YOU PAY YOUR MONEY by Lawrence Harvey Published in Detective Mystery Stories #39 She was young beautiful and Neil had paid the price The girl lived in the apartment down the hall. Neil Grimes often watched her come and go with avid interest. She was young --and Neil had confined himself to merely looking. Still, she interested him and, he admitted, had he been about fifteen years younger or had she been a little older, he probably would have done something about it. He sized her up as about twenty-one, well stacked for that age, with a wiseness about her eyes that went beyond her scant years. Her old man worked at night and slept during the clay and her mother stayed pig-eyed on anything that came in so a bottle so the kid was left to her devices most of the time and, in this neighborhood, Neil could well imagine what those devices were. So, Neil only looked, even if his mind did, at times, conjure up delightful visions of intimate occasions with her. He was no fool; these kids meant only one thing in his book--trouble. He meant to steer clear of this one. That was why he was shocked, and a little frightened, too, when she walked into his room that day. She stood there, smiling at him in an enticing manner. Neil was stunned into momentary silence. She strode in, swinging her hips like some floozie on the make. She eased the door shut after her. "Whatta you want?" Neil asked, after regaining his composure. She stepped closer to him and he had to admit that she was sure some dish. As far as Neil was concerned, she looked mature enough and well equipped to handle most any situation. She was tall, lithe in figure, with pleasing curvatures in the right places. "Just want to talk," she said. "Nothing wrong with talking, is there?" Neil strode over and opened the door. He felt safer that way. "You'd better get outa here," he said. Your folks would be madder than hell if they caught you here." She laughed and kicked the door shut again. What the hell was she up to? He wondered. "Okay," Neil said, "talk. Whatta you want to talk about?" She looked him straight in the face and said, "Money" "Money?" He asked. "What money?" "The money you're going to give me," she replied matter-of-factly." This really shook him! This kid was trying to wring money out of him. How? Suddenly, it hit him and he felt funny little stabs of prickly cold shooting up and down his spine. "You re nuts! I'm not going to give you any money. Now, scram outa here!" She kept on smiling. "I think you will," she said. Then, she reached up and caught the front of her dress, looked at him and said, "You want me to rip this all the way down the front and then scream? I can really let out a lulu of a scream." 'Whatta you getting at?" "Just this," she said. "For the sum of one hundred bucks, I won't rip my dress to shreds and I won't scream and I won't say that you tried to attack me. Take your choice, mister, shell out a hundred bucks or go to jail!" She had him where it hurt and he knew it. His hands shook as he took out a cigarette and lit it. She just stood there, with her hand at the top of her dress, waiting. Damn her! How could a kid get this cold and calculating at this age? Boy, they sure grow up fast nowadays. "Look," Neil pleaded. "I don't have that kind of money. For the luva God, have a heart. Will you?" "You'd better get it and get it fast," she said as she exerted pressure on the thin material. He could hear it rip slightly. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "I...l don't have the cash. Honest I don't. But, II could write you a check." He was sweating, but good! "Get writing, then," she commanded. "And, It'd better be good." He wrote the check with trembling hands. She snatched it from his hand when he had finished, looked it over quickly and smiled, her eyes reflecting greed. "This better be good," she said. "It is," Neil replied, knowing that the check was a good one. It had to be. A kid like that would stop at nothing. Better not to cross her. "Thanks, mister," she said as she left. He kept his door shut and locked after that, in spite of the intense heat. But, the closed door wouldn't keep out the sound of her clicking heels down the hall every day. When he heard her, he thought of his hundred bucks and it made him sick. The damn little tramp! Several weeks later, right after the first of the month, Neil was sitting in his hot room brooding over the loss of his money when he heard her coming down the hall as she did about this time every day. His hatred for the girl had reached a high peak. He waited until she was almost even with his door, then, suddenly he flung open the door, grabbed her by the arm roughly and yanked her into his room. Quickly, he closed the door and locked it. "Hey," she said, fright creeping into her eyes. "What is this?" He grinned and walked toward her, slowly, deliberately. "I got my bank statement today," he said. "So what'? "The check I wrote you cleared. I got the canceled check. Proof of payment. A receipt!" She backed toward the wall. "Look, mister," she said, "what's this all about?" "I think you know," he said, "You know damn well what I'm going to do. Don't you?" He laughed aloud. "And, you know what? You won't say one solitary word about it. Will you? Who's going to believe anything you say when I show 'em this canceled check. Huh?" THE END Originally, published in MANHUNT December 1959