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

sharper tone. “I see. Very well, I will come,” and there was a click as he hung up.
    Thomas replaced the receiver.
    “He is coming,” he said. In an attempt to regain his authority, he went on, “Get him on the divan.”
    Neither Schwartz nor Borg moved. Schwartz sat on one of the upright chairs. Borg took out a pack of cigarettes and began to smoke.
    Thomas said shrilly. “I said get him on the divan!”
    Schwartz sneered at him.
    “You get him on the divan if you want him on the divan.”
    Girland moved, groaned and opened his eyes. He stared up at the damp stained ceiling. The three men watched him. As he began to struggle to sit up, Schwartz got to his feet and kicked him solidly in the ribs.
    The sudden shock of the kick cleared Girland’s brain. He rolled over, flung out his hand, grabbed Schwartz’s trouser cuff and jerked. Schwartz sprawled on the floor. Girland groped for him but Borg reached him and catching him by his thick hair, dragged him away from Schwartz who was struggling to his feet.
    Schwartz, his face white with rage, had his gun in his hand. Holding the gun by its barrel, he made to club Girland with the butt, but Thomas caught his arm and pulled him back.
    “He wants to talk to him,” Thomas said. “Cut it out!”
    Borg moved away from Girland who sat up and peered at Schwartz.
    “One of these days, Stone-face,” Girland said, “we’ll meet on more equal terms, then watch out.”
    Schwartz shoved Thomas away, sneered at Girland and went back to his chair.
    Girland got unsteadily to his feet, holding the back of his neck. The three men watched him as he went over to the divan and sat on it.
    Borg took a flat flask containing brandy from his hip pocket. He drank greedily, then offered the flask to Girland.
    “Have a swig,” he said. “You look like you need it.”
    Girland took the flask and let the cheap brandy trickle down his throat. He grimaced, then sighed as he screwed the cap on the flask. He handed the flask back to Borg who grinned at him.
    “As you’re giving things away,” Girland said, “I could use a cigarette.”
    Borg tossed him a pack which Girland caught. He shook out a cigarette and lit it, then he made to toss the pack back but Borg said, “You keep it.”
    Thomas watched all this. He was now beginning to become frightened of Borg. Why should Borg treat this man this way unless he was now sure that he (Thomas) was finished?
    Silence brooded over the sordid room while Girland smoked and slowly recovered from the blow on the back of his neck. From time to time, Borg took out the flask and drank. Schwartz remained motionless, his glittering eyes on Girland. Thomas got tired of leaning against the wall. He pulled a chair towards him, away from the other two and sat down.
    Minutes dragged by, then they heard the sudden sound of a door shutting. Thomas got to his feet and went to the door. He opened it and stood back as Radnitz, cigar between his fat fingers, came in.
    Radnitz wore a black cloak that hung from his square shoulders.
    The cloak was scarlet-lined and looked impressive as well as theatrical. He came into the room like a man moving into a leper’s hut.
    Thomas said in a small, tight voice, “This is Girland, sir.”
    Radnitz glanced briefly at Girland, then waved his hand to the three men.
    “Wait outside,” he said curtly.
    When they had gone and the door was closed, Radnitz took off his cloak and laid it carefully on a chair. He looked around the room, his face registering disgust, then he walked over to a green velvet covered chair and sat down.
    As if speaking to himself, he said, “A pig would be unhappy in such a sty.”
    Girland watched him.
    Radnitz went on looking around the room. Finally his small ice-cold eyes eventually came to rest on Girland.
    “I am Herman Radnitz,” he said. “You will have heard of me.” As Girland said nothing, Radnitz went on, “I have heard something about you, Mr. Girland. You are a professional agent,