by Lionel White
“I have a dry one,” he said. “Better let me help you.”
He walked around in front of the car and came to the other side. Opening the door, he crouched a little to climb into the front seat. He pulled the door shut, and then, not taking a match from his pocket, he pushed in the lighter on the dashboard. Carefully he watched the girl as he waited for it to heat up. He noticed that her hand was shaking as she held the cigarette to her lips and he extended the lighter.
“Nervous?” he asked.
Pearl looked at him, her eyes wide.
“I got up early to go to the station. This storm—it makes everybody nervous, I guess. Lightning frightens me.”
The policeman nodded, making no move to leave. “How is Mr. Mason?” he asked.
“Well, he’s better.”
“He seems to have a lot of friends,” Fanwell said.
“They’re business friends,” Pearl answered.
“What business is your husband in, Mrs. Mason?”
For a moment Pearl looked startled. But then, quickly, she caught herself up and smiled.
“He was in the Army,” she said. “Right now he’s resting up for a time.”
“And then he will go back to business?” Fanwell asked, with what struck Pearl as an odd persistency.
“Yes,” Pearl said. “And then he’ll go back to business.”
“You should have taken your guest to the station at Land’s End,” Fan-well said. “It’s shorter.”
Again Pearl looked full into the man’s eyes.
“I wasn’t sure the early train stopped there,” she said at last. “Do you
think this storm is going to keep up for long?”
“It may. Are you people keeping dry and comfortable out there? You know, I can stop by later, if you’d like, and see that everything is all right.”
Pearl felt the blood drain from her face.
“No,” she said quickly. “No, we’re fine, thank you. Everything is all right.”
Fanwell reached for the door handle. He smiled again as he stepped to the side of the road. He spoke as he started to close the door.
“Well, just let us know if you need anything,” he said. “Out here in the sticks, that’s mostly what cops are for—to kind of help out in case of any sort of trouble.”
He closed the door of the car as Pearl stared at him.
Once more driving toward the village, she suddenly decided to head directly back to the hideout rather than stop for groceries, as she had planned. She didn’t like it at all. Definitely, Fanwell had seemed suspicious. Why had he asked her all of those questions? What business was it of his what she was doing on the road early in the morning, or where she decided to deliver a guest?
And that suggestion of coming out to see that everything was all right. She was more sure than ever that he suspected something. She swung the wheel and turned back to the cutoff road.
The roar of the heavy surf was deafening as the Packard pulled through the saturated sands of the road, crossing the dunes toward the hideout. Pearl threw the gear shift into second, and then finally into low. The wind had steadily risen, and the water was coming down in sheets. The nervousness that Pearl had been feeling ever since the village policeman had stopped by the side of her car to help her with the windshield wiper had gradually increased until now she felt complete terror overcoming her. She was half sobbing as she drew up in front of the place.
Automatically she switched off the ignition and she stumbled as she opened the door. Grabbing the newspapers, she made a dash for the porch.
The three of them, Dent, Red, and Gino, were standing like statues as she entered the unlocked front door. For a second, while she stood there in the opened doorway with the wind and rain slashing in around her, they seemed like some strange and almost unreal characters in a tableau.
Dent was the first to move.
Without a word, he crossed the room and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her in and out of the rain. And then he quickly reached for the knob and pulled the door shut.
“Shut up and listen!” His voice gritted out the order between closed
teeth.
Automatically Pearl turned like the others and faced the radio. The words, harsh with static, were coming from the speaker.
Chapter Twelve
“Police late last night announced they have located several witnesses who recognized the kidnap car. Identity of one man, believed a gardener on a Connecticut estate, is being kept secret. It is understood that this man observed the actual kidnaping, at the time that the Wilton station wagon was forced to the side of the road. License numbers that he is said to have supplied police have been traced to a limousine stolen in Queens six days ago. This is thought to be the car used by the kidnapers....”
Static suddenly crackled over the set and the announcer’s voice faded out. Dent quickly crossed the room and twisted the dial and then once more the voice came to those in the room, clear and distinct.
"... at four o’clock this afternoon, when Mrs. Wilton will make a personal plea to the kidnapers over a nationwide hookup... “
Dent snapped off the set.
“Goddamn it,” he said. “Goddamnit, I had a feeling that car might be spotted.” He swung-toward Red.
“Didn’t I tell you not to pick up a car on Long Island?” he said, spitting the words out in a bitter, low voice. “Why the hell won’t you guys ever listen to me?”
Red reached into the icebox for a bottle of beer. He jerked the cap off, using the head of a nail sticking out of the wall.
“Aw, hell, Cal,” he said. “What’s a difference? So they know the heap was jacked on Long Island. That don’t make ‘em know where we are.”
“That isn’t the idea,” Dent said. “I don’t want them localizing any part of the job on Long Island. I just hope to God nobody spotted that pile out this way and reported it. It’s a good thing we’re going to wind this thing up tomorrow night.” He turned toward Pearl and suddenly became aware of her dead-white face. The girl sat on the edge of a chair, nervously twirling her fingers.
“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped.
Pearl looked at him blankly for a second. Then she told him about the windshield wiper and the cop.
“He was too nosy,” she said. “Wanted to know what my husband’s business was. Asked about his friends. Dent, I don’t like it. Something’s eating on him. He even said he might stop out here and see if everything
is going all right.”
I “He stops out here,” Red said, “an’ I’ll stop him. Lousy snooper.”
Gino sneered and turned to the couch. He had taken the bandages off his face and he looked as if he had gone through a meat chopper. He still limped badly and his shirt was open to the waist, exposing wide swatches of white bandaging. He sat down painfully.
“The cop is suspicious, all right,” Dent said. “But I don’t think he has made any connection—at least, not yet.”
Gino looked up. “Let’s take the kid and make a run for it,” he suggested. “Pearl and Red can go back to the apartment in town and take the kid in with them after dark. You and I can make the meet with Fats, pick up another car out this way, and go ahead with the plan tomorrow night.”
“And what about the nurse?” Red asked.
“What about her? I’ll take care of her all right.” Gino smiled evilly as he said it. “As far as that goes, I can take care of both her and the kid. We don’t need them for the payoff.”
“You ain’t gonna hurt that kid,” Red said suddenly, his oddly broken face crinkling and his eyes going small and mean. “I ain’t gonna see nothing happen to that kid. You done—”
Dent jumped to his feet. “Shut up, all of you,” he ordered. “We aren’t going to move. You’re letting yourselves get jittery for no reason. We only got another day here. Nothing has happened yet and nothing will. As long as we got the kid, and as long as she’s alive, we got an insurance policy. Start killing people and we’ll all be dead. Th
at’s when the law will really begin to close in. Right now, so long as we got the kid, they aren’t going to do nothing to make it hard for us. We got to stay here and sit tight.”
“Maybe,” Pearl said, “Gino is right, though. Maybe Red and I should go back to town.”
Red swung to her, his eyes dangerous. “You sticking up for Gino against me?” he asked.
“Pm sticking up for myself,” Pearl said. “Pm frightened. First that damned cop. And this radio, going all the time. I just begin to feel jittery.”
“Look,” Dent said. “Don’t be a bunch of damned fools. Everything is going just as we planned it. There’s nothing to worry about. Wilton will have the dough and Fats will make the contact. I told you, we’ll clean it up tomorrow. Now for God’s sake sit tight and take it easy. You all knew it was going to be tough when we started out on this job. So take it easy.”
“Well, if this damned rain would only stop...” Pearl said.
“Never mind the rain. How about making some grub?” Dent gestured toward the icebox.
“I’m going up and get on some dry clothes first,” Pearl answered.
Red followed her wordlessly out of the room and up the staircase.
He stood next to the door of the bedroom, after he had closed it behind them. His eyes watched Pearl as she stripped off her dripping clothes. Red moved to reach for her, but Pearl quickly pushed him away.
“Not now,” she said. “For God’s sake, not now. Can’t you see I’m scared and I don’t feel right.”
Red shrugged. “Nothing to be scared of,” he said.
Pearl quickly swung back toward him. Her arms went out and she reached around his neck, pulling his face down to her own.
“Red,” she whispered. “Listen, Red. Let’s you and I duck. Let’s get out of here now. We should never have got mixed up in this in the first place. There’s going to be trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”
Red pulled his head back.
“We’re gonna stay and see it through,” he said, his voice surly. “How about the money, huh? You want we should walk off on the money?”
Pearl pressed close to the big man and her eyes were wide and her mouth a seductive invitation as she looked up at him.
“You got me, Red,” she said. “You got me, and the money won’t be no good to us if they catch us.” Pearl tried all of the old tricks, but this time they didn’t work. Red had a strictly one-track mind. And his mind was on the ransom money. He pushed her away.
“Get some clothes on and come down and cook some grub,” he said brutally, turning to the door. “We’re gonna see it through.”
They ate hash and soft-boiled eggs, Gino cursing at the pain he suffered each time he opened his jaws. Pearl stacked the dishes in the sink, not bothering to wash them.
“Let that dame in the other room wash ‘em,” she said. “It’s time she earned her keep around here.”
Later, when the rain slackened off, Dent told her to drive back into town and pick up some more food.
“But be careful,” he warned. “If you run into that cop, play up to him a little bit. Try and find out just what he’s thinking. Offer to buy him a drink, but be careful you don’t get tight yourself. I want to find out just what’s on his mind.”
“He makes me nervous,” Pearl said.
“All right, be nervous. But be careful. You can handle it. Remember, he’s just a small-town clown. All you gotta do is keep him quiet for an-
other day. Play him along.”
* After Pearl left, Gino went back upstairs to try to get some more sleep. Dent helped him up, and when they were alone in the room, Gino once more spoke of the possibility of getting away from the shack. Dent went out of his way to reason with the little hoodlum and finally was satisfied that he had convinced him that the best policy was to sit tight until the next night.
When Dent returned downstairs he went at once to the door leading into the back bedroom. He told Terry to come out and get something to eat for the two of them.
Dent then sat at the table with an oil can and a rag. Carefully he began dismantling and cleaning the submachine gun as the girl made sandwiches. As she was about to return to the other room with the food for the child, he looked up at her.
“After you eat,” he said, “come back and clean up the dishes.”
Terry nodded and went into the bedroom.
“I got somethin’ for the kid,” Red said suddenly. He went over to the mantel above the fireplace and took down a hand-carved wooden gun. “I made it out in the garage yesterday,” he added, pride on his face as he held it out for Dent to see.
Dent looked at it and nodded his head toward the door.
“When she gets through eating, take it in to her,” he said.
Red waited for Terry to return, pacing the floor. When she re-entered the room, he walked over to her and smiled eagerly.
“It’s for the kid,” he said, holding out the toy gun. Terry looked up at him, surprise on her face. And then she smiled.
“You’d better give it to her,” she said.
Red went into the back room.
Dent was conscious of the girl at the sink, as he worked over the gun, but he kept his eyes on his work and didn’t look up. Occasionally Terry looked surreptitiously in his direction, and there was a puzzled expression about her eyes. The door to the back room was open and she heard Janie laughing. Red’s voice reached them now and then as he talked with the child. They heard him tell her that now that she had a gun, he would make her a member of the mob. Janie said, “Fine. I’ll shoot Gino first.” Red laughed uproariously.
Finally Dent looked up at the girl
“Your blankets get soaked in there?” he asked.
“Not too bad, but I’d like to dry them before the fire. The dampness here gets through everything.”
“Bring 'em in,” Dent said.
Terry hung the heavy Army blankets over the backs of a couple of chairs.
She glanced at Dent and then, seeing that he was staring at her, quickly looked away.
“How long—” she began, when he quickly interrupted her.
“Another day,” he said. “Maybe two at the most. You’ll just have to keep her quiet for a little longer. It will be over soon.”
Terry took a deep breath. Her face contained an odd mixture of fear and relief.
“And then?”
“And then the kid will go back.” As he said it, Dent suddenly saw the girl’s face blanch. “And you too,” he quickly added. “Both of you— you’ll both be all right.”
Later, after the girl had again returned to the back room, he wondered why he had said it. Certainly, at this point, he had made no definite plans, not even in his own mind, for the safe return of the girl. The child, yes. He would see that the child was returned safely, in spite of Gino and in spite of Fats. But the girl?
Suddenly he cursed her under his breath. What the hell was she to him, after all? A cypher, that was all. A mere cypher. Why was he beginning to worry about her? And why, above all, was he going out of his way to reassure her?
Dent felt a peculiar sense of confusion as he attempted to straighten out the thoughts in his own mind. Finally he shrugged and went back to oiling the weapon in his hands.
His mind was no longer on the girl. It was a thousand miles away.
He was climbing aboard the charter boat from the dock in Miami, the boat that would eventually, after a week’s deep-sea fishing, drop him off on an obscure shore not far from Havana. With him would be the suitcase with the money.
He sat motionless, staring out toward the sea through the rain-streaked window, as he projected his imagination ahead. Yes, it was all set in his mind’s eye. First Miami, then Cuba, and then South America. Within hours of the time he got his hands on the money, he’d be on his way. It would be the last he would see of Red and Fats and Gino. Of any of them. Except possibly Pearl. About her, he still hadn’t made up his mind.
But, he rationalized, why Pearl? Hell, with
a quarter of a million dollars, why should he take any chances at all? Alone and traveling light, he could go far and he could go safely. And his plans were already made. Made for himself and his flight south to that life of money and freedom.
The others? Well, the hell with the others. Let them look out for themselves, once he had the ransom dough. And then his thoughts suddenly went back to Terry Ballin and the child.
Yes, there was one thing he would do if it were at all possible. He would see to it that the kid was released without being hurt. Not only for her sake, but for his own as well.
And at that moment Dent finally decided that he would definitely leave Pearl behind. For a second he had a passing and fugitive sense of regret that he had not taken her while she was available. But, he reflected, there were many Pearls—especially for a man with a quarter of a million in unmarked cash.
The sound of the car’s engine brought Cal Dent back to reality.
The rain had fallen off to a drizzle and the wind was dying as Dent put the pieces of the gun on the table and went to the window.
This time Pearl stopped at the door only long enough to wait for Red to come out and get the two large bags of groceries. Then she drove the car around and left it in front of the barn.
Entering the house, she told Dent she had failed to see the cop in town, even though she had stopped at the tavern as well as the grocery store. She seemed to have calmed down and stopped worrying for the time being, Dent noted with relief.
When Dent turned the radio on at four o’clock, they were all in the living room; that is, all but Terry.
Red sat on the couch, the child on his lap, half asleep. Gino stood by the mantel, his back to the fire, and Dent and Pearl were at the table.
With the exception of a number of false rumors, which the announcer himself mentioned, there was no news on the Wilton case.
Several moments later, Janie Wilton herself woke up as her mother’s voice came over the air. She sat openmouthed as she listened.
“This is Mrs. Gregory Wilton.”
