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Authors: James Hadley Chase

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BOOK: Vulture is a Patient Bird
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"Wake up! I'm hungry. You got any food?"
She stirred and looked up at him, her eyes glazed with a satisfaction she had never known before. She felt as if a hidden door she had long been searching for had suddenly opened and the sun and the breeze and the sound of the sea had come into the barren, dark cave in which she had lived for so long.
"Food . . . of course." She sat up, swung her legs off the bed and snatched up a wrap. "Stay there . .. I'll get you something. Would you like a drink . . . I have only gin."

He regarded her. Her anxiety to please, the soft look in her eyes and her eager trembling made her a bore.

"Just grub."

She ran into the kitchen. He waited a moment, then got off the bed and struggled into his clothes. He saw by the bedside clock that the time was 02.25 hrs. He listened, smelling bacon frying, then he looked around the small neat room. He looked beyond the doorway, across the sitting-room and saw her standing by the stove in the kitchen, her back to him. Working quickly, he went through her chest of drawers. In the top drawer he found a gold cigarette case, a gold lighter and a small jewel box which contained a string of pearls and two rings of little value, but he took all of them, dropping them into his pocket. Then he lounged into the sitting-room and stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Smells nice," he said.
She turned and smiled at him.
"Can you eat more than four eggs?"
"That'll be fine."
She hurried past him and quickly laid the table.
"Aren't you eating?" he asked, seeing she had set only one place.
"No . . . it's ready. Sit down."
He ate hungrily. Well, she certainly could cook eggs and bacon, he thought as he sipped the tea she had poured him. Pity there weren't chips and tomato ketchup, but you can't expect everything.

He was aware of her, sitting on the settee, watching him. There

was that soft look in her eyes that told him she was hooked. When he had finished, he sat back, wiping his mouth on the paper serviette she had provided.

"Nice," he said. "Really nice."

"You were hungry, weren't you?"

He stared directly at her.

"Yes . . . and so were you."

Blood stained her face and she looked away.

"Nothing to turn hot about." He smiled his dazzling smile. "It's nature. You liked it, didn't you? I'll tell you something: you were good . . . really good."

"Please don't talk about it. I've never done it before."

"So what? You have to start sometime." He got to his feet. "Well, I must be taking off." He paused. "Thanks for everything. It was real nice . . . all of it."
He watched her hands turn into fists.
"Wouldn't you like to — to stay?" she said breathlessly. "It's such a horrid night. You can stay if you like."
He shook his head.
"Got to get back to my pad." He began to move slowly to the front door.
"I suppose we — we could see each other again," she said, her dark eyes desperate.
Here it is, he thought. The hook.
"You never know. Things happen, don't they? So long," and before she realized he was really going, he had gone.

The front door slammed. The sound was like a disastrous clap of thunder inside her head.

It wasn't until the following evening that she discovered the loss of her cigarette case and lighter, given to her by Shalik as a birthday present, and her pieces of jewellery. The discovery shocked her and she knew at once who had taken them. Her first reaction was to rush to the telephone to inform the police, but then she controlled her anger and sat down to think. He was out of work. He had been hungry. What did she need with a gold cigarette case or the lighter? She didn't smoke anyway. Thinking of him, she decided that he could have everything she owned so long as he came back to her.
For five long, shattering days, she waited with growing desperation to hear from him again until finally a slow horror began to build up inside her that she would have to face the crushing fact that he had made use of her, stolen her things and had forgotten her.
Then on the fifth night, as she sat miserably alone in her flat, facing yet another long night of loneliness, the telephone bell rang. Her heart gave a great leap as she sprang to her feet and ran across the room to snatch up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"This is Daz . . . remember me?"
Her legs felt so weak she had to sit down.
"Of course."
"Look, I'm sorry I took your things. You mad at me?"
"No . . . of course not."
"Well, it wasn't nice. I pawned them. I had to have money fast . . . bit of trouble. I'll let you have the tickets . . . Shall I bring them round now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then," and then line went dead.

He didn't arrive until 22.05 hrs., giving her a frantic wait of an hour and a half. She thought he looked thinner and he wore a scowling frown that gave him a dark, sullen look.
"Here you are," he said, dropping three pawn tickets on the table. "I shouldn't have done it . . . but I was in trouble . . . I had to raise money fast."

"It's all right. I understand. Are you hungry?"

"No . . . I can't stay. I've got to go," and he turned to the front door.

She gazed at him in panic.

"But you — please stay. I want you to stay."

He turned on her, his eyes suddenly savage.

"I've got to raise more money," he said. "I can't fool around here. There's a girl living near my pad who is trying to raise something for me. I've got to see her tonight."
"A girl?" Natalie turned cold. "Daz . . . won't you explain what this is all about? Won't you sit down? I could help you if you would explain."
"I've had enough out of you." Daz shook his head. "Anyway, Lola has practically promised . . ."
"Please sit down and tell me."
He sat down. It was easy to lie to her. The horse that was a cinch. The bet he couldn't cover, and now the bookie was after him.
"They are a tough lot," he concluded. "If I don't raise fifty pounds by tomorrow they are going to do me."
"Do you?" Natalie looked at him in horror. "What does that mean?"

"Carve me, of course," he said impatiently. "Slash me with a razor . . . what do you think?"

She imagined that handsome face bleeding. The thought made her feel faint.

"I can let you have fifty pounds, Daz . . . of course."

"I can't take it from you . . . no, I'll see Lola."

"Don't be silly. I'll give you a cheque now."

An hour later, they were lying side by side on the bed. Natalie was relaxed and happy for the first time since last she had seen Daz. It had been wonderful, she was thinking, better even than the first time. She turned to look at Daz and her heart contracted to see that sullen dark look back on his face again.

"What is it, Daz?"

"Just thinking . . . can't a man think, for God's sake?" She flinched at the harsh note in his voice.
"Wasn't it good for you? Did I disappoint you?"
"I wasn't thinking about that." He looked impatiently at her in the shaded light of the bedside lamp. "That's over. I'm thinking ahead. Just shut up a minute, will you?"
She remained still, waiting and watching his hard young face and the way his eyes shifted, reminding her of an animal in a trap.
"Yes," he said finally as if speaking his thoughts aloud. "That's what I'll do. I'll get out. I'll go to Dublin. That's it! Danny will get me a job."
Natalie sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.
"Dublin? What do you mean?"
He frowned at her as if just aware she was with him.

"What I say. I have to get out. That fifty quid you've given me

will keep Isaacs off my neck for a couple of days. By then, I'll be out of his reach."

She felt as if she were going to faint again. Watching her, Daz saw he had played a trump card.

"But you said if I gave you the money it would be all right," she gasped. "Daz! Tell me! What do you mean?"

He looked scornfully at her.

"You don't imagine a bookie would carve anyone for fifty quid, do you? I'm in the hole for twelve hundred."

Once she had absorbed the shock, her trained mind searched for ways and means. Twelve hundred pounds! It was an impossible sum! She had taken an expensive autumn vacation, and she had only two hundred pounds to her credit at her bank. But the idea of Daz leaving England and going to Ireland was unthinkable.
She slid off the bed and put on her wrap while Daz watched her. He saw there was a change of expression on her face. He saw her mind was working, and he lay still, waiting results. He wondered uneasily if he had put the price too high, but Burnett had told him to clean her out. Just suppose she hadn't the money?
She walked around the room while she thought, then she came and sat on the bed, looking straight at him.
"Daz . . . if I give you twelve hundred pounds, could you remain in London?"
"Of course, but you can't give me that amount . . . so why talk about it?"
"I can try. How long can you wait?"
"Why talk about it?" He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "I must get out. I'll go tomorrow."
"How long can you wait?" Her voice was now as harsh as his.

"Ten days . . . not more."

"If I give you this money, Daz, will you come and live here?" How easy it was to lie to this poor cow, Daz thought.

"You mean move in? You want me here?"

"Yes." She tried to control her voice. "I want you here."

"It would be nice . . . yes, of course. I could get a job, and we could be together. But why talk about it?"

"I think I can manage," Natalie threw off her wrap. She dropped down beside him on the bed. "You love me, don't you, Daz?"

That old jazz, he thought and pulled her to him.

"You know I do. I'm crazy about you."

"Then love me!"

While Daz slept by her side, Natalie lay staring into the darkness, her mind busy. She knew it would be hopeless to ask Shalik to lend her a thousand pounds. Even as she was telling Daz that she thought she could get the money for him, she had been thinking of Charles Burnett of the National Bank of Natal.
Natalie was well aware of the espionage and counter-espionage that goes on in present day big business. She knew Burnett had been hinting that he would pay for information and she had treated the hint with the contempt it had deserved but now under pressure with the real risk of losing Daz forever, she found she was much less scrupulous.
Before dozing off, she made up her mind to contact Burnett. Leaving Daz sleeping, she had gone to the Royal Towers hotel the following morning.

She quickly arranged Shalik's mail on his desk, left a note to remind him of his various engagements for the day and then returned to her office.

At this hour, she knew Shalik was being shaved and dressed by the hateful Sherborn. She hesitated only briefly, then called the National Bank of Natal.

She was put through immediately to Charles Burnett who had already been alerted by Daz by telephone what to expect.

"Of course, Miss Norman. I will be delighted to meet you again. When would it be convenient?"

"At your office at 13.15 hrs.," Natalie told him.

"Then I will expect you."

When she arrived, Burnett greeted her like a benign uncle. Natalie told him abruptly that she needed one thousand pounds.

"It is a large sum," Burnett said, studying his pink finger nails, "but not impossible." He looked up, his eyes no longer benign. "You are an intelligent woman, Miss Norman. I don't have to spell it out to you. You want money: I want information concerning Mr. Shalik's activities that might have the remotest reference to Mr. Max Kahlenberg of Natal."
Natalie stiffened.
During the past few days she had learned from scribbled notes on Shalik's desk and from overhearing him talk to Sherborn that something important was being planned that concerned a man named Max Kahlenberg who until this moment had meant nothing to her.
All Shalik's private correspondence was typed by Sherborn. Natalie's job was to arrange Shalik's appointments, his lunches and dinners and to act as hostess at his cocktail parties as well as taking care of the hundred and one personal matters that made his life smooth and easy.
"I don't think I can help there," she said, dismay in her voice. "I'm excluded from Mr. Shalik's business life, but I do know something is going on to do with a man called Kahlenberg."

Burnett smiled.

"I can help you, Miss Norman. Your task will be absurdly easy. Let me explain. . ."

Twenty minutes later, she accepted a plastic shopping bag he had ready which contained a miniature tape-recorder, six reels of tape and a very special eavesdropping microphone.
"The quality of the recordings, Miss Norman, will naturally influence the amount of money I will pay you. However, if you are urgently in need of a thousand pounds and providing you give me something of interest, the money will be available."

Now, after eight days, he was here in her flat, his fat, purple face creased in a smile, his blood red carnation a status symbol.

"My dear Miss Norman, what is all the urgency about?"

During the past three days, Burnett's microphone had eavesdropped.

During the past eight days Daz had slept with her, sweeping her into a world of technicolor eroticism. She had promised him the money and he was prepared to service her, telling himself that in the dark, all cats were grey.
"I have information regarding Mr. Kahlenberg which you will wish to hear," Natalie said. The whisky she had drunk made her feel reckless and light headed.
"Splendid." Burnett crossed one fat leg over the other. "Let me hear it."
"Mr. Shalik is arranging to steal the Caesar Borgia ring from Mr. Kahlenberg," Natalie said. "I have three tapes, recording the details of the operation and who are involved."
BOOK: Vulture is a Patient Bird
12.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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