April Evil

by John D. MacDonald

  Mullin turned toward the car. The woman had turned it around. It moved toward the gate. He held up his hand to stop her there. She stopped the car. He nodded at Ronnie and they split, Ronnie taking the front door and Mullin taking the back of the house.

  Mullin went in through the back door. There was a pantry where copper pots gleamed in the subdued light and the coolness. The kitchen was large and very quiet. He had to keep turning his head to compensate for the lack of side vision. He thought for a moment, then moved back to the door and bolted it. The odds were against their having to use the back door to leave. The bolt would delay anybody who made a break for the rear of the house.

  His nervousness was completely gone. He felt very alive and very sure of himself. He felt strong and quick and completely impersonal.

  He went through the kitchen again, stopped in a hallway. The front of the house was brighter. He turned the muzzle of the gun toward a figure which came down the hallway toward him, silhouetted against the light. He saw almost at once that it was Ronnie. Ronnie moved close to him, mouth close to his ear.

  “The girl is in the study with the old man. No sign of Preston.”

  “I’ll hold them in the study. Go look for Preston.”

  He went to the study door. He heard Ronnie going quietly up the stairs. He looked in. The girl sat near the old man. The old man had his eyes shut. The girl had a big book open on her knees and she was reading to the old man in a quiet soothing voice.

  Mullin watched them for a moment and then stepped into the room.

  “All right!” he said loudly.

  They both stared at him. The big book thudded to the floor.

  “What do you want?” the old man asked. “Who are you?” There was a tremor in his voice. Mullin did not know whether it was age or fear.

  “Just be quiet. Sit right where you are. Don’t talk.”

  They continued to stare at him. The girl licked her lips. Her face was pale. Mullin stood and listened to other sounds in the house. Finally he heard a strange voice, querulous, complaining, and heard the silky sound of Ronnie’s voice, heard them coming down the stairs. Mullin moved aside from the doorway. A young man stumbled into the room, catching his balance after a violent push from Ronnie. Ronnie followed him in and stood in the doorway.

  “What the hell is this?” Preston demanded.

  “Shut up and get over into that corner. That’s right. Over there,” Mullin said. “Face the corner. Down on your knees. Now put your hands on top of your head. That’s right. Just stay there.”

  “What do you want?” the old man asked.

  “I think you know, pops. You keep money around and sooner or later somebody is going to come and take it away from you. This just happens to be the time. So relax and enjoy it. Where’s the box, pops?”

  He watched them carefully. He saw the girl’s inadvertent sidelong glance toward the wall on his right. “Keep an eye on them,” he said to Ronnie. He went over to the paneled wall. There was no special effort at concealment. There was an exposed finger-groove on the sliding panel. He slid it open and looked at the box. It looked sturdy, with a heavy dial.

  “Now you come open it, pops.”

  The old man sat straighter in his chair. His voice was stronger. “I don’t believe I will.”

  “Now we’ve got a difference of opinion. That makes it interesting. I think you will.”

  The old man smiled. It was a confident smile. Mullin felt a reluctant admiration for him. There was nothing chicken about the old man. He said, “It so happens that I am the only one in this house who knows the combination. It is a very good safe. I am a retired doctor. You may know that.”

  “Stop quacking, old man.”

  “Just a moment. As a doctor I know the state of my own health. I know that if you attempt to use violence on me, my heart will very probably stop. And that will leave you with a very pretty problem, young man.”

  Sweat was running down his face under the mask, soaking his collar. It wasn’t a nervous sweat. He felt calm. “We’ll skip you for a minute while you make up your mind, old man. Come over here to me, girl. I want to talk to you.”

  The girl looked uncertain. She looked at the old man.

  “Come on before I come and get you.”

  The girl got up slowly. She stepped over the book on the floor and walked over to him where he stood by the safe. Mullin looked at the old man’s face, and saw the doubt and fear replace the look of smiling confidence.

  “Closer!”

  The girl moved a step closer to him. He jabbed suddenly with the stiffened fingers of his free hand, stabbing her in the solar plexus. The girl doubled up violently and moved back and fell to her knees, fighting for breath with a gagging sound. It was the only sound in the room, and it gradually quieted.

  “Pops?”

  The old man put his hands on the arm of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. His face was slack and old. “I can’t fight that, young man.”

  “You want she should stand up so I can try again?”

  “No. No, please. I’ll …”

  He was interrupted by Ronnie’s sharp yell of warning. Mullin turned in time to see the book flying at his head, to see Preston on his feet lunging toward the fireplace, but not in time to duck the book. It hit him across the face, twisting the rubber mask, moving the eye holes so that he was blinded. He pawed at the mask with his free hand and got it straightened so that he could see. Preston, moving fast, came from behind the old man, came from an unexpected direction and Mullin saw the quick glint of brass as the fireplace tongs came down on his gun wrist. The gun tumbled across the rug and Preston pounced on it as Mullin stood immobilized by the pain in his wrist. Just as Preston started to straighten up, trying to reverse the gun in his hand, Ronnie, at last presented with a clear shot, fired. He was using the Magnum. The slug hit enough solid bone so that the foot-pounds of impact energy was transmitted to Preston’s body. He went back as though hit by a full-arm swing of a heavy sledge. He hit the bookshelves solidly and rebounded onto his face. He tried to push himself up off the floor. Ronnie fired again. Preston’s head suffered an obscene and sickening distortion. The gun-sound was a vast hammer-blow in the room.

  “No,” the girl said in a weak soft voice. “No, no, no.”

  “That God damn mask,” Ronnie said.

  “Shut up.” Mullin tried to close the fingers of his right hand. His wrist grated. He no longer felt safe and sure of himself. He moved over and bent and picked up the gun. It was close to the dead hand.

  He turned toward Ronnie. “Just a punk, you said. No, he wouldn’t try a thing.”

  “No,” the girl said again.

  Mullin looked at the doctor. The old man wavered. His eyes were closed, his lips bluish. He staggered back. The girl caught his arm and helped him lower himself into the chair. The girl began to move toward her dead husband.

  “Get back. Get away from him,” Mullin ordered.

  The car horn blew. Mullin stood very still. He looked at Ronnie. Ronnie’s eyes were wide, his head cocked to one side.

  “Go check it,” Mullin said. Ronnie left the room. Mullin motioned the girl away from the old man. He went over to the chair. The old man was breathing in a funny way. His eyes were still closed. His lips looked like crumpled blue paper.

  “Say the combination, old man. Say it now. Quick.”

  The voice was so frail he had to lean close to hear it. “Start at zero. Two turns right to eighteen, left to seventy-nine, three turns right to sixty.” Then he mumbled something else.

  “What did you say, old man?”

  The voice was stronger. “I said may God forgive me for endangering others.”

  Ronnie came to the doorway. “A fat man and a blonde woman. They came through the gate. Their car’s parked outside. They’re looking at the black boy.”

  “Shill them in here. Fast.”

  He heard Ronnie’s voice clearly. “You, out there! There’s been some trouble. Would you step into t
he house, please?”

  He moved back and Ronnie followed the couple in. They were in the room before they noticed the guns. The blonde woman put her hand to her throat. They both stared at the body. They turned as one and looked with disbelief at the fright mask on Mullin.

  “What’s going on?” the heavy man demanded.

  “Shut up. Keep them in line. I’ve got the numbers.”

  Mullin waited until Ronnie had lined up the two women and the heavy man against the wall, their backs to the room. He went over to the safe. He peeled the mask up and wiped his dripping face on his sleeve. It was awkward using his left hand on the dial. Right to eighteen, left to seventy-nine, right to sixty. He released the dial and grasped the handle. The heavy door swung open easily. The look of the money took his breath away. There was so damn much of it. It made him want to laugh out loud. There was so damn much of it, the situation was ludicrous, absurd.

  “I’ll hold them. Yell to her to bring in the bags. All three of them.”

  The old man looked better in the chair. He was breathing easier. The girl was crying, softly. The blonde woman stood in a very rigid way. The heavy man shifted from foot to foot. The old man was staring at him steadily. Mullin suddenly realized the mask was pushed up off his face.

  They came in with the bags, bumping them against the door frame in their haste.

  “Pack it up,” Mullin ordered. “Both of you. It’ll go faster.”

  He heard Sal say, “Good God!”

  He stood with his back to the safe, hearing the rustlings and thuds as they packed the money. He tried to think clearly about what they should do with these people. He had been able to think very clearly until Preston broke his wrist. His thinking had become fuzzy. There didn’t seem to be any fight in any of them. The big rolls of wide tape bulged his side pocket. Strap them up one at a time. The one out in the yard, too. Haul him in where he wouldn’t be seen. Lock the place up. It didn’t make any difference that there were two more. The safe was open. The only one with any fight was dead. If the shots had alerted anybody, they’d know it by now. He tried to regain the calmness and certainty. He made himself breathe deeply and slowly. The wrist was going to be a bad problem. It was swelling badly.

  “All set,” Ronnie said.

  “We’ll all leave at once. Get the tape out my pocket.”

  “That wrist looks bad.”

  “It’s broken, damn it. Get the tape. Take the blonde first.”

  He guarded the others. Ronnie made the blonde woman lie face down on the floor. She objected and he cuffed her twice and she submitted meekly. He taped her arms behind her, taped her legs at the ankles and above the knees, and put a wide strip across her mouth. The crying girl was next. She submitted with no protest. Ronnie took no chances with the heavy man. He slugged him brutally across the back of the head with the Magnum, taped him quickly and expertly as the man lay unconscious. The old man was next to last. They didn’t move him from the chair. They taped his arms to the arms of the chair and put a strip across his mouth. It was a heavy chair. The old man would not be able to move it.

  “Now all we got is the one in the yard,” Mullin said.

  “Want to check these? Fat boy looks powerful.”

  Mullin put the gun in his side jacket pocket and went over to the heavy man. He leaned over to see if the wrists were done properly. As he started to straighten up, something smashed against his head, dropping him across the unconscious man on the floor. He tried to scramble up but his bad wrist would not support his weight. He was struck again. He was not entirely unconscious as Ronnie taped him. The last band of wide tape was slapped across his lips and pressed down hard. He was on his side, arms behind him. He could see Ronnie’s face.

  Ronnie smiled down at him. He sat on his heels and smiled. Sal stood beyond Ronnie near the doorway, near the suitcases, her eyes wide, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “You were going to be too much trouble with that wrist, old pal. This is a one-sided conversation. Too bad we can’t have a little chat. You told me they’d never put you back in there. Now if you don’t want to go back behind those bars, just shake your head no.”

  Mullin shook his head from side to side.

  “Now nobody can ever say I haven’t done a favor for an old pal. Nobody can ever say I’m not a thoughtful guy. You’re never going back behind those big gates. Isn’t that nice of me?”

  Mullin watched in growing horror as Ronnie tore off a three inch length of tape. Ronnie leaned over and put the tape across his nostrils, pressed it firmly in place. He had taken a deep breath. With a convulsive effort of his lungs he blew enough of the tape loose so that he could exhale. As he emptied his lungs, Ronnie pressed the tape back in place. He could not breathe. He strained to take a breath. His throat and lungs convulsed. Ronnie’s outline grew hazy. The room darkened. He made a last terrible effort then the black blood burst behind his eyes, blotting out the world.

  Toby heard the car drive out. He lay still. His hands were full of pins and needles. When the woman had taken the tape off, they had felt numb, as if they didn’t belong to him. Now they hurt and the fingers didn’t work right. He fumbled for the corner of the tape across his mouth. He peeled it free. It hurt to do it little by little, but it was better than yanking it off all at once. He couldn’t make himself yank it off all at once. His mouth was sore.

  He sat up, moving more quickly, and stripped the tape off his legs and ankles. It hurt too, but not as much. It took a long time to stand up. He was stiff and he felt high and tall on his legs. They felt wobbly, like a colt he had seen once, newborn. He had to lean against the wall for a while. If they came back, he knew he couldn’t run. He listened to the silence of the house. One of them might be left. He couldn’t be sure. It might be some kind of trick. He went to the windows. The outside air smelled good after the stench of the room. He unlatched the screen and pushed it out. He straddled the sill and tried to let himself down but he fell, jarring himself and biting his lip. He got up on the funny stilt legs and walked slowly across through the late sunshine toward his own home.

  He felt strange. He didn’t want to see anybody. He wanted to get clean and then be alone in his room with the door shut and be safe there, and lie there and hear the others moving around the house, and his father laughing and his mother singing, and even hear those dumb records Sue liked to play. He wanted to lie on his bed and look at his models. He wanted to grease his bike, and fish off the pier, and make everything just as it was before. But he sensed that things would not be just the same as they were before. There were dark things in the world. He had known about the dark things from far off, like in a movie or books. But not close by. When you knew about them from far off you could tell yourself that you could lick them. You could be quicker and braver and smarter, so that the dark things were conquered, as in the movies, in the comic books.

  But the close look at them was much different. They made you into nothing. A bug on the sidewalk. They made you small and afraid and somehow dirty.

  He walked into his home. He walked into the living room. His mother was on the couch. She jumped up and stared at him for a measureless moment, eyes and mouth wide. Then she was on him with wild cries, with tears that frightened him, rubbing her fingertips over the tape-torn lips, holding him tightly. Sue and his father came. They all tried to talk to him at once. He could not answer. His father silenced the others with a roar of impatience.

  In the sudden silence he said in a quiet voice, “Where were you, son?”

  “Next door. In the Mather house. They had me all fastened with tape so I couldn’t move. Three men and a woman. The F.B.I. is after one of the men. I saw his picture in a magazine. I looked in their window to make sure. They got me. It was him all right. The woman gave me some milk. They’re gone now, I think.” To his own enormous disgust he began to cry helplessly. His father went to the phone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The boy returned home at five-fifteen on Friday the fifteenth. Pol
ice entered the Mather house at five-twenty-five. The body was discovered almost immediately. The boy’s identification seemed positive enough to merit advising the SAC of the nearest regional F.B.I. office. A description of Mullin and the woman was obtained from Hedges, as well as a sketchy description of the third member of the group obtained from the boy. Hedges fortunately had jotted down the number of the plates on the Buick. In compliance with the F.B.I. suggestion, and in line with normal operating procedure, the cooperation of the State Highway Patrol was enlisted and road blocks were established on Route 41, both north and south of Flamingo, as well as on two secondary roads leading to the interior of the state. These road blocks were in operating position by ten minutes of six, and were reinforced shortly thereafter.

  All local radio facilities broadcast spot warnings to the population of Flamingo. A Coast Guard helicopter took off and began a patrol of the highways leading out of Flamingo. The news services picked up the item quickly enough to teletype it to all outlets nationally in time for six o’clock news broadcasts. All police officers in the Flamingo area were recalled to duty and all department vehicles put into patrol operation. The official assumption was that the group of three planned some unknown local operation, that the woman had released the boy sooner than Mullin had anticipated he would be released. Thus it might safely be assumed that the road blocks had been established in time and that the trio was inside the net. It was hoped that they would be apprehended before darkness made the task more difficult.

  It was Lieutenant Dickson, the same officer who had first been advised of the missing boy, who thought of the home of Dr. Tomlin as a possible target for the trio. He was with a Sergeant Moody in Car 6 with Moody behind the wheel. Dickson had been methodically considering the possible targets, the points of vulnerability in Flamingo. Banks, supermarkets, dog track.