What's Better Than Money (12 page)

I heard her break the connection, and slowly I replaced the receiver.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped my sweating face. I knew I was as pale as death and I was shaking.

“Anything wrong, Mr. Halliday?”

“No. It’s all right.”

“Maybe the heat from the lamps. You look pretty bad.”

“I’ll get out into the open air. I’ll be okay.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. . . no thanks. I’ll be all right. It was just the heat.”

I went out of the studio and down the stairs to where Jack and Creedy were waiting.

CHAPTER TWO

I

I had trouble finding the Calloway Hotel. When finally I ran it to earth it turned out to be one of those dingy room-by-the-hour joints that are scattered along the waterfront of the Eastside of the river, and which are being continually closed down by the police, and as regularly opened up again under new management.

After I had dropped Creedy at a restaurant where he was to meet his wife and Jack at his apartment, it was too late for me to go home and then recross the city to meet Rima by ten.

So I called Sarita and told her I had to go to the office as Creedy wanted some figures for an article he was writing. I said I would be having a snack with him and I wasn’t sure what time I would get home. I felt bad lying to her, but this was something I couldn’t tell her.

I walked into the lobby of the Calloway Hotel a few minutes after ten.

There was an old white haired negro behind the reception desk. There was a dusty palm in a tarnished brass bowl by the door. Five bamboo cane chairs stood around, looking as if they had never been sat in. An atmosphere of squalor brooded over the dismal scene.

I paused and looked around.

There was a shabbily dressed woman sitting in a corner in the only leather lounging chair, looking across at me, cigarette dropping from her over-made-up lips.

I didn’t recognise Rima for a moment or so. Her hair was no longer silver: it was dyed a brick red and cut short in a ragamuffin style. She had on a black suit that was pretty well on its last legs. Her green shirt was grubby and had a washed-out, faded look.

I walked slowly across the lobby watched by the old negro and stood before her. We looked at each other.

The past years had been hard on her. Her face had an unhealthy pallor and was puffy. She looked older than her thirty years. The touches of rouge she had dabbed on her cheeks kidded no one except maybe herself. Her eyes were hard: the impersonal bleak eyes of a street walker: like stones dipped in blue-black ink.

It was a shock to see how she had altered. When I had heard her voice over the telephone the image of her when last I had seen her had risen up in my mind, but this woman was a stranger to me, and yet I knew it was Rima. In spite of the red hair and the hardness there was no mistaking that it was she.

I watched the stony eyes move swiftly over my suit and the raincoat I carried on my arm and at my shoes, then they shifted to my face.

“Hello, Jeff,” she said. “Long time no see.”

“We’d better go somewhere where we can talk,” I said, aware that my voice sounded husky.

She lifted her eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. You’re the big wheel now. If your rich pals saw me with you they might jump to the wrong conclusions.”

“We can’t talk here. Come out to the car.”

She shook her head.

“We’ll talk here. Don’t worry about Joe. He’s as deaf as a post. Are you going to buy me a drink?”

“You can have what you want.”

She got up, crossed over to the reception desk and rang a bell by the negro, who shifted away from her, scowling at her.

A man came out of a back room: a big, fat Italian with greasy black hair and a heavy stubble on his chin. He was wearing a dirty cowboy shirt and a pair of dirtier flannel trousers.

“A bottle of Scotch, two glasses and charge water, Toni,” Rima said, “and hurry it up.”

The fat man stared at her.

“Who’s paying for it?”

She nodded to me.

“He is. Hurry it up.”

His black, blood-shot eyes roved over me, then he nodded and went back into the inner room.

I pulled up one of the bamboo cane chairs and arranged it so I would sit near her when she came back to her chair and yet be able to see the entrance to the lobby. I sat down.

She came back to her chair. As she walked I saw she had runs in both stockings and her shoes looked ready to fall to pieces.

“Well, it’s like old times, isn’t it?” she said, sitting down. “Except of course you’re married now.” She took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing smoke down her nostrils. “You’ve certainly done pretty well for yourself considering you could have spent all this time in a cell or maybe even by now you could be fertilising the soil of a prison yard.”

The fat man came with the drinks. I paid him what he asked, and after looking curiously at me, he went away and back into the inner room.

With an unsteady hand, she poured a big shot of whisky into one of the glasses, then pushed the bottle over to me.

I didn’t touch it. I watched her drink half the whisky neat, then add charge water to what was left.

“You haven’t much to say for yourself, have you?” she said, looking at me. “How have you been getting on all these years? Ever think of me?”

“I’ve thought about you,” I said.

“Ever wondered what I was doing?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Did you keep that tape of me singing?”

Long before I had got home, I had got rid of the tape; I hadn’t wanted anything to remind me of her.

“It got lost,” I said woodenly.

“Did it? That’s a pity. It was a good tape.” She took another drink. “It was worth a whale of a lot of money. I was hoping you had kept it and I could sell it.”

It was coming now. I waited.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“As you lost it, and you’ve made so much money, I don’t suppose you’ll mind paying me for it.”

“I’m not paying you anything,” I said.

She finished her drink and poured more whisky into her glass.

“So you’re married. That’s a change for you, isn’t it? I thought you didn’t care for women.”

“We’ll skip that, Rima. I don’t think there’s much point carrying on this conversation. You and I are in two different worlds. You had your chance. I’ve taken mine.”

She slid her hand inside her grubby shirt to scratch her ribs. It was a gesture that brought the past back with an unpleasant impact.

“Does your wife know you murdered a man?” she asked, looking directly at me.

“I didn’t murder a man,” I said steadily. “And we’ll leave my wife out of this.”

“Well, okay, if you’re so sure you didn’t, then you won’t mind if I go to the cops and tell them you did.”

“Look, Rima,” I said, “you know as well as I do, you shot the guard. No one would take your word against mine now. So let’s skip it.”

“When I saw your photo in
Life
, in that fine office, I couldn’t believe my luck,” she said. “I just managed to get here in time to catch your TV performance. So you’re going to pick up sixty thousand dollars. That’s a whale of a lot of money. How much are you going to give me?”

“Not a dime,” I said. “Is that plain enough?”

She laughed.

“Oh, but you are. You are going to compensate me for losing that tape. I reckon it is worth sixty thousand. It’s probably worth more.”

“You heard what I said, Rima. If you try to blackmail me, I’ll hand you over to the police.”

She finished her drink and sat, nursing her glass, as her stony eyes moved over my face.

“I’ve kept the gun, Jeff,” she said. “The L.A. cops have a description of you on their files. They know the man they want for murder has a drooping right eyelid and a scar along the side of his jaw. All I have to do is to walk into the nearest Station house and tell them you and I are the ones they are looking for. When I give them the gun, you’ll find yourself in the death row. It’s as easy and as simple as that.”

“Not quite,” I said. “You would be an accessory to murder even if they did believe your story against mine. You would also go to jail. Don’t forget that!”

She leaned back and laughed. It was a harsh, horrible sound.

“You poor sap! Do you imagine I would care if I went to jail? Take a look at me! What have I got to lose? I’m washed-up! I’ve lost what looks I ever had. I can’t sing a note now. I’m a junky, always on the hunt for some money to buy a shot. Why should I care if I went to jail? I’d be better off than I am now!” She leaned forward, her face suddenly changing to a vicious harshness, “But you’d care if you went to jail! You have everything to lose! You want to build that bridge, don’t you? You want a new home, don’t you? You want to go on sleeping with that nice wife of yours, don’t you? You want to hang onto your position in life, don’t you? You have everything. I have nothing. If you don’t toe the line, Jeff, we’ll go to jail together. I mean that. Don’t think I’m bluffing. What’s better than money? I want it and I’m going to have it. You’re going to pay or we go to jail!”

I stared at her. What she had said was true. She had nothing to lose. She was at the bottom of civilised existence. I could even believe she would be better off in jail.

I had to try to frighten her, but I knew it was hopeless.

“They’d give you at least ten years. How would you like to be locked up in a cell for ten years without any dope?”

She laughed at me.

“How would you like to be locked up in a cell for twenty years without your nice wife? I couldn’t care. Maybe they would cure me. How do you imagine I’ve been living these past years? How do you imagine I have managed to scrape up the money to buy my shots? I’ve been walking the streets. You think about it. You try to imagine that nice wife of yours coping with men every night. You can’t scare me with the thoughts of jail, but I can scare you! Jail would be like a home to me after what I’ve been through! You either pay up or we go to jail!”

Looking at the desperate, degenerate face I knew I was caught. There was a case against me. Maybe I might beat the murder rap, but I was certain to land in jail. My fear turned to a smouldering rage. I had come so far. I was now right at the top. Until she had telephoned, my future was assured. Now I was in her trap. She had only to crack her whip and I would have to obey. I was sure she planned to bleed me white.

“Well, all right,” I said. “I’ll give you some money. I’ll give you five thousand dollars. That’s all I can spare. Think yourself damn lucky to get it.”

“Oh no, Jeff. I have a score to settle with you. I haven’t forgotten how you once treated me.” She put her hand to her face. “No sonofabitch slaps me without paying for it. I’m dictating the terms. That tape you lost is going to cost you sixty thousand dollars. I want ten thousand this week. Ten thousand on the first of the month and thirty thousand on the following month and ten thousand as a final payment.”

I felt a rush of blood to my head, but I kept control of myself.

“No!”

She laughed.

“All right: please yourself. You think it over, Jeff. I’m not bluffing. You either pay up or we go to jail. That’s the proposition. Please yourself.”

I thought about it. I could see no way out. I was caught. I knew it wouldn’t stop there. Once she had run through the sixty thousand, she would come back for more. The only escape from her continual blackmail would be if she died. I suddenly realised that if I were to live the life I wanted to live I would have to kill her.

The thought didn’t shock me. I had no feeling for her. She was a depraved, degenerate animal. It would be like killing some disgusting insect.

I opened my cigarette case, took out a cigarette and lit it. My hands were rock steady.

“Looks as if you have me over a barrel,” I said. “Well, all right. I’ll get the ten thousand. I’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow. If you will meet me outside here at this time, I’ll give it to you.”

She smiled at me: it was a smile that chilled my heart.

“I know what you are planning, Jeff. I’ve thought this thing out. I’ve had plenty of time to think while you have been so busy making money. I put myself in your place. How would I react, I asked myself, if I were you and found myself in such a fix?” She let smoke drift out of her open mouth as she paused, then she went-on, “First, I would try to find a way out. It wouldn’t take me very long to realise there is no way out except one way.” She leaned forward and stared at me. “The same idea has occurred to you, hasn’t it? The only way out is for me to be dead, and you’re already planning to kill me, aren’t you?”

I sat motionless, staring at her. The blood drained out of my face and my body felt damp and cold.

“I’ve taken care of that angle,” she went on, and opened her shabby handbag. She took out a scrap of paper and flicked it into my lap. “You’ll mail the cheques to this address. It’s the address of the Pacific and Union Bank of Los Angeles. It’s not my bank, but they have been told to credit my account some-where else and you won’t know where it is. I’m taking no chances with you. There’ll be no way for you to find out where my bank is or where I’ll be living. So don’t imagine you are going to murder me, Jeff, because you’ll never find me after tonight.”

I kept control of the urge that made me want to fasten my hands around her throat and choke the life out of her.

“You seem to have thought of everything, haven’t you?” I said.

“I think I have.” She held out her hand. “Give me your wallet. I want some money right now.”

“You can go to hell,” I said.

She smiled at me.

“Remember years ago when you asked me for my purse and you took every dollar I had? Give me your wallet, Jeff, or we’ll take a walk to the Station house.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, then I took out my wallet and dropped it into her lap.

That morning I had been to the bank. I had two hundred dollars in the wallet. She took the lot and then tossed the wallet onto the table.

She got up, putting the money in her bag and she crossed the lobby to the reception desk and rang the bell.