1979 - A Can of Worms by James Hadley Chase

course, he drank too much.” Barney paused to look virtuous. “The trouble with him was he stuck his nose into other people’s business, and talked.”
    “Whose business, Al?”
    Barney’s bloated, fat face became expressionless.
    “There’s not much that goes on around here, Mr. Anderson, that I don’t know about, but I know when to flap with my mouth and when to keep it shut.” He finished the beer. I signalled to Sam who came over with yet another refill.
    Barney smiled, nodded his thanks to me, then lowering his voice, he said, “Between you and me, Mr. Anderson, Pete got too interested in Alphonso Diaz, and let me tell you, Diaz is a very tough hombre.”
    “What interest, Al?”
    Barney’s face again became expressionless.
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    I had gone through this routine with Barney a number of times in the past. Beer produced information, but food unlocked the gates.
    “You look hungry, Al,” I said. “How about a hamburger?”
    Barney beamed.
    “Yeah. A hamburger would sit fine right now,” and he gave a signal to Sam.
    There was a brief delay, then Sam came over with a mountain of hamburgers, soggy, greasy and covered with raw onion rings. He placed the plate before Barney and handed him a knife.
    I waited until Barney had munched through the first hamburger, then tried again.
    “I’m interested in Diaz,” I said. “Any little tip, Al, will be gratefully received.”
    “Keep away from him, Mr. Anderson. You are a good friend of mine. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you, so keep well away from him,” Barney said, his mouth full.
    “Why?”
    “That’s it, Mr. Anderson. Just keep well away from him.” The flat note in his voice told me I’d get no further information from him.
    I tried another approach.
    “Josh Jones,” I said. “Give me something about him, Al.”
    “You keep away from him too, Mr. Anderson. He’s a no-good nigger.”
    “How about some of those chili sausages you like so much, Al?”
    He eyed me.
    “You know my weakness, Mr. Anderson,” and he signalled to Sam who brought over a plate of small sausages, cooked in chili sauce. Once I had been dopey enough to try one: it had practically blown the top of my head off.
    Smiling, Barney began feeding these lethal objects into his mouth. After he had eaten five of them, his eyes began to water, and he paused to take a long drink of beer.
    “You still interested in Jones, Mr. Anderson?” he asked, and thumped his chest with his clenched fist.
    “Yes.”
    He nodded.
    “I’ll tell you something.” He lowered his voice. “He and the first Mrs. Hamel, Gloria Cort, had it off together. That was before she hooked up with Diaz. From what I hear, Jones and she are still pretty close.”
    “You mean while she was married to Hamel, she and Jones . . .”
    “He’s the crewman. It happens.”
    “Yes.” I watched him start on the sausages again, then asked, “Do you think the second Mrs. Hamel is fascinated with Jones?”
    Barney frowned.
    “No, sir. Not that lady . . . she’s nice. Nothing like that about her. I would have heard. I keep my ear to the ground.”
    I looked at my watch. It was nearing 18.00.
    “I’ll move along, Al. See you.”
    “Sure thing, Mr. Anderson, and thanks for the food.”
    He put a grimy, fat hand on my sleeve. “Remember what I’ve said: keep clear of Diaz and Jones.”
    I went out onto the waterfront. I could see the Hamel yacht coming into the harbour. Nancy was in the bows.
    Jones was steering the yacht in. I mixed with the crowd and headed with long strides towards the Maser. I didn’t want Nancy to see me.
    Getting back to the office, I put my head around Gloria’s door.
    “The Colonel wants you,” she said crisply. Go on in.
    “Trouble, baby?” I asked.
    “Consult your conscience. Go on in.”
    “My pal,” I said, knocked on Parnell’s door and walked in.
    Parnell was at his desk, going through a folder.
    “The Hamel case,” he said. “What’s