Why Pick On ME? Page 6

  Reflected in the glass, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily-built man with a shock of red-brown hair. They had called him Brick-top in the Commandos, and the Germans had known him as the Red Devil. His strength and force of character rather than his looks were his assets. He had a blunt-featured with a square chin, a firm, determined mouth and a slightly crooked, flattish nose. His eyes were grey, turning to sea-green according to his moods. His complexion was beefy and red. He had a reckless, jeering smile that easily infuriated people as he intended it to do, but he had moments of kindness amounting to sentimentality that often irritated him.

  Satisfied with his appearance, he slipped on a light overcoat and went downstairs to the front door. The windows of the flat opposite were unlighted, but he guessed one of them was up there, watching him through the dirty net curtains.

  He got the M.G. out of the garage, and drove slowly down the mews. When he came into Knightsbridge, he spotted Huey, sitting astride a motorcycle, waiting for him. As he drove past, Huey started the engine and slid into the evening traffic behind him.

  Corridon reached 29, Bayswater Crescent a few minutes after seven o’clock. The house was one of a row of tall, flat-faced dwellings, at one time the mansions of wealthy tradesmen, and now converted into flats for the impecunious upper classes.

  The open front door led to a forbidding hall, full of heavy Victorian furniture. A broad staircase faced the entrance, and there appeared to be no lift.

  Before ascending the stairs, Corridon satisfied himself that Huey had parked his motorcycle at the end of the crescent where he could watch No. 29 without being conspicuous, then he began the long climb.

  After negotiating four flights of stairs, he arrived on the top floor a little breathless. Facing him was an apple-green painted door, fitted with a glittering chromium knocker and letter-box flap.

  He dug his thumb into the bell push and waited, thinking this was by far the most impressive front door of all the doors he had passed on his way up, and wondered if the flat would be of the same standard of smartness and luxury.

  The door opened, and he was a little disconcerted to find Slade Feydak before him.

  “Well, come in!” Feydak exclaimed, and grasped Corridon’s hand. “What luck! I was hoping to see you again. How are you?”

  Corridon entered the small hall and took off his hat and coat. He said he was well enough, but his expression was sour.

  “Isn’t Lorene here?” he asked abruptly.

  “Oh, yes. She’s having a bath,” Feydak said, his forced gaiety jarred on Corridon’s nerves. “I’m afraid we have been talking, and didn’t notice the time. But come in; I’ll mix you a martini.”

  Corridon followed him into a large room that seemed full of tulips, narcissi and bowls of hyacinths with fat, bristling bells. It was a nice room, airy, light and colourful. There were big settees and lounging chairs done in amber leather. The Bokhara rugs, scattered on the polished parquet floor, were the colour of old wine and had the sheen of silk.

  Before the log fire, boxed in by an armchair on one side and a settee on the other, stood a short, square-shouldered man in a dark blue lounge suit. His thin face, the colour of old parchment, reminded Corridon of the death mask of an obscure Chinese Emperor he had once seen in a junk shop. His age could have been anything from fifty to sixty; his narrow black eyes were alert and piercing. His thin, black moustache gave him the air of a man-about-town, and at the same time, somehow suggested the ruthless cruelty of a Tartar.

  “This is Martin Corridon,” Feydak was saying. “Mr. Corridon, I would like you to meet the chairman of my firm, Joseph Diestl.”

  Diestl moved forward and held out a small, well-manicured hand. The thin smile with which he greeted Corridon didn’t reach his eyes.

  “How do you do, Mr. Corridon?” he said. “I have heard a lot about you.”

  Now here, Corridon thought, as he shook hands, is a dangerous man. A man not to be trusted and who could easily be the head of this organization. He recognized the force of character, the ruthlessness and the power of leadership that lay behind the thin smile. Comparing Diestl and Feydak was like comparing a tiger to a kitten.

  “Nothing bad, I hope,” Corridon said. “People seem to get hold of exaggerated ideas about me.”

  “But you admit you are a notorious character?” Diestl said, and waved to the settee. “I have been making inquiries about you. But sit down. I am anxious to talk to you.”

  As Feydak came over with a martini, Corridon said, “I didn’t come here to talk business. I was under the impression I was taking Lorene out.”

  Feydak smiled brightly.

  “Of course, Mr. Corridon. She won’t be long, but in the meantime while we are waiting…” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We have a dinner engagement ourselves in twenty minutes.”

  Corridon shrugged. He sat down and took the martini Feydak offered him.

  “Slade told me he had invited you to call at the office,” Diestl said, waving away the martini Feydak was bringing him. “I think he suggested we might have something for you.”

  Corridon frowned as if trying to remember.

  “Did he? It’s very likely. Lots of people say that sort of thing to me. Usually nothing comes of it.”

  “I hoped you would come,” Diestl said. “I wanted to meet you.”

  Corridon waved his hand to convey that if Diestl wanted to meet him he now had his wish.

  “I keep pretty busy,” he said indifferently.

  “But I understand you aren’t doing anything at the moment,” Diestl said in a slightly acid tone.

  “At the moment I am enjoying a well-earned rest,” Corridon said.

  “But none of us can live on air.” Diestl sat on the arm of the settee, his hands on his knees. “There’s a little job that needs doing. I was wondering if you would be interested?”

  “It depends on the job and the remuneration,” Corridon returned. “I warn you my prime concern is to make the minimum effort for the maximum return.”

  Diestl studied him; the black, piercing eyes were unfriendly.

  “That seems to be the general trend these days. Some people are in the position to demand such terms. You are, of course. The job would take less than an hour and the fee is two hundred and fifty pounds.”

  Corridon lit a cigarette before saying, “Sounds all right. What’s the job?”

  “Very briefly, Mr. Corridon, I am acting for a client. I might mention this isn’t the first time I have been asked to arrange private matters for my clients. In my business I meet a considerable number of wealthy men and women, and some of them come to me for advice on personal matters.” The thin smile became more acid. “They appear to have confidence in me. Flattering, of course, but at times a nuisance. This man I am talking about is in trouble with a woman. She is blackmailing him. Let us admit right away that he is a fool and a lecher. But unfortunately for him he is also a public figure. The woman holds a number of his letters, and they are very compromising. If they got into the wrong hands, he would be ruined.”

  Corridon pursed his lips.

  “Surely that’s a job for the police?”

  “Oh, no. He won’t go to the police. He has asked me to find someone who will steal the letters from this woman. It wouldn’t be difficult.”

  Corridon glanced at Feydak who was standing behind Diestl, silent and effacing. Their eyes met, and Feydak smiled nervously. Why pick on me? Corridon thought. Either Huey or Duey could handle a simple job of breaking into a house and stealing letters. Why me?

  “Let’s be frank,” he said, putting down his empty glass. “I don’t know you from Adam. You come out of the blue with this suggestion. How do I know you have a client? How do I know you are not going to use these letters to blackmail this woman? You see my position? I’m being quite frank with you. Before I consider doing this job, you will have to convince me I’m not being used to get these letters for your benefit.”

  “I had no idea yo
u were so particular,” Diestl said, with a tight, little sneer. “But I can see your point of view, of course. If it will set your mind at rest, I’ll destroy the letters when you give them to me, and you can see me do it.”

  Corridon hesitated. Something warned him not to do this job, but, on the other hand, he guessed this offer might be a test before they asked him to do something connected with the organization. He knew Ritchie would want him to do it, but his own instincts were against it.

  He shrugged.

  “All right, if you’ll do that, I’m on.”

  Feydak, who had been very tense, suddenly relaxed and reached for Corridon’s empty glass.

  “We must have a drink on that,” he said, smiling. “I told Diestl you were just the man for the job.”

  While he was refilling Corridon’s glass, Diestl said, “Would tomorrow night suit you? I know she will be out very late. She lives alone. You can work entirely undisturbed.”

  “Tomorrow night’s all right,” Corridon returned. “Where is the place?”

  “That I don’t know. I shall get details and a map of the flat by tomorrow afternoon. Slade will call for you, and drive you there. I understand there’s a Yale lock on the front door. That won’t bother you?”

  Corridon shook his head.

  “I’d prefer to look the place over before I did the job,” he said.

  Diestl made a little gesture of regret.

  “That I’m afraid won’t be possible. The best I can do is to have a detailed map for you. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, all right. That will have to do.”

  “Everything is arranged then?” Feydak said, as he gave Corridon another martini. “You’ll forgive us rushing away like this, but we are a little late for our appointment as it is. Lorene won’t be a few minutes now. You don’t mind being left on your own?”

  “I dare say I’ll survive,” Corridon said.

  As the two men put on their hats and coats, Diestl said, “I don’t think Slade knows where you live.”

  Corridon smiled.

  “Why, no; I don’t suppose he does.” He gave his address, and Feydak scribbled it down on the back of an envelope.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll call for you tomorrow night at ten. When you get the letters we will go to Diestl’s place.”

  “And I will destroy them and pay you what I owe you.” Diestl said. “Is that all right?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “And if you are successful, Mr. Corridon, I shall probably be able to offer you a few more jobs which will be a little more interesting and a lot more remunerative,” Diestl said, as he shook hands.

  “I’m usually successful,” Corridon said dryly.

  “Splendid. I hope we shall work together in the future,” Diestl returned, “to our mutual advantage.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Feydak repeated. “In the meantime please say nothing about this to anyone.”

  “Including your charming sister?”

  “If you please.”

  There was a pause, then both of them smiled at him, waved and went out. A moment or so later the front door slammed.

  II

  Corridon moved over to the window and looked down into the street. He watched Diestl and Feydak walk briskly past Huey. Neither of them looked his way. Corridon continued to watch the short, thickset figure, astride the motorcycle. When Diestl and Feydak had turned the corner, Huey started up his engine and rode rapidly away in the opposite direction.

  On the face of it, Corridon thought, it looked as if they were content to leave him in Lorene’s hands. He crossed the room and opened the door to look into the hall. There was a short passage to the right of the front door. At the far end of the passage another door faced him.

  Raising his voice, he called, “How much longer are you going to be?”

  “Is that you, Martin?”

  There was a moment’s pause, then the door facing him opened. Lorene in a green silk wrap stood in the doorway, smiling at him.

  “Hello,” she said, and came towards him, her hand outstretched, her eyes bright and alert. “Did Slade let you in? I had no idea you were here.”

  Corridon took her hand and held it.

  “I’ve been here for the best part of half an hour. They said you were having a bath.”

  “So I was.”

  She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it firmly.

  “How strong you are. You seem very possessive tonight.”

  “I am,” Corridon said and pulled her to him. His arm slid round her waist. “How are the moods?”

  “Not working very well, I’m afraid,” she said, and put her free hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Please don’t play the caveman. I don’t find it amusing.”

  “I warned you women are moody,” Corridon said, releasing her. “Now I suppose you are going to be difficult.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Now look, I won’t be ten minutes. Be a dear and go into the sitting-room and wait for me. I promise to hurry.”

  “I dislike my own company,” Corridon returned, and walked past her into the room she had come from. “I’ll watch you dress. It’ll be much more amusing than sitting alone.” He stood just inside the room and looked around approvingly. It was a big, airy room, furnished expensively and tastefully. “My word! You know how to make yourself comfortable. This is quite luxury.” He walked over to the bed and prodded it. “Like sleeping on a cloud. No wonder you are so beautiful.”

  She came into the room and pushed the door to.

  “Aren’t you taking just a little too much for granted?” she said, a sharp note in her voice. “I don’t allow men in here.”

  He wandered over to the dressing-table on which stood bottles of lotions, creams, perfumes, and astringents.

  “You sound a little out of temper,” he said, picking up one of the bottles. “If you called on me, I would be delighted if you visited my bedroom.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and sniffed. “Hmm, very nice.” As he set the bottle down, he said, “That chap Diestl’s an odd card, isn’t he? Have you known him long?”

  “I scarcely know him. He’s Slade’s friend,” she said shortly. “Now, please go into the other room and wait for me.”

  Corridon wandered over to the bed and sat on it.

  “I like being here. I was going to take you to Prunier’s tonight, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  He looked at her.

  “We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to stay here.”

  “Oh, no, we’re not! I know it’s my fault. I led you on the other night, but I was tight. We’re not going to do anything silly. We’ll go to Prunier’s.”

  “Oddly enough,” Corridon said casually, “you were surprisingly sober the other night. I grant you led me on, but obviously you had a reason. Shall I tell you what the reason was? You wanted me to come here so Diestl and your nice little brother could persuade me to do a dirty little job for them. The bait you dangled under my nose was an evening of – love, shall we call it?”

  Two bright spots of red came to her cheeks, and her eyes looked stormy.

  “That’s absolutely untrue! I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Corridon grinned.

  “Don’t you? Didn’t they tell you? It’s supposed to be a secret, but I’m sure Slade must have whispered in your ear. They are offering me two hundred and fifty pounds to pinch some indiscreet letters.”

  “I know nothing about it! Now look, Martin, this has gone far enough. Please go. I’m not going out with you tonight.”

  “I know you’re not,” Corridon said. “I’ve just said so.” He suddenly reached out and caught her wrist. “Come and sit here beside me.”

  She tried to break free, but he was much too strong for her. He pulled her down on the bed beside him.

  “Let me go!” she said furiously. “How dare you!”

  “I’m afraid you’ve brought this on your
self,” he said mildly. “If you really object you can always scream. Someone’s bound to hear you if you make enough noise.”

  “Let me go!” she cried, struggling to free herself. She tried to smack his face, but he caught her flying hand and imprisoned her two wrists in one hand.

  “Now what are you going to do?” he asked. “I’m much too strong for you, and I haven’t any ethics to which you can appeal. I’m afraid you are in rather a hopeless position.”

  “You’re hurting me!” she stormed. “Let me go at once!”

  “Perhaps this will teach you not to make suggestive promises,” Corridon said gently. “I always insist on payment.” He pushed her back, so she lay flat across the bed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to regard yourself as a martyr to the cause.”

  “You devil!” she panted, glaring up at him. “I’ll scream if you don’t let me free!”

  “Scream away,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t mind a bit.”

  Still holding her wrists, he bent over her and his mouth covered hers. For a moment or so she struggled to free herself, then he felt her relax and he released her wrists and took her in his arms.

  “Scream away,” he murmured. “Before it’s too late.”

  “Oh, shut up!” she said furiously, and her arms went round his neck.

  III

  “I’m hungry,” Corridon complained, lifting his head from the pillow and looking across the dim room. The moonlight came in through the window, making a small square of light on the white rug.

  “It serves you right,” Lorene said lazily. She stretched a beautiful bare arm above her head and sighed contentedly. “You should have gone to Prunier’s as you arranged.”

  “Yes,” Corridon said, and closed his eyes. “Oysters and sherry; the breast of duck, green peas and asparagus tips in butter. You’re quite right. I shouldn’t have dallied here. Pity you were difficult. If you had been compliant, I should have gone.”

  She thumped his chest with her fist.