Read Online 1975 - The Joker in the Pack by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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. . . people these days can’t wait, so I gave him the money and he bought the bike. In return, he did this favor. You know, you do something nice, the other guy repays you . . . quid pro quo . . . does that surprise you . . . me talking like this . . . quid pro quo? I’ve had some kind of education: not much more than quid quid prod quo, but some.” He sipped the brandy, then held up the glass to stare at it. “Pretty good, but then that’s how the cards fall for you, Mrs. Rolfe. You say brandy and you get the best. I say brandy and I get hogwash.”
Helga wanted a cigarette, but she couldn’t touch her bag while the recorder was working. She controlled the urge and looked out at the deserted beach, at the moonlit sea and she listened.
“So this fink who cleans your room took a look around. The system is, Mrs. Rolfe, that as soon as a guest leaves the room, the fink moves in and puts it straight. He is an intelligent fink and he is anxious to please. I tell him: ‘Look around. If there is anything that looks important, I want it.’ So he stared at me with his intelligent black eyes and asks: ‘What’s important?” I tell him: ‘I want to nail this baby. Love letters would fine.’” Jackson laughed. “You know Mrs. Rolfe, this was a shot at the moon. I hadn’t any hope he would land a fish, but he did. When he gave me this letter from your husband to Winborn, I hit the roof.” He paused to sip more brandy. “Am I reaching you, Mrs. Rolfe?”
So that was how it was done, Helga thought. Go on talking, snake, you’re cutting your own throat.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“I bet you are.” Jackson laughed. “So I have the letter. Pretty strong stuff, isn’t it? If this Winborn character gets it, it seems to me you will be out in the cold.”
Thinking of the revolving tape, Helga hurried the conversation along.
“You could be right,” she said. “This is blackmail, of course. How much, Mr. Jackson?”
“But didn’t you tell me you never paid blackmail?” Jackson asked, his smiling jeering.
“There are times when even the best generals lose a battle,” Helga said. “How much?”
“You surprise me.” Jackson studied her thoughtfully. “I thought you would try to wriggle.”
“I am not interested in your thinking,” Helga said, her voice steely. “How much?”
The jeering smile slipped a little.
“Frankly, if it was only between you and me, Mrs. Rolfe, I would give you this letter for nothing. I would expect you to give me my retainer of ten thousand dollars . . . my out of pocket expenses. That would be fair, wouldn’t it?”
Helga said nothing. She sipped her brandy, longed for a cigarette, her face wooden.
“But this fink has ambitions,” Jackson went on. “Can you imagine what he did? He took two photocopies of the letter, gave me one and here’s one for you.” He took from his wallet a folded paper and pushed it across the table to Helga who took it, glanced at it and saw it was a copy of Herman’s letter. “Frankly, Mrs. Rolfe, I didn’t imagine a half-caste fink would have had the brains to set up a thing like this. He is more ambitious than I am. As I’ve said, I’d be happy to get my retainer, but he has other ideas.”
Helga turned her cold look on him.
“So?”
“This fink tells me that the letter is a gold mine. Now when a half-caste boy talks about a gold mine, I don’t pay a lot of attention, but when he started to elaborate, I took notice.” Jackson shook his head, finished his brandy and smiled at her. “I guess he has bigger ideas than I have.”
This almost too good to be true, Helga thought. As he sits there, shooting off his mouth, he is cutting his throat.
She could imagine the police descending on him. She imagined them picking up this hotel servant. To hell with Herman’s money! To see this smart alec snake and his fink in court would repay even the loss of sixty million dollars . . . stupid, angry thinking, but that was how she
Helga wanted a cigarette, but she couldn’t touch her bag while the recorder was working. She controlled the urge and looked out at the deserted beach, at the moonlit sea and she listened.
“So this fink who cleans your room took a look around. The system is, Mrs. Rolfe, that as soon as a guest leaves the room, the fink moves in and puts it straight. He is an intelligent fink and he is anxious to please. I tell him: ‘Look around. If there is anything that looks important, I want it.’ So he stared at me with his intelligent black eyes and asks: ‘What’s important?” I tell him: ‘I want to nail this baby. Love letters would fine.’” Jackson laughed. “You know Mrs. Rolfe, this was a shot at the moon. I hadn’t any hope he would land a fish, but he did. When he gave me this letter from your husband to Winborn, I hit the roof.” He paused to sip more brandy. “Am I reaching you, Mrs. Rolfe?”
So that was how it was done, Helga thought. Go on talking, snake, you’re cutting your own throat.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“I bet you are.” Jackson laughed. “So I have the letter. Pretty strong stuff, isn’t it? If this Winborn character gets it, it seems to me you will be out in the cold.”
Thinking of the revolving tape, Helga hurried the conversation along.
“You could be right,” she said. “This is blackmail, of course. How much, Mr. Jackson?”
“But didn’t you tell me you never paid blackmail?” Jackson asked, his smiling jeering.
“There are times when even the best generals lose a battle,” Helga said. “How much?”
“You surprise me.” Jackson studied her thoughtfully. “I thought you would try to wriggle.”
“I am not interested in your thinking,” Helga said, her voice steely. “How much?”
The jeering smile slipped a little.
“Frankly, if it was only between you and me, Mrs. Rolfe, I would give you this letter for nothing. I would expect you to give me my retainer of ten thousand dollars . . . my out of pocket expenses. That would be fair, wouldn’t it?”
Helga said nothing. She sipped her brandy, longed for a cigarette, her face wooden.
“But this fink has ambitions,” Jackson went on. “Can you imagine what he did? He took two photocopies of the letter, gave me one and here’s one for you.” He took from his wallet a folded paper and pushed it across the table to Helga who took it, glanced at it and saw it was a copy of Herman’s letter. “Frankly, Mrs. Rolfe, I didn’t imagine a half-caste fink would have had the brains to set up a thing like this. He is more ambitious than I am. As I’ve said, I’d be happy to get my retainer, but he has other ideas.”
Helga turned her cold look on him.
“So?”
“This fink tells me that the letter is a gold mine. Now when a half-caste boy talks about a gold mine, I don’t pay a lot of attention, but when he started to elaborate, I took notice.” Jackson shook his head, finished his brandy and smiled at her. “I guess he has bigger ideas than I have.”
This almost too good to be true, Helga thought. As he sits there, shooting off his mouth, he is cutting his throat.
She could imagine the police descending on him. She imagined them picking up this hotel servant. To hell with Herman’s money! To see this smart alec snake and his fink in court would repay even the loss of sixty million dollars . . . stupid, angry thinking, but that was how she
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