No Business of Mine

Chapter Twenty-Three

The clock in Mrs. Crockett’s hall was striking the half-hour after seven as I crept up the stairs to Madge Kennitt’s flat. No one saw me enter the house. It was a relief to know that Julius Cole wouldn’t appear on the landing to waggle his head at me.

I listened outside Madge’s door, heard nothing, tapped gently.

“It’s Steve,” I said.

There was a pause, then the door opened. Netta, in a red and white silk dress, let me in.

I entered the room, closed the door.

“Hello,” I said.

“You’re early, Steve,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “Is it all right?” Her eyes were deep set in dark sockets. She seemed anxious, nervy.

I nodded. “I think so,” I said. “I’ve talked to Bix. He wants to see you.”

“Wants to see me?” she repeated, frowning. “But, why?”

“You don’t know Bix. He’s a crazy guy,” I returned. “He says he won’t risk his job to fly some dumb-belle to the States. I told him you were the ace of pin-ups, but he thinks the women I go around with wear over-shoes and red flannel. The only way to convince him is for you to meet him. If you kid him along he’ll take us. It’s just his way of making things difficult. I’ve fixed for us to have a drink with him right away.”

“But there isn’t time,” she said, worried. “And it’s dangerous; the police may see us. I don’t like this, Steve. Why didn’t you bring him here?”

“I couldn’t,” I said. “He had to do things. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car outside. We’ll talk over things with him; then he’ll go on back to the airport, we’ll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The plane doesn’t leave until ten-thirty. There’s plenty of time.”

I could see she didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“All right, Steve,” she said. “You know best. I’ll put on a hat and I’m ready.”

I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge Kennitt, felt spooked.

Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.

“He’ll fall for you all right,” I said, regarding her. “You look swell.” I slipped my arm through hers. “Come on. On your toes. We don’t want Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out.”

We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for the evening.

As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, “What’s been happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?”

I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.

“Yeah,” I said. “he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won’t double-cross us before we get out of the country.” I gave her a quick look, saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.

“When did you give it to him?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

“Three-thirty this afternoon,” I told her. “Five hundred pounds. It’s a lot of money, Netta.”

She didn’t say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on her face.

As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off Knightsbridge, she said, “And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything from him?”

“No,” I said. “There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan was out of town. I couldn’t get the rings without asking him first. Bradley’s ultimatum expired at four o’clock. For all I know the cops are looking for me right now. If they are, they’re too late. I pulled out of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I’m ready to go.”

We got out of the Buick.

Netta looked up and down the street. “You’re sure it’s safe, Steve?” she asked, hanging back. “It seems madness to me to come here where we can be seen.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “It’s safe enough. This pub’s as dead as a dodo. They’d never think of looking for us here.” I hurried her across the pavement into the pub.

Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a Scotch and soda in his hand.

There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far corner, and didn’t even look up as we entered.

Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us. He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“Hel-lo!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “You certainly picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl! I’ll say!”

“Netta, this is Harry Bix,” I said, pushing her forward. “Shake hands with Army Air Corps No. 1 pilot. And if he doesn’t always act as if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He’s just out of the jungle.”

Netta slipped her hand into Bix’s large paw, gave him a dazzling smile which rocked him back on his heels.

“Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?” he asked earnestly. “Didn’t you know he has two wives, and eighteen children, and he’s clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?”

Netta laughed, nodded. “That’s why I like him,” she said. “I’m that sort of a girl.”

“For God’s sake!” he said, startled. “Do you really like him or is it his dough you’re after?”

“A little of each,” she said, after pretending to consider his question.

“Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How’s about starting a famine in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?”

“Whisky’s all right with me,” she said.

Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He turned back to Netta.

“Where’ve you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew all the juicy dames in London.”

“And I thought I’d met all the lovely Americans until now,” she replied.

Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.

“Brother, you’re through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a leg.”

“She’s just kidding,” I said. “That girl’s got an ice-cream cone where her heart’s supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn’t you Netta?”

“But I hadn’t met Harry then,” Netta protested. “I take it all back.”

Bix leaned close. “We’re the salt of the earth, sugar,” he said. “They say so in the newspapers, and newspapers don’t kid their readers.”

“Not much,” I said.

When the barmaid had served the whiskies and had gone to the far end of the counter, Bix said, “So you want to make a trip with me, do you?”

Netta regarded him, suddenly serious. She nodded. “Will you trust me to get you there safely?” he asked.

“I’d trust you in an aircraft, but nowhere else,” she returned.

Bix roared with laughter. “Say, this baby is quite a kidder, Steve. That’s a pretty hot line to hand to a guy like me. Lady, I was kidding just now. Dames don’t mean a thing to me. You ask Steve; he’ll tell you.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Dames don’t mean a thing to Min, but put him alone with one dame and see what happens.”

“Why, you rat...” Bix began, indignant.

“And suppose he isn’t to be trusted?” Netta asked. “I wouldn’t scream for help.”

“You wouldn’t?” Bix asked, his eyes popping. “Is that on the level?” He looked at me. “Beat it, three’s-a-crowd, you’re in the way.”

“Suppose we cut out this cross-talk and get down to business?” I urged. “Now you’ve seen her, will you play?”

Bix sipped his whisky, eyed Netta, eyed me.

“Yeah, I guess I can’t refuse a honey like her,” he said. “But it’s a hell of a risk.”

“Skip it,” I said. “You know it’s dead easy. Don’t listen to him, Netta, he’s trying to be important.”

“Seriously, is it risky?” Netta asked; her eyes searching Bix’s face.

For a moment Bix wrestled with the temptation to exaggerate, decided against it. “Well, no,” he admitted, scowling at me. “Once you sell the pilot the idea and you’ve already done that, it’s easy enough. We’ll meet at the gates of the airport, go in together, have a drink at the mess. I’ll then offer to show you over my kite and we’ll go down to the dispersal point. No one will be around if we get down there before twenty-two-fifteen hours. You two will get into the kite, and I’ll show you where to hide. We take off at twenty-two-thirty hours. When we get to the other side, there’ll be a car waiting for me. All you have to do is to get in the back. I’ll dump my kit and some rugs on top of you and off we go. Once we’re clear of the airport, you can come up for air, and I’ll drop you off wherever you want to be dropped off.”

Netta thought for a moment. “It’s really as simple as that?”

“That’s right. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. But I warn you, I claim a kiss from my passengers.”

“You won’t kiss me,” I said coldly. “I’d rather swim the Atlantic if those are your terms.”

“So would I,” Bix said hurriedly. “I wasn’t talking to you, lug.”

Netta smiled at him. “There won’t be any difficulty about that,” she said. “I think the terms are most reasonable.”

We kidded back and forth for twenty minutes or so, sank a number of whiskies, and then, at eight-ten, Bix said he guessed he’d better be getting along.

“See you two outside the airport at twenty-one-forty-five,” he said. “And don’t get steamed up. It’s in the bag.” He took Netta’s hand. “See you soon,” he went on. “Don’t forget if you ever grow tired of that lug, I’m next on the list. Redheads go straight to my heart.”

“I’ll remember,” she said, gave him a long stare which seemed to weaken him, then she smiled. “If I see much more of you,” she continued, “I think I’ll be changing my mind about my lug, although he is a nice lug if you overlook his table manners.”

“He can’t help that,” Bix said, grinning. “He hasn’t been house-broken like me.”

He took himself off as if he was walking on air.

The moment the door swung behind him, Netta lost her gaiety, looked anxiously at me.

“Are you sure it’s all right?” she asked. “He’s such a boy. Are you sure you can trust him to get us across safely?”

“Quit fussing,” I said. “That guy’s done over a hundred operational trips. He’s bombed Germany from hell to breakfast and back again. Maybe he does look like a boy, but don’t let that fool you. When he says he’ll do something, he does it. He’s taken a liking to you, and that means we’re as good as there.”

She heaved a little sigh, took my arm.

“All right, darling,” she said. “I won’t fuss, but I’m nervous. What do we do now?”

“We go back to the flat, pick up your things and get over to the airport. Come on, Netta, the journey’s begun.”

Ten minutes later we were back in Madge Kennitt’s flat.

“You’re travelling light, I hope?” I asked, as I tossed my hat on the chaise-longue.

She nodded. “Just a grip. I hate leaving all my lovely dresses, but I’ll be able to buy what I want on the other side.” She came over to me, put her arms around my neck. “You’ve been wonderful to me, Steve. I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you.”

For a moment I felt like a heel, then I remembered the way Littlejohns had looked, curled up on the floor, and that stiffened me.

“Forget it,” I said. “You ready now?”

She said what I hoped she would say: what I knew the success or failure of my plan depended on.

“Give me five minutes, Steve,” she said. “I want to change. This get-up isn’t warm enough for an air trip.”

“Go ahead. Get into your woollies,” I said. “I’m damned if I don’t come in and help you.”

She laughed uneasily, went to the bedroom door.

“You keep out, Mr. Harmas,” she said with mock severity. “It’s a long time since you saw me undress, and I’d be shy.”

“You’re right,” I said, suddenly serious. “It is a long time: too long, Netta.”

But she wasn’t listening. She went into the bedroom, shut the door. I listened, heard the key turn.

I sat on the chaise-longue, lit a cigarette. The palms of my hands were damp, the muscles in my thighs twitched. I was in a regular fever of excitement.

Five minutes crawled by, then another five. I could hear Netta moving about in the next room. Cigarette ash covered the carpet at my feet.

“Hey!” I called, my nerves getting the better of me. “Time’s getting on, Netta.”

“I’m coming,” she said; a moment later I heard the lock snap back and she came out.

She was wearing a light wool sweater, coal-black slacks and a fur coat over her arm. In her right hand she carried a fair-sized suitcase.

“Sorry to be so long,” she said, smiling, although her face was pale, her eyes anxious. “It’s only five minutes after nine. Do I look all right?”

I went over to her. “You look terrific,” I said, putting my arm around her waist.

She pushed me away almost roughly, shook her head, tried to keep the smile on her lips. It looked lopsided to me.

“Not now, Steve,” she said. “Let’s wait until we’re safe.”

“That’s all right, kid,” I said.

She’d pushed me off too late. I’d already felt what she had on under the sweater, around her waist.

“Come on, let’s go.”

I picked up my hat, glanced around the room to make sure we’d left nothing, crossed to the door.

Netta followed. I carried her bag. She carried the fur coat on her arm.

I opened the door.

Facing me, his eyes frosty, his mouth grim, stood Corridan.