Free 1955 - You've Got It Coming by James Hadley Chase Page A

for this odd fat man who talked as if he had no roof to his mouth. “Okay, Green, it's a deal. At noon on the twentieth my man will give you two certified cheques for twenty-five grand each. He'll stick with you until you're on the plane. Understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “I'll get you two good men to go with you on the plane, and a third to handle the car.” Ben went on. “You can work out the details with my man Borg. I'll send him along to you tomorrow night. Where are you staying?”
    “Lamson's.”
    “Okay.” Ben leaned forward and tapped the driver on his shoulder. “Stop here.”
    The driver pulled to the kerb and stopped.
    “This is where you get out,” Ben said to Harry. “If the job fails, you'll return the money: understand? Plenty of guys have tried to double cross me in the past. They're all dead. Some of them took a long time to die. I have means of finding a guy no matter where he hides and I'll find you if you run off with the dough without delivering. No diamonds: no dough. Understand?”
    Harry got out of the car.
    “Yes.” He hunched his shoulders against the rain. “You'll get them all right. You don't have to worry about that.”
    “I'm not worrying,” Ben said, a snarl in his voice. “You're the one who's going to do the worrying.”
    Leaving Harry standing in the rain, the car drove rapidly down the street and disappeared into the darkness.
     
     

IV
     
    O n the afternoon of the nineteenth, Ben sent for Borg.
    For the past two years Borg had been in charge of all Ben's illegal activities. Ben completely depended on him to carry out his instructions, handle the gang, take care of the rough stuff, organize a killing if a killing was necessary, and see there was no drop in the vast income that came to Ben from his vice and extortion rackets. ,
    During those two years, Borg had never made a mistake and had never failed to carry out an order: no matter how difficult the order had been. Looking at him as he sat like a big fat toad in the chair opposite Ben's desk, Ben marvelled at the deceptiveness of Borg's appearance. He knew him to be a cold-blooded and utterly ruthless killer who thought no more of taking a life than he thought of killing a fly. He knew him to be as swift as a striking snake, incredibly fast with a gun and an expert shot. There was no other member of his organization who could handle a car as Borg could. He not only drove at fantastic speeds, but his sense of anticipation and judgment of distances were incredible. Ben had been with him when he had been ambushed by the Levinski mob. Two cars, spraying gunfire, had converged on them, and Borg had got away only by brilliant and unbelievable driving.
    Unable to beat the other two cars for speed, he had swung off the side streets into the thick traffic of Figueroa Street and Ben had never forgotten that drive, and never would as long as he lived. Moving at sixty miles an hour, Borg cut through the traffic as if it didn't exist, leaving Levinski's cars standing. He had darted all over the road wherever there was an opening and shooting up on to the sidewalk when there wasn't. The ride had lasted three minutes. It had been the most shattering experience of Ben's life, but he knew Borg was saving him from certain death. No one got hurt, no car got smashed, and when Borg whipped the car again into the side streets, having shaken off Levinski's cars, he had been as placid and as unmoved as he always was.
    It was difficult to guess Berg's age: he might have been thirty or even forty-five. He was a mountain of soft, white fat. His complexion was greenish-white like the belly of a toad. His eyes were hooded and black, as expressionless and as hard as knobs of ebony, His black hair looked like a piece of astrakhan draped over his skull. He had a black moustache that drooped like a rat's tail either side of his mouth.
    Although Ben paid him a thousand dollars a month, plus a percentage on his vice and extortion rackets, giving Borg a