The wary transgressor pdf

The Wary Transgressor. The wary transgressor by James Hadley Chase. Skollie by John Fredericks. Gabrielle Transgressor by Harris Dickson. Anatole Litvak by Michelangelo Capua. British Film Catalogue by Denis Gifford. The Noir Thriller by Lee Horsley. Sam Spiegel by Natasha Fraser-Cavassoni. Copyright Office. Shock Treatment by James Hadley Chase. So when she recommended eating with him, David couldn't trust his luckiness.

Be that as it may, it wasn't generally fortunes that had organized their meeting. It was only a little piece of the arrangement Laura's arrangement in which David remained to acquire more than six thousand lire. All he needed to do was help s He met her when he was despondent directing visitors round the sights of Milan.

All he needed to do was help submit kill. Jun 17, Chinmay Hota rated it it was amazing. The unexpected turn of events in the grand finale of The Wary Transgressor will bowl you over.

But the turns in the beginning, the middle, or even before the action began, i. The book opens up the vicious nature of greed. The protagonist is determined to stay clear of the snares of temptation, but his determination is taken a bit too far in the end. Smart in his thinking and moves throughout he emrges as the real sucker in the end, in the t The unexpected turn of events in the grand finale of The Wary Transgressor will bowl you over.

Smart in his thinking and moves throughout he emrges as the real sucker in the end, in the true tradition of James Hadley Chase. Sep 27, Dhiraj Sharma rated it really liked it.

Typical trip hammer excitement and edge of the seat story, only Chase's preference to sometimes provide his stories with not so happy endings makes this a sad ended tale. Incontra una donna, se ne invaghisce e, corrisposto, si trasferisce nei pressi del lago Maggiore. Ritornando sui personaggi, invece, hanno mantenuto sempre quel profilo da burattini nelle mani del burattinaio tipici del giallo da camera chiusa che io sopporto poco, per non dire che disprezzo.

Jan 29, Kakha rated it it was amazing. This charming book was published almost seventy years ago, but it is not old, the story in it is not old, everything is fresh, interesting and dynamic, and relevant. Believe me. Just read it for yourself and then see for yourself. In this dizzying story, of course, there is a crime which, by the way, he, the main character of the book did not commit , there is a pretty woman, love But it turns out that this love is only one-sided, it turns out that this poor man is simply ominously played, t This charming book was published almost seventy years ago, but it is not old, the story in it is not old, everything is fresh, interesting and dynamic, and relevant.

But it turns out that this love is only one-sided, it turns out that this poor man is simply ominously played, that beautiful woman is trying to manipulate him, use him as a weapon of crime. Mar 01, Atharva Pushkar Phatak rated it it was amazing. Absolutely stunning book David Chisholm is one of those guys who fells in love with a shady character who tries to persuade him to kill her husband And the story revolves Learnt so many things from this book Aug 20, Maria Savina rated it really liked it Shelves: 20th-century , american-literature , audiobook , crime , crime-fiction , detective-fiction , james-chase.

Mar 15, Malathi Mrinal rated it liked it Shelves: crime. Riveting ,thrilling ,plot Jan 19, David rated it it was amazing Shelves: fantastic-literature. My favorite hadley book. I mean so far. Dec 19, Otee Harry rated it it was amazing. Really interesting one by James Hadley Chase. Un po' deludente visto come inizia.

Aug 20, Mark Vickers rated it really liked it Shelves: chase-james-hadley. David Chisholm, an impoverished american, with a shady past, works as an unofficial tourist guide in Milan, Italy. Send your comments to medwatt hotmail. He studied her, watching her gentle undulations as she walked. He quickly shifted his eyes. He hadn't looked at a woman like this since he had first met Ann. What's the matter with me? I'm getting as bad as Parker.

He looked again at the blonde. An evening out with her, he thought, would be sensational. What the eye doesn't see, Parker was always saying, the heart doesn't grieve about.

That was true. Ann would never know. After all', other married men did it. Why shouldn't he? But when the girl crossed the road and he lost sight of her, he jerked his mind back with an effort to the letter he had received that morning from Ann. She had been away now for five weeks, and she wrote to say her mother was no better, and she had no idea when she was coming back. Why did her mother have to live miles away from anywhere and be so cussedly independent?

Ken asked himself as he walked briskly towards the bank. No one over seventy should be allowed to live alone. When they got ill, their long-suffering daughters had to go and look after them, and their still more long-suffering sons-in-law had to fend for themselves. Five weeks was too long, and Ken was sick of looking after himself; sicker still of being without Ann.

He ran down the steps leading to the staff cloakroom where he found Parker adjusting his tie in the mirror over the toilet basins.

When's Ann coming home? Ann doesn't know when she'll get away. I haven't had her out of my hair for fourteen years. Why you haven't painted the town red beats me. I don't know; some guys don't know what they're here for.

He was sick of Parker's continual jibes. Ever since Ann went away, Parker had been on at him to kick over the traces. Not a day passed but Parker was nagging at him to have a night out. Parker was forty-five, inclined to fat and going bald. He was always resurrecting the past, remembering what a rake he had been, and how all women had found him irresistible, and still found him irresistible for that matter.

You want to let off a little steam. I was talking to old Hemmingway on the way up. He says you can't do better than have a night out at the Cigale. Haven't been myself, worse luck, but he goes regularly, and he was telling me it's the spot. It sounds swell: good food, cheap drinks and plenty of willing wantons. It'd do you a power of good. A change of women now and then is good for us all. Ever since he had married he had looked forward to going home opening the front door and seeing with a sense of satisfied pleasure Ann appear to greet him.

But these past five weeks had changed all that: the thought of returning each evening to the empty bungalow irritated him now. His mind shifted to the conversation he had had with Parker. The Cigale. He had seen the nightclub several times from the outside. It was down a side turning off Main Street: a gaudy place, decorated with neon lights and chromium.

He recollected the glossy pictures of show girls that he had glanced at as he had passed. It was not a place for a respectably married bank official to go to. As he closed his till before going to lunch, he decided firmly against the Cigale. He would go home as usual and be bored. He went down to the cloakroom for his hat. Parker was washing his hands, as Ken came in. What's it going to be - wine, women and song or just a nice, friendly woman? The lawn wants cutting. You must be in a worse rut than I am.

Imagine cutting the lawn when the wife's away! Seriously, Holland, you have a duty to yourself. What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve about.

It may be your last chance before you get old and useless. Parker's continual suggestions irritated him, and he was frowning as he walked along the hot sidewalk to the restaurant where he always took his meals. He was thinking: of course he's right. I've been in a rut ever since I married. I don't suppose I'll get another chance to kick the can around. Ann won't leave me again: anyway, not for years.

But do I want to 6 kick the can around? If only I knew when Ann was coming back. This might go on for weeks. It may be your last chance before you get old and useless, Parker had said. Why not have a night out tonight? Why not? He suddenly felt excited and reckless. He would do it!

It would probably turn out to be a flop, but anything was better than returning to the empty bungalow. He would go to the Cigale and have a couple of drinks. Maybe some blonde would be willing to share his company without making any complications.

That's it, he said to himself, as he walked on towards the restaurant; a final night out; a swan song. II The afternoon dragged for Ken. For the first time since he could remember, his work bored him and he caught himself continually looking at the wall clock. The stale, baked air coming in from the street, the roar of the traffic and the hot, sweating faces of his customers irritated him.

He began to check his cash. You don't know what you're missing. I've had about enough of this place for today. Ken scarcely listened. Away from the bank now, and heading for home, his natural caution reasserted itself. He would cut the lawn, he told himself, and he would spend the rest of the evening at home. He must have been nuts even to contemplate having a night out. If he slipped up, was seen or got himself into a mess, he might not only ruin his marriage, but he might end his career.

Take me to your place and I'll walk the rest of the way. Maybe you'll offer me a drink. I'm right out of whisky. He wanted to be rid of Parker, but he checked the impulse and, now he was clear of the heavy traffic, he accelerated and in a few minutes pulled up outside the neat little bungalow in line with a number of similar bungalows. He unlocked the front door and they entered the small hall. Been shut up all day, hasn't it? The two men lit cigarettes and raised their glasses.

You know, Holland, I sometimes wonder if I was wise to get married. It has a lot of advantages, of course, but women are so damned exacting. The y don't seem to realize a guy wants a little freedom now and then.

He finished his highball, sighed and looked expectantly at Ken. What's the matter with the old girl? Old age, I guess. This could go on for another month. I wouldn't mind putting you in the way of some fun too. What's that mean? It's not always easy to fix, but I manage to have a fling every once in a while when the wife goes to see her mother. How right you are. Old Hemmingway put me on to this dish. Everything's very discreet; no danger of being seen, and everything taken care of.

She's a hostess. You needn't be more than friendly if you don't want to. She takes care of lonely guys like you. You pay her, of course. You can take her out for the evening and leave her at her apartment if you feel like it, or if you don't you can go in. She's a damn convenient and very safe outlet. Her name's Fay Carson. All you have to do is call her, tell her you want to see her, and she'll give you an appointment.

She rates a little high, but she's worth it. I promised her I'd recommend her to my friends. I always keep a promise. Take her out. She's fun. She's just what a lonely guy needs. Take her out tonight to a show.

What's the matter with that? She's really something. I wouldn't put you onto a cheap floosie. This girl's got everything. See you tomorrow. Thanks for the drink. Lock it up somewhere for future reference. You never know. So long now.

I'll let myself out. Ken glanced at the telephone number written on the card. Riverside He hesitated for a moment, then tore the card in half and dropped it into his trash basket. He picked up his coat and went along the passage to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, looking into the big, airy room. It looked horribly neat and unlived-in and forsaken.

He tossed his coat on the bed and began to strip off his clothes. He felt hot and sticky. Through the curtained window he could see the evening sun blazing down on the thick grass of the lawn.

Too early to start pushing a mower yet, he told himself, and went into the bathroom and took a shower. He felt better when he had put on an open-necked shirt and a pair of old slacks. He wandered into the lounge and stood looking around.

The time was twenty minutes past six: a long time before he went to bed, and already he felt lonely. He crossed to the table and splashed whisky into his glass, carried the glass to an armchair near the radio and sat down, He turned on the radio, lit a cigarette and stared emptily at the opposite wall. So Parker had found himself a girl. That surprised Ken. He had always regarded Parker as a man who talked a lot and did nothing. As some speaker began a lecture on the horrors of the H-bomb, Ken impatiently snapped off the radio.

He got up and walked over to the window to stare out at the garden. He had no inclination to cut the lawn or go out and weed the rose bed, which was in need of attention. He remained looking out of the window for some minutes; his face darkened by a frown. The n he glanced at his wrist-watch, lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug and went across the room to the hall. He opened the front door and walked out on to the porch.

The atmosphere was hot and close. Probably a storm blowing up, he thought. It's too damned hot to cut the lawn. I'll skip it for tonight.

Might be cooler tomorrow. The moment he had made the decision he felt more relaxed in mind. How quiet and empty the bungalow felt, he thought, returning to the hall. He wandered into the lounge and finished the whisky in his glass, and without thinking, splashed more whisky into the empty glass and carried it into the kitchen.

This was going to be another dull evening, he thought as he opened the refrigerator to see what Carrie, the coloured help, had left him for supper.

A glance at the empty shelves told him she had forgotten to prepare anything, and he slammed the door shut. The re were cans of food in the pantry, but he didn't feel like eating out of a can. Shrugging impatiently, he went back to the lounge and put on the television.

The prancing blonde in a frilly little skirt who appeared on the screen held his attention. He sat down and watched her. She reminded him of the slim blonde he had seen on the street that morning. He watched an indifferent programme for half an hour or so and during that time he twice got up to refill his glass. At the end of the programme, and before a new one began, he snapped off the television, got to his feet and began to pace slowly up and down. Parker's flat-footed cliche kept going through his mind: what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve about.

He looked at his watch. In another hour it would be dusk. He went over to the whisky bottle. The re was only a little left now, and he emptied what 12 there was into the glass. The previous drinks he had had were now affecting him, and he felt in an increasingly reckless mood. Why stay in tonight? Why not give Parker's girl a trial? She takes care of lonely guys, Parker had said. That's what he was, wasn't he?

He carried his drink into the bedroom, set it down on the dressing-table, pulled off his shirt and took a new one from a drawer. What was her telephone number? He closed his eyes while he tried to think, and discovered he had drunk more whisky than he had thought. Everything depends on her voice he said to himself and what she says. If she sounds awful, I can always hang up. If no one answers, then I will cut the lawn.

That's a bet. Buttoning up his shirt, he went into the lounge and dialled the number. He listened to the burr-burr-burr on the line, aware that his heart was now beating rapidly.

She's not there, he said to himself after a few moments and he felt both relieved and disappointed. Well, this lets me out. I'll skip it and cut the lawn; but he was reluctant to replace the receiver. The n suddenly there was a click over the line, and his heart missed a beat and then raced.

Who's calling? A friend of mine. It was a nice, friendly laugh and Ken felt suddenly at ease. Do you want to come on over? How long will you be? Do you know it? I'm on the top floor; only heaven is higher. Have you a car? The re's a parking lot at the corner. It would take him twenty minutes to get there. You'll find the front door open. Just walk up.

Good-bye for now. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. Even now he hadn't committed himself, he thought. I needn't go. I have still time to make up my mind. He returned to the bedroom and finished dressing. As he knotted his tie, 14 he recalled the sound of her voice. He tried to create a mental picture of her.

Was she blonde? Was she tall? She sounded young. Parker said she had everything. She must be pretty good for Parker to say that. He slipped on his coat. The n leaving the bedroom he went into the lounge. For a long moment, he stood, hesitating. At least I can look at the place he thought. If it isn't much I needn't go in. Damn it! I needn't feel so shifty about this.

It's not as if I'm going to misbehave myself with the girl. I'll take her to a show or a night-club. He took out his billfold and checked his money. He noticed his hands were shaking and he grinned. As he looked across the room to the front door, he found he couldn't look at the silver-framed photograph of Ann which stood on the desk.

The attendant, an elderly man wearing a white overall, came out of his little hut and waved Ken to park beside a glittering Buick. I don't know. Lots of guys leave their cars here all night. He paid for the parking ticket. I didn't know. By now dusk had fallen, and Ken felt fairly secure as he walked along Lessington Avenue.

It was a quiet street, bordered on either side by shady trees that acted as a screen. The houses looked neat and respectable and he met no one 16 during the short walk to No. Parker had said it was very discreet, no danger of being seen, and everything taken care of. So far he was right. Ken paused to look up and down the street before mounting the steps that led to No.

Satisfied no one was watching him, he climbed the steps, turned the door handle and pushed open the door. He stepped quickly into the hall. Facing him was a flight of stairs.

On the wall, by the stairs, was a row of mail boxes. He paused to look at them. Above each was a card, carrying the owner's name. He read: May Christie, Gay Hordern. Eve Barclay. Glorie Gold. He was bothered neither by visitors nor the police. This morning, Art Bannion, lean, balding, and with features a buzzard might envy, lolled in his desk chair, his feet on the desk, contemplating his past life.

From time to time when he was bored readin crime fiction and when the telephone remained silent, he would think of his mistakes and his life in various prisons, and even of his mother and father. His parents had been small-time farmers who were happy to slave on the land and earn, to Art's thinking, pea-nuts. His brother, Mike, ten years younger than Art hadn't had Art's driving ambition.

Art had left home when he was seventeen, thirsting for money and the bright lights. After a year of semi-starvation in New York, he was t with two other men, trying to bust a bank safe, He cough went to prison for two years.

From then on, he never stopped trying for the fast buck, and did so badly, he was continually being picked up and thrown in the slammer When his parents died, his brother, Mike, joined tl, regular army and worked his way up to Musketry Sergeant which Art considered to be one of the lowest forms of animal life.

However, he was fond of his brother who never interfered, never criticized, always visited him when he was in prison and never attempted to change Art's way of life.

There was a strong bond between the two men, and Art had a sneaking admiration for his brother which he kept to himself. When Art finally accepted the fact that crime didn't pay, he looked around, found and wedded Beth, a small, fat, easy-going woman of forty whose father was serving life for murder and whose mother ran a sleazy brothel in New Orleans.

Beth was happy to help Art run crime-casting agency and to have a well-furnished, c fortable four-room apartment. Sitting at his desk, thinking about his past, Art turi his thoughts to his brother, and his face saddened. When Mike had reached the rank as a ni, sergeant, he had married. Art had onlysmheet wmike's No e Mary, once, but he had approved. Mi broke the news of his we dding when visiting Art, prison, some six years ago. Mi bad been transferred to California, and the brothers h; lost touch for some years.

Art bad vaguely wondered he Mike was getting on, but he was no letter writer, and I was fully occupied building up his agency. Now, two weeks ago, he had had a telephone call frol Mike asking if they could meet.

There was a note i Mike's voice that alerted Art that something was won He had told Mike to come to his apartment, but Mike ha said he wanted to talk to Art alone. Something up?

Thinking back on the meting, Art grimaced. When hi had opened the front door of his apart the ring on the bell, he was confronment in answer t4 ted by a man ht scarcely recognized as his brother. The last time he ha seen Mike he had envied his physique and that look th Army gives to its regulars, Mike was a shadow of his olc' self: thin, his face drawn feel. Ve, a baby girl arrived'- a Mongol' A year after his rftarria job to be 'with the- baby, named Mary had y had to ,i,v,en ap her Chrissy, and tended her with loving care.

They living and make do on Mike's reduce their standards of Army pay. Mongol baby? Mary was killed by a hit-and-run three weeks ago. I cculd 'But why now? I could have do I have been with You- For ;his sake. Mike said 'No one could have done anything for rft,' have no quietly - , had to sort it out for myself. I wife and Chrissy on my hands. I've put her in a home near ,ad, my barracks so I can see her 'Weeke , I got rid of my e in barracks.

This home is good for little house. I now liv ,ChTissy, but it costs. I've managed so far. I can give you some much do you want? I'll do what I can. I call give you the money. Da need at least fifty thousand " Mike said.

Art gaped at him. What the hell do you want all r? I've talked to who runs the home. He's a good guy. He tells has a malformation of her heart. It's the usua mongols. She won't live for more than fiftee give her the best attention, and I know she w best attention at this home, it's going to cost ri dollars, and that will take care of her for the short life,' ' 'But Mike!

You're earning! I'll chip in. Yo to bad all this money at once. You can pa month by month,' Mike nodded. Looking at his brother, seel face and the sunken eyes, he felt a chill crawl 'Dead? Don't talk crap! You're good for What are you talking about? Art closed his eyes. He felt the blood drai face. There was a long silence, then Mike said, two years, I have had odd pains.

They come a didn't tell Mary. I thought it was nothing. People have pains, and it is nothing, but they When I lost Man and these pains got worried about Chrissy, so I talked to the for me to see a specialist at Northport, Long I why I'm here. I saw him a couple of days ago me I had around six months to live, I'll hay hospital in a couple of months, and I won' out. Let's talk business, Art.

Now, -you told me what your looked straight at his brother. There is no way I racket is: findi us and dollars, but I've got to do just thatcan raise fifty tho nths to live. For Chrissy, can you get me a job that'll p - you do? What caned his sweating Art took out his handkerchief and rnoPP face.

I see your reasoning, but fifty 'I don't kno ce. You're an amateur. You grand for a job is pretty scar work have no police record. MY People wouldn't want to with you. A job that Pays that big is kept in the family SO to speaking note in his voice.

Whatever the job is, I'll do it, and I' do it well. I have a month's sick leave. I'll stay here until the Mirador Hotel. Think about it, Art. I'm relying on you. Art nodded. I can't promise anything. So long for with you. Now, I expect y now,' and he left. He wondered if he should sell stock, but he knew Beth wouldn't stand for that.

He on with her and she had been had discussed the sitliati t 'Dotty brats should be smothered a unsympathetic. Is that don't sell stock and give our mane ianderstood? Art had heard nothing from him, but the memory of those sunken eyes and the look of despair haunted him. Interrupting his dismal thoughts, Beth put her head around his office door. Art stiffened to attention.

Haddon was his most profitable client. He had supplied Haddon with many top-class thieves, and Haddon paid generously. Picking up the receiver, he said, 'Hi, Mr. Haddonl Good to hear from you. Something I can do? This looked custommade for Mike. I've got just the man. What's the job? It'll pay around sixty thousand. This was too good to be true. He's a top-class shot and needs the money.

You can rely on him. Right now he is a Musketry instructor in the Army. He looks good, talks well and is a certain shot. How did he know that Mike would deliver to Haddon's satisfaction? Haddon was ruthless. So far, Art had given him more than satisfaction, but he knew for sure, one slip and Haddon would deal with him no longer.

Haddon's account with Art was the guts of his agency. If Haddon dropped him, so would all his other clients drop him. He broke out into a cold sweat, but he had shot off his mouth, and there was no retreat. Haddon said, 'That's fine with me. If you guarantee your brother, that's good enough for me. No one gets killed, but this man has to be a dead shot. It'll take around a couple of months.

This is a big one, Bannion. You screw it up, and you'll be out of business,' and Haddon hung up. Beth stormed into the office. That pin-head of a soldier? We have dozens of dead shots on the cards.

Why pick on him a goddamn amateur? He needs help. Go away! Mike Bannion. He expected his brother would be out on this mild sunny morning, but Mike came on the line immediately. Art thought: The poor bastard has been sitting in his dreary hotel room, waiting for me to call. Well, I've good news for him. When Art had told him the news, Mike said with a catch in his voice, 'I knew I could rely on you, Art, more than thanks. I won't let you down, I'll get going right away, but I need money.

I'll send you three thousand in cash to your hotel. Don't skimp on the chauffeur's uniform. It has to be convincing. My client is important. You can rely on me,' ai Mike hung up, Art sat back in his chair wondering if be shou consider himself a Saint or a sucker. Two Anita Certes entered the second bathroom of the penthouse suite of the Spanish Bay Hotel, bracing herself for what she knew she would find.

The penthouse suite, the most luxurious and most expensive suite in the hotel had been taken by Wilbur Warrenton, the son of Silas Warrenton, a Texas oil billionaire.

At the age of twenty-nine, Wilbur had not, as yet, joined the Texas Oil Corporation over which his father r ,i ned. He had had a Harvard education, taking a Niaster's degree in economics, had spent a year in the Army as Major Tanks , had travelled the world in one of his father's yachts, had met Maria, fallen in love and married.

When the honeymoon ended, he was to become one of the ten vice-presidents of his father's vast oil kingdom. His father, Silas Warrenton, a tough oil-man, had no love for anyone except his son. Silas's wife had died a few years after Wilbur's birth, and Silas, who had been deeply in love, had transferred this love to his son.

When Wilbur told his father that he wanted to marry and had introduced Maria, Silas had stared thoughtfully at her. If this piece was what his son wanted to marry, he would raise no objection. After all, he told himself, she was worth screwing and divorce was easy. So he gave her a crooked smile, patted her shoulder and said, 'I want grandchildren, my dear.

Don't disappoint me. Even when Wilbur had hinted he too would like, children, she had stared bleakly at him. Let's be happy and free while we are young. Children always bring trouble. At the age of twenty-three, she was squatty built, dark-complexioned, hair like a raven's wing and a Cuban. She had been working at the hotel for the past twelve months.

Her jol was to clean the bathrooms, change the bed linen daily, dust and clean. Anita had 'done' Wilbur's bathroom. That was no problem. He even folded his bath towels, and there was no mess, but Maria's bathroom made Anita boil with suppressed fury. What a goddamn slut this rich, spoilt woman was! Anita thought as she surveyed the mess she was now faced with to clear up.

Sodden towels lay on the floor. Did she take the towels into the bath with her? Anita wondered. Face powder and eyelash black splattered the mirrors. A trodden lipstick smeared the floor tiles.

The toilet hadn't been flushed. The rich! Anita thought as she gathered up the sodden towels. Even if she was worth millions as this bitch was, she would never dream of leaving a bathroom in this disgusting state. As she worked, her mind shifted to her husband, Pedro. They had been married for two years. They had come, on Pedro's urging, to Florida in the hope of bettering their economic condition which had been hard in Havana.

Anita had been lucky to have got the cleaning job at the Spanish Bay Hotel, but Pedro could find only occasional work, street cleaning, which paid little, To her, Pedro was the most handsome man alive.

She loved him fiercely and Possessively: adoricnognsttbainst scloimm,dark man, accepting his bad tempers, his plaints, giving him everything she earned.

They lived in a one-room walk-up in Seacomb which was on the outskirts of Paradise City and where the workers lived. She was so in love with Pedro it didn't occur to her that he was a wastrel. After a few days with a brush and cart, street cleaning, he had given up. His one thought was to return to his father's small sugar cane farm although a year ago his One thought was to leave it.

Anita, litsotebniengpattoiebnits complaints, had kissed him, telling him Something good for him would turn up. She would work harder and she would provide.

Pedro had smiled, Okay, so they would wait. While she worked, clearing up the mess in the bathroom, she wondered what Pedro was doing. He told her he would be walking the streets, trying to find a job, but she wondered. At the end of each week, he bad spent all the money she had earned. Often, there wasn't money enough to buy more rice, and he had complained.

Anita, adoring him, promised to work harder. While she worked, making Maria Warrenton's bathroom immaculate, Pedro Certes was sitting in a shabby bar in Seacomb. With him was Roberto Fuentes. Both men were drinking beer. Fuentes a Cuban, had lived in Seacomb for the past three years. A short, over-fat man with glittering hard eyes, he had carved out a small living on the waterfront, cleaning and helping to service the many yachts of the rich.

This evening, he had decided that Pedro was ripe for a job that could make Fuentes some three thousand dollars. Fuentes believed that risks were not for him. If a man could pick up some three thousand dollars and find someone to take the risk, the idea was worth considering. Speaking in a low voice, he said, 'Pedro.

How would you like to pick up a thousand dollars? A thousand dollars? With money I could take my wife and myself back to my father's farm. What are you saying? His smile was like the flickering tongue of a snake. A thousand dollars! Nice, huh?

Keep talking. The big block of walk-ups? Each of them pay sixty dollars a week rent. That makes a take of forty-two hundred dollars. To you, it'll be as easy as screwing your wife. A thousand easy dollars! He works for the people who own the block. He's their rent collector as well as the janitor. Every Friday he goes from flat to flat and collects the rent money: forty-two hundred dollars, He goes back to his flat, writes the amounts up, then the following morning takes the money to the rental office.

He's been doing this for years. I've watched him. Now Levi is a creep without spine. He is fat and old. All we have to do is to walk in while he's counting the dough, wave a gun in his face and we have got forty-two hundred dollars.

I tell you, Pedro, it's as easy and simple as that. If I walked in, he would recognize me, but You, waving the gun, he wouldn't know. I stay outside, you do the business.

He thought, then shook his head. Fuentes grimaced. I can get anyone to do this job. It's so easy. Two thousand is out. Anita was off-duty until You mustn't! Fuentes and I ha e discussed this. There is no risk. Saturday, I go. If You want to stay, then stay. I'm going home with fifteen hundred dollars. That is final. Saturday we leave. Now get me something to eat. She allowed him, from time to time, to put his hand up her skirt for a gentle feel, and, in return, he gave her leftovers: bits of good steak, bits of chicken and sometimes even a slice of fruit tart.

As she sat, staring at Pedro, she nursed the plastic sack the chef had given her, and Pedro was looking hungrily at the sack. He hadn't eaten all day. Get me something to eatl' She got slowly to her feet and walked unsteadily into the tiny kitchen. Detective 1st Grade Tom Lepski liked Fridays.

Unless there was some emergency, and in Paradise City, this was rare, he could sign off and return home for the week-end. Okay, there was Carroll his wife, to nag him to do the lawn, but he was away from household chores and cut the detectives' room and even household chores were minor to sitting around waiting for crime. He looked at'his watch. Another ten minutes, and he would be off.

Carroll had told him there would be a chicken and ham pie for dinner. Lepski liked his food, and chicken and ham pie was one of his special favourites. Max Jacoby, 2nd Grade detective, was thumping out a stolen car report. He and Lepski worked well together. I dig that piel' Jacoby paused in his typing. When I sign off, I'll be going to Fung-U for a take-home dinner. That junk food is not for me. Carroll would flip her lid to think of me eating that kind of swill.

The telephone on Lepski's desk came alive. He snatched up the receiver and bellowed. What do you want? Do you have to be so common and shout like that? How's the pie looking? I had Mavis here. She was telling me about her husband.