You've Got It Coming

II

Below him, Harry could see the lights of Oklahoma City airport as the aircraft came around in a wide circle before making its run in to land.

Harry was feeling a little high. While he had waited at the Los Angeles airport he had had four double whiskies, and he still felt their effect. As he sat waiting for the aircraft to land, he thought back on what had happened since Takamori had defeated him.

He had realized his only chance was to return the diamonds: his gamble had failed. He had returned to his hotel, taken the diamonds from the safe deposit, packed them and sent them to Takamori. It depended now on if he could trust Takamori to keep his side of the bargain. He thought he could. As Takamori had said, his only interest was to get the diamonds back. He didn't care what happened to Harry.

But Harry had thought it safer to get out of Los Angeles. He had decided that Oklahoma City was far enough away to be safe anyway until he knew what Takamori was going to do. From Oklahoma City he was in a position to go north or south, according to the situation as he would find it the next day.

During the flight from Los Angeles, he had considered his position. Instead of having a million and a half dollars, he now had only fifty thousand. Fifty thousand dollars was more money than he had ever owned in his life, but in comparison with what he had hoped to have, it was now to him a mere nothing.

There was now no possibility of going to Europe. Fifty thousand dollars represented his working capital, and he didn't intend to waste a cent of it. He could still buy himself a partnership in some air-taxi business, but as he had made up his mind to finance his own company, he was reluctant to give up the idea.

It would be tight going if he bought an aircraft with the amount of capital he had now. It could be done, but it would mean a long, dreary slog before he showed any profit, and he was reluctant to face up to that kind of hard work.

He was still turning the problem over in his mind as the aircraft touched down and taxied towards the battery of lights that lit up the end of the runway. He could see a group of people waiting and he looked for Glorie, but couldn't see her.

As the engines died and the airhostess pushed open the door, Harry got to his feet and stepped out into the gangway. The plane was full, and it took him some minutes before he could walk down the gangway and out into the warm, night air. Then he saw Glorie and he waved. She ran over to him.

''Hello, there,” he said. “Let's go somewhere where we can talk,” Glorie said and, taking his arm, she manoeuvred him into the group of people who were moving towards the reception hall.

“Let them go ahead,” he said, pulling back. “We're in no hurry.”

“No, Harry, keep with them,” Glorie said, and the note in her voice made him look sharply at her. Her white, strained face and the look of fear in her eyes jolted him. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“It's Borg,” Glorie said, holding tightly on to his arm and keeping him moving so that he remained in the group that surged towards the reception hall. “He knows you're here. He's hiding somewhere. He's after us, Harry!”

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He lengthened his stride so that he could keep pace with the people around him, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You mean he is actually here—where?”

“I don't know. I've looked for him, but I can't see him. He may be out there in the dark. He may be anywhere.”

“He knows you: he doesn't know me,” Harry said, a snarl in his voice. “Why the hell did you meet me? You've given me away!”

“I haven't.” Glorie's voice shook. “He's got a photograph of us—you as well as me.”

“A photograph of me? You mean of Harry Green, don't you?”

“No. I don't know how he got it, but he's got a photograph of you.”

By now they had reached the reception hall and they walked into the buffet. The curtains were drawn across the windows and the big room was full of people waiting for their flights or waiting for their cars to take them away from the airport. The room gave Harry a feeling of safety.

“Sit where we can watch the door,” he said.

They made their way across the room to an empty table and sat down. Harry slid his hand inside his coat and pulled out his gun. He held it in his lap. It was hidden by the table, but he could swing it into instant action by kicking the table away.

A waiter came over and Harry ordered two double whiskies.

He and Glorie sat side by side, not speaking until the waiter had served them. Then, when he had gone away, Harry said, “Let's get this straight. Do you mean he's got a photograph of me and not Harry Green?”

“Yes, the hotel detective said he recognized you from the photograph Borg showed him.”

Harry began to sweat.

“Then he knows who I am? How the hell did he find out?” He turned to glare at Glorie. “Your smart idea's a damn washout, isn't it? What hotel detective? Tell me what's been happening.”

Briefly Glorie told him about Dodge.

“I warned you, darling,” she said. “I knew Ben would come after us. That awful man is dangerous. I've heard tales about him.”

Harry knew Borg was dangerous without being told. He drank half his whisky, then lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving the door across the room.

“You should have kept clear of me,” he said. “The chances were he wouldn't have recognized me in the dark. But he couldn't have failed to spot you in that costume you're wearing. What the hell were you thinking of to wear a black-and-white thing like that? A blind man could spot you.”

“I hadn't any time to change,” Glorie said, “I only just caught the plane. I didn't know what to do. I had to warn you.”

“We can't stay here all night,” Harry said. “Did you fix a hotel?”

“No, darling. I've only been here half an hour, and I've been trying to find Borg.”

“You seem to have made a complete mess of this,” Harry said angrily. “So now we've nowhere to go?”

Glorie held on to herself with an Effort. She knew he was frightened and he was taking it out on her only because he was too scared to think what to do. She realized it would depend on her to get them out of this mess if they were going to get out of it.

“What happened to you, Harry? You didn't get the money?”

“No. That yellow snake guessed I'd pulled the robbery. I had to give him the diamonds for nothing.”

Glorie went white.

“Is he telling the police?”

“He says not. I don't think he will. But to hell with him! We've got to do something about Borg.”

“Look, Harry, will you stay here? He wouldn't dare do anything here. I'll get a car. I'll find a hotel. Stay here and wait for me.”

Harry scowled, but she could see the relief in his eyes.

“Well, I don't know. I suppose it's all right. He's not likely to do anything to you. Okay, I'll hang on here. See if you can get a car—but hurry!”

She got up and willed herself to walk across the room and into the reception hall.

He's not likely to do anything to you. Glorie wished she could believe that. If Ben had sent Borg after them, he would have told him to go for her as well as Harry. She knew Ben. He wouldn't let her get away with double crossing him.

She went to the exit and paused in the doorway looking out into the shadowy darkness. A line of taxis was drawn up across the way, but she wanted a private hire car. As she stood, looking to right and left, she heard a girl's voice saying, “For heaven's sake! Do you mean you haven't a pilot who can help me?”

Glorie looked over her shoulder.

A girl stood near her: she was slight and very blonde; her silky, straw-coloured hair lay on her shoulders in thick, heavy waves. She was wearing blue jeans and a well-worn suede windbreaker. Glorie thought she was around twenty-two or three, and, looking at her, she admired her hair and the straight way she held herself. She was talking to one of the airport officials.

“I'm sorry, Miss Graynor, but we can't help you,” he was saying. “All our pilots are working.”

“But look, my man is ill. He can't fly. I've got to get home tonight. You must do something.”

Glorie paused to listen.

The official shook his head, smiling apologetically.

“I really am sorry, but we haven't anyone. I wish I could help you. I can fix something for you first thing tomorrow morning if that'd be any use.”

“I can't wait until the morning. You don't know anyone who could fly me down—anyone.”

“I'm afraid not. Why don't you take the passenger service, Miss Graynor? Your man could bring the plane down When he’s fit.”

The girl hesitated, then shrugged.

“Oh, well, yes, I guess I'd better do that.”

She turned away and almost cannoned into Glorie.

“Excuse me,” she said and sidestepped Glorie. .

“I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying,” Glorie said. “I might be able to help you.”

The girl stopped and looked at her. She was beautiful, Glorie thought enviously; young, clear-skinned, alive, with big, grey eyes.

“Help me? I don't think you can. I want a pilot.”

“My—my husband's a pilot,” Glorie said. “He's in the buffet now. Perhaps . . .”

The girl's eyes lit up.

“That'd be too good to be true,” she said. “But I’m going to Miami. He wouldn't want to go there, would he?”

“We don't mind where we go. We—we're on vacation. Were just in from Los Angeles, and we were only saying just now we didn't know where we should stop off next,” Glorie said, improvising hastily. “Will you come and meet him? I'm sure he would be willing to help you.”

“I think it's marvellous of you,” the girl said. “I suppose he has a licence?”

“Oh yes. He was a crew captain for the C.A.T.C. until recently.”

“That's wonderful. I'm Joan Graynor. I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. . . ?”

“Griffin. I'm Glorie Griffin. My husband's Harry Griffin.”

“Well, let's go and talk to him.”

Together they crossed the reception hall and entered the buffet.

Harry stared at them as they came towards him. He hurriedly slid the gun into his trench-coat pocket and got up as Glorie moved ahead of Joan Graynor.

“Harry, this is Miss Graynor,” Glorie said. “She wants a pilot to fly her to Miami. I told her how we were on vacation and had nowhere in particular to go, and I said you might fly her down.”

Harry looked beyond Glorie at the blonde girl who was staring at him, a half-smile on her lovely mouth. Their eyes met, and Harry felt as if he had received an electric shock. There was that thing in her that seemed to reach out and hit him. Instinctively he knew he had made as much impact on her as she had on him.

What a beauty! he thought. What a pippin of a girl!

He smiled, and, watching him, Glorie felt her heart contract.

She hadn't seen that smile for a long time. It was the same kind of smile he had given her when they had first met in the nightclub lobby seven months ago: the smile of the hunter. She looked quickly at Joan to see how she was reacting, but she learned nothing there. Joan's face was interested and friendly, but that was all.

“Fly you down?” Harry said. “Why sure, I'd be glad to. But where's the kite? Who owns it?”

“Oh, I do,” Joan said. “It's on the runway now. My pilot is ill. I had some business here and I flew up yesterday. Now he can't take me back and I've just got to be home some time tonight.”

“How about clearance and briefing instructions?”

“That's all fixed. I've got the Met. report. We can get off right away. They're waiting for me to clear now.”

Harry looked at Glorie, suddenly remembering that somewhere out in the darkness Borg was waiting. The sight of the girl had driven Borg out of his mind and that startled him.

“Just exactly where is the kite?” he asked.

“Over at the hangars. I have a car waiting. We can drive over. Will you really fly me?”

“Sure. We'll be glad of the trip.”

“I can't thank you enough.” Her smile was the most exciting thing Harry had ever seen. “May we meet at the south exit in the reception hall? I've just got to call my pilot and tell him what I'm doing.”

“Sure, we'll meet you there.”

She smiled again and walked away.

Glorie watched Harry stare after the blonde girl. Harry was watching the swing of Joan's hips, her square shoulders and her silky hair. He felt a tightness in his chest as he looked after her.

What a pippin of a girl! he thought again.

“Harry . . .”

He started, turned and looked at Glorie. He had completely forgotten her, and now for the first time he became sharply aware how white and drawn and unglamorous she looked and he frowned at her.

“That was a bit of luck,” he said, forcing himself to smile.

“But how do we get to the kite? Borg may be waiting right outside.”

“She said she has a car…”

“Yeah, and as I climb in, I’ll get shot in the back.”

Harry took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. All his old fears came surging back. “Look, Glorie, he won't touch you. Will you cover me? I’ll go first, behind her, and you keep close behind me. Will you do that?”

Even at that her love for him didn’t falter.

“Yes, of course, Harry.”

“It's not as if he'd do anything to you,” Harry said, feeling blood rise into his face at her quiet acquiescence. He knew he was acting like a heel and he wished she had the guts to round on him. “You're not scared, are you? He won't shoot if you’re in the way.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Well, okay, then let's go.”

He slid his hand inside his coat pocket and his fingers closed over the butt of his gun.

He walked first, Glorie followed him. They had to wait a few minutes in the reception hall before Joan appeared.

“All ready,” she said. “We can get off.”

“Go on ahead,” Harry said, opening the door. He looked out into the dark night. His eyes searched the shadows, his flesh creeping.

Near the entrance was a big Lincoln, a chauffeur at the wheel.

Joan ran across the black top and got in the back of the car.

Harry was right on her heels and Glorie followed him.

Not forty yards away in the dark shadows, Borg watched the Lincoln drive away to the distant hangers. He had seen Harry arrive, had watched him and Glorie go into the reception hall, but he had made no attempt on Harry's life. He could have picked him off easily enough, but he wasn't sure this was the man he was after. It was hard to believe this young, good-looking guy could have been the fat, heavy Harry Green. Borg had been certain he would have recognized some mannerism, the walk, the way he held himself or something that would have given him the clue that this man was Harry Green. But he hadn’t spotted the clue and reluctantly he had held his fire.

He watched the three leave the car at the far end of one of the runways and climb aboard the aircraft that stood outside a hangar. He listened to the engine roar into life and saw the aircraft taxi out on to the runway.

One of the airport staff passed by and Borg reached out a fat hand and stopped him.

“Who was the blonde who has just taken off in that aircraft?” he asked.

The man looked in the direction Borg was pointing.

“I guess that'd be Miss Graynor.”

“Where's she going?”

“Home, I guess. She lives in Miami.”

Borg grunted and walked to the reception desk. Even if this guy wasn't Harry Green, he didn't intend to lose sight of Glorie.

Maybe there were three of them: Green, Glorie and this guy, Griffin. Maybe Green would show up later on.

He went into the ticket office. The clerk told him the next plane to Miami left in twenty minutes time.

Borg took out his well-filled wallet.

“Gimme a ticket,” he said.