You've Got It Coming Page 14

  Glorie had reason to look worried. She had been horrified when Harry had told her of his plan to contact Takamori, and when they had parted at the airport, she was sure she wouldn't see him again. He had promised he would telephone her at four o'clock this afternoon. She had got back at twenty minutes to four, and now she sat down in the only armchair in the room to wait his call.

  She was practically certain the call wouldn't come through She had visions of him being in prison or even dead, and she waited, smoking cigarette after cigarette, trying to still the fear in her mind, and trying not to dwell on the possibilities of what could have happened to him.

  But as the minute hand of her watch moved on to the hour, the telephone bell rang. She jumped up, knocking the ashtray off the arm of the chair, and snatched up the receiver.

  “Glorie?” Harry's voice sounded far away over the crackling line.

  “Oh yes, Harry. I've been so worried about you.” The relief of hearing his voice made her feel faint.

  “Listen!” He sounded curt and angry. “It didn't work. I can’t talk over the phone. I'm catching a plane to Oklahoma City. I want you to meet me there. There's a six-ten plane out you can catch. It'll get you there in time to meet me. I'll arrive just after ten. Wait at the airport for me.”

  “Yes, darling. Wouldn't he take them?”

  “He took them all right, but there's no dough,” Harry said, his voice savage. “I’ll tell you when we meet.”

  “Yes, Harry. Are you in trouble?”

  “I don't think so. Don't talk now.”

  “All right, darling. I’ll meet the ten o'clock plane at the Oklahoma City airport. Is that right?”

  “That's right. I'll be seeing you,” Harry said and hung up.

  Listening in in the other room, Borg fished out another cigarette and lit it. He thought for a long moment, then he took off the headphones and dismantled the amplifier. He put the headphones and the amplifier in his suitcase, slipped on his coat, picked up his hat and let himself out of the room. He walked to the elevator and rode down to the reception hall.

  Dodge came over.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Borg said. “Who can tell me the next plane out to Oklahoma City?”

  “I'll fix it,” Dodge said and went over to the hall porter. After a brief consultation he came back.

  “There's a five o'clock and a six-ten,” he told Borg.

  Borg grunted, looked at his watch and decided he could make the five o'clock. He started towards the exit.

  “Hey!” Dodge said. “You going?”

  Borg didn't stop. He passed through the revolving doors, waved to a taxi, and said, “Airport, fast.”

  Dodge watched the taxi drive away, then frowning, he went to his office and sat down. He had laid Borg's money on Red Admiral, and now the race was about to start, he felt uneasy.

  For the next twenty minutes, he sat watching the telephone, sweat beading his face. When his informant came through and told him Red Admiral had finished sixth, he slammed down the receiver and sat cursing. He was in trouble. He had to raise some money somehow and raise it quickly. Getting to his feet he opened his office door with the intentions of seeing if he could raise a loan from the hall porter, when he paused. Glorie was at the desk, paying her account. He saw her take from her purse a thick roll of bills, and his eyes narrowed. He waited until she had moved away from the reception desk, he crossed over to her.

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Harrison,” he said, “but I'd like a word with you in my office.”

  He saw alarm and fear jump into Glorie's eyes. This was going to be easier than he had thought. From experience he knew when they were scared, when they were soft.

  “What is it?” Glorie asked, her voice unsteady.

  “It won't take long,” Dodge said. “Just come with me.”

  They walked together across the hall and into Dodge's office.

  He shut the door and waved her to a chair.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Harrison,” he said.

  Glorie sat down.

  “I—I'm in a hurry. What is it, please?”

  “I have some information you might like to buy,” Dodge said, watching her closely.

  Glorie stiffened.

  “I might like to buy?” she repeated. “I don't understand what you mean.”

  “It’s simple enough,” Dodge said, with a foxy smile. “A guy has been here making enquiries about you and your husband. If you want details it'll cost you two hundred bucks.”

  Glorie turned cold. She looked at her watch. Time was running out if she was to catch the six-ten plane.

  “Who was it?” she asked huskily.

  “A big, fat, dirty-looking punk with a long, black moustache,” Dodge said. “He said he was working for the Alert Enquiry Agency.”

  Glorie went so white Dodge thought she was going to faint.

  Borg! Ben's paid killer! she thought, her mind crawling with panic. That could only mean that Ben was after them!

  Dodge continued to watch her, his hard little eyes glistening.

  “If you want any more of the dope you'll have to buy it,” he said.

  With unsteady hands, Glorie opened her bag, took out four fifty-dollar bills and put them on the desk.

  Dodge picked them up, examined them and slid them into his hip pocket.

  “This guy had photographs of you and your husband,” he said. “He said your name was Griffin. He showed me the photographs and I identified you and Mr. Harrison.” When he saw how Glorie blanched, he began to wonder if he shouldn't have asked for a lot more than two hundred dollars. “He took a room opposite yours,” he went on. “One of the bell hops reported to me he had seen this guy in your room. He was fixing a microphone so you can bet he listened in to anything you said if you used the telephone.”

  Glorie felt as if a splinter of ice had been driven into her heart. A microphone! Then Borg had heard her arrange to meet Harry at the Oklahoma City airport!

  “He left about half an hour ago,” Dodge went on He asked me what time the next plane to Oklahoma City left. He’s catching the five o'clock plane if that's of any interest to you.”

  Glorie turned even colder. That must mean Borg would be at the airport when Harry arrived, she thought. She had heard tales about Borg from Delaney. He was one of the finest marksmen in the country. He would have no trouble in picking Harry off as he came from the aircraft. He had an hour's start. He would have time to find a hiding place and then all he had to do was to wait until Harry's aircraft landed and then shoot him as he made his way to the reception hall. How could she warn Harry?

  She clenched her fists as she tried to think of some way to save him.

  “I guess that's all,” Dodge went on. “You want to watch that fat guy. I didn't like the look of him.”

  Glorie got to her feet. Without a word, she went out of Dodge s office, walked quickly across to where the bellhop waited with her suitcases.

  “Get me a taxi to the airport,” she said, “and hurry!”

  Dodge watched her, then, as the taxi took her away, he shrugged his shoulders and moved to his desk. He sat down and picked up the racing sheet. He began to concentrate on the next afternoon's runners.

  II

  Below him, Harry could see the lights of Oklahoma City airport as the aircraft came around in a wide circle before making its run in to land.

  Harry was feeling a little high. While he had waited at the Los Angeles airport he had had four double whiskies, and he still felt their effect. As he sat waiting for the aircraft to land, he thought back on what had happened since Takamori had defeated him.

  He had realized his only chance was to return the diamonds: his gamble had failed. He had returned to his hotel, taken the diamonds from the safe deposit, packed them and sent them to Takamori. It depended now on if he could trust Takamori to keep his side of the bargain. He thought he could. As Takamori had said, his only interest was to get the diamonds back. He didn't care what happened to Harry.r />
  But Harry had thought it safer to get out of Los Angeles. He had decided that Oklahoma City was far enough away to be safe anyway until he knew what Takamori was going to do. From Oklahoma City he was in a position to go north or south, according to the situation as he would find it the next day.

  During the flight from Los Angeles, he had considered his position. Instead of having a million and a half dollars, he now had only fifty thousand. Fifty thousand dollars was more money than he had ever owned in his life, but in comparison with what he had hoped to have, it was now to him a mere nothing.

  There was now no possibility of going to Europe. Fifty thousand dollars represented his working capital, and he didn't intend to waste a cent of it. He could still buy himself a partnership in some air-taxi business, but as he had made up his mind to finance his own company, he was reluctant to give up the idea.

  It would be tight going if he bought an aircraft with the amount of capital he had now. It could be done, but it would mean a long, dreary slog before he showed any profit, and he was reluctant to face up to that kind of hard work.

  He was still turning the problem over in his mind as the aircraft touched down and taxied towards the battery of lights that lit up the end of the runway. He could see a group of people waiting and he looked for Glorie, but couldn't see her.

  As the engines died and the airhostess pushed open the door, Harry got to his feet and stepped out into the gangway. The plane was full, and it took him some minutes before he could walk down the gangway and out into the warm, night air. Then he saw Glorie and he waved. She ran over to him.

  ''Hello, there,” he said. “Let's go somewhere where we can talk,” Glorie said and, taking his arm, she manoeuvred him into the group of people who were moving towards the reception hall.

  “Let them go ahead,” he said, pulling back. “We're in no hurry.”

  “No, Harry, keep with them,” Glorie said, and the note in her voice made him look sharply at her. Her white, strained face and the look of fear in her eyes jolted him. “What's wrong?” he asked.

  “It's Borg,” Glorie said, holding tightly on to his arm and keeping him moving so that he remained in the group that surged towards the reception hall. “He knows you're here. He's hiding somewhere. He's after us, Harry!”

  Harry's heart skipped a beat. He lengthened his stride so that he could keep pace with the people around him, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean he is actually here—where?”

  “I don't know. I've looked for him, but I can't see him. He may be out there in the dark. He may be anywhere.”

  “He knows you: he doesn't know me,” Harry said, a snarl in his voice. “Why the hell did you meet me? You've given me away!”

  “I haven't.” Glorie's voice shook. “He's got a photograph of us—you as well as me.”

  “A photograph of me? You mean of Harry Green, don't you?”

  “No. I don't know how he got it, but he's got a photograph of you.”

  By now they had reached the reception hall and they walked into the buffet. The curtains were drawn across the windows and the big room was full of people waiting for their flights or waiting for their cars to take them away from the airport. The room gave Harry a feeling of safety.

  “Sit where we can watch the door,” he said.

  They made their way across the room to an empty table and sat down. Harry slid his hand inside his coat and pulled out his gun. He held it in his lap. It was hidden by the table, but he could swing it into instant action by kicking the table away.

  A waiter came over and Harry ordered two double whiskies.

  He and Glorie sat side by side, not speaking until the waiter had served them. Then, when he had gone away, Harry said, “Let's get this straight. Do you mean he's got a photograph of me and not Harry Green?”

  “Yes, the hotel detective said he recognized you from the photograph Borg showed him.”

  Harry began to sweat.

  “Then he knows who I am? How the hell did he find out?” He turned to glare at Glorie. “Your smart idea's a damn washout, isn't it? What hotel detective? Tell me what's been happening.”

  Briefly Glorie told him about Dodge.

  “I warned you, darling,” she said. “I knew Ben would come after us. That awful man is dangerous. I've heard tales about him.”

  Harry knew Borg was dangerous without being told. He drank half his whisky, then lit a cigarette, his eyes never leaving the door across the room.

  “You should have kept clear of me,” he said. “The chances were he wouldn't have recognized me in the dark. But he couldn't have failed to spot you in that costume you're wearing. What the hell were you thinking of to wear a black-and-white thing like that? A blind man could spot you.”

  “I hadn't any time to change,” Glorie said, “I only just caught the plane. I didn't know what to do. I had to warn you.”

  “We can't stay here all night,” Harry said. “Did you fix a hotel?”

  “No, darling. I've only been here half an hour, and I've been trying to find Borg.”

  “You seem to have made a complete mess of this,” Harry said angrily. “So now we've nowhere to go?”

  Glorie held on to herself with an Effort. She knew he was frightened and he was taking it out on her only because he was too scared to think what to do. She realized it would depend on her to get them out of this mess if they were going to get out of it.

  “What happened to you, Harry? You didn't get the money?”

  “No. That yellow snake guessed I'd pulled the robbery. I had to give him the diamonds for nothing.”

  Glorie went white.

  “Is he telling the police?”

  “He says not. I don't think he will. But to hell with him! We've got to do something about Borg.”

  “Look, Harry, will you stay here? He wouldn't dare do anything here. I'll get a car. I'll find a hotel. Stay here and wait for me.”

  Harry scowled, but she could see the relief in his eyes.

  “Well, I don't know. I suppose it's all right. He's not likely to do anything to you. Okay, I'll hang on here. See if you can get a car—but hurry!”

  She got up and willed herself to walk across the room and into the reception hall.

  He's not likely to do anything to you. Glorie wished she could believe that. If Ben had sent Borg after them, he would have told him to go for her as well as Harry. She knew Ben. He wouldn't let her get away with double crossing him.

  She went to the exit and paused in the doorway looking out into the shadowy darkness. A line of taxis was drawn up across the way, but she wanted a private hire car. As she stood, looking to right and left, she heard a girl's voice saying, “For heaven's sake! Do you mean you haven't a pilot who can help me?”

  Glorie looked over her shoulder.

  A girl stood near her: she was slight and very blonde; her silky, straw-coloured hair lay on her shoulders in thick, heavy waves. She was wearing blue jeans and a well-worn suede windbreaker. Glorie thought she was around twenty-two or three, and, looking at her, she admired her hair and the straight way she held herself. She was talking to one of the airport officials.

  “I'm sorry, Miss Graynor, but we can't help you,” he was saying. “All our pilots are working.”

  “But look, my man is ill. He can't fly. I've got to get home tonight. You must do something.”

  Glorie paused to listen.

  The official shook his head, smiling apologetically.

  “I really am sorry, but we haven't anyone. I wish I could help you. I can fix something for you first thing tomorrow morning if that'd be any use.”

  “I can't wait until the morning. You don't know anyone who could fly me down—anyone.”

  “I'm afraid not. Why don't you take the passenger service, Miss Graynor? Your man could bring the plane down When he’s fit.”

  The girl hesitated, then shrugged.

  “Oh, well, yes, I guess I'd better do that.”

&nb
sp; She turned away and almost cannoned into Glorie.

  “Excuse me,” she said and sidestepped Glorie. .

  “I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying,” Glorie said. “I might be able to help you.”

  The girl stopped and looked at her. She was beautiful, Glorie thought enviously; young, clear-skinned, alive, with big, grey eyes.

  “Help me? I don't think you can. I want a pilot.”

  “My—my husband's a pilot,” Glorie said. “He's in the buffet now. Perhaps . . .”

  The girl's eyes lit up.

  “That'd be too good to be true,” she said. “But I’m going to Miami. He wouldn't want to go there, would he?”

  “We don't mind where we go. We—we're on vacation. Were just in from Los Angeles, and we were only saying just now we didn't know where we should stop off next,” Glorie said, improvising hastily. “Will you come and meet him? I'm sure he would be willing to help you.”

  “I think it's marvellous of you,” the girl said. “I suppose he has a licence?”

  “Oh yes. He was a crew captain for the C.A.T.C. until recently.”

  “That's wonderful. I'm Joan Graynor. I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. . . ?”

  “Griffin. I'm Glorie Griffin. My husband's Harry Griffin.”

  “Well, let's go and talk to him.”

  Together they crossed the reception hall and entered the buffet.

  Harry stared at them as they came towards him. He hurriedly slid the gun into his trench-coat pocket and got up as Glorie moved ahead of Joan Graynor.

  “Harry, this is Miss Graynor,” Glorie said. “She wants a pilot to fly her to Miami. I told her how we were on vacation and had nowhere in particular to go, and I said you might fly her down.”

  Harry looked beyond Glorie at the blonde girl who was staring at him, a half-smile on her lovely mouth. Their eyes met, and Harry felt as if he had received an electric shock. There was that thing in her that seemed to reach out and hit him. Instinctively he knew he had made as much impact on her as she had on him.

  What a beauty! he thought. What a pippin of a girl!

  He smiled, and, watching him, Glorie felt her heart contract.

  She hadn't seen that smile for a long time. It was the same kind of smile he had given her when they had first met in the nightclub lobby seven months ago: the smile of the hunter. She looked quickly at Joan to see how she was reacting, but she learned nothing there. Joan's face was interested and friendly, but that was all.