This is For Real by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

with an enormous sponge in her hand. She was hiding parts of her body with the sponge while water from a shower trickled over her.
    The tourists, crammed together at the tiny tables like well-arranged sardines, were leering at her.
    Even so close to death, Girland had to pause to look at the girl. A rough shove, just when he was thinking she had a nice shape, sent him forward and he walked on, out into the lobby.
    The doorman grinned at him.
    “I hope you enjoyed yourself, monsieur,” he said.
    Girland smiled crookedly.
    “You bet,” he said, then urged on by Schwartz, he left the club and climbed the stairs.
    “Wait,” Schwartz said when they reached the lobby.
    Thomas moved around them and walked into the street. After a short delay, Schwartz urged Girland forward again. They moved into the crowded Boulevard to where the black Citroen was double parked. The drivers of cars behind the Citroen began to sound their horns. Girland quickly slid into the back seat. Schwartz joined him. Thomas was already in the front seat and a bewildered Borg sat behind the driving wheel.
    Girland said, “There’s an automatic telephone at the café at the far end of this street.”
    Schwartz turned swiftly and before Girland could avoid it, he received a crushing blow against his jaw. As he lurched forward, Schwartz hit him on the back of his neck with the barrel of his gun.
    “All right,” Schwartz said, “now back to my place. He won’t make trouble.”
    “What the hell’s all this about?” Borg demanded as he wrestled the Citroen into the heavy traffic.
    “Shut your mouth!” Thomas snarled.
    Borg gave him a startled glance, then concentrated on his driving.
    Thomas, huddled in his seat, stared through the windshield. For a long time he had had an instinctive suspicion that Schwartz hated him: now it was out in the open. From now on, he would have to be very careful. He thought of Radnitz and his mouth turned dry. What would happen to him when Radnitz learned he had let Girland and this woman meet and talk?
    Borg swung the Citroen down a narrow cul-de-sac. Schwartz had three rooms in the basement below a bread and cake shop. It was a convenient place. After eight o’clock the shop and the cul-de-sac were deserted.
    He and Schwartz dragged Girland’s unconscious body from the car and down the narrow stairs that led to Schwartz’s rooms. They dropped him on the floor while Schwartz unlocked the door and turned on the light, then they dragged him into the big, sparsely furnished room. Thomas, following, closed and locked the door.
    This was the first time Borg had been to Schwartz’s place. He looked around curiously.
    What a hole! he thought and wrinkled his fat nose. The walls had damp stains. There was one filthy, threadbare rug on the floor. Against one of the walls was a divan bed: the sheets and pillow case were grey. There were four upright chairs covered in pale green, frayed velvet. A cigarette scarred table stood in the centre of the room. A naked electric light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a harsh light over the room’s sordidness.
    Leaving Girland lying by the table, Schwartz crossed the room to the telephone that stood on a dusty shelf near the bed. He dialled a number, then waited while Thomas and Borg watched him.
    “Mr. Radnitz,” Schwartz said when he got his connection.
    Thomas felt his stomach contract as Schwartz offered him the receiver.
    “Go ahead and talk to him,” Schwartz said.
    Thomas took the receiver the way a snake-hater touches a snake.
    There was a short wait, then Radnitz said, “Yes?”
    “This is Thomas, sir. The operation did not go according to plan,” Thomas said huskily. “We have him at Schwatz’s place. He and she have talked.”
    He waited, feeling sick. Sweat beads ran down the fringe of his beard.
    “You mean you have her there,” Radnitz said in his cold, impersonal voice.
    “No. She got away. Girland is here.”
    A long pause, then Radnitz said in a much