More Deadly Than The Male (27 page)

He worked for a few seconds like a madman. Voices sounded in the alley. They had left the garage. Any moment they might set fire to the place. The hole was big enough to get through now. He shouted to Cora, but she just sat on the divan, coughing and wringing her hands.

He jumped off the table and grabbed hold of her. She resisted weakly, but somehow he got her on the table.

"Through the hole," he gasped, "it's our only chance."

He caught hold of the hack of her slacks and hoisted her up. She clutched at the torn edges of the hole and he bundled her through. Then he hoisted himself up.

They crouched between the plaster and the tiles. He smashed at the tiles with the poker, and a moment later he saw, through the hole he had made, the cloudless sky and the bright moon floating serenely above them.

"Up," he panted, grabbing Cora round the waist, and he shoved her onto the roof which sloped gently to the flat roof of the next building. He followed, and together they slithered down the warm tiles, ran across the flat roof, dodged round a chimney-stack and paused at the foot of the next sloping roof. Then suddenly a huge yellow flame shot into the air, followed by a violent rush of air and a tremendous bang. The blast tossed them against the roof. A great wave of black smoke engulfed them: the sound of flames and crackling wood roared up in the night.

They came out of a little shabby pub into the darkness. Away to their right, the sky glowed red where the fire still raged, burning the row of garages, flaring up every now and then as the flames reached a reserve of petrol.

They stood for a moment in the shadows watching the glow in the sky, the whisky they had swallowed steadying their nerves, bolstering their courage.

"When they hear we weren't found," Cora said, pushing her hands deep into her trouser pockets, "they'll begin looking for us again."

George glanced up and down the dark, deserted street. It was just after ten o'clock. His legs ached and his body sagged. The exertion of breaking out of the flat, the wild scramble over the roofs with the flames pursuing them, the nightmare climb down a water pipe had exhausted him. Dust and grit scraped his skin every time he moved. His clothes were white with plaster, his face streaked with smuts. Cora was no better off. She had a triangular tear in the knee of her slacks, and her elbows had burst through the woollen sleeves of her sweater. The smell of smoke still clung to her hair

But she had recovered her nerve. She had swallowed three double whiskies in rapid succession, and George had seen the terror drain out of her like dirty water out of a sink.

"Plans," she said, and took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her pocket, stuck a cigarette between her lips and lit it. She drew hard on the cigarette, and then forced a stream of smoke down her nostrils. "We've got to go somewhere tonight." She cocked her head at him. "Got any money, George?"

He pulled out a handful of loose change. He had twelve shillings and a few coppers.

She grimaced. "That's no use," she said. "Any money at home?"

He shook his head. "I don't think it'd be safe to go to your place. We've got to duck out of sight, and keep out of sight."

He thought in dismay of his clothes, his books, his personal belongings. "I'll have to go hack," he said.

She shrugged. "Go if you want your throat cut, but you'd better wait until the morning."

"We've got to go somewhere," he said helplessly. "Look at the mess we're in. If the police spot us, they may ask questions."

She brooded into the darkness. The red glow of her cigarette bobbed up and down.

"Little Ernie," she said, at last. "He'll put us up."

Immediately George became uneasy. "He knows too much," he said. "I don't think we should go to him."

"You don't know anything about him," Cora returned shortly. "Ernie's all right. He'll help us." She began to move down the road. "He's had his eye on me for some time."

George fell into step beside her. "I don't like him," he growled. "He'd better keep his hands off you."

Cora didn't say anything.

They walked on in silence until they reached a bus stop. While they waited, George watched her out of the corners of his eyes. Her grey-white face was hard and expressionless, but she held her head high, and she moved with a jaunty swagger.

The bus took them along Piccadilly, and they got off at Old Bond Street. The passengers on the bus gaped at them in undisguised astonishment. George, embarrassed, kept his eyes fixed on his dusty, cut shoes. Cora looked round with arrogant indifference, staring with jeering contempt at anyone who looked at her.

They walked up Old Bond Street towards Burlington Street: an odd couple in one of the richest streets in the world. Four prostitutes waited at the corner of Old Bond Street and Burlington Street. Their harsh voices chattered excitedly in broken English. Their French accents reminded George somehow of the Parrot House at the Zoo.

Cora paused, gave them a quick glance, and said, "Eva about?"

The four women stopped talking and stared at her. One of them, tall, hideous, fox furs hanging from her gaunt frame, seemed to recognize her.

"What a mess you're in, darling," she said, with a harsh laugh. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Seen Eva?" Cora repeated, her hard little face tightening.

"She went hack with a client about ten minutes ago."

Cora nodded and walked on.

George hadn't stopped. He crossed the road and waited on the opposite corner.

"Come on," Cora said impatiently. "I hope Ernie's at home." They paused outside a tall building in Clifford Street.

"This is it," Cora said, pushing upon the front door. They began to walk upstairs. On every landing was a front door with a card set in a brass frame. George read the lettering on the cards as they passed. "Frances", "Suze
tte", "Marie", "Jose"
.

As they turned to mount the last flight of stairs, they heard a door open, and a moment later, an elderly, well-dressed man came down the stairs, whistling softly. When he saw them, alarm jumped into his eyes and he stopped whistling. He paused, uncertain, and gripped his stick.

"Well, make up your mind," Cora said contemptuously. "Either come down or go back. We want to come up."

He came scuttling down, his mouth working with fear. He shot past them like a startled rabbit.

"I bet we put the fear of God into him," Cora said, and laughed.

George sympathized with the man, he knew how startled he would have been to see two such filthy, wild-looking people if he were coming from such a place.

They reached the top landing. The card on the door read "Eva". Cora banged on the door with the little brass knocker.

There was a pause, then the door opened and a young woman in a smart grey tailored coat and skirt gaped at them. She had a mass of red hair, and her face was a mask of make-up.

"Ernie in?" Cora asked shortly.

"Well, my dear!" the young woman exclaimed. "Whatever have you been up to? What a surprise! Who's your boyfriend?"

 

They stepped into a well-furnished hall. The floorboards gleamed, the big brass tray on ebony trestles glittered, and the thick rug on which they stood tickled their ankles.

"This is George," Cora said, waving her hand carelessly in George's direction. "I want Ernie."

The young woman smiled at George. She had big, strong white teeth. "I'm Eva," she said. "I've heard so much about you. And what a mess you're in! But don't stand there, come in, come in."

She took them down a passage and threw open a door. "Look, my precious, what's blown in," she called.

Little Ernie glanced tip. He was lying in a big armchair, his small feet up on a padded stool. He looked completely out of place in the lavishly furnished room.

George had never seen such a room. It was too big, the ceiling was too high, and the white carpet that went from wall to wall looked like a fresh fall of snow. The ivory furniture had chromium on it, and the enormous scarlet drapes hung from the tops of the high windows and tumbled on to the white carpet. Four big white suede armchairs stood about the room. A vast cocktail cabinet, filled with dozens of bottles of every conceivable drink, stood by the window.

If he had been told that he had strayed into Buckingham Palace, he would have believed it. The room was exactly his idea of a Queen's boudoir.

Little Ernie scrambled to his feet. His eyes gleamed with sudden excitement and eagerness.

"For cryin' out loud!" he exclaimed. "Cora, my ducks, and me old pal, George. Well, well, fancy you coming 'ere." He turned to Eva. " 'Ere, get 'er cleaned up, and then we'll have a nice little chat. Come on, palsy," he went on to George, "you come along with me. You two've been in trouble, I can see that."

He took George out of the room and down the passage. He pushed open another door and led George into a small bedroom. It was elegant and well furnished.

"There you are," Little Ernie said. "The bathroom's just through there. Make yourself at 'ome. Sorry I can't give you a suit, but you and me ain't quite in the same class, are we? Feather weight and 'eavy weight, eh?" He smirked. "You lave a clean up, and I'll get a drink for you. Could you do with a bite to eat?"

George suddenly realized that he was famished. "It's good of you," he muttered, embarrassed, worried. "If it's not putting you out . . ."

Little Ernie winked. "Leave it to me," he said, and moved to the door. He could not resist saying, "Posh place, ain't it? D'yer like it?"

George nodded. "I've never seen anything to touch it," he said frankly envious.

Little Ernie jerked his thumb to the door. "She works like a nigger," he said, lowering his voice. "Never no trouble. Takes a pride in the place. A gold mine," and, nodding, he left the room.

Twenty minutes later George returned to the big sitting- room. He had made himself as tidy as he could and brushed his suit. He had had a bath, and his big face was shiny and red from the hot water and soap.

He found Little Ernie busying himself before the cocktail cabinet. A small table was laid with a snowy white cloth and glistening silver. Eva was perched on the arm of a chair, a cigarette in her full red lips, her eyes expectant and curious.

"What'll you have?" she asked George as he came into the room. "A dry martini?"

" 'Ave a whisky, chum," Little Ernie said. "You don't want cissy drinks like them French cocktails." He came across the room with a tumbler a third full of whisky and clinking ice. "Ain't Cora ready yet? You women . . . you'll be the death of me."

While he was talking, George noticed that Eva did not once take her eyes off his face. She looked at him with open admiration and expectancy. He suddenly realized that Little Ernie had probably told her he was a killer. It gave him an exciting feeling of power.

"Come and sit down," Eva said, patting the chair next to hers. "I've been dying to meet you ever since Ernie told me about you."

"That's right," Little Ernie said, grinning "Meet Frank Kelly's gunman. He's tough, but 'e don't like talking about it."

George sat down. The gun dug into him, and deliberately he pulled it from his hip pocket, and then glanced at the other two, tightening his mouth and scowling.

They both froze at the sight of the gun. Eva's eyes dilated and her lips parted. Little Ernie stiffened, his face expressionless.

"Do you mind if I put it on the mantelpiece?" George said, carelessly, getting to his feet. "It's a bit in my way."

"That's all right, chum," Little Ernie said, his voice a trifle husky. "You make yourself at 'ome."

As George put the Luger on the mantelpiece, the door opened and Cora came in. George looked at her; a shiver of pleasure and desire ran through him. She had washed her hair, which was now soft and fluffy; she was cleaner than he had ever seen her before, and she was wearing a scarlet wrap which enhanced her strange beauty. Her feet and legs were bare. George suspected that she wasn't wearing anything under the wrap, and the thought sent his blood racing through his veins.

Nor was he the only one. Little Ernie, too, looked at her with frank admiration and lechery.

"Come on in," he said, turning to the cocktail cabinet. "What'll you 'ave? Doesn't she look a beauty, Eva?"

"Wonderful," Eva said, without any sign of jealousy. She reached forward and rang a hell. "I've got to leave you now," she went on, gathering up her hat and bag. "Ernie'll look after you. And keep your voices down, won't you? My gentlemen friends are ever so nervous. They like to think they're all alone with me, the poor darlings." She waved her hand and went off, blowing a kiss to Ernie on her way out.

"What a gal!" Little Ernie said, sitting down. "See what I mean? It's work all the time with 'er."

The door opened and a thin sad-faced woman in black came in pushing a small trolley. She manoeuvred the trolley near the table, and went out without even a glance at any of them.

"There you are. Just 'elp yourself," Little Ernie said, beaming on them. "Eat as much as you like."

There were bowls of jellied soup and lobster salad, a pile of chicken sandwiches, and a plate of finely cut, lean ham. A silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne on ice completed the meal.

While they ate, Little Ernie took charge of the champagne.

"Only the best," he said, smirking at George. "That's Eva all over. Beats me 'ow she picks everything up. Must be 'er posh friends. You wouldn't believe it, but I found 'er in a smelly little restaurant in Pimlico washing dishes. I took one look at 'er shape and took a chance on 'er. Like a monkey, she is. Picks up everything. Talks posh even. Best day's work I ever done."

He kept up a ceaseless chatter during the meal, and when the woman had taken the trolley and table away, he poured fresh drinks and sat down.