I'll Bury My Dead. James Hadley Chase

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СКАЧАТЬ you’re right. Give me a straight Scotch any day.” He put down his glass. “Why didn’t you let Trixie look after the board? It’s her job.”

      Lois lifted her elegant shoulders.

      “Think of the company she would have to mix in. They know better than to bother me, but Trixie…”

      “Trixie would have loved it. She likes a guy to pat her fanny occasionally. She thinks it proves she’s desirable. Anyway, those apes in there are more or less harmless. Trixie would have taken care of herself if you had given her the chance.”

      “Maybe, but she’s still a kid. Sitting around in an office until long past midnight isn’t the sort of life she should live.”

      “You talk like a grandmother,” Vince said, grinning. “If anyone has to stay late, it’s always you.”

      Lois shrugged.

      “I don’t mind.”

      Vince studied her.

      “Doesn’t your boyfriend mind?”

      “Do we have to talk nonsense, Harry?”

      Her steady brown eyes were suddenly cold.

      Recognizing the danger signals, Vince said, “You were with Mr. English when he started this caper, weren’t you?”

      “Yes. We had only one small office, the typewriter was on hire and the furniture, what there was of it, wasn’t paid for. Now we have this place—thirteen offices and a staff of forty. Good going in five years, isn’t it?”

      “I guess so.” Vince lit a cigarette. “He has the magic touch all right. It doesn’t seem to matter what he takes on. He has to make a success of it. Fight promotion this week, a circus last week, a musical show the week before that. What’s he going to do next?”

      Lois laughed.

      “He’ll find something.” She looked up at Vince, seeing a square-shouldered man of medium height, around thirty-three, with a crew hair-cut, pale brown eyes that looked worried and uneasy, a good mouth and chin and a straight narrow nose. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself, too, Harry.”

      He nodded.

      “Thanks to Mr. English. I’m not kidding myself. If he hadn’t given me the chance I would have been still sweating my guts out as an accountant with no prospects. You know, sometimes, I just can’t believe I’m his general manager. I can’t make out why the devil he ever gave me the job.”

      “He has a good eye for talent,” Lois said. “He didn’t give you the job because he liked the way you wear your clothes, Harry. You earn your money.”

      “I guess I do,” Vince said, running his fingers through his close-cut hair. “Look at the awful hours we keep.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “Eleven fifteen. This shindig’s going on until two o’clock at least.” He finished his champagne, waved the bottle at Lois. “Have some more?”

      She shook her head.

      “No, thank you. Does he seem to be enjoying himself?”

      “You know what he’s like. He’s been standing around all evening watching the other guys drink. Every so often he puts in a word here and there. He acts like he has just dropped in on somebody else’s party. Abe Mendelssohn has been trying to corner him for the past hour, but he’s having no luck.”

      Lois laughed.

      “He wants Mr. English to finance his women wrestlers.”

      “That’s not a bad idea,” Vince said. “I’ve seen some of those babes wrestle. I wouldn’t mind getting a job as their trainer. I’d like to have the chance of showing them a few holds.”

      “Better talk to Mr. English. He might give you the job.”

      The telephone buzzer sounded.

      Lois pushed in a plug and picked up the harness she had laid on the desk.

      “English Promotions,” she said. “Good evening.”

      She listened while Vince watched her. He saw one of her dark eyebrows lift in surprise.

      “I’ll ask him to speak to you, Lieutenant,” she said, and laid down the harness. “Harry, would you tell Mr. English Lieutenant Morilli of the Homicide Bureau is calling? He wants a personal word.”

      “These coppers!” Vince said, grimacing. “Wants some favor, I’ll bet. A couple of fight dockets or free seats for a show. You don’t want me to disturb Mr. English to talk to that chiseller, do you?”

      She nodded, her eyes serious.

      “Please tell him it’s urgent, Harry.”

      He gave her a quick look, then slid off the desk.

      “Okay.”

      He went across the big room and pushed open the door that led into Nick English’s private office. The uproar of voices surged past him as he went in.

      Lois said, “I’m getting Mr. English now.”

      At the other end of the line Morilli grunted.

      “Better get his car to the door, Miss Marshall,” he said. “When he hears what I’ve got to tell him he’ll want some fast action.”

      Lois thanked him, plugged in another line and told the garage attendant who answered to have Mr. English’s car at the front entrance right away.

      As she pulled out the plug, Nick English came out of his office, followed by Vince.

      English was six foot three in his socks, and broad, giving the appearance of massiveness without fat. He was on the right side of forty, and his hair was jet-black, cut short and inclined to curl. There were white streaks on each side of his temples that helped to soften an otherwise hard and relentless face. He had a high broad forehead, a short blunt nose, a thin mouth and a square dimpled chin. His eyes were wide set, pale blue and piercing. He was arresting to look at without being handsome, and gave an immediate impression of granite-hard strength.

      Lois moved away from the switch-board, indicating a telephone on a nearby desk.

      “Lieutenant Morilli is on that line, Mr. English.”

      English lifted the receiver.

      “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

      Lois moved quickly over to Vince.

      “Better get Chuck out here, Harry. I think he’ll be needed.”

      Vince nodded and went into the inner office.

      Lois heard English say, “When did it happen?”

      She looked anxiously at the big man as he leaned over the desk, frowning into space, his long fingers tapping on the blotter.

      She СКАЧАТЬ