Read Online 1955 - You've Got It Coming by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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hill scene, done in strident poster colours, hung over the mantelpiece.
Facing the door was a full-length mirror and setting down his suitcase and shutting the door, Harry moved to the mirror and looked at himself.
The transformation was incredible, he thought. The man he saw in the mirror had not the slightest resemblance to Harry Griffin.
Apart from the scarred, full face, his figure was that of a man over forty; thick in the middle with a distinct potbelly, whose muscular frame had turned to fat.
Harry took off his hat and trench coat, still standing before the mirror. The blond, thinning hair was a cunningly constructed hairlace wig, firmly fixed to Harry's scalp with spirit gum. The scar from his right eye to his mouth was fish skin covered with collodion.
The moustache had been built onto his upper lip, hair by hair. The shape of his face had been altered by rubber pads, fixed by suction against his gums. The projecting teeth were clipped over his own teeth. The potbelly and the heavy fat shoulders were created by aluminum devices he wore next to his skin. The limp came from wearing the right shoe built higher than the left.
Glorie had done a job. She had said he wouldn't be recognized, and Harry felt confident that even his best friend wouldn’t know him.
Glorie had taught him how to re-fix the scar and the moustache. He would have to wear the disguise for four days and five nights. He would have to wash and shave, and the moustache and the scar would have to be taken off and put back on again. At first he had been against such an elaborate disguise, but she had insisted, and when he had seen the result he had realized she was right. He could risk being seen anywhere now. She had more than fulfilled her promise. Harry Griffin had ceased to exist. Harry Green was a live, believable person.
Everything now depended on Delaney. Glorie had warned Harry again and again not to trust Delaney. He had felt irritated that she had taken so much of the initiative from him. After all, he told himself, this was his plan. Admittedly her idea that he should disguise himself before the job was a brilliant one, but why couldn't she leave the rest of the business to him? Because she had been so successful in creating Harry Green he had been patient with her, but he was glad to be on his o w n now, to handle the job himself without her. Her repeated warnings, her anxiety and her fears made him uneasy.
At ten minutes past ten, he left the hotel and walked in the driving rain to the bus station. He boarded a bus for American Avenue, left it at the terminus and walked down to Ocean Boulevard.
West Pier, used to take gamblers out to the gambling ships that were moored outside the City's limits, was dark and deserted.
On a night like this, there was little trade for the gambling ships and only two of the taxi-boats were at their stations.
Harry took shelter under the coverway to the turnstiles. The time was ten twenty-five. He lit a cigarette, aware of his tension and the steady thumping of his heart.
At twenty minutes to eleven, a mustard-coloured Cadillac, as big as a battleship, slid to a standstill outside the pier entrance, and he guessed this was Delaney's car. He limped across to it, seeing the dim outline of two men in the front and one at the back.
The non-driver in the front got out of the car: a tall, slouching figure that Harry recognized from Glorie's description to be the man who had followed her.
“You Green?” the man asked sharply.
“That's right.”
“Okay, get in the back. We'll drive around while you talk to the boss.”
He opened the rear door and Harry got into the car and sank down on to the heavily upholstered cushions. Ben Delaney, smoking a cigar, turned his head to look at him. The street lights were not bright enough for either of the men to see each other well, but Harry recognized Delaney by his trim moustache and by the way he held his head.
“Green?”
“Yes. You Mr. Delaney?”
“Who
Facing the door was a full-length mirror and setting down his suitcase and shutting the door, Harry moved to the mirror and looked at himself.
The transformation was incredible, he thought. The man he saw in the mirror had not the slightest resemblance to Harry Griffin.
Apart from the scarred, full face, his figure was that of a man over forty; thick in the middle with a distinct potbelly, whose muscular frame had turned to fat.
Harry took off his hat and trench coat, still standing before the mirror. The blond, thinning hair was a cunningly constructed hairlace wig, firmly fixed to Harry's scalp with spirit gum. The scar from his right eye to his mouth was fish skin covered with collodion.
The moustache had been built onto his upper lip, hair by hair. The shape of his face had been altered by rubber pads, fixed by suction against his gums. The projecting teeth were clipped over his own teeth. The potbelly and the heavy fat shoulders were created by aluminum devices he wore next to his skin. The limp came from wearing the right shoe built higher than the left.
Glorie had done a job. She had said he wouldn't be recognized, and Harry felt confident that even his best friend wouldn’t know him.
Glorie had taught him how to re-fix the scar and the moustache. He would have to wear the disguise for four days and five nights. He would have to wash and shave, and the moustache and the scar would have to be taken off and put back on again. At first he had been against such an elaborate disguise, but she had insisted, and when he had seen the result he had realized she was right. He could risk being seen anywhere now. She had more than fulfilled her promise. Harry Griffin had ceased to exist. Harry Green was a live, believable person.
Everything now depended on Delaney. Glorie had warned Harry again and again not to trust Delaney. He had felt irritated that she had taken so much of the initiative from him. After all, he told himself, this was his plan. Admittedly her idea that he should disguise himself before the job was a brilliant one, but why couldn't she leave the rest of the business to him? Because she had been so successful in creating Harry Green he had been patient with her, but he was glad to be on his o w n now, to handle the job himself without her. Her repeated warnings, her anxiety and her fears made him uneasy.
At ten minutes past ten, he left the hotel and walked in the driving rain to the bus station. He boarded a bus for American Avenue, left it at the terminus and walked down to Ocean Boulevard.
West Pier, used to take gamblers out to the gambling ships that were moored outside the City's limits, was dark and deserted.
On a night like this, there was little trade for the gambling ships and only two of the taxi-boats were at their stations.
Harry took shelter under the coverway to the turnstiles. The time was ten twenty-five. He lit a cigarette, aware of his tension and the steady thumping of his heart.
At twenty minutes to eleven, a mustard-coloured Cadillac, as big as a battleship, slid to a standstill outside the pier entrance, and he guessed this was Delaney's car. He limped across to it, seeing the dim outline of two men in the front and one at the back.
The non-driver in the front got out of the car: a tall, slouching figure that Harry recognized from Glorie's description to be the man who had followed her.
“You Green?” the man asked sharply.
“That's right.”
“Okay, get in the back. We'll drive around while you talk to the boss.”
He opened the rear door and Harry got into the car and sank down on to the heavily upholstered cushions. Ben Delaney, smoking a cigar, turned his head to look at him. The street lights were not bright enough for either of the men to see each other well, but Harry recognized Delaney by his trim moustache and by the way he held his head.
“Green?”
“Yes. You Mr. Delaney?”
“Who
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