Figure it Out For Yourself

by James Hadley Chase

  'Reefers!' I exclaimed. 'This must be Barratt's storehouse. What a haul! There must be millions of them.'

  Paula struggled to her feet and came over.

  'He couldn't have carried all this stuff down that outside tunnel,' I said excitedly. 'Hunt around. There must be another way out of here.'

  The walls were solid enough, so I turned my attention to the floor. It was Paula who found the cunningly concealed trap-door. By treading on one end, the other lifted sufficiently to get a purchase on it.

  Together we lifted the trap. A blast of fresh air came surging into the cave.

  'This is it,' I said, and flashed the torch into the darkness, below. Rough stone steps led down into a passage. I went first. As we reached the bottom step, we could see sunlight coming into the far end of the tunnel.

  We went forward down the passage until we reached the opening. The strong sunlight blinded us for a moment. Below us was a wilderness of scrub bushes and sand. We seemed to have come out on the side of a deep quarry. A zigzag path led from the opening of the tunnel down into the quarry.

  I was standing in the sunlight, with Paula behind me, when I heard a distant shout

  It was only then that I saw, far below me, two big trucks, half hidden in the scrub and half a dozen or so men staring up at me, and pointing. As I stepped hastily back into the darkness, they began to run towards us.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I

  'THEY'RE Barrett's men!' I said, pushing Paula back into the tunnel. They can't have seen you. I'm going out there to draw them off. The moment you think they're out of the way, make a dash for it. Grab one of their trucks if you can. Get to a telephone and call Mifflin. Bring him out here in a hurry. Okay?'

  In an emergency, Paula never argued. She squeezed my arm, nodded to show she understood, and I left her, running out into the sunlight again.

  Below me, the men were coming up the zigzag path. They were moving as fast as they could, but the angle of climb was steep, and they hadn't made much progress. They yelled at me, as I looked hastily above me, getting the line of country.

  The path continued past the opening of the tunnel and led a few yards farther on, to the top of the quarry. I ran up the path, now in full sight.

  I reached the head of the quarry. Before me stretched sand dunes, scrub and rising ground of the desert which lies at the back of Monte Verde Mine. To my left lay the San Diego Highway: my way of escape, but Paula's way of escape too. If I went that way, she would come up behind the pursuing men. I had to draw them away from her. If I was to help her, I had to go to the right: into the heart of the vast track of sand and waste-ground which afforded plenty of cover.

  I ran easily over the loose sand, zigzagging a little to keep the various bushes between me and the men behind.

  After I had covered a couple of hundred yards or so, I paused to look back over my shoulder. They hadn't reached the top of the quarry yet, and for a moment I wondered if they had found Paula. But I could hear them shouting, and judged they'd appear in a minute or so. I ducked behind a thick bush and waited.

  Almost immediately the first head appeared above the edge of the quarry. Then four men appeared. They stopped and looked to right and left. Three other men joined them.

  They were big, tough-looking birds: four of them in red-and-white striped sweat shirts, the kind worn by the fishermen who lounge along the waterfront of Coral Gables. The other three were city characters, in ill-fitting sports clothes, typical street-corner loafers.

  One of them, a short, square-shouldered man, seemed to be in charge. He was giving directions. Four of the fishermen ran off to the left. The remaining men spread out in a halfcircle and began to move towards me.

  Keeping behind the shelter of the bushes, I ran, bent double over the sand, to another line of scrub. Again I paused to look back. The line of men had stopped. They couldn't make up their minds which way I had gone.

  I decided if I wasn't careful they might go back to the tunnel and catch Paula, so I moved out into the open.

  A yell behind me told me I had been seen, and I broke into a run. The evening sun was setting fast now, and threw a red glow over the desert; but it was still hot, and running over the hot sand was hard work.

  I kept glancing behind me. The four fishermen had joined in the chase. They were now strung out in a wide arc, driving me farther into the desert, and cutting me off from the Highway. But they weren't making much progress. The heat seemed to be bothering them more than it did me. If I could keep the distance between us, until the sun dropped below the horizon, I stood a good chance of giving them the slip.

  The idea seemed to have occurred to them, for there came a crack of a gun behind me and a slug zipped past my head.

  I didn't worry a great deal about being shot at so long as I kept moving. You had to be a pretty good shot with a revolver to hit a moving target, but I kept swerving every now and then to be on the safe side.

  Again I glanced behind me. The figures were falling back now. They kept coming, but I had greatly increased the distance between them and me, and I slowed down, panting a little, and feeling as if I were in a steam-bath.

  I was worrying about Paula. If someone had been left to guard the trucks, she might be caught. But there was nothing I could do but keep on. There was no hope of doubling back. The line of men was too spread out, cutting off all retreat to the Highway. They knew, so long as they could keep me penned up in this half-circle, sooner or later they would come up onme.

  The set-up reminded me of the game of fox and geese. At the moment the line behind me was unbroken. In a little while I would have to turn and see if I could pierce it. But I couldn't do that until it was dark.

  I went on, no longer running, but moving at a jog-trot. The men behind me had also slowed down, and the distance between us remained the same.

  Away to my right, I could see the first of the foothills. This worried me. Before long, they would make a barrier, and would allow the line of men to swing in on my left. If I didn't look out I could be trapped.

  I decided to make the attempt to break their line before I got into the foothill country.

  Breaking into a run, I sprinted ahead, then began to wheel sharply to my left.

  There was an immediate shout behind me.

  Glancing round I saw three men pounding across the sand to cut me off. I increased my speed, but I had a lot more ground to cover. I was panting now, and every now and then I stumbled in the loose sand.

  One of the fishermen, a big, powerful guy, could run. His long legs flew over the ground as he headed me off.

  We raced for the gap between the first of the foothills. If I could beat him I would be out in the open country again. If he beat me, I'd be bottled up in a narrowing strip of desert where, sooner or later, I would be trapped.

  I judged the distance and saw he was gaining on me. Gritting my teeth, I increased my speed. I pulled ahead. The other men, all running now, were hopelessly outpaced, but this one guy stuck to me. The gap loomed nearer. I could see him now: see the red, hard face, the sweat running down from under his cap, the fixed grin. He swerved towards me, came at me like a charging bull.

  I tried to dodge, but he was ready for that. He closed in on me, his hands grabbing my coat.

  I swung at him, but he ducked, his arms encircling me in a bear-like hug. We stumbled, wrestled and went down in the sand.

  I slugged him on the side of his head, but it was only a half-arm blow and didn't carry much steam. He raised himself off me and clubbed down at my upturned face with his fist. I just managed to get my face out of the way and belted him in the chest, a good, solid punch that sent him over on his back.

  I scrambled to my feet in time to stop his rush with a jab to his face. His head went back, and I sailed in, punching with both hands. I caught him on the side of his jaw and his knees buckled. A long, looping right-hand punch sent him to the sand.

  The way was open now, but my breath had gone, and I could scarcely m
ove one leg after the other.

  'Hold it!'

  The menace in the voice made me turn.

  The short, square-shouldered character had come pounding up. In his right fist he held a .45, pointing at me.

  I stopped.

  'Reach up and clasp some cloud!'

  My hands went up. It was a relief just to stand there and get my breath. With any luck at all, Paula would be well out of the way by now.

  The fisherman I had knocked down got to his feet. He came across to me, a sheepish grin on his face.

  'Frisk him, Mac,' the broad-shouldered character said.

  Mac ran his hands over me, found the .25 and tossed it to his companion.

  'That's the lot, Joe,' he said and stepped back.

  Joe came closer; his small eyes probed my face.

  'Who are you? Ain't seen you before,' he said, puzzled.

  'Malloy's the name.'

  'That's the guy she was telling you about,' Mac said, showing interest.

  Joe scowled.

  'Yeah; that's right. Poking your snout in Barratt's affairs, were you?' he demanded, pushing the gun at me.

  'Well, yes; put it that way if you like,' I said. 'Didn't he tell you?'

  Joe grinned.

  'You got us wrong. We ain't Barrett's boys. We're a little private party all on our own.'

  The five other men came pounding up, panting and gasping for breath. They closed round me threateningly, but Joe waved them back.

  'Mac, take these guys and finish the job. I'm taking him to the cabin. When you're through, come on back.'

  Mac nodded, motioned to the other five men and set off across the sand towards the mine, leaving me alone with Joe.

  'Look, pally,' Joe said, making a stabbing movement with his gun, 'just do what you're told, and you'll be all right. I don't want to make a hole in you, but if you tempt me, I'll do it.'

  I was now calm enough to study him. He was about forty, with a round, fleshy face, small eyes, thin lips and the heaviest five o'clock shadow I've ever seen. Although he was short, I could tell by the build of his shoulders, by the short neck and the size of his hands, that he was as powerful as a gorilla.

  'Go ahead,' he said, 'and keep moving. I'll tell you when to stop.' He waved vaguely towards the foothills. 'You've got quite a nice little walk, so stretch your legs. If you even look over your shoulder, I'll plug you. Understand?'

  I said I understood.

  'Get going, then.'

  I started off, not knowing where I was heading, hearing him behind me, too far away to make a grab at him, but close enough for him to hit me if he squeezed the trigger.

  I was asking myself who this mob was. Where did they spring from? What was the job they had gone back to finish? I thought with satisfaction that the chances were they'd run into Mifflin and his boys.

  That's the guy she was telling you about.

  Who was she?

  We were in the foothills now, and the going was hard. We were climbing. Every now and then Joe would grunt, 'Take the right-hand path,' or 'Bear to your left,' but he didn't close the gap between us, and there was nothing I could do but keep walking.

  By now the sun had dropped below the horizon, and the light was fading. Before very long it would be dark. That might give me an opportunity, but I knew I had to be careful. Joe looked as if he had been born with a gun in his hand, and it would have to get very dark before I took any chances with him.

  'Okay, pally,' he said suddenly. 'Park yourself. We're going to have a breather. Turn around and sit down.'

  I faced him.

  He was about four yards away from me, and sweating like a pig. The uphill climb in this heat didn't agree with him.

  He waved me to a rock while he picked one for himself, sat down stiffly, glad of the rest.

  'Have a butt, pally,' he went on taking out a pack of Lucky Strike. He took one and tossed the pack to me. 'What's it like - in that mine?' he asked, lighting his cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke down his short thick nose.

  'Not the kind of place you'd pick for a vacation,' I said, lighting a cigarette and tossing the pack back to him. 'It's full of man-eating rats.'

  His small eyes bugged out

  'Rats? I heard there were rats, but I didn't believe it.' He squinted down at his cigarette. 'See any reefers while you were in there?'

  'About a couple of million of them. I didn't stop to count them, but that's a conservative guess.'

  He grinned, showing small, broken teeth.

  'Jeepers! As many as that, huh? I told her that's where he kept the stuff, but she wouldn't have it. How are they packed?'

  'In boxes. Who is she?'

  He scowled at me.

  'I'm the guy who asks the questions, pally. You answer them.'

  I had a sudden idea.

  'What's your racket?' I asked. 'Hi-jacking Barratt?'

  'You guessed it, pally. We're taking that stock of reefers. We have our own little organization now.' He stood up. 'Okay, let's go. Straight up the hill, and keep right. Get going.'

  We went on up the hill. It was almost too dark now to see where I was going, but Joe seemed to have eyes like a cat, He kept jerking out directions, warning me away from rocks and shrubs, as if he could see as easily now as in the sunlight.

  Suddenly he said, 'Hold it.'

  I stopped and waited.

  He gave a shrill whistle. A moment later a light flashed on a few yards in front of us, and I could see, carefully hidden behind a screen of trees and bushes, a cleverly concealed log cabin, built into the side of the hill.

  'Neat, huh?' Joe said. 'We built it ourselves. You'd have to walk right on it before you knew it was there, and by that time you'd be as full of lead as a church roof. Go ahead. Walk right in.'

  I went ahead.

  The door stood open and I walked into a large, roughly furnished room. Standing before a log fire, her hands behind her back, a cigarette in her full red lips was Mary Jerome.

  II

  A white moth fluttered around the storm lantern hanging from a beam in the centre of the room, and cast an enormous shadow on the floor. It zoomed away from the light, fluttered rather helplessly round the room, and, as it passed Joe, he reached out, slapped it to the floor and put his foot on it

  I didn't pay any attention to what he was doing. I was looking at Mary Jerome; the last person I expected to find in this cabin.

  She was wearing a red-and-yellow cowboy shirt, a pair of canary-coloured corduroy slacks, and her dark hair was hidden under a red silk bandana. She was paler and more fine-drawn since last I saw her, but she was still lovely to look at.

  'Hello,' I said. 'You may not believe it, but I've been hunting all over for you.'

  'Pipe down, pally,' Joe said. 'No one asked you for a speech. Sit over there and keep quiet.'

  He poked the gun into my spine, pushed me over to an armchair facing the fire.

  I sat down.

  'Where did you find him?' Mary Jerome asked.

  Joe grinned at her, obviously very pleased with himself.

  'He was in the mine. We spotted him coming out of the upper tunnel. He bolted into the desert, but we caught up with him.'

  'Was he alone?'

  'Why, sure.'

  'Then why did he run into the desert?'

  Joe frowned at her, ran his fingers through his short, crinkly hair.

  'What do you mean?'

  'If he wanted to get away, he would have run towards the Highway, wouldn't he?' she asked patiently.

  Joe's face lost its animated expression. He turned to snarl at me.

  'What's cooking, fella? Weren't you alone?'

  'Why, no. I had a girl with me,' I told him. 'She's gone for the Law.'

  Mary lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug.

  'I give up, Joe,' she said in disgust. 'You make a mess of everything you handle.'

  'For crying out aloud!' Joe said, his face turning red, 'How was I to know?'

  'Never mind; but you
better do something about it.'

  'Yeah.' He pulled a face, glared at me. 'Jeepers! It means walking back to that damned mine again. Can you look after this fella?'

  She nodded.

  'I'll take care of him. You'd better hurry, Joe.'

  'Want my gun?'

  She took the heavy .45 and balanced it in her hand.