James Chase - Not My Thing

Not My Thing

James Hadley Chase

1

A tall, handsome man, in his late thirties, with dark curly hair, paused in the doorway leading to the lite gambling room of the Paradise Citys casino. Immaculately dressed in an off-white suit, a dark-blue shirt and a blood-red tie, he surveyed the scene.

The time was 22.30. This room, containing only three roulette tables, was reserved for the high rollers. The lowest stake came at $500, and the tourists and the little gamblers kept well away. The ornate room was crowded for Paradise City, Florida, was the billionaires playground.

Known in the underworld as Julian Lucky Lucan, the tall man nodded his approval. Somewhere in this crowded room there would be a woman who would satisfy his greed for money.

Lucans speciality was middle-aged women or elderly widows who had more money than sense. He led a life of luxury. If he had to bed with some fat old woman, he bedded her, giving her a late-life thrill, but he always saw the price was right, and it always came high.

He had been in Paradise City for the past three days. No matter how much money he received for his services, he was continually short. This didnt worry him. Lucan lived well and played the horses. Money was made to be spent. So far, he had been successful in finding a generous old woman, but these past three days hadnt produced anyone rich enough to be worthy of his charm. Lucan was an optimist. It was a matter of patience and circulating, but he was aware that his capital was dwindling. Why had he put $5000 on a nag that had come in last?

His bright blue eyes scanned the women seated at the tables. Maybe that fat one with the blue rinse and smothered with diamonds might be interesting. Or there was that skinny old woman who must have had at least five face-lifts, wearing interesting rubies and emeralds. Both these women looked bored and lonely as they pushed $1000 plaques onto the table. The time to pounce was when they won, and then they would be in a receptive mood. He moved further into the room, took out a gold cigarette-case, given him by a French countess, selected a cigarette and lit it with a gold, diamond-encrusted lighter, given him by an aging Roumanian millionairess.

Mr Lucan, I think?

Lucan stiffened. A mans voice: curt and hard. He turned swiftly to find himself confronted by a powerfully built man of his own height, around fifty years of age, with black, close-cut hair, streaked with grey, blunt features and cold grey eyes.

Because of his profession, Lucan had made a study of men and women, and he immediately recognized that this man came into the category of Big People. Apart from the cold, ruthless face, the mans dark suit must have cost heavy money. To his irritation, Lucan had to admit that this mans clothes, his finely woven white shirt and sombre hand-painted tie made him feel slightly shabby.

He put on his arrogant expression, trying to match this mans penetrating stare, but was forced to shift his gaze.

Im Lucan, he said. I dont think weve met.

Mr Lucan, I may have a lucrative proposition for your consideration, the man said. His voice low and harsh. Will you have a drink with me?

A lucrative proposition.

Lucan became alert. He could smell money oozing out of this man, but he remained cautious.

Thats interesting. He switched on his charming smile that had seduced so many elderly women, but it seemed to bounce off this man. And you? Who are you?

Shall we go to the bar, Mr Lucan? We can talk quietly, and, turning, the man led the way from the roulette room, down a short passage to the almost deserted bar room.

Lucan followed him like a well trained dog.

A lucrative proposition.

Well, at least, he could listen. This man, he was sure, wasnt a time-waster.

The man selected a table in a dimly lit corner, away from the few drinkers who were consoling themselves for their losses. As Lucan sat down, the barman arrived.

You drink what?

A Scotch, thank you.

Two Scotches, Charles. Doubles.

The man stared across the room, saying nothing. Lucan moved uneasily. He crushed out his cigarette.

You didnt tell me your name.

The man ignored him as he continued to stare into space. Glancing at him, Lucan felt his unease increase. Jesus! he thought, hes a real toughie. He had a face that could have been carved out of granite. Lucan shifted in his chair, and was relieved when the barman came with the drinks.

As soon as the barman had gone, the man turned and stared at Lucan. His steel-grey eyes probing and unpleasantly searching.

I know all about you, Lucan, the man said in his low hard voice. You are a successful vulture who preys on stupid, rich old women. You have no scruples. You will do anything if the money is big enough.

Lucan stiffened, flushing.

I dont know who the hell you are, he blustered, but Im not accepting insults from anyone!

Dont give me that crap! the man snapped. I need a man like you, and the pay-off is big. Im talking of two hundred thousand dollars.

Lucan sucked in his breath. For two hundred thousand dollars he was prepared to accept any insult. He relaxed back in his chair.

That sounds interesting, he said.

The man regarded him, his steel-grey eyes showing contempt.

I want to hire you to get rid of my wife.

Lucan became completely relaxed. In the past, he had fixed more than a dozen divorces, and the pay-off had been peanuts in comparison to this mans proposal.

No problem, he said. You want a divorce Ill fix it.

Pay attention! The snap in the mans voice made Lucan stiffen again. I didnt say anything about a divorce. I said I wanted to hire you to get rid of my wife.

Lucan stared at the hard, ruthless face and felt a qualm.

I dont think I understand, he said slowly.

I want you to arrange that my wife has a lethal accident for which I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars in cash, the man said.

A lethal accident!

Was this man a nut? Lucan wondered. He was telling him he wanted his wife murdered!

His voice unsteady, he said, I dont think Im with you. I dont understand what you are saying.

The man glared at him.

I cant put it plainer. I want you to arrange that my wife has a lethal accident for which I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars.

Lucan gulped.

You you are proposing that I murder your wife for two hundred thousand dollars?

This was incredible!

It seems at last, Lucan, you understand what I am proposing, the man said.

Lucans first reaction was to jump to his feet and leave the bar, but the inbred greed in him restrained him.

Two hundred thousand dollars!

Dont rush this, he told himself. Hear what this man has to say. Theres always time to duck out.

Well, I wasnt expecting this, he said, taking out his handkerchief and touching his sweating temple. Then he drank all the Scotch in his glass. Are you serious?

Dont fart about! the man snapped, moving impatiently. This is a proposition. Is it yes or no?

Lucans quick, cunning mind moved into action. This would be murder and he had no intention of having anything to do with that kind of thing. Stupid, rich old women, yes, but murder, no! All the same the pay-off couldnt be dismissed. Such a sum would clear his gambling debts and allow him to remain in this city of luxury for the season and forget the dreary old women.

Yes or no? the man repeated.

Lucan hesitated, then said cautiously, I think I might be able to help you.

For the first time since they had met, the man gave a wry, grim smile.

Its remarkable, he said, half aloud, what money can buy.

Lucan scarcely heard him. His mind now was in top gear. Among his numerous underworld associates, he knew several who wouldnt hesitate to waste anyone so long as the price was right. He would act as go-between, take his share of the loot and then forget the whole business.