1981 - Hand Me a Fig Leaf by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

distance?"
    Chick thought, then nodded. "Hank Smith, a coloured man. He has a job on the garbage-truck, Miami. I ran into him last year. I didn't remember him, but he remembered me. He insisted I go to his house in West Miami for a drink for old times. When he was in the regiment, he was a good soldier. Come to think of it, he wasn't out-going when I talked of Mitch and his medal. He just nodded, saying it was a fine thing for the regiment, then he changed the subject." Chick scratched his head. "Well, I don't know. You could have a point. I don't think the colonel would approve, but you could talk to Smith. You'll find him on West Avenue. He has a house at the corner, right."
    An hour later, I edged my car into the coloured ghetto of West Miami. The time was 21.10. I had a hamburger with Chick, then he had gone off on a date, and after returning to my two-room apartment, packing a suitcase for my stay at Searle, I had decided to see if I could talk to Hank Smith.
    It was a hot, steamy evening. West Avenue was lined, either side, with small, dilapidated houses.
    Coloured people sat on their verandas, kids played in the street. I came under the searching stare of many eyes as I pulled up outside a shabby house on the corner, right.
    A large, fat woman, her head enveloped in a bright red handkerchief, her floral dress fading from many washes, sat in a rocker, staring into space. Her small black eyes watched me as I got out of the car, pushed open the garden gate and walked up to the veranda. I was aware that some hundreds of eyes from the other verandas were also watching me.
    "Mrs. Smith?" I asked, coming to rest before the woman. At close quarters, I could see she was around fifty years of age. Her broad, black face had that determined, strong face of a woman who is struggling to keep up a standard and refusing to accept the bitter fact that, for her, standards were slipping out of reach.
    She gave me a curt, suspicious nod.
    "That's me."
    "Is Mr. Smith around?"
    "What do you want with my husband? If you're selling something, mister, don't bother: I look after our money and I ain't got anything to spare."
    A tall, massively built coloured man appeared in the doorway. He had on a clean white shirt and jeans. His close-cropped crinkly hair was shot with grey. His bloodshot black eyes were steady and, as he peeled his thick lips off strong white teeth in a wide smile, he looked amiable.
    "You want something, mister?" he asked in a low rumbling voice.
    "Mr. Smith?"
    "Sure . . . that's me."
    "Mr. Smith, I hope I'm not disturbing you. Chick Barley said you might be glad to meet me."
    His smile widened.
    "Mr. Barley is a great man. Sure, I'm always pleased to meet any friend of Mr. Barley." He came forward and offered is his hand which I shook.
    "Dirk Wallace," I said. "I work for Colonel Parnell."
    He smiled again.
    "Another great man. Well, come on in, Mr. Wallace. Our neighbours are kind of nosey. Let's have a drink."
    "Hank!" his wife said sharply. "Watch with the drink!"
    "Relax, Hannah," he said, smiling affectionately at the woman. "A little drink does no harm to good friends."
    He led me into a small living-room. The furniture was austere but reasonably comfortable. There were two armchairs, a deal table and three upright chairs.
    "Sit you down, Mr. Wallace," Smith waving to one of the armchairs. "How about a little Scotch?"
    "That would be fine," I said.
    While he was away, I looked around. There were photographs of him in uniform, his wedding photograph and photographs of two bright-looking kids. He returned with two glasses, clinking with ice and heavy with Scotch.
    "And how is Mr. Barley?" he asked, giving me one of the glasses. "I haven't seen him for some time."
    "He's fine," I said, "and he sends you his best." Smith beamed and sat down.
    "You know, Mr. Wallace, we soldiers never had any time for MPs, but Mr. Barley was different. Many a time, he'd look the other way when we were in the front line. The guys really