James Chase - Figure It Out for Yourself

ONE hot June afternoon I was sitting in my office at peace with the world, and conscious that the world was, for a change, at peace with me, when Paula put her dark, lovely head around the door to shatter my pipe-dream.

You have the Wingrove job to do, she said.

There are times when I regret having thought up Universal Services. (No matter how tough the job: well do it.) As a money-maker it was sound enough, and as somebody elses brainwave it was brilliant, but when I get stuck with something like the Wingrove assignment, then I begin to wonder if I shouldnt have my head examined for putting myself out on such a limb.

The Wingrove assignment was a job I wouldnt have touched with an eighty-foot pole if I had been consulted, but it had sneaked into the office, together with a five-hundred-dollar retainer, when I was in bed with a hangover, and Paula had accepted the money and sent off a receipt.

The daughter of Martin Wingrove, one of Orchid Citys most affluent citizens, had reverted to type, and he wanted me to persuade her to return home.

I hadnt much of a proposition to offer her. Wingrove was fat and old and nasty. He kept one of Ralph Bannisters taxi-dancers in a pent-house in Felman Street: a big, brassy blonde whose mode of life would have horrified a monkey. He was grasping, domineering and selfish. His wife had run away with his chauffeur, who was half her age, but hungry for money, and his son was sweating out a drug cure in a private home. Not much of a home background to persuade a girl to return to, but then I hadnt seen her. For all I knew, she was tarred with the same brush. It would be a lot easier for me if she was, and it seemed likely. From Paulas notes on the case, the girl was living with Jeff Barratt, a notoriously vicious playboy who was about as rotten as they come.

I had been offered a free hand. The girl was under age, and Wingrove was within his rights to force her to return home. But Barratt wasnt likely to part with her easily, and she was certain to resist. On the face of it, it looked as if I would be in for quite a time. Obviously, it was a job for the police, but Wingrove had a horror of that kind of publicity. He knew if the police fetched her back, the story would hit the headlines, so he did what so many people have done in the past when they have a particularly dirty job on their hands, he unloaded it on me.

I had been side-stepping the job for the past three days, and had begun to hope that Paula had forgotten about it I should have known better.

Eh? I opened one eye and looked at her reproachfully.

The Wingrove job, she said firmly, coming into the office.

I sat up.

How many more times do I have to tell you I dont want that job? Send the money back, and say Im too busy.

Youre not suggesting we should refuse five hundred dollars, are you?

I dont want the job.

Whats wrong with it? she asked patiently. It wont take you more than an hour. Why, it would be tempting Providence not to do it.

If Providence can be tempted that easy, then Ill tempt it. Now, dont bother me. Get on to Wingrove and tell him were far too busy to handle the job.

I sometimes wonder why were in business at all, Paula said acidly. I hope you realize therere bills to be paid at the end of the month. I hope you havent forgotten this desk you insisted on having hasnt yet been paid for.

I knew shed go on in this vein all the afternoon if I didnt stop her.

Well, all right. Send Kerman. Why shouldnt he do a little work for a change? Why should all the dirty jobs have my name on them? Youd think I didnt own this joint the way Im treated. Give the job to Kerman.

Hes teaching Miss Ritter to drive.

What, again! Hes always teaching Miss Ritter to drive! Whats the matter with her? No one can take two solid months, six hours a day, to learn to drive a car. Theres no one alive who can be that dumb.

She thinks Kerman is cute, Paula said, suppressing a smile. I guess its a matter of taste, but she tells me to sit beside Kerman in a car is an experience all women should have once in a lifetime. Im not sure if I know what she means. I hope Im not being unkind, but I think shes neurotic. Anyway, what does it matter? She pays very well.

Thats all you think aboutmoney! So because Miss Ritter is neurotic and Kermans cute, I have to do all the dirty work, is that it?

You can always engage another assistant, Paula pointed out,

Now whos throwing our profits away? Well, all right, but understand from tomorrow Kerman gets down to a job of work. Ill learn Miss Ritter to drive- If she thinks Kerman is an experience, shes in for a surprise.

The address is 247 Jefferson Avenue Paula began.

I know! Dont tell me again. When I die, and you cut me open, youll find it engraved on my spleen. For the past five days, thats all Ive heard.

I grabbed up my hat and made for the door.

247 Jefferson Avenue was an apartment house at the Fairview end of the avenue: a big, square shaped concrete building with green shutters at the windows and a gaudy canopy over the main entrance.

The lobby of the apartment house was dim and soothing. There were no murals or statues or violent colours to give the homecoming drunks a fright. The carpet was laid over rubber blocks and gave under my feet as I crossed to the automatic elevator.

Hidden behind a screen of tropical palms in brass pots were the desk and switchboard. A girl with a telephone harness hitched to her chest was reading the funnies. She was cither too bored to bother or didnt hear me come in, for she didnt look up, and thats unusual in a joint like this. As a rule they head you off from the elevator until they have called whoever youre visiting to make sure youre wanted.

But as I slid back the elevator door, a man in a shabby dark suit and a bowler hat set straight and square on his head appeared from behind a pillar and plodded over to me.

Going some place or just taking the ride for the hell of it? he growled.

His face was round and fat, and covered with a web of fine veins. His eyes were deep-set and cold. His moustache hid a mouth that was probably thin and unpleasant. He looked what he was: a retired cop, supplementing his pension by bouncing the unwanteds.

Im making a call, I said, and gave him a smile; but he didnt seem impressed by my charms.

We like callers to check in at the desk. Who do you want to see? He sounded no tougher than any other cop in Orchid City, but tough enough to have hair on his chest.

I didnt want Barratt to know I was about to call on him. It would be quite bad enough without him being on his guard. I took out my bill-fold and hoisted up a five-dollar bill. The fat bouncers eyes fastened on it, and a tongue like the toe of on old boot searched amongst the jungle of his moustache. I pushed the bill at him.

Fat, nicotine-stained fingers closed over it: a reflex action born of years of experience.

Ill just take the ride, I said, and showed him more of my teeth: those capped in gold.

Dont take too long about it, he growled, and dont think this buys you anything. I just havent seen you."

He plodded back to his pillar again, then paused to scowl at the girl behind the desk, who had stopped reading the funnies and was watching him with a set smile on her foxy little face. As I closed the elevator door he was on his way over to her, probably to share the swag.

I rode up to the fourth floor and walked down a long passage studded with doors. Barratts apartment was No. 4BI5. I found it around the corner: an isolated door at the end of a dim culde-sac. The radio was blaring, and as I raised my hand to ring the bell, there came a sudden crash of breaking glass.