Authors: James Hadley Chase
Strictly For Cash (24 page)
Ricca continued to smile. He nodded to me.
"That's very smart. Of course Nick was under the impression this young man was me."
We didn't say anything.
"You're a smart guy to get yourself on board this gravy train," he went on.
"And I'm smart enough to keep other people off it," I said. Even then his smile didn't fade.
Della sat on the edge of the desk. She lit a cigarette.
"Look, Jack. Let's put our cards on the table," she said. "Paul's dead. That leaves you, Levinsky, Johnny and me. Levinsky has the Paris set-up. You have Los Angeles. We have Lincoln Beach. There's no reason why any of us should get in each other's way. It's a natural carve-up. What do you say?"
"I think you've worked it out pretty well." Ricca said. "Are you sure this guy can handle the job?"
I edged my hand towards the drawer. This could be the curtain-raiser to trouble.
"I'm sure of that, Jack. He has a flair for the job. He's like Paul."
That startled me, because she sounded as if she meant it.
Ricca nodded, his eyes on my hand.
I guess that fixes it, then. I'm not complaining. I like smart people, and I guess you two are pretty smart."
Della relaxed a little, but I didn't.
"Mind if I stick around for a couple of days?" Ricca went on. "I'd like to look the joint over."
"Why, sure, Jack, we'd love to have you," Della said, before I could chip in. "Come on outside and have a drink. Coming, Johnny?"
"Right now I'm busy," I said. "Suppose we get together for lunch around half-past one?"
"Right."
Ricca got to his feet. Before I could shut the drawer he leaned forward and peered in.
"Smart fella," he said, beaming on me. "I like a guy who knows how to take care of himself. Be seeing you."
He held the door open for Della. I sat still watching him. It wasn't until he had shut the door that I slammed the drawer to. I found I was sweating a little, and my heart was bearing faster than normal.
I trusted that guy like I'd trust a tiger. He was too smooth. That stuff about having no complaint was so much eye-wash. No one, especially his kind, was going to be gypped out of a joint like this without some come-back.
I sat thinking for some minutes, then I got up and went over to the window. From there I could see part of the terrace. They were out there. He was still smiling, but he was talking, too. He was talking fast and waving his fat hands, and Della was listening; her eyes on his face and her expression tense. I wondered what they were talking about.
Around half-past one I went into the restaurant. Most times I had meals in the office, otherwise as soon as I was seen I was pestered. It was surprising the number of people who wanted w buy me a drink or to yap about their winnings or groan about their losses. Della and Ricca were already at a table in a corner, away from the rest of the tables. Louis was taking their orders himself.
I sat down.
"This helicopter idea of yours is terrific," Ricca said, when Louis had taken my order and had gone. "I guess I'll try it in Los Angeles. I might hook up with San Francisco."
Della smiled at me possessively.
"I told you, Jack, he's a clever boy, and they like him here, too."
"I had a look at that lion pit," Ricca went on. "Della told me what happened to Nick. I guess you don't feed those cats yourself, do you?"
I matched his grin.
"I'm too smart," I said. "One accident's enough."
"Yeah. Had he been dipping into the reserve like Paul thought?"
"A little; not much," Della said.
"That's a big reserve. That's twice the amount I carry."
There was a moment's silence.
"We need every nickel of it," Della said, her voice hard.
He looked at her, then at me.
"It crossed my mind you might feel inclined to transfer say a quarter of it to Los Angeles. Just an idea, mind you. Paul was always switching lumps of his reserve. It was a smart move. He kept everyone satisfied."
I put down my knife and fork. I suddenly wasn't hungry any more. But Della went right on eating as if she hadn't heard.
Just for a moment the smile slipped, and I saw behind the fat, rubber-like mask, and what I saw I didn't like.
"Of course it's up to you," he said, smiling again.
"I said we needed every nickel of it, Jack," she said, without looking up.
"Maybe you do."
The waiter came and switched plates. Ricca started talking about the casino at Los Angeles. The moment had passed, but I wasn't kidding myself. He'd try again. How far he was prepared to push it remained to be seen, but he wasn't the type to give up easily.
We had coffee and brandy on the terrace. I was in the middle of explaining to Ricca my idea of lighting the swimming-pool when I saw him and Della look up and past me. I glanced up. There was a girl standing right by me. For a moment I didn't recognize her, then I saw she was Georgia Harris Brown, and she was drunk.
I hadn't seen her since that day we had parted on the beach, and seeing her again came as a shock to me.
"Hello, handsome," she said, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Remember me?"
She was wearing a pair of linen slacks and a halter. Her cute, pert little face was flushed, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot.
I got up. Ricca got up too. Della watched me, the way a cat watches a mouse. I had an idea I was heading for trouble.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked stiffly.
"Sure." Her fingers gripped my coat to steady herself. "That's why I'm here."
"You know Mrs. Wertham?" I said. "This is Jack Ricca. Ricca, I'd like you to meet Miss Harris Brown."
Ricca bowed, but she ignored him.
"I thought you were Ricca," she said.
"So I am. He's my cousin, on my father's side."
"It surprises me a louse like you had a father," she said.
The words hung in empty space. I didn't say anything. Ricca didn't say anything. Della lit a cigarette.
"Hello, bastard," Miss Harris Brown went on.
I was aware Ricca was watching me with interest. Della's face had gone pale, but she didn't make a move. They were my cards, and I had to play them.
"What do you want?" I said.
Della and Ricca weren't the only two looking at me now. Everyone on the terrace was looking.
She pushed her breasts out at me, and her red-painted lips curved into a smile that was as vicious as her eyes.
"I want to know who the whore is you're going around with," she said. "The pretty little trollop with red hair. The one you take to your rooms on Franklin Boulevard. The one you slop over at Raul's. Who is she?"
I went hot, then cold. My brain closed up. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out of it.
Ricca said, "She's his sister by his mother's side. Now go away, you drunken little fool. Your eyes are watery, your nose is red, and you've got a stinking, rotten breath."
Someone in the audience laughed.
Miss Harris Brown collapsed like a pricked balloon.
I watched her run across the terrace, down the steps and towards her cabin. Then I looked at Ricca.
"It was easier for me to do it," he said, "but if I spoke out of turn, I'm sorry."
"Thanks," I said. "She was drunk."
Then I looked at Della.
"Where's Raul's Johnny?" she asked, smiling, but her eyes were like chips of ice. "Or shouldn't I ask?"
"You heard what I said: she was drunk."
"We get them like that in Los Angeles," Ricca said soothingly. "You don't have to pay any attention to them. They are kind of crazy in the head."
Della got up.
"Jack and I are going over to Bay Street," she said, without looking at me. "We'll be seeing you."
She walked down the steps towards her car.
Ricca patted my arm.
"Women are funny animals," he said, "and she's no exception."
It might have been Reisner talking.
"Don't let it bother you, Johnny."
He went after her, and his smile was a mile wide.
VII
I sat at my desk, a cigarette smouldering between my fingers, my brain busy. The writing was on the wall. I didn't kid myself I could bluff Della. She was too smart. By tonight she would have found out about Ginny, my apartment on Franklin Boulevard and Raul's. Then would come the show-down.
She wouldn't have to give me away to Hame. She'd team up with Ricca and let him take care of me. This was my out. I had to skip before it was too late.
I twisted around in my chair and looked at the safe. Behind that heavy steel door was a bundle of money belonging to me. If I could get to it, I hadn't a worry in the world. But I hadn't a hope of opening that door without the combination.
For nearly four weeks I had sat around hoping the combination would drop in my lap. I now had three hours, possibly four, to get it if I was ever going to get it.
I wouldn't get it from Della: I was sure of that. Then who else knew it beside Della? For the first time I really began to bend
my brains on the problem. Reisner had known it, but he was dead. The firm who made the safe would know it, but they wouldn't part with the informarion. Would Louis know it? There was a chance he might. I picked up the telephone and called his office.
"Louis? This is Ricca. I've got a problem. Mr. Van Etting is in my office. He wants to cash a cheque in a hurry. Mrs. Wertham's out. You wouldn't know the combination of the safe?"
I did it well. My voice was business-like, but casual.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ricca, but I do not know it," Louis said, and from the sound of his voice he would have told me if he had known it.
"Aw, hell!" I said. "What am I going to do? This guy's getting in a rage."
"Maybe you could reach Mrs. Wertham," Louis said. "She may be at Bay Street."
"I've already tried. She's not around. You haven't three thousand bucks in your office, have you?"
He said he never kept big sums in his office.
"Okay, forget it, Louis. Sorry to have bothered you. I guess Mr. Van Etting will have to get into a rage."
I wasn't disappointed. It had been a hunch, and it hadn't come off. I was about to replace the receiver when he said, "If Miss Doering had been with us she could have told you."
Miss Doering? I stared at the opposite wall. Reisner's secretary ! Della had given her the sack. She had been furious with her for calling Hame when Reisner hadn't shown up.
I gripped the receiver until my hand ached.
"Did Miss Doering know the combination ?"
"Why, yes, Mr. Ricca. When Mr. Reisner was out she took care of the money."
"Well, she isn't here," I said, making out I wasn't interested any more. "Never mind. Forget it, Louis, and thanks."
I hung up and sat thinking for a moment or so, then I grabbed the telephone again and got through to the staff supervisor.
"This is Ricca. Can you give me Miss Doering's address?"
She asked me to hold on. The minute I had to wait seemed like an hour.
"247c Coral Boulevard."
"Got her phone number?"
Another wait.
"Lincoln Beach 18577."
"Thanks," I said, broke the connection, paused long enough to wipe the sweat off my face, then got on the phone again. "Get me Lincoln Beach 18577."
I hadn't had any previous dealings with Miss Doering. Della had handled her, and from what she had told me, she had handled her pretty roughly. I had seen her, and she had seen me. I had given her a smile now and then because she was a looker. I had no idea what she thought of me, and I knew I couldn't put this across over the telephone. I had to see her.
The line clicked and buzzed, then a woman said, "Hello?"
"Miss Doering?"
"I guess so."
"This is Johnny Ricca. I want to see you. I could be with you in fifteen minutes. How about it?"
There was a pause, then she said, "What about?"
"If I told you that I shouldn't see you, and I want to see you. Okay for me to come over?"
"If that's the way you feel about it."
"I'm on my way."
I walked out of the office, along the corridor to the elevator. I rode down to the ground floor and tramped across the lobby to the terrace. Someone spoke to me, but I didn't look to see who it was. I kept right on. The Buick was waiting at the foot of the terrace. I got in and drove down the carriage-way. The guards opened the gates as soon as they saw me. I was doing seventy before I hit the highway.
247 Coral Boulevard was a sprawling mansion that had been converted into apartments. I took a creaking elevator to the fourth floor and walked down a corridor to a door on which the numbers 247c were picked out in white paint against a glossy apple-green background.
I leaned against the bell-push. She had the door open before I could really get any weight into it: a blonde, slim lovely, with arched eyebrows that weren't her own, a figure you only see in Es
quire a
nd an invitation in her eyes.
quire a
nd an invitation in her eyes.
"You must have moved," she said. "Come on in."
She was wearing one of those house-coat things. The way it set off her figure was nobody's business. We went into a small room that was cluttered up with a settee, two armchairs, a radio and a table. You couldn't have swung even a Manx cat in it. She sat on the settee and I sat beside her.
We looked at each other. I had an idea she wasn't going to be difficult to handle.
"Have you found another job yet?" I asked.
"No. Want to give me one?" She crossed her legs, showing me a knee that might have interested me before I met Ginny, but which I scarcely looked at now.
"I want the combination of the safe in Reisner's office. Louis said you knew it. That's why I'm here."
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