me. A car pulled out from a parking bay, so I drove into the space, acting on impulse. I sat for some minutes trying to make up my mind if I wanted to see Jenny again. I was inclined not to see her, but the other part of my mind pulled. I got out of the car and walked over to the bookstall and bought a copy of Forsyth’s Day of the Jackal and Graham Greene’s great classic, The Power and the Glory.

‘I was wondering about you,’ Jenny said after thanking me for the books. ‘I wish you would go home.’

‘Don’t fuss.’ I smiled at her, thinking how different she was to Rhea. ‘I’m not yet ready for the lush and plush life of Paradise City.’

‘But what are you doing?’

I shrugged.

‘I get around. This town fascinates me.’

‘You have hurt your hand.’

My knuckles were still raw from hitting Rhea’s brother.

‘I had trouble with my car... the spanner slipped. How are you, Jenny?’

‘Mending. The ankle takes time.’

I told her about Hatchetface and the teenager.

‘She doesn’t want me.’

‘Miss Mathis is very professional.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Do you mind?’

‘I can’t say I do.’ A pause, then I asked her what I wanted to know. ‘Tell me something, Jenny. Rhea Morgan’s brother... he seemed a tough character. What does he do for a living or don’t you know?’

‘Fel?’

‘Is that his name... Fel Morgan?’

‘Feldon... his grandfather was Feldon Morgan. He was named after him. His grandfather was shot while robbing a bank.’

‘He was? Do you know how Fel makes a living?’

‘Something to do with junk cars... selling scrap... that sort of thing. Why are you interested?’

‘That bungalow... what a place! I didn’t think anyone making any kind of a living could live there.’

‘Oh yes. Some people just don’t care where or how they live.’ She made a grimace. ‘I worry about Rhea. She could so easily get into trouble again. Her brother’s no help. She has this obsession about getting rich. She just won’t accept the fact that if you want money you must work for it... she says she won’t wait that long. I’ve talked to her so often, but I can’t get through. I’m beginning to think she’s a hopeless case. I hate saying this about anyone, but Rhea could be a hopeless case. I feel she will be in trouble again soon and then she will go back to prison for years.’

‘Well, it’s her funeral,’ I said. ‘But it does tell me what a tough job you have.’

She lifted her hand and dropped it on the sheet.

‘I’m not complaining. It’s my job.’ A pause, then she went on, ‘People have to live their own lives. Every so often, I feel I do influence them and that is rewarding.’ She smiled at me. ‘Can’t I influence you, Larry, just a little? Won’t you go home and forget this town... just to please me?’

Thoughts flashed through my mind. Jenny was a Do-gooder: a woman walking up an escalator going the other way. I had other things on my mind. This was the opportunity to con her. She would be laid up for another two weeks and couldn’t check on me.

I made out I was hesitating, then I nodded as if I had made up my mind.

‘All right, Jenny, you have influenced me,’ I said. ‘I’ll go. You’re right: I am wasting my time here. I hate leaving you. You’ve been a good friend to me, but you’re right. I’ll go first thing tomorrow.’

Maybe I overdid it. Maybe she was smarter than I gave her credit for. She looked sadly at me.

‘I’ve learned people do have to live their own lives. Very few people will take advice. I try, but they don’t listen, so there isn’t much I can do about it, is there?’

I suddenly wanted to tell her what was happening to me. I knew I would never tell Dr. Melish, but there was something about her as she lay in the bed, looking searchingly at me that gave me the urge to confide in her.

Then Rhea came into my mind and the moment to confess had gone.

I touched her fingers, forced a smile, said a few banal things about keeping in touch and then walked out of the hospital, my mind switched to what I had to do this night.

Back in my hotel bedroom, I unpacked the items I had bought. I put on the jacket, then the wig, then the silver glasses. With the Beretta toy gun in my hand, I went into the shower room where there was a full-length mirror.

I looked at myself.

I certainly looked a freak, and I was sure no one could possibly recognise me. I drew my lips off my teeth in a snarl and I looked scarey. I lifted the gun and pointed it at my reflection and I snarled: ‘This is a goddamn holdup!’

If this threatening image in the mirror had walked into my office in Paradise City I would have handed over all the diamonds in the safe without hesitation.

Satisfied, I took off the wig, the glasses and the jacket and packed them carefully, with the gun, in the sling bag. I felt sure that by taking the trouble of buying them in Jason’s Halt there would be no chance of the police, after the raid, tracing them to me.

I was pleased with myself.

Now I had to wait until midnight and then I would be in the big league.

I lay on the bed and rehearsed the operation. I went through the dialogue I would use. Having satisfied myself I was word perfect, I dropped off to sleep. I was pleased I could sleep. This proved to me that there was nothing wrong with my nerves.

Around 21.00, I woke and went across the street to a snack bar and ate greasy meatballs and spaghetti. I took my time. Leaving the snack bar, I returned to the hotel, collected the sling bag and then walked to my car which I had parked at the end of the street.

I drove out of town and along the freeway. Five miles out of Luceville was a Caltex service station. I had never stopped there, but I had often passed it. It was always doing a brisk trade, and I knew it remained open all night.

As I drove by it, I slowed the Buick. There was a fat, powerfully built man in white uniform shooting gas into a car. I couldn’t see anyone else around. I felt satisfied this man was on night shift and would be on his own.

I U-turned when I could and drove back to Luceville. I spent the next two hours in an all-night movie house, watching an old Western. It was good enough to hold my attention.

When the lights came up, I walked with the rest of the crowd into the hot cement-dusty street and got in my car.

For some moments, I sat still, before starting the motor.

Here I go, I thought and was a little dismayed that my heart was thumping and my hands wet with sweat.

There was a lay-by some three hundred yards from the service station. I pulled into it, killed the motor and the lights. I looked ahead at the bright flashing sign that spelt out: CALTEX. Getting out of the car and keeping in the shadows, I put on the jacket, the wig and the glasses. My hands were so unsteady when I took the toy gun out of the sling bag, I dropped it. I spent some feverish moments groping in the grass before I found it.

My heart was hammering. For a moment I hesitated whether to go back to the hotel or to go ahead.

Then Rhea with her red hair and her cynical, sexy green eyes came into my mind and my nerve stiffened.

I walked fast along the grass verge of the highway towards the lights of the service station.

Only an occasional car whizzed by me.

As I neared the service station I slowed my pace.

Keeping in the shadows, I moved slowly forward. I could now see the small, well-lighted office. The fat attendant was watching a late-night TV show, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Tension was making my heart beat so violently I had trouble with my breathing. I stood still for some minutes, watching him. The highway was deserted. If I was going to do it, I had to do it now.

I heard myself muttering: ‘Are you crazy? You could land in jail!’ But I moved forward, gripping the butt of the toy gun so hard my fingers began to ache.

The attendant looked up as I pushed open the glass door. At the sight of me, he stiffened, then seeing the gun, he froze.

‘This is a hold up,’ I said, but there was no snarl in my voice. I was as scared as he was.

We stared at each other. He was a man around fifty years of age: a fat, fatherly type, his hair shot with grey and he had steady brown eyes and the firm mouth of a provider.

He recovered from his fright. His eyes examined the gun in my hand, then he relaxed.

‘No money here, son,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re out of luck.’

‘Give me the money or this heater goes off.’ The quaver in my voice sickened me. I knew I was as menacing as a mouse.

‘We have a system here, son,’ he said, as if talking to a child. ‘A night safe. Every buck I get gets fed into that steel box over there and only the boss can open it.’

I stared at him, sweat running down my face.

‘I gave my son one of those guns for Christmas,’ he went on. ‘He’s crazy about James Bond.’ His eyes shifted to the lighted TV screen. ‘Suppose you shove off? Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I go for Bob Hope.’ He gave a relaxed laugh as Hope said: Even my flab is flabby.

Defeated, I went away into the darkness, to my car and back to the hotel.