Read Online What's Better Than Money by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online

the casting director. He told me they keep more than ten thousand dollars in the casting office. They have to have it in cash to pay the extras. The lock on the door is nothing.”
    I lit a cigarette: my hands began to shake.
    “What’s it to me how much money they keep in the casting office?”
    “I thought we could get in there and help ourselves.”
    “That’s quite a bright idea coming from you. What makes you imagine they wouldn’t object to us taking it? Hasn’t anyone told you that taking someone’s money is stealing?”
    She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
    “It was just an idea. If you feel that way about it, forget it.”
    “Thanks for the advice. That’s just what I’m going to do.”
    “Well, all right. Anything you say, but I thought you were so keen to get that money.”
    “I am, but not that keen.”
    She got up.
    “Let’s go and eat.”
    “You go. I have something to do.”
    She wandered to the door.
    “Oh, come on. I’m not stingy. I’ll treat you. You’re not too proud to be treated by me, are you?”
    “I’m not proud. I’ve something else to do: I’m going to talk to Rusty. I’m borrowing my fare home from him. I’m quitting.”
    She stared at me.
    “What do you want to do that for?”
    “I’m out of a job,” I said patiently. “I can’t live on air so I’m going home.”
    “You can get a job at the Pacific Studios. There’s a big crowd scene tomorrow. They want people.”
    “They do? How do I get a job like that then?”
    “I’ll fix it. Come with me tomorrow. They’ll give you a job. Now let’s go and eat: I’m starving.”
    I went with her because I was hungry and I couldn’t be bothered to argue with her any more.
    We went to a small Italian restaurant and ate spaghetti which was very good and thin slices of veal fried in butter.
    Half way through the meal, she said. “Did Shirely really say I could sing?”
    “That’s what he said. He said when you had a cure and when you were a hundred per cent fit, he would give you a contract.”
    She pushed aside her plate and lit a cigarette.
    “It would be easy to take that money. There would be nothing to it.”
    “I wouldn’t do a thing like that for you nor anyone else!”
    “I thought you wanted me to have a cure?”
    “Oh, shut up! To hell with your cure and to hell with you!”
    Someone put a nickel into the juke box. Joy Miller began to sing Some of these Days. We both listened intently. She was loud and brassy and often off-pitch. The tape I had in my pocket was much, much better than this disc.
    “Half a million a year,” Rima said dreamily. “She isn’t so hot, is she?”
    “No, but she’s a lot hotter than you. She doesn’t need a cure. Let’s get out of here. I’m going to bed.”
    When we got back to the rooming-house, Rima came to the door of my room.
    “You can sleep with me tonight if you like,” she said. “I feel in the mood.”
    “Well, I don’t,” I said, and I shut the door in her face.
    I lay in bed in the darkness and thought about what she had said about all that money in the casting director’s office. I kept telling myself that I had to get the idea of stealing the money out of my mind. I had sunk pretty low, but I hadn’t sunk that low, but the idea kept nagging at me. If I could get her cured. . . I was still pecking at the idea when I fell asleep.
    The next morning, soon after eight o’clock, we took the bus into Hollywood. There was a big crowd moving through the main gates of the Pacific Studios and we tagged along behind.
    “There’s plenty of time,” Rima said. “They won’t start shooting until ten. You come with me. I’ll get Larry to book you.”
    I went along with her.
    Away from the main studio block was a number of bungalow type buildings. Outside one of them stood a tall, thin man wearing corduroy trousers and a blue shirt.
    I hated the sight of him as soon as I saw him. His white puffy face was badly shaven. His eyes were close set and cunning. He