1954 - Safer Dead by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

listening to the quick, light footfalls going along the passage. Then when they had died away I got slowly to my feet and looked at Bernie.
    ‘A hophead! He was coked to the eyeballs.’
    ‘My goodness!’ Bernie quavered. ‘I told you what would happen if we went on with this case.’ With a shaking hand he grabbed his glass of whisky and drained it.
    ‘He had me scared for a moment,’ I said, scowling. ‘I guess my nerves aren’t as good as they were.’
    ‘Mine were never good,’ Bernie said, scrambling off the bed. ‘Good grief! No one’s ever pointed a gun at me before.’
    He crossed the room to where his suitcase was standing; picking it up, he set it on a chair and began throwing his clothes into it.
    ‘What do you imagine you’re doing?’ I asked.
    ‘What do you think?’ Bernie said, without pausing. ‘I’m packing. We may as well be ready for a quick takeoff tomorrow morning. Come to that, why not go tonight?’ He threw socks and handkerchiefs into the case and then crossed the room for a pair of shoes. ‘Don’t stand staring; get packing yourself.’
    ‘You don’t think I’m going to let a hophead scare me off a good story, do you?’ I asked heatedly.
    Bernie put his shoes in the case.
    ‘I don’t know. I’m not all that interested,’ he said, looking around for further belongings. ‘You heard what the guy said: get out or else. He’s already knocked off Farmer, the Nichols woman and Hesson. You heard him, didn’t you? He didn’t strike me as a kidder. Did you see his eyes? Gee! I’ve got goose pimples the size of marbles all over me. If you want to stay here and play the tough guy, that’s okay with me. I’m a married man with responsibilities. I have a wife and dog to think of. I always take a hint, and brother! was that a hint!’
    I poured more whisky into my glass and drank some of it.
    ‘I was under the impression you liked working with me.’
    Bernie shut the lid of the suitcase.
    ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
    ‘Well, if you walk out on me you won’t be working with me, and you can bet your goose pimples, you won’t be working for Crime Facts either. Remind me to give you a dime when I see you begging for bread.’
    Bernie paled.
    ‘You don’t think Fayette would throw me out, do you? He wouldn’t want me killed, would he?’
    ‘So long as he got a good story, he wouldn’t care a hoot. And if you walk out now, he’ll blacklist you. You know how vindictive he is.’
    Bernie sat on the bed.
    ‘Can’t we tell him there’s nothing to this story?’
    ‘There’s a heap to it! I’m going after that hophead. Didn’t you hear what he said about Hesson? If we catch him, we’ll crack the case.’
    ‘Can’t you relax?’ Bernie pleaded. ‘We’re not cops. We’re writers - artists. Our job is to write for a magazine; not to catch killers. We’ve got to be reasonable about this. Leave him to the cops. That’s what they get paid for. I’m scared. I don’t care who knows it. Besides, I don’t carry any insurance. I’ve got to think of Clair.’
    ‘She’d be better off if you died,’ I said brutally. ‘Fayette would have to give her a pension.’
    Bernie licked his lips.
    ‘Suppose I go back to the office right now and start writing the story? I’ve got plenty to get on with. We don’t both have to be shot, do we?’
    ‘For the love of Mike, pull yourself together. No one’s going to shoot us. The cops will look after us until they catch this punk. And when he’s caught, we’ll bust the case.’
    Bernie tried to sneer.
    ‘How you kid yourself. You don’t imagine he’s behind any of this, do you? He’s just carrying out orders. He said so. If the cops do manage to catch him, there’ll be a flock of others to come after us.’
    I reached for the telephone book, turned up Creed’s home number and put a call through.
    Creed’s growling voice came over the line.
    ‘This is Sladen,’ I said. ‘We’ve just had a visitor with a gun. He