No Business of Mine

“But there isn’t time,” she said, worried. “And it’s dangerous; the police may see us. I don’t like this, Steve. Why didn’t you bring him here?”

“I couldn’t,” I said. “He had to do things. There’s nothing to worry about. We’re meeting him at a pub off Knightsbridge. I have a car outside. We’ll talk over things with him; then he’ll go on back to the airport, we’ll come back here, pick up your luggage and fellow on. The plane doesn’t leave until ten-thirty. There’s plenty of time.”

I could see she didn’t like the idea, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“All right, Steve,” she said. “You know best. I’ll put on a hat and I’m ready.”

I waited for her, wandered around the room, thought of Madge Kennitt, felt spooked.

Netta came out of the bedroom after a moment or so. Her hat looked like a saucepan lid, but it suited her.

“He’ll fall for you all right,” I said, regarding her. “You look swell.” I slipped my arm through hers. “Come on. On your toes. We don’t want Mrs. C. to jump us on our way out.”

We sneaked down the stairs and into the Buick I had rented for the evening.

As we drove along the Cromwell Road, Netta said, “What’s been happening, Steve? Did you give Ju the money?”

I was expecting that one, and had my lie ready.

“Yeah,” I said. “he got it, the rat, and I only hope he won’t double-cross us before we get out of the country.” I gave her a quick look, saw she had turned pale, was tight-lipped.

“When did you give it to him?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

“Three-thirty this afternoon,” I told her. “Five hundred pounds. It’s a lot of money, Netta.”

She didn’t say anything, sat staring straight ahead, a hard look on her face.

As we pulled up outside a small pub in a back street off Knightsbridge, she said, “And Jack Bradley? Have you heard anything from him?”

“No,” I said. “There was nothing I could do about him. Corridan was out of town. I couldn’t get the rings without asking him first. Bradley’s ultimatum expired at four o’clock. For all I know the cops are looking for me right now. If they are, they’re too late. I pulled out of the Savoy this afternoon. All my stuff is in the back of the car. I’m ready to go.”

We got out of the Buick.

Netta looked up and down the street. “You’re sure it’s safe, Steve?” she asked, hanging back. “It seems madness to me to come here where we can be seen.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “It’s safe enough. This pub’s as dead as a dodo. They’d never think of looking for us here.” I hurried her across the pavement into the pub.

Harry Bix in his leather flying-blouse on which was painted a diving albatross, his squadron insignia, was propping up the counter, a Scotch and soda in his hand.

There were only two other men in the bar. They sat in a far corner, and didn’t even look up as we entered.

Bix, fleshy, powerful, good-natured, straightened when he saw us. He took one look at Netta, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“Hel-lo!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “You certainly picked yourself a pippin. Pin-up girl! I’ll say!”

“Netta, this is Harry Bix,” I said, pushing her forward. “Shake hands with Army Air Corps No. 1 pilot. And if he doesn’t always act as if he was used to wearing shoes, forgive him. He’s just out of the jungle.”

Netta slipped her hand into Bix’s large paw, gave him a dazzling smile which rocked him back on his heels.

“Lady, what makes you go around with a heel like him?” he asked earnestly. “Didn’t you know he has two wives, and eighteen children, and he’s clone a ten-year stretch for criminal assault?”

Netta laughed, nodded. “That’s why I like him,” she said. “I’m that sort of a girl.”

“For God’s sake!” he said, startled. “Do you really like him or is it his dough you’re after?”

“A little of each,” she said, after pretending to consider his question.

“Well, I guess that calls for a drink. How’s about starting a famine in whisky or would you prefer something more fancy?”

“Whisky’s all right with me,” she said.

Bix waved to the barmaid, ordered two double whiskies. He turned back to Netta.

“Where’ve you been hiding yourself all this time? I thought I knew all the juicy dames in London.”

“And I thought I’d met all the lovely Americans until now,” she replied.

Bix blew out his cheeks, punched me in the ribs.

“Brother, you’re through. Go outside and oblige me by breaking a leg.”

“She’s just kidding,” I said. “That girl’s got an ice-cream cone where her heart’s supposed to be. Why, ten minutes ago, she told me all Army Air Corps personnel were jerks, didn’t you Netta?”

“But I hadn’t met Harry then,” Netta protested. “I take it all back.”

Bix leaned close. “We’re the salt of the earth, sugar,” he said. “They say so in the newspapers, and newspapers don’t kid their readers.”

“Not much,” I said.

When the barmaid had served the whiskies and had gone to the far end of the counter, Bix said, “So you want to make a trip with me, do you?”

Netta regarded him, suddenly serious. She nodded. “Will you trust me to get you there safely?” he asked.