Read Online 1956 - There's Always a Price Tag by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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couldn't take half an hour to put her face straight?
I waited another five minutes, then I got hold of a cigarette-girl. I gave her a buck and told her to look in the Ladies' Rest Room and let me know if a redhead in a white dress was still working on herself.
That took another five minutes.
The cigarette-girl came back and said there was no redhead now. The girl in charge had told her the redhead had gone out the back way the moment she had come into the Rest Room.
That was when the nickel dropped and I saw how I had been taken for a ride.
I was now forty minutes' hard driving from Dester's residence, if I had a car, that is, for I was pretty sure she had taken the Cadillac. She had a good start on me, but I wasn't licked yet.
I ran around to the parking lot.
There was no Cadillac.
But there was a 1945 Buick pulling out from a line of cars. I didn't hesitate. I ran over to the car, waving my arms.
The driver, a kid in an open-neck, green-and-white check shirt, pulled up and stared at me.
'Look, this is important,' I said. 'I've got to get to Hill Crest Avenue fast. I'll give you five bucks to get me there. How about it?'
'Sure,' he said. 'I was only going home.' He reached over and pushed open the off-side door. 'Get in. For five bucks I'd drive you to Los Angeles and back.'
'If you can make it in half an hour, I'll give you ten bucks,' I said.
He grinned at me. 'You've lost your dough. Hold on to your hat. Here we go!'
Although the Buick was born in 1945, it could move and the kid could drive. He was smart enough to know he couldn't hope to make the journey in time if he kept to the highway with the evening traffic at its peak. He took to the side roads: working his way down to Hill Crest Avenue by a series of rushes from one back street to another. He didn't quite manage to get me to the gates of Dester's house in thirty minutes, but he was only five minutes on the wrong side so I gave him the ten bucks.
I ran up the drive towards the house. As I reached the bend in the drive I saw there was a light on in the garage. I pulled up sharply and stepped behind a tree. From where I was I could see into the garage.
I waited, then I spotted Helen as she came from the back of the garage into the light.
What was she up to? I could see the Rolls and the Buick were in the garage. The Cadillac was parked on the tarmac. She paused by the Buick, her back turned to me. Cautiously I moved forward until I was within fifteen yards of her. Then I saw Dester.
He was lying on the garage floor, face down, and for a long, frightening moment I thought she had been crazy enough to have killed him.
She moved over to him, turned him over on his back, and I saw he was breathing. She took hold of him and hauled him to his feet. She handled him as if he weighed nothing at all. That shook me. I had carried him to his bedroom and I knew what he weighed. She must have been as strong as an ox to have handled him the way she was handling him.
Dester lolled against her. The light fell on his face. His eyes were open and glazed; his jaw sagged.
'Why can't you leave me alone?' he mumbled, trying to push her away. 'Take your hands off me. I'm going out, and no one's going to stop me.'
A smile came to Helen's mouth: an awful little smile that made my flesh creep.
'Of course, darling,' she said. 'I'm not going to stop you. I'm trying to help you.'
She opened the off-side door of the Buick. She wasn't missing a trick. Why smash up a Rolls when you had something cheaper to use?
This was it.
She intended to drive him down to the gates, put his hands on the steering wheel and launch him on to the avenue. At the end of the avenue, down the steep hill, was the main highway, crammed with fast-moving traffic.
At first glance it looked foolproof. If one of those fast-moving cars on the highway caught the Buick as it came out of the avenue the chances of Dester surviving were slight. Most of the people in Hollywood knew he was an alcoholic. They
I waited another five minutes, then I got hold of a cigarette-girl. I gave her a buck and told her to look in the Ladies' Rest Room and let me know if a redhead in a white dress was still working on herself.
That took another five minutes.
The cigarette-girl came back and said there was no redhead now. The girl in charge had told her the redhead had gone out the back way the moment she had come into the Rest Room.
That was when the nickel dropped and I saw how I had been taken for a ride.
I was now forty minutes' hard driving from Dester's residence, if I had a car, that is, for I was pretty sure she had taken the Cadillac. She had a good start on me, but I wasn't licked yet.
I ran around to the parking lot.
There was no Cadillac.
But there was a 1945 Buick pulling out from a line of cars. I didn't hesitate. I ran over to the car, waving my arms.
The driver, a kid in an open-neck, green-and-white check shirt, pulled up and stared at me.
'Look, this is important,' I said. 'I've got to get to Hill Crest Avenue fast. I'll give you five bucks to get me there. How about it?'
'Sure,' he said. 'I was only going home.' He reached over and pushed open the off-side door. 'Get in. For five bucks I'd drive you to Los Angeles and back.'
'If you can make it in half an hour, I'll give you ten bucks,' I said.
He grinned at me. 'You've lost your dough. Hold on to your hat. Here we go!'
Although the Buick was born in 1945, it could move and the kid could drive. He was smart enough to know he couldn't hope to make the journey in time if he kept to the highway with the evening traffic at its peak. He took to the side roads: working his way down to Hill Crest Avenue by a series of rushes from one back street to another. He didn't quite manage to get me to the gates of Dester's house in thirty minutes, but he was only five minutes on the wrong side so I gave him the ten bucks.
I ran up the drive towards the house. As I reached the bend in the drive I saw there was a light on in the garage. I pulled up sharply and stepped behind a tree. From where I was I could see into the garage.
I waited, then I spotted Helen as she came from the back of the garage into the light.
What was she up to? I could see the Rolls and the Buick were in the garage. The Cadillac was parked on the tarmac. She paused by the Buick, her back turned to me. Cautiously I moved forward until I was within fifteen yards of her. Then I saw Dester.
He was lying on the garage floor, face down, and for a long, frightening moment I thought she had been crazy enough to have killed him.
She moved over to him, turned him over on his back, and I saw he was breathing. She took hold of him and hauled him to his feet. She handled him as if he weighed nothing at all. That shook me. I had carried him to his bedroom and I knew what he weighed. She must have been as strong as an ox to have handled him the way she was handling him.
Dester lolled against her. The light fell on his face. His eyes were open and glazed; his jaw sagged.
'Why can't you leave me alone?' he mumbled, trying to push her away. 'Take your hands off me. I'm going out, and no one's going to stop me.'
A smile came to Helen's mouth: an awful little smile that made my flesh creep.
'Of course, darling,' she said. 'I'm not going to stop you. I'm trying to help you.'
She opened the off-side door of the Buick. She wasn't missing a trick. Why smash up a Rolls when you had something cheaper to use?
This was it.
She intended to drive him down to the gates, put his hands on the steering wheel and launch him on to the avenue. At the end of the avenue, down the steep hill, was the main highway, crammed with fast-moving traffic.
At first glance it looked foolproof. If one of those fast-moving cars on the highway caught the Buick as it came out of the avenue the chances of Dester surviving were slight. Most of the people in Hollywood knew he was an alcoholic. They
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