He easily won her confidence and chatted with her for some minutes while his mind worked swiftly. She could be vitally important to him and he knew he couldn’t remain with her for long as Shalik was already glancing in their direction with lifted eyebrows.
“Miss Norman,” he said quietly, “I am in the position to help people like yourself should you need help. Please remember my name; Charles Burnett, the National Bank of Natal. Should you ever get dissatisfied with your job here, should you wish to earn more money, do please contact me.”
As her expression became bewildered, he smiled and left her.
After returning home, he sat in his study and considered his next move. He hoped he hadn’t rushed his fences with this pale- faced woman. She could be the spy he needed. Obviously, she needed physical contact with a virile man. Burnett knew all the signs: her thinness, her dark ringed eyes, her depressed expression. What she needed was a lusty bedmate: he decided this must be the first move to ensnare her.
Burnett had many useful contacts and among them was ex- Inspector Tom Parkins of the C.I.D. He telephoned him.
“Parkins… I am looking for a young rogue who could do a special job for me. He must be completely unscrupulous and good looking with personality and around twenty-five, not older. Do you know of anyone like that?”
The cop voice said, “Shouldn’t be too difficult, sir. Would the pay be interesting?”
“Very.”
“I’ll turn it over in my mind, sir. Suppose I call you after lunch?”
“Do that,” Burnett said, satisfied that he would get what he wanted.
Around 15.00 hrs., Parkins telephoned.
“I’ve got your man, sir,” he said. “Daz Jackson: twenty-four years of age, excellent appearance, plays a guitar in a fifth rate Soho club and needs money. He served two years for petty larceny three years ago.”
Burnett hesitated.
“This might be a little tricky, Parkins. I’m not letting myself in for blackmail?”
“Oh no, sir. Anything like that… and it won’t happen, I assure you… I could handle for you. I have quite a lot on this young tearaway. You don’t have to worry about that angle.”
“Very well. Send him here at 17.00 hrs. I’ll arrange to have ten pounds credited to your account with us, Parkins.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir. You will be quite satisfied with Jackson.”
Daz Jackson arrived ten minutes after the hour. He was ushered into Burnett’s vast office by Burnett’s secretary. She had worked so long for Burnett that nothing surprised her… not even Daz Jackson.
Burnett regarded the young man as he lounged into the big room, a supercilious grin on his face. He wore mustard-coloured hipsters, a dark-blue frilled shirt and a gilt chain around his neck from which hung a small bell that tinkled as he moved.
What a specimen Burnett thought, but, at least, he is clean.
Without being asked, Jackson lowered his lean frame into a chair, crossed one leg over the other and regarded Burnett with an insolent lift of his eyebrow.
“The ex-bogey said you had a job. What’s the pay?” he asked. “And listen, I don’t dig to work in this graveyard. Catch?
Burnett was used to dealing with all kinds of people and he was adaptable. Although he would have liked to have kicked this young beatnik out, he saw he could be the man he was looking for.
“I’m not asking you to work here Mr. Jackson,” he said. “I have a
special job which you could handle and which pays well.”
Jackson raised a languid hand in mock protest.
“Skip the mister and all that jazz,” he said. “Call me Daz.”
Burnett’s insincere smile became a little stiff.
“Certainly… but why Daz?”
“The chicks call me that… I dazzle them.”
“Splendid.” Burnett leaned back in his executive chair. “What I want you to do is this…” He explained.
Daz Jackson lolled in his chair and listened. His ice grey eyes searched Burnett’s face while Burnett talked. Finally, when Burnett said, “Well, that’s it… do you think you can handle it for me?” Daz grimaced.
“Let’s get it nice and straight,” he said, stretching out his long legs. “This piece wants to be laid… right?” When Burnett nodded, he went on, “Once I’ve given it to her, she’ll want more right?” Again Burnett nodded. “Then she has to pay for it… you want me to squeeze her dry… right?”
“Yes… that is the situation.”
“You will pay me a hundred nicker for doing the job and what I get out of her I keep… right?”
Burnett inclined his head. Dealing with a man like this made him feel slightly soiled.
Jackson leaned back in his chair and stared at Burnett. “Well, for God’s sake, and they call me delinquent!”
Burnett’s eyes turned frosty.
“Do you want the job or don’t you?”
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Daz shrugged.
“Oh sure… what have I to lose? What’s this piece like?”
“Plain but adequate,” Burnett returned, unconsciously using the phrase in the Michelin Guide to France to describe a third rate hotel.
“Okay, so where do I find her?”
Burnett gave him Natalie’s home and business addresses typed on a blank card.
“I want quick action.”
Daz grinned.
“If you say she’s thirsting for it, she’ll have it and once she has had it from me, she’ll want it again and again.” Daz regarded Burnett, his eyes calculating. “The cops won’t come into this?”
“There’s no question of that.”
“Well, if they do, I’ll squeal. I’m not mad about this job.” Burnett stared coldly at him.
“But you will do it?”
Daz shrugged.
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Get as much money out of her as you can. I want her to be in an impossible financial position. I want her to be up to her eyes in debt.”
Daz dragged himself to his feet.
“How about some money now… I’m skint.”
“When you deliver,” Burnett said curtly and waved a dismissal.
In the bitter cold of a January night, Natalie Norman found her rear off-side tyre was flat. She had been working late, and was now looking forward to getting home and into a hot bath. She had parked her Austin-Mini, as she always did in a cul-de-sac off Park Lane. She stood shivering in the biting wind while she looked helplessly at the flat tyre, when out of the shadows, came a tall, lean young man, wearing a lamb skin lined short coat, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black hipsters.
Daz had learned where Natalie parked her car, and he had let the air out of the tyre some fifty minutes ago. He had stood in a nearby doorway, freezing and cursing until he saw her come to the car. This was his first glimpse of her. He brightened considerably as the street light lit up her long, slim legs. The least he had expected was some woman with legs that could support a grand piano.
He waited, watching her. She moved into the full light and he grimaced. Good body, but so obviously a plain, sex-starved spinster with as much personality as a drowned cat.
Boy! he thought. Will I have to use my imagination to get her laid!
“You in trouble, miss?” he said. “Can I give you a hand?”
Natalie was startled by his sudden appearance. She looked helplessly to right and left, but there was no one in the cul-de-sac except themselves.
“I have a puncture,” she said nervously. “It’s all right. I’ll get a taxi… thank you.”
He moved under the street light so she could see him. They regarded each other, and she felt her heart beat quicken. He was lean and tall and like a beautiful young animal, she thought. His hair, curling to his collar, excited her. She felt a rush of blood through her: something that often happened when she saw really masculine men on the street, but her pale, expressionless face revealed nothing of the feeling that was moving through her body.