“What do you want?” It was almost a sob.
“I want to sell you a load of liquor. The load I'm going to take away from Barney Seaward.”
He looked at me, his eyes swimming with hate. “You're crazy!”
“Maybe, but I'm going to do it.”
He closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. “How much?” he said finally, and I grinned because I could see exactly what he was thinking. Agree to buy it, agree to anything, and then call Barney Seaward the minute I left the room.
“Fifteen thousand,” I said, “That's five thousand cheaper than you could buy it direct from Barney.”
His nose was bleeding. He wiped it. “All right. Now get out of here and leave me alone.”
“Don't you want to hear the details?”
He sat woodenly, praying that I would go so he could call Barney. “I want it in cash,” I said, “so you'll have to get it out of the bank and have it ready by tonight. And I want a guarantee that you won't have Seaward putting his hoodlums on my tail the minute I walk out of here.”
“I give you my word.”
“The hell with your word. I want to know how you got to be a bootlegger in the first place.”
He looked up then. His face was cut and puffy with bruises on the left side. “What are you talking about?” he said angrily.
“I'm talking about that 'favor' you did for Seaward four years ago. Who did you kill, Sid?”
It was a wild stab in the dark, but the minute I said it I knew that I had hit something. His eyes flew wide, then narrowed quickly to nothing. “Go hang yourself,” he grated. “You're a goddamn punk and that's all you'll ever be.”
My right fist caught him in the middle of the mouth and knocked him off the bed. Then I went around the bed and kicked him in the kidneys before he could get up.
“Have you got any more words you want to get out of your system?”
He lay doubled on the floor, his mouth working.
“Do you want to tell me who it was that Barney paid you to kill?”
“Go—to—hell.”
I kicked again and he groaned and doubled up. He tried to crawl under the bed but I grabbed his feet and jerked him out.
“You're crazy!” It was a very small voice now. “You're crazy! You can't get—away with this. You won't live an hour—after Barney finds out.” He tried to get up; then his face went suddenly white and he dropped as if he had been shot.
I got him up to a sitting position and rolled him onto the bed. Another drink, I decided, was the thing to bring him out of it.
I went back to the kitchen and got a bottle. Vida was sitting like a stone statue at the breakfast table, staring unblinkingly at her folded hands.
When I got back to the bedroom I poured Sid a drink and helped him get it down.
I said, “Sid, I'll sell the load to you for twelve thousand, like you said. You'll be making eight thousand clear on the deal and there's no reason for Barney to ever find out about it. You can get rid of it a little at a time and Barney will never guess a thing.”
No sound. Not a word.
“Look,” I said, “you can see why I have to have a guarantee, can't you? I want to know what kind of thing you're holding over Barney so I can hold it over you. But just for one day. Until the job is over. Then I'll get out of Oklahoma and you'll never see me again. After you get that liquor in your warehouse, I'm not afraid of you going to Barney then.”
It was no good. I could kill him, or I could beat him some more, but neither would get me what I wanted. I was tired and sick now and I wanted to get away and forget all about it.
Then I had an idea. I said, “Sid, listen to me.” And he lay there, his eyes glassed with pain. “Sid, I'm going to tell you something that you would have known a long time ago if you'd bothered to stay sober long enough to see what was going on around you. It's about Vida, Sid. Remember a long time ago, Sid, when you were just a runner? Things were good then, weren't they? No worries, no problems, no conscience to bother you. That was the way you liked it, but Vida wanted something else, didn't she? She wanted you to be a retailer and make big money like Kingkade, so finally you went to Barney and made a deal with him and got to be a retailer. But was it worth it, Sid? Have you had a good night's sleep since then?”
He said nothing.
“Was it worth it?” I said again. “You did it for Vida, but do you know what she's going to do to you? She's going to leave you, Sid. She's sick and disgusted with you. And do you know who she's leaving with? It's me, Sid. Roy Foley.”
Something terrible happened in those little eyes of his. “Get out of here, you sonofabitch.”
I got up and opened the door and called, “Vida, come here a minute.” She came in from the kitchen looking as pale and cold as marble. I said, “Ask her, Sid.”
He didn't have to ask her. He didn't have to say a word and neither did Vida and neither did I.
He lay there looking at her and it seemed to me that he died a little. I took Vida's arm and led her out into the hallway and it was like leading a department-store dummy. I didn't know what to say to her, so I left her there and went back into the bedroom. “So that was what you did it for,” I said. “It wasn't worth it, was it, Sid?”
There was no fight left in him. “Get out of here...” That whisper again.
“As soon as I get the story.”
He said, “Marty Paycheck.”
“Did you kill him?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“Paycheck was a wildcatter trying to move in on Kingkade. He had his own wholesale outlet. Seaward couldn't stand for that.”
“So you made a deal with Seaward. Did they ever find the body?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“Copper Lake, about four miles north of town.” The words came slowly, indistinctly. He must have understood that he was the same as signing his own death warrant, if Seaward ever found out that he had talked. It didn't seem to bother him.
“Then what?” I said.
“Nothing. It was just a deal. Big Prairie was growing. It was big enough to hold two retailers, but Barney wanted to be sure that they bought from him. That's all there was to it.”
Now I could understand why Seaward didn't like this heavy drinking of Sid's. He was afraid that someday Sid would get too drunk and do exactly what he was doing now. Talk. Of course there was no positive proof that Seaward was mixed up in the killing, but if the word ever got out the State Crime Bureau might be interested, and that was the last thing Seaward would want. I could understand why Barney put up with Sid, even when it turned out to be a bad deal. Killing to cover up a killing could be an endless thing, and not even Barney Seaward could hope to get away with it long.
“Now get out,” Sid said. He sounded like a very old man.
I went out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Vida was. “It's all settled,” I said, “you start packing. By this time tomorrow we'll be out of Big Prairie for good.” I put my arms around her and held her tight.
“Why did you have to do it like that?”
“There wasn't any other way. Christ, I didn't enjoy it.” I held her for a minute, letting her cry it out.
“Hold me tighter, Roy,” she said. “Hold me as tight as you can.”
9
THE NEXT FEW HOURS, I knew, were going to be dangerous ones. I had to stay out of sight, and still there were a lot of things to be done before attempting to hijack an armed whisky truck. To start with I had to have a car no one would recognize.
So I had Vida rent one at a U-Drive-It place. Next I had to find somebody to help me. Somebody I could depend on. My best bet, I guessed, was a man who needed money and who hated Barney Seaward's guts. A wildcat bootlegger.
As soon as Vida came back with the rented car I got in it and headed south for River Street, a part of town even crummier than Burk. I sweated getting across town and down to River Street. If some of Bar
ney's men spot you, I thought, you'll sure as hell get more than a bruised groin.
But I made it all right. I parked the car behind a second-hand store and went into a beer joint where I knew I'd find a wildcatter if I just waited long enough.
The minute I saw Link Mefford I knew he was the man I wanted. He was a rawboned, sunburned farmer with bitter eyes and a mouth like a steel trap. When we got back to the alley, he said, “I hear you're lookin' for somethin' to drink.”
“Not exactly. I've got a deal you might be interested in.”
He spat a stream of tobacco juice on a pile of beer cans.
“I know where I can get some merchandise,” I said. “Cheap.”
“How cheap?”
“It's free, you might say.”
“Go on.”
“All right, here's the way it is. I happen to know Barney Seaward plans to bring his next load into Big Prairie. I know the truck, the driver, the guard, and the route they're taking. I've even got the place spotted where we can hit them. Do you want me to go on?”
He nodded, his face bland.
“All right, we'll rent two light trucks at the U-Drive-It place where I got my car. If anything should go wrong and it turns into a race, it's better to have two light trucks than one big one. You'll have to do the renting, though. I can't afford to be seen.”
“Why?” he asked flatly, not missing the bruises and cuts on my face. “Seaward?”
I nodded and that seemed to satisfy him.
He thought about it some more, chewing slowly. “It'll take more than two men,” he said.
“Have you got a friend?”
“Maybe. If it comes off, what's the split?”
“Three ways,” I said, “after I take out for expenses. And we'll need some guns. Two shotguns and a pistol. Can you get them?”
He thought some more and nodded. It was a deal. We didn't shake hands on it; he just nodded. “You better wait inside,” he said. “I'll see what I can do about findin' somebody to help us.”
Mefford turned and walked off down the alley. I went back inside the beer joint, took a back booth and waited. I thought of Mefford. Like hell I was going to split that load of liquor with him or anybody else, but he wouldn't know about it until it was too late. The stuff would go into Sid's warehouse and Vida and I would be on our way out of Oklahoma.
About thirty minutes passed and Mefford came back with a man he introduced as Burl Cox. Cox was a soft-spoken, squatty little man with tremendous shoulders and arms, and like Mefford he wore faded bib overalls and chewed tobacco. After we'd shaken hands Mefford said, “We can go get the trucks any time you say. While we're doin' that you can wait over at my house.”
It sounded all right, so we got into my car and went around to Link Mefford's house, a two-room shack standing almost on the edge of the river, and Link went in with me. From under the bed he got two sixteen-gauge shotguns and from his pocket he took a .38 caliber revolver.
“The pistol is Burl's,” he said, “the shotguns are mine, I'll have to buy some cartridges for the .38, though.”
“Do it when you pick up the trucks,” I said, “because I won't be seeing you any more until I meet you across the river.” I looked at my watch and it was almost noon. “We've got plenty of time. I'll give you two hours to get the trucks and drive them across the river on the south highway. That's where I'll meet you.”
“Where do you figure on hittin' this truck of Barney's?”
“I'll let you know when we get there,” I said.
He shrugged, put the guns on the bed and went out. All I had to do now was wait. And not think. I broke the shotguns open and inspected them. Just keep busy, I thought. Don't think about anything. Mefford and Cox were perfect, all guts and no brains, and greedy. Right now they were probably trying to think up a way to keep me from getting the split they thought I was going to take.
Time dragged. I found a rag and began wiping the guns.
I looked at my watch again and there was still almost an hour to go but I couldn't sit still any longer. I went out to the car and put the guns under the back seat. About an hour later I pulled onto a side road, across the river, and smoked a cigarette until I saw two trucks crossing the bridge. Mefford waved as they roared by. I pulled out and moved up ahead of them and we were on our way.
It was only about a ninety-mile drive to where we were going, so we were in no particular hurry. It was dark by the time we reached the section line road Vida had spotted for me. I blinked my lights two times and turned off, then I looked back and saw that the trucks were following. We were still almost a mile from the highway when I came to a stop and the trucks eased up behind me. Mefford and Cox got out of their cabs. I was in the back seat breaking out the guns when they came up.
“All right,” I said, “Here's the way we do it. If Sea-ward's truck is running on schedule, it will be passing this section line around ten o'clock. We'll leave the trucks here and take my car back down to the highway. I'll go down the road maybe four or five hundred yards to spot the truck when it comes, and as soon as it passes I'll give you a signal with a flashlight. Three quick flashes. Burl, you'll be at the crossroads in my car. When you see the flashes you pull out and block the highway in a hurry. Play like your car's stalled or something.”
Burl Cox nodded as I handed him the revolver. “You'd better take the pistol,” I said, “because all the attention is going to be focused on you right at first. Keep it where you can get to it, but don't let it show. Maybe it would be a good thing if you get out of the car after you get the highway blocked, because I want the driver and guard to be looking at you.”
Then I turned to Mefford. “Link, while this is going on, you'll be crawling out of the bar ditch on the other side of the road. You come up behind the truck—and this has to be fast—and throw your shotgun in the driver's face. By that time I ought to be up to the truck. You keep your shotgun on the driver and force him and the guard out on the other side. Then you get in the truck and drive it-down the section line road to where we're parked. Burl and I will take care of the driver and guard and meet you.”
Link Mefford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What if the guard goes for his own gun?”
“If we have to kill them, then that's the way it'll have to be. You don't get twenty thousand dollars worth of whisky without taking some chances. The thing is, do it fast.”
They seemed satisfied. Cox got in my car and backed away from the highway. Mefford went across the road and lay down in the bar ditch, and I struck out across an open field with my shotgun and flashlight. I found a place by a culvert, about four hundred yards up the highway, and sat down to wait.
There wasn't much traffic. It was flat prairie country and you could see the headlights coming for more than a mile in both directions. Two hours must have gone by and I hardly moved. About a hall a mile to the south there was a bend in the road, and the cars would come around it, their headlights slicing the night wide open, and I would lie in the gully and hold my breath until they were past. You could see the trucks a long way off because of the lights above the cabs. They would come hurtling up the highway, hellbent for somewhere, but-none of them was the right truck.
Ten o'clock came and went and I began to sweat. Then, just as I was about ready to blow up, I saw the truck round the bend.
I lay there watching its headlights take a long cut at the night; then as it roared toward me I raised up just a little. It was in a hell of a hurry, but not in such a hurry that I couldn't read the lettering on the side of the cab. It said “Caney Produce Company.”
It was the one.
The minute it got by I stood up and flicked the flashlight three times and then started running across the open field toward the crossroads. I hadn't taken two steps before I saw Cox snap the lights on and begin pulling onto the highway. The truck driver tramped his air brakes and I could hear the squeal of rubber on concrete and the blaring of the horn as he rocked to a stop. I got out of the field then, rolled under a
barbed wire fence and began running up the highway. I could hear the driver yelling, “You goddamn farmer sonofabitch! Get that thing off the highway!”
Cox did it just right. He pulled out in front of the truck and stalled the motor, and I could see him standing out in front of the car, in front of the headlights, waving his arms and yelling back at the trucker, just like a damn farmer. But the luckiest part of all was the fact that there was no traffic. I didn't see Link Mefford until I had almost reached the truck myself. He seemed to blend with the darkness, and when I finally saw him he was moving all crouched over like a big cat, holding that shotgun at the ready. Cox had got over on the guard's side of the highway, holding their attention in that direction. I wasn't close enough to hear anything when Mefford sneaked his shotgun into the other window, but I've got a pretty good idea of what was said.
I was blowing hard when I finally got there. Mefford was saying coldly, “Don't sonofabitch me, mister. Just get out of that cab before I blow your face through the back of your head.”
They didn't like it, but they got out, all right. Cox had his pistol out now, hustling them toward the car and Mefford was climbing under the wheel of the truck. About that time a car rounded the bend and came toward us.
“Get that thing out of here!” I yelled.
I piled into the back seat of the car, on top of the driver and guard. Cox got under the wheel of the car, and we shot off the highway. In just a few seconds Mefford had the truck rolling. He got off the highway just as the car zipped past us.
It was pretty awkward, three men in the back seat and one of them trying to hold a shotgun on the other two. I got the pistol from Cox and then climbed into the front seat where I could do a better job of watching them.
“What's goin' on back there?” Cox asked.
“Nothing. Mefford's coming along with the truck.”
“What do you aim to do with the two in the back seat?”
“I haven't decided yet.”
This was the catch in the plan. It was the catch that all of us had thought about, but none of us had brought into the open. The cold fact was, the truck driver and the guard had to die.
Whom Gods Destroy Page 10
