The Snatchers

by Lionel White

  “Yeah, I tell him to buy two suitcases on his way to the hotel.”

  Pearl looked up.

  “You really think he won’t be followed?” she asked.

  “It’s a toss-up,” Dent said. “A chance we got to take. What I’m counting on is the fact they’ll want to get the kid back more than anything else. And I don’t think that even the FBI is going to risk something going sour until the direct contact is made. In any case, if he is followed, the switch at the airfield will throw them off.”

  “They’ll leave him alone,” Fats said. “They’ll figure to mark the dough and that will be enough for a tracer.”

  Dent’s hands nervously played with a pack of cigarettes. “You gotta impress on him that he must follow the instructions in the letter. Follow ‘em perfectly. That he will be watched. And you can’t be on that phone for more than a minute and a half.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m taking no chances.”

  “Look,” Pearl again interrupted. “Why wouldn’t it be better for Fats to actually tail him?”

  “I want Fats back here in plenty of time,” Dent said. “Anyway, what difference will it make? We have to take the chance that he’ll play ball. If the cops do follow him, you can bet that they’ll be so damn cagey we’d never spot ‘em anyway.”

  “He’ll play ball,” Fats said.

  “O.K. then,” said Dent. “Here are the letters.”

  He took two envelopes from the jacket pocket of his coat. From the one addressed to G. H. McGuire and marked “To be called for,” he extracted a single typewritten sheet of paper. Carefully he laid it on the table and reread it. Pearl walked over and stood behind him, reading it over his shoulder.

  Dent had a pencil in his hand.

  “It is now just before noon, Thursday morning,” Dent read.

  He took the pencil and carefully crossed out the word “Thursday” and substituted “Friday.” Then he went over the rest of the note:

  You have the money with you, probably in large bills that you have undoubtedly listed. Without telephoning anyone or making any attempt to contact the police or FBI, you will at once go to the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-fourth street. You will find that there are banks on all four corners. Start with the Fifth Avenue Bank, on the northwest corner, and work around to the others.

  Go into the bank, ask for the manager, and when you get him, identify yourself. If he doesn’t know you already, with the publicity you have been getting, he will at least know who you are.

  Tell him that what you have to do must be done immediately and that any attempt on his part not to co-operate, or to contact police, will endanger the life of your child.

  And then have him change one hundred thousand dollars of the money you are carrying into small bills. Do this in all four banks, and then go to the National City Bank at the corner of Fifth and Forty-third and change the last hundred thousand. You will be under observation during this time and you will be allowed exactly twenty minutes in each bank. Change the money so that the bulk of it is in five-, ten-, and twenty-dollar bills. We will accept no

  more than one third of it in fifties and hundreds.

  Any attempt on your part to have these new bills marked or the numbers registered will be fatal. It is up to you to see that the bank officials keep the entire transaction confidential. Any slip-up and we will drop contact at once. Your daughter’s future rests entirely in your hands.

  As soon as you have finished changing the money, take a taxi and go to Teterboro Airport. Ask for a Mr. James Dunleavy, pilot of a private charter plane.

  Dunleavy will have received a letter of instructions prior to your arrival. Tell him you are G. H. McGuire and are ready to take off.

  Say nothing beyond this and board the plane at once. When you arrive at your destination, you will receive further instructions.

  Dent looked back over his shoulder and saw that the girl was through reading. Carefully he folded the sheet and reinserted it in the envelope.

  “Did you watch your prints on that?” Pearl asked.

  “Enough,” Dent said. “It isn’t as easy as you think to get prints off of

  paper.”

  “You shoulda cut out words from a newspaper,” Fats said.

  “Nuts,” Dent said as he pulled the second letter out of its unsealed en

  velope.

  “Well, they traced the typewriter in the Leopold-Loeb case,” Fats said. Dent looked at him coldly.

  “Every time some smart operator starts to get fancy, cutting out letters and so forth, he gives the cops just so much more to go on. I like these things simple. I bought a secondhand typewriter. I’ve written several letters on it. When we get through with it, I’ll dump it in a hock-shop. There isn’t one chance in a million it will ever be traced. I still think the simple way is the best way to do a big job.”

  He laid the second letter on the table. It was addressed to James Dunleavy, Teterboro Airport, Teterboro, New Jersey. Once more Pearl looked over his shoulder as he read it.

  Enclosed are five one-hundred-dollar bills [she read]. Soon after you get this, I shall arrive at the airport.

  My name is G. H. McGuire. Be prepared to take off at once. I want to be flown to the airport just northeast of Smithtown, L.I. The five hundred is to pay you for the trip and to pay you to keep your mouth closed about it. When I get to Teterboro, I shall look you up and tell you my name. Beyond that there will be no need

  for conversation.

  “This guy Dunleavy—” Pearl began.

  “Yeah, Fats interrupted. “How the hell you know he’s going to go for the deal? What makes you think that five hundred will convince him? And how can you be sure he won’t be out on another job anyway?”

  “Look,” Dent said, disgust in his voice. “How long do you think I been planning this thing, anyway? I told you I had all the angles covered. I know Dunleavy like 1 know the back of my hand. Didn’t I run booze with him out of Miami once? Hell, he’d kill his mother for five bills— and keep quiet about it. And I already sent him another five hundred, several days back, telling him to keep the last four days of this week open for a job that would be coming in. I know the guy and I know what he can be expected to do.”

  “You know him so well,” Fats said, “how come he isn’t in on the job, then?”

  “Because,” Dent said, speaking as though he were explaining something to a child, “he isn’t the kind of guy who would ever go for a caper like this. But for a fast buck, he’d fly anyone anywhere, no questions asked. Just so he doesn’t have to know the details. He doesn’t want to know. He can be counted on.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Fats said.

  Dent again folded the sheet of paper and put it back in its envelope.

  “Be damn sure your messenger gets the letters out in plenty of time. Give ‘em something extra. And you don’t need to worry about this end of it. We’ll have Wilton paged, under the name of McGuire, at the time he lands, and he’ll get the rest of his instructions then. Just be sure to get here as quick as you can. When you get off the train, take a cab out.”

  Fats nodded. He reached for the two envelopes. “Well, I better get started,” he said.

  Pearl went back upstairs and got a slicker and her bag. Five minutes later; Dent watched through the window as the car pulled away from the house with the two of them.

  Silently Dent congratulated himself for not having taken the others in on his final arrangements with Dunleavy.

  They didn’t know anything about the deal he had made with the pilot to land on the beach and pick him up, and Dunleavy himself was in the dark about the snatch himself.

  Playing both ends against the middle was dangerous, but in the long run it would prove the best policy. Dent’s secrecy wasn’t designed to double-cross anyone; it was designed strictly as a personal insurance policy.

  He started upstairs to get Red and Gino out of bed.

  The storm seemed to have increased in intensity, and subconsciously he w
as aware of the heavy static on the air; which made it almost impossible to hear the radio.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fats waited until they had left the house far behind them before he started to talk. He sat in the front seat of the Packard, next to Pearl, who was driving slowly and carefully because of the blinding rain. Looking straight ahead, he spoke out of the side of his mouth to his companion.

  “Dent trusts too much to luck,” he said.

  For a moment Pearl didn’t answer. She had known Fats Morn for less than a month. What she had seen of him she hadn’t liked.

  A stocky, truncated figure of a man with a completely bald head overshadowing tiny, reddish eyes with pure-white lashes, Fats Morn looked fifteen years older than he actually was. He had a flabby, loose mouth and a livid, pock-marked skin. His clothes were shabby and unpressed, his white shirt frayed and dirty. There was invariably the stench of stale perspiration about him.

  Fats stuttered slightly and his eyes were very nearsighted. He refused to wear glasses. He coughed incessantly, without bothering to cover his mouth.

  But if he was physically unprepossessing, there was nothing wrong with his mentality. He had a reputation for being a clearheaded man in a pinch, as well as being tight-lipped. He was also, in spite of his obesity and poor vision, an excellent man with a gun. He loved money, but unfortunately he loved gambling more, As a result he was always broke.

  The windows of the car were raised to keep out the rain, and Pearl unconsciously moved as far from her companion as she could. The air in the closed vehicle was stale and she was anxious to get to the station.

  “The trouble with Dent,” Fats went on, “is he wants too much. He should have asked for a couple of hundred thousand, not five.”

  Pearl kept her eyes on the road when she answered. “Five is better. We all get more that way.”

  “More?” Fats’ voice was a husky wheeze as he spoke. “Dent gets more, you mean. Look at the split he’s handing us. He takes two hundred and fifty of it, and we split the rest. What kind of a deal is that?”

  “It was Dent’s idea,” Pearl said. “And he put up the dough to finance it.”

  Fats shrugged. “What dough? A lousy couple of grand.”

  Pearl didn’t answer, and the fat man continued.

  “No,” he said. “It ain’t a good split. Hell, look at the chances we’re taking. Red and Gino had to make the snatch. I gotta do the contact work. I think we should get a better break.”

  Pearl suddenly knew that Fats was feeling her out, trying to find whose side she’d be on in case of a break-up at the end. She decided to play along.

  “Things aren’t going too smooth, anyway,” Fats continued. “That brawl between Red and Gino. You know Red hurt him pretty bad, and Gino isn’t going to forget it. Sooner or later, when Red ain’t watching, he’s gonna get him.”

  “Red can take care of himself,” Pearl said. “Anyway, let ‘em kill each other. Who cares?”

  Fats looked at the girl sharply. “Don’t you care?”

  Pearl shrugged. “Red ain’t the only guy in the world,” she said. “Anyway, once this thing is over and I have my cut, I won’t need Red any more.”

  “That’s one reason a bigger split could come in handy,” Fats said. “Another thing, if Red and Gino tangle again and somebody really gets it, that’ll make one less to take care of.”

  Once more Fats closely watched the girl as she handled the wheel. Her attitude about Red hadn’t surprised him and he suspected that Pearl was secretly mixed up with Dent. He threw out another feeler.

  “Cal seems a little gone on that nurse,” he said.

  Pearl blushed and answered too quickly.

  “Nuts,” she said. “Cal Dent isn’t gone on anyone. He’s not the boy to let a woman get at him.”

  “Hope you’re right,” Fats said. “It’s bad enough to have Red and Gino fighting; we don’t want any extra complications. If it was up to me, I’d knock the dame off first thing. It’s crazy to have her hanging around. She could still cause plenty of trouble.”

  “Dent’ll take care of her when the time comes,” Pearl said. But already she was beginning to doubt it. The fat man must have caught it too. Dent did seem a little soft on her. She slowed the car a little and spoke softly to her companion.

  “Just to make sure,” she said, “maybe you better put her out of the way, first chance you get.”

  Fats nodded. “You got something there,” he said. “Get her out of the way and we cut down the risks. And one or two more out of circulation and you raise the ante. You see it that way?”

  “I see it that way.”

  Fats leaned toward her and one pudgy white hand patted her thigh.

  “You and I can see together,” he said.

  “Maybe we could,” Pearl said, finding it difficult not to draw away from the man’s ugly hand. “Who knows?”

  “I know,” Fats said. “You think it over.”

  Yes, Pearl decided. I’ll think it over, all right. And as soon as I get back to the shanty, I’ll talk it over. With Cal Dent.

  Pearl was busy with her thoughts as they neared the village. Things were, in a sense, working out better than she could have hoped. She had planned, from the very beginning, to ditch Red when the job was completed. If possible, she’d tie in with Dent. But now, with Dent getting interested in the Ballin girl, she realized that she must be prepared to make a switch in plans if necessary.

  Red himself would prove no problem. The chances were that Gino would take care of him, sooner or later. In any case, she’d have no trouble telling him off.

  And here was Fats, all set to double-cross Dent. Well, God knows, Fats was no bargain, but he might be an answer if worse came to worst. She couldn’t imagine herself in any personal relationship with the grubby little mobster, but she saw no reason why, if events called for it, she couldn’t make a temporary deal with him. She would always be able to handle a man like Fats, once they had made a getaway.

  She turned to her companion, and for the first time spoke with warmth in her voice.

  “We got time for some breakfast,” she said. “Suppose I pull up to the diner up ahead?”

  Fats looked at his watch, a heavy gold-cased old-fashioned railway timepiece, which he carried on a long gold-plated chain.

  “Run into town first,” he said, “and we’ll pick up the morning papers. We can grab a bite at the station. We got almost a half hour.”

  Once more the headlines were devoted entirely to the Wilton kidnaping. With nothing new on the case and the police and FBI giving out no information, city editors had been hard pushed to find a fresh angle.

  All morning papers carried, however, stories emanating from Wilton’s attorney, who pleaded with police and public alike to give his client complete freedom of movement to make contact with the kidnapers, so as to protect the child. One tabloid ran an open letter to the kidnap gang, based on no known authority, which promised them that no effort would be made to seek their identity until such time as the child had been safely returned. Ironically, however, another column carried news of large-scale rewards being offered by a number of diverse persons and organizations for the apprehension of the gang.

  Fats ordered ham and eggs and coffee and Pearl had a piece of Danish pastry as the two of them sat at the counter, side by side, and casually looked over the morning stories.

  Later, standing on the platform waiting for the train to pull in, Fats turned to the girl, handing her the newspapers, which he had carried under his arm.

  “You better take ‘em back to the cabin,” he said. “Not but what it’s all a lot of hogwash.”

  Pearl nodded and took the papers.

  “Think over what I said,” Fats said in a low voice as the train pulled in. “Keep your eyes open. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Pearl nodded and smiled at him.

  “I’ll see you,” she said. “Good luck.”

  She turned and left the platform as the engine pulled to a sto
p. The light raincoat she had thrown over her shoulders had kept some of the water off, but her feet were soaked and her hair was dripping as she climbed into the Packard. She took a rag from the glove compartment and shivered slightly as she tried to dry herself.

  Shortly after the car had passed the turnoff to the cottage on the way back toward Land’s End, the windshield wiper suddenly stopped working. Pearl drove on for a matter of a minute or so, and then pulled over to the side of the road. She was unable to see through the glass.

  For several minutes she fooled with the wiper button, and then she opened the door and walked to the front of the car. She tried manipulating the blade by hand and found that it worked freely but that the rain at once covered the windshield after she moved it.

  She damned Red under her breath as she darted back to the front seat of the car. She wound down the window on her left, and holding her head out of the side, slowly put the car in motion. A moment later she heard the sound of a horn in back of her. Barely able to see, she again pulled to the edge of the road.

  The car passed her slowly and then a second later came to a full stop in front of her. Once more Pearl jammed on her brakes. Pearl recognized Jack Fanwell as he stepped from the patrol car and swung back toward her. He was protected by a southwester and the rain poured from his hel-meted head. He recognized her at once.

  “Having trouble, Mrs. Mason?” he asked, leaning against the opened window.

  Pearl was torn between anger and a peculiar sense of fear as she looked

  up into his steady eyes.

  “Windshield wiper,” she said finally. “It seems to be broken.”

  The man reached through the window and played with the button. He shook his head.

  “Pull the button that opens the hood,” he said.

  A moment later he slammed the hood shut. The wiper was once more working.

  “Hose connection came off,” he said, again leaning on the door. “Out kinda early this morning, aren’t you?”

  Pearl nodded. “Had to take one of our guests to the station,” she explained.

  Pearl had taken a pack of cigarettes from the seat at her side and was attempting to light one. But the matches had become soaked and refused to ignite. Fanwell watched her silently for a moment and then smiled.