Free Believed Violent by James Hadley Chase Page A

than he could afford, and dreaming about her.
    Later, some two months after they had first met, he proposed.
    “Look, Drena, we could get married,” he said, his hands squeezing his knees, his face anxious and tense. “I don’t earn a lot, but we could manage. I love you. I want to get you out of this Club. What do you say?”
    Drena had never had a proposal of marriage before. She was a little emotional about it, but not for long. Lewis had become a habit. She liked his adoration, but the idea of living with him in a poky, airless apartment, doing the shopping, preparing his meals was just one hell of a joke.
    “I’m not ready yet to get married, Fred,” she had returned. “Maybe later, but not yet.”
    Lewis accepted this. At least she hadn’t turned him down. But as the weeks passed, his longing for her increased. He would have to leave his job, he kept telling himself. He would have to find something that paid better. But what? This depressed him. He knew his nursing training fitted him for nothing else. Maybe, if he studied at night, he might become a doctor. He discussed this with Drena who was slightly intrigued. She said she wouldn’t mind being married to a doctor, but she pointed out he couldn’t expect to do his work at the Sanatorium and work nights. When would she ever see him?
    Lewis was thinking about this as he parked his car before the dreary brown-stone building where he lived. He walked up the three flights of stairs and let himself into his small, drab apartment. He turned on the light and then went into the kitchenette and looked into the refrigerator. There was some cold spaghetti and a slice of rather dry ham he had put aside for his supper. It was while he was eating this that the telephone bell rang. Surprised, he answered.
    “Freddy? Drena.” He felt a rush of blood up his spine at the sound of her voice. “I want to talk to you. I’m on my way.”
    “Now?” Lewis was startled. “It’s after nine! Don’t you have to be at the Club?”
    “In a pig’s ear!” Drena said. “I’m on my way,” and she hung up.
    Bewildered and excited, Lewis wolfed down the remains of his supper, then wondering if Drena had eaten, he checked his savings and found a $20 bill tucked away in one of his drawers. He sighed with relief. If she wanted to be taken out, he had the money.
    But Drena didn’t want to be taken out. She arrived looking overwhelming in a tight fitting blue shirt and a mini-skirt. She brought with her a bottle of Scotch and a big packet of Club sandwiches.
    As soon as they were settled on the divan, eating the sandwiches, she said, “We could get married, Freddy, or have you changed your mind?”
    Lewis gaped at her, his eyes unbelieving, his half eaten sandwich hovering before his mouth. Then he put down the sandwich and turned to face her.
    “Changed my mind? Drena! How could you even suggest such a thing! I don’t understand.”
    “We could be married as soon as you can get the licence,” Drena said calmly. “Next week . . . something’s come up.”
    Lewis timidly touched her hand.
    “You’re not kidding? You really mean we ― we could get married next week?”
    “That’s what the girl said.”
    “Oh, God! Yes! But I don’t understand. What do you mean . . . something’s come up?”
    “There’s a crummy seafood restaurant right opposite Watson’s jetty. In case you don’t know, the jetty is always used by the sailors coming off their ships, anchored in the bay. The restaurant is owned by Jeff Hawkins ― an old buddy of mine. The trouble with him is he has a sour-puss wife so his waitresses are old, fat and gruesome. He doesn’t get the sailor trade.” Drena paused to take a bite at her sandwich, then went on, her mouth full. “He wants out. If you and I bought this restaurant we could turn it into a gold mine. The cook would stay on and he knows his stuff. We could get three of the girls from the Club as waitresses and with me behind the cash desk and you