1966 - You Have Yourself a Deal by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

passing on, swinging her hips and touching her hair with the practiced hand of a woman who knows she is being admired.
    Pfc Willy Jackson was a well-disciplined soldier who had ambitions. All that talk about every soldier having a Marshal’s baton in his knapsack was food and drink to Jackson. He considered Eisenhower, Bradley and Patton the three greatest men who had ever lived. In another twenty years, he also could be a General.
    Willy Jackson was twenty-three. He was brimful of confidence: one of the best shots in the Army, the champion light heavyweight boxer of his Battalion and the best pitcher of the SHAPE baseball team. Jackson had everything that made an excellent soldier . . . and that was to be his downfall.
    While he was thinking with some pleasure what he and the nurse who had just passed could do together if ever he had the opportunity of meeting her off duty, the elevator doors opened and a man, dressed in the uniform of an American Staff Colonel, stepped into the corridor.
    Willy Jackson was susceptible to rank. A Captain made him tread carefully: a Major brought him out in a sweat: a Colonel reduced him to an inarticulate idiot.
    It was his greatest ambition to reach the rank of Colonel when he was thirty years of age, and when he saw this squat, powerfully built man wearing an immaculate uniform with three blazing rows of combat ribbons, his mouth turned dry and he presented arms with a slap and a stamp that shook the corridor.
    Smernoff, a little awkward in his brand new uniform, his hand hovering close to the butt of the gun he had on his hip, regarded him. He had already been informed about Jackson. He hoped he would have no trouble with him.
    “What are you doing here, soldier?” he barked, coming to rest in front of Jackson.
    “Guarding the corridor, sir,” Jackson said, sweat breaking out on his freckled face. This was the first time in his military career that an officer of a majority rank had deigned to speak to him.
    “Where’s General Wainright’s room?”
    “No. 147, sir.”
    “You guarding General Wainright?”
    “No, sir. This woman in No. 140.”
    “Oh, yeah.” Smernoff relaxed a little. He hadn’t thought it would be this easy. “I’ve read about her. At ease, soldier.”
    Jackson slightly relaxed. He allowed his blue, somewhat innocent eyes to meet Smernoff’s dark cruel, beady eyes, then he abruptly looked away.
    What a man! he thought. Jackson! You have got to get with it!
    You’ve got to cultivate the way this guy looks!
    “This woman,” Smernoff said, hooking his thumbs into his trousers pockets. “Have you seen her?”
    “No, sir.”
    “They say she has Chinese marks tattooed on her arse. Is that right?”
    “I wouldn’t know, sir.”
    “How’s the General?”
    “I wouldn’t know, sir.”
    “Soldier, let me tell you something: you’re lucky to be a Pfc.”
    Smernoff was beginning to enjoy himself. “You don’t have to worry about goddam Generals. What room did you say the old bull was in?”
    Jackson flinched. He considered General Robert Wainright was a fine soldier. This disrespect shocked him.
    “Room 147, sir.”
    “Okay, carry on, soldier,” and Smernoff began to walk, heavy-footed, erect and very much the Colonel down the corridor. Then he stopped short, turned and cursed.
    “You . . . soldier!”
    Jackson stiffened to attention.
    “Sir!”
    “Go down to my Jeep. I have left my goddam briefcase!”
    Automatically, Jackson turned and started for the elevator, then stopped.
    “Excuse me, sir. I am on guard.” The agony in his voice nearly made Smernoff laugh.
    “You’re relieved! I’m here, aren’t I? Get my briefcase!”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Jackson pressed the call button and when the elevator doors swished open, he entered the cage and descended to the lobby.
    Parked in the drive, was a military Jeep. Jackson ran over to it.
    Two Pfcs were standing, talking together. They turned as Jackson came up.
    “The Colonel’s briefcase,” Jackson