Read Online 1975 - The Joker in the Pack by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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The Maître hotel’s face went blank telling Helga how startled he was.
He led the way up the stairs and to an alcove that overlooked the main dining room.
“Would this do?”
She paused to survey the crowd below, aware of the noise of voices, the clatter of plates and cutlery. The noise could wreck the recording.
“I would prefer somewhere quieter,” she said.
“Then may I suggest the after-casino balcony? No one is there at present, Mrs. Rolfe. Perhaps you would prefer that?”
“Let me see it.”
He took her along a corridor to a broad balcony overlooking the beach and sea. Apart from four or five colored waiters, the place was deserted.
“This will do, and thank you.” She slid a ten-dollar bill into his hand. “Will you please bring Mr. Jackson to me when he arrives? The coffee and brandy of course.”
Jackson arrived ten minutes later. She had put her handbag on the table and as she saw him coming along the corridor, she quickly switched on the recorder. It would run for thirty minutes and that, she thought, would be long enough to incriminate him.
Jackson was wearing a freshly pressed white suit, a blue and white checkered shirt and a red tie. He looked handsome and presentable. At any other time, he would have set Helga’s blood on fire.
“Hi there,” he said, waving away the Maître d’hôtel. “Have I kept you waiting?” The wide, friendly smile was in evidence as he sat down.
She looked beyond him at the Maître d’hôtel.
“We will have coffee now, please.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe.”
When he had gone, Helga looked directly at Jackson. He was completely relaxed, his big hands on the table, very confident. Her eyes swept over him. How deceptive men could be, she thought. Who would imagine this frame of muscle and flesh and good looks housed the mind of a blackmailer?
“How’s Mr. Rolfe?” Jackson asked. “Any improvement?”
“How is the peeping Tom agency, Mr. Jackson?” Helga asked politely. “Better prospects?”
He gave her a sharp look, then laughed.
“I’ll say!”
A waiter brought coffee and two brandies in balloon glasses.
They waited until he had gone, then Helga said, “It is just possible you might imagine that this meeting is distasteful to me. Would you please tell me why you arranged it?”
“I was under the impression, Mrs. Rolfe, that you set it up,” Jackson said, smiling at her. “You need not have come.”
A point to him, Helga thought. She mustn’t waste time.
“You said you have something I wanted, what is it?” She dropped sugar into her coffee.
“A good question.” He sipped his coffee, crossed one long leg over the other and continued to smile at her. She longed to slap his handsome face. “When you gave me the brushoff this afternoon, Mrs. Rolfe, I was ready to call it quits. You were in an ironclad position. I had nothing in writing from Mr. Rolfe. I wasn’t going to tangle with Winborn, I steer clear of tough cookies. So I was all set to kiss my retainer goodbye.” He picked up his glass of brandy and sniffed it. “So you have the complete photo, Mrs. Rolfe, let me tell you how I operate. I don’t have a regular staff. I have contacts. As an investigator it is a must to have a contact in every luxury hotel. I regard these contacts as invisible people . . . the staff. People who can go in and out of rooms, walk down corridors, clean the baths and still remain invisible to the guests. It costs me five hundred dollars and that’s money to me, Mrs. Rolfe, to buy the services of the fink who cleans your room, cleans your bath and makes your bed. Now this fink is a half-caste West Indian who wants nothing in life except a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide motorcycle. These bikes cost. He has been saving and saving, but he was well short of the target. Then this week a model arrived out here: just one, you understand, Mrs. Rolfe. He knew if he didn’t grab it, he would have to wait maybe another six months. Well, you know how it is
He led the way up the stairs and to an alcove that overlooked the main dining room.
“Would this do?”
She paused to survey the crowd below, aware of the noise of voices, the clatter of plates and cutlery. The noise could wreck the recording.
“I would prefer somewhere quieter,” she said.
“Then may I suggest the after-casino balcony? No one is there at present, Mrs. Rolfe. Perhaps you would prefer that?”
“Let me see it.”
He took her along a corridor to a broad balcony overlooking the beach and sea. Apart from four or five colored waiters, the place was deserted.
“This will do, and thank you.” She slid a ten-dollar bill into his hand. “Will you please bring Mr. Jackson to me when he arrives? The coffee and brandy of course.”
Jackson arrived ten minutes later. She had put her handbag on the table and as she saw him coming along the corridor, she quickly switched on the recorder. It would run for thirty minutes and that, she thought, would be long enough to incriminate him.
Jackson was wearing a freshly pressed white suit, a blue and white checkered shirt and a red tie. He looked handsome and presentable. At any other time, he would have set Helga’s blood on fire.
“Hi there,” he said, waving away the Maître d’hôtel. “Have I kept you waiting?” The wide, friendly smile was in evidence as he sat down.
She looked beyond him at the Maître d’hôtel.
“We will have coffee now, please.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe.”
When he had gone, Helga looked directly at Jackson. He was completely relaxed, his big hands on the table, very confident. Her eyes swept over him. How deceptive men could be, she thought. Who would imagine this frame of muscle and flesh and good looks housed the mind of a blackmailer?
“How’s Mr. Rolfe?” Jackson asked. “Any improvement?”
“How is the peeping Tom agency, Mr. Jackson?” Helga asked politely. “Better prospects?”
He gave her a sharp look, then laughed.
“I’ll say!”
A waiter brought coffee and two brandies in balloon glasses.
They waited until he had gone, then Helga said, “It is just possible you might imagine that this meeting is distasteful to me. Would you please tell me why you arranged it?”
“I was under the impression, Mrs. Rolfe, that you set it up,” Jackson said, smiling at her. “You need not have come.”
A point to him, Helga thought. She mustn’t waste time.
“You said you have something I wanted, what is it?” She dropped sugar into her coffee.
“A good question.” He sipped his coffee, crossed one long leg over the other and continued to smile at her. She longed to slap his handsome face. “When you gave me the brushoff this afternoon, Mrs. Rolfe, I was ready to call it quits. You were in an ironclad position. I had nothing in writing from Mr. Rolfe. I wasn’t going to tangle with Winborn, I steer clear of tough cookies. So I was all set to kiss my retainer goodbye.” He picked up his glass of brandy and sniffed it. “So you have the complete photo, Mrs. Rolfe, let me tell you how I operate. I don’t have a regular staff. I have contacts. As an investigator it is a must to have a contact in every luxury hotel. I regard these contacts as invisible people . . . the staff. People who can go in and out of rooms, walk down corridors, clean the baths and still remain invisible to the guests. It costs me five hundred dollars and that’s money to me, Mrs. Rolfe, to buy the services of the fink who cleans your room, cleans your bath and makes your bed. Now this fink is a half-caste West Indian who wants nothing in life except a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide motorcycle. These bikes cost. He has been saving and saving, but he was well short of the target. Then this week a model arrived out here: just one, you understand, Mrs. Rolfe. He knew if he didn’t grab it, he would have to wait maybe another six months. Well, you know how it is
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