by Jerry eBooks
Lennison scooped up the cash from the register and fled.
He didn’t get far that time. Harford had easily recognized him through his amateurish mask. The money was found in his pocket and Lennison had been sent to the reformatory to serve his first prison sentence.
AFTER HIS release he had traveled east and gone on to bigger and more notorious things. He was a well known criminal on the eastern seaboard but no one had ever been able to produce enough positive evidence against him to put him behind bars.
Harford emptied his beer glass thoughtfully. Now, after ten years Lennison had come home. The question was why? Harford hardly believed it was for sentimental reasons. And if Lennison were here professionally that was Harford’s immediate business.
He paid his check and returned to his office. He didn’t get much work done the rest of the afternoon . . .
Lennison sat on the edge of the hotel bed, half filled a glass with rye whiskey and said, “Well, what do you think of it now?”
Louis, standing by the window, took a cigar from his mouth and nodded.
“It’s a pushover. I could open that safe with a boy scout knife. How did you know about it?”
“I told you I lived in this town once. Old man Naylor has had that little office here for thirty years. It’s ideally located, from our point of view. In an alley off the main streets. On Fridays he takes in a lot of weekly rentals which he stashes in his broken down safe. Besides, he keeps a chunk of cash there in addition. The banks are closed on Saturday and he cashes checks for farmers and working men. I tell you what’s in that safe won’t go under fifty G’s.”
Louis nodded his head again. He was a cautious man but he found nothing to worry about on this job.
“Hit it fast,” he said. “And scram.”
“Right,” said Lennison. “We’ll crack it at say, two a.m. You crack the safe. I’ll stand by with a rod just in case. I’ve got a car planted in the lot back of the hotel. We’ll be out of the state before sunrise.”
Louis grunted. “How did you know this Naylor’d still be in business after ten years?”
“I was coming through from Chi a month ago. I had a wait between trains. I recalled old man Naylor’s joint and cased it. As you see, it’s too good to be true.”
“Okay,” said Louis. “We’ll hit it at two in the morning. We’ll be out of town before dawn.”
He was half right. They hit it at two.
Old man Naylor was a rugged individualist from away back. The crowded shabby office, the ancient battered safe had been good enough for Naylor’s father and they were good enough for him. He sneered at red leather and chromium. His booming real estate and insurance business did well enough without any fancy trimmings.
He was a hearty man in spite of his sixty-six years. Save for the fact that he was a diabetic he was as healthy as many a man twenty years his junior.
On Friday night, following the custom of years he adjourned to the card-room of the Elk’s club and after several hours of shrewd play managed to win four dollars and a half. He quit the game at exactly 1:45, donned his hat preparatory to going home, then, recalled suddenly that he had forgotten to stop at the drug store for a fresh supply of insulin.
He swore mildly. He was going to need a shot of the drug first thing in the morning. There was none in his house. The stores were closed. Then he remembered the half bottle on the desk in his office. It would have been far better for old man Naylor if he had forgotten.
The insulin was in a yellowish bottle less than a foot from Louis’ elbow as he worked. His bag of cleverly contrived tools lay on the floor. In his hand he held an instrument of bright steel which gleamed in the flashlight which Lennison focussed on the safe door. In Lennison’s other hand was an automatic.
There was a slight nervousness in Lennison, a fact which was made apparent by the tremor of the light beam in his unsteady hand. Louis, phlegmatic as the Petrified Forest, worked ploddingly, calmly as a garage mechanic.
There came a dull, clanking sound. Louis breathed heavily, wrenched the safe door. It opened, groaningly, on its unoiled hinges. And at that moment, Lennison heard the footstep.
He swung about on his heel, bringing the light and the automatic around with him. The beam framed the hulking figure of old man Naylor. He blinked. He registered not fear but astonishment.
Lennison said hoarsely, “Come in here. Put your hands up and sit in that chair.”
Naylor stared at the dim figure behind the flashlight in hot outrage.
He said, “You thieves! You robbers!” Then he threw an extra hundred decibels into his voice and yelled, “Police! Help! Robbers!”
THOSE three dramatic words were next to the last he ever uttered. Lennison’s taut and nervous finger tightened on the trigger. Three dry, cracking reports filled the little office. Naylor coughed painfully and staggered forward. He fell into the ancient swivel chair before his desk.
He had courage, had old man Naylor. He slumped over his desk and his hand upset the insulin bottle which he would never need again. He knew his life was oozing out from three bullet holes. He knew he would live no more than another minute. But he went down fighting.
With his last ounce of energy, he snatched up the telephone, swung the dial around from Operator. He didn’t wait for anyone to answer. He yelled his name into the phone and added the information that he was being murdered. He yelled twice before Lennison’s fourth shot put a slug through the base of his brain.
Louis stood before the open safe, a thick canvas money bag in his hand. His brow was painfully wrinkled. Louis’ slow mind was beginning to grapple with a new situation. He said, “All right, you’re the brain, Lennison. What do we do now?”
Lennison was panting like a man after a hard run. He said jerkily, “You got the dough?”
“Sure.”
“All right. Let’s scram. To the car. Let’s get right out of town. Before the heat is on.”
They moved to the door. No sooner had Lennison stepped to the sidewalk, he knew that the heat was on already. Two shrieking sirens sounded in the night. It was grimly apparent that the telephone operator had heard Naylor’s last words, that she had communicated with the police who in turn had radioed the squad cars.
Louis said gloomily, “Them sirens. They’re between us and the hotel.”
“I know it,” said Lennison. “But I know this town, too. We’ll work around through the alleys, then circle back again.”
He sped across an empty lot. He clambered over a low, rotting fence. He maneuvered through backyards, junk piles and dim unpopulated streets. Finally, he stopped in the brooding shadow of a warehouse and waited for Louis to catch up with him.
Louis came up, the bag of money flung across his wide shoulder. “So,” he said, “are we anywhere near that car you got planted?”
Lennison shook his head. “And it wouldn’t matter if we were.” There was a deep frown on his brow and he seemed worried. “Look,” he went on. “There are only three roads out of this town. You can bet there’s blocks on every one of them right now. Moreover, Harford knows I’m in town. It’s a cinch he’s looking for us in every hotel already.”
Louis assimilated this information slowly. He eased the bag off his shoulder and put it between his feet. He asked the inevitable question. “All right. What do we do now?”
Lennison said quietly, “We can get out of town if we got the chief of police with us. If he’s riding alongside us and we got a gun in his ribs. He can get us through the road block. He’s about the only guy who can.”
Louis considered this and found it sound. “Okay. So we go to his house and snatch him. Where does he live?”
Lennison shook his head. “He won’t be home. He’ll be out heading the search for us. They probably called him right away.”
Louis said incredulously, “You mean we snatch him out of the cop house? With all his flatfeet around him?”
“No,” said Lennison. “We’ll trap him. We’ll bring him to us. Alone.
Come on.” He moved along the street without further explanation. Louis picked up the money bag and followed along phlegmatically. Louis may have been stupid but he was aware of it. He took orders as a matter of course.
The house in which Curt Harford lived with his father was a neat white structure on the outskirts of the town. A green picket fence girded its smooth lawn and bright shrubbery. Lennison picked his way deftly through Roxport toward it. Skilfully he avoided the radio cars which were now swarming through the streets. He kept to the back ways, the alleys and the dark factory streets.
THEN a block away he saw the Harford home. He drew a deep breath and thrust his hand into his pocket, where it touched the butt of his automatic.
“All right, Louis,” he said. “Come on. You keep your mouth shut. Let me do the talking. I’ll get you and me and that dough safely out of this hick town.”
There was a light burning in the lower story of the house as Lennison approached. That confirmed his belief that Harford had been summoned downtown as soon as the police had discovered Naylor’s corpse. Old man Harford was probably waiting up until his son returned.
Lennison climbed the three steps to the porch. Noiselessly he turned the knob. The door was locked. He took the automatic from his pocket and rang the bell.
After a moment the shuffling sound of slippered footfalls moved toward the door. A bolt was shot and Peter Harford stood framed in the doorway. Lennison’s first impression was that Harford had aged frightfully. It was ten years since Lennison had seen him. From Harford’s appearance it could have been thirty.
There was a wisp of snow white hair on the top of his head. His face was gaunt, almost skeletal. His eyes were set deep in his head, encircled by black rings. He stared blankly at Lennison and Louis and said, “Yes?” in a cracked voice.
Lennison poked him gently in the stomach with the muzzle of his gun. He said, “I see you don’t recognize me. But my gun can tell you I mean business. Get back in the house.”
Harford backed into the living room. Lennison and Louis followed slamming the door behind them. Harford sat in an armchair, next to the telephone table. There was no fear in his gaze nor in his voice as he spoke.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Lennison grinned. He was calmer now. From where he stood his plan seemed bound to work. Louis sighed and put the money bag carefully on the floor.
“So you don’t know me?” said Lennison. “Look me over carefully.”
After a long moment Harford shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t recognize you. But somehow your voice seems familiar.”
“I’m Lennison.”
“Ah,” said the old man and his voice died away like a dispirited breeze. “Of course. My wits are slow these days. Of course, you’re Lennison. You’re a crook and my son is looking for you right now. He believes you killed a man tonight.”
“Look,” said Louis impatiently. “Will you do something, Lennison? This idea of hiding out in a copper’s house don’t appeal to me.”
“We won’t be here long,” said Lennison. “Now, listen to me, Harford. Listen carefully, if you want to live.”
The old man blinked at him and said nothing.
“We’ve got to get out of this town,” said Lennison, “before the coppers get us. By now they’ll have road blocks up. So there’s only one way I figure to make a getaway. That is in your son’s car, with him riding along with us.”
“Are you crazy?” said Harford. “Curt won’t do it.”
“He’ll do it if he thoroughly understands we’ll blow your brains out, and his, too, if he doesn’t.”
There was a long silence in the room, broken at last by Harford’s wheezing sigh. He said, “What do you want me to do?”
“Phone him at headquarters. If he’s not there have them radio him to call you. Tell him you’ve had a stroke. You’re sick. Tell him to come right away. Oh, and tell him you’ve already called the doctor.”
“I see,” said Harford. “And when he comes in here you jump him with your gun. You force him to accompany you, to lift the road block. And if he tells you to go jump in the lake, you threaten me?”
“You ain’t so dumb,” said Lennison in mock admiration. “You got it the first time.”
He crossed the room. He put the cold muzzle of his gun against the old man’s temple. He said, “Be sure you got your story right, then pick up that phone.”
The old man’s gaze was steady but thoughtful. He sighed and wrinkled his brow. At last he picked up the receiver without taking his eyes off Lennison. He fumbled a moment for the dial, then spun the mechanism six times.
CURT HARFORD was directing the search for Lennison from his office. As his quarry had already figured, every highway out of town was blocked. Plainclothesmen dotted the railroad station and the bus terminal. Squad cars were engaged in checking every hotel in town.
Harford sat grimly at his desk smoking a cigarette. There was a blazing wrath in him, wrath that a hoodlum like Lennison should outrage the tranquility of the town he loved. However, that rage was tempered somewhat by the thought it seemed impossible that Lennison could wriggle through the police net which had been cast around him.
The telephone rang. Hopefully, Harford snatched it up. “Chiefs office. Harford speaking.”
“Curt,” said a voice that he knew so well, “this is your dad.”
“Hi. Why don’t you go to bed? I ought to be home soon. We’ll have Lennison any minute.”
“I want you to come home now, Curt. I’m sick. I’ve had a spell.”
“I’ll be right home,” said Curt swiftly. “This thing can run itself now. I’ll bring the doc with me.”
“I’ve already called the doctor,” said his father. “I’m dizzy. Think I might faint. Never happened to me before.”
“Sure. Sure.” Curt was about to hang up. But his father continued. “I was reading. Suddenly got spots before my eyes. Couldn’t see anything. Terrible headache, too.”
“That’s too bad,” said Curt very slowly. “I’ll be right home.”
“Okay, son. See you soon.”
“Right away, Dad.”
He clicked the receiver back on its hook, sprang to his feet and rushed to the door, shouting for Captain Hooker, his second in command.
Old man Harford hung up the telephone. Lennison smiled bleakly at him.
“That was very nice, pop,” he said. “A nice convincing story. Now, Louis, stand over there by the wall. When we see him coming up the walk, I’ll open the door. I got to get the drop on him before he can reach for his own gun.”
Harford said, “You’re not going to harm my boy?”
“That depends. If he does as he’s told we’ll send him back in one piece. And I kind of think he will when we threaten to blow your brains out.”
Old man Harford opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He sat silent, his hands folded in his lap and his gaunt face expressionless.
THE sound of a car broke the quiet of the early morning. Headlights shimmered down the block. The car halted at the gate of the Harford house. A single man stepped out and Lennison breathed with relief.
“He’s alone,” he whispered to Louis. “Keep an eye on the old guy.”
He moved to the door. He held his automatic in one hand, put the other on the knob. The instant he heard the footfall of Harford on the porch, he flung the door open and thrust the muzzle of his gun in the police chief’s stomach.
“Come in,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Harford advanced into the house. He said, “Lennison, you and your pal, there, are under arrest for murder.”
“That’s very interesting. You’re going to drive us out of town, past your road block in your car. There’ll be a gun on you all the time.”
Harford smiled across the room at his father. He said, “And if I won’t?”
“Your old man will never see another birthday.”
Harford’s smile grew broader but there
was no mirth in it.
“Lennison,” he said, “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you, but if you’d laid off my father some ten years ago, you’d probably have gotten away with this killing tonight.”
“What are you talking about? I have got away with it.”
“The hell you have,” said Harford. He lifted his voice. “All right, Hooker.”
The door at the rear of the room—the door leading to the kitchen opened suddenly and four men spilled through. Hooker and two others held Police Specials in their hands. The fourth man carried a sub-machine gun. “Drop that gun,” snapped Hooker. “Put up your hands. Both of you.”
LOUIS blinked bewilderedly. Slowly he lifted his arms above his head. Lennison’s face was suddenly ashen. He swore, swung around, the automatic still in his hand. There was a sharp crack and the automatic thudded to the rug. Blood streaked down Lennison’s arm, dripped from the tips of his fingers. His eyes were glazed with fear.
Louis said, in a numbed voice, “I don’t get it.”
“Neither does Lennison,” said Curt Harford. “But it’s his fault. You can blame him when you hang, Louis.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” said Lennison harshly.
“If you overlook armed robbery and murder,” said Harford. “You still did something wrong. My father told me you were here over the phone.”
“No,” said Lennison. “I heard what he said. He didn’t give it away.”
“He did. He said he was reading, that he got spots in front of his eyes. He said he’d see me soon. Thanks to you, Lennison, he hasn’t read for ten years. He hasn’t had spots in front of his eyes. He—” Harford’s voice broke for an instant, then he recovered himself. “He hasn’t even seen me.”
Louis looked blanker than ever. Lennison said, incredulously, “You mean—?” “I mean he’s blind. When you slugged him with that slingshot stone ten years ago it affected his right eye. That eye went blind two years later. It infected the left eye. He’s been totally blind for a long time, Lennison.”
