by Lionel White
They would know the money was missing.
I could see why she needed a little time to gather herself. Even why she might like to have a patsy. And I was the patsy.
I slammed the door of the phone booth and I started over to the Pontiac. I walked slowly. I needed a little time myself. I needed quite a lot of time. I had a few decisions of my own to make.
You think that sort of decision is easy? You think it is simple just to reason it out? To get in a car and forget that a girl like Marilyn K. is waiting for you in a motel bedroom a few miles down the road? That several hundred thousand dollars are waiting in a bedroom a few miles down the road? Would you follow the dictates of your intelligence and drive on back to New York and ignore the fact that you would be passing up something most guys would give their lives to have?
And that was the key to the whole thing. I would be very likely giving my own life if I did take a crack at it. I think I am probably as smart as the next cookie, but I will tell you something. As I started to open the door of the con-verti le, I had already made my decision. I was going back to that motel and 1 wasn’t going to spare the horses. That’s the kind of idiot I am.
t was just about then that I became aware of the noise coming from the direction of the shabby little tourist camp outside of which I had found the telephone.
There was a sudden series of high-pitched cries followed by a crash. I swung quickly to face a row of some ten or twelve attached cabins. The sign over the screen door read CUTTER'S CABINS, and underneath it was the small shingle with the single word, OFFICE.
I was no more than fifteen yards away and as I hesitated, staring at the door which was partly opened, the sound of a scuffle reached me and then there was a second, muffled cry. Just outside the door, parked in the driveway, was a beaten up station wagon with Maryland plates. The two things which made it unusual were the red spotlights and the two-way radio antenna.
I moved toward the building. It was my day for butting into other people’s business.
I don’t know what I expected to find; perhaps a couple of young punks taking over the place, perhaps someone...
But it didn’t matter. Whoever had cried out sounded as though they needed help. It sounded like the voice of a child or a young girl. I jerked the door open and entered.
I was right on two accounts. The cry had come from a young girl and someone was trying to take over. Only it wasn’t a couple of young punks. It was a big beefy man, about six foot two and weighing a good two hundred and thirty pounds. He made a good match for the car parked in front of the place.
His violent red hair needed cutting and he could have used a shave. His face and his body had run to fat and he had a dirty, uncared-for look about him. He wore a T- shirt which was sweat stained, a dirty pair of tan slacks and a vicious greedy expression on his fat, pug- nosed face. He was grunting as he went about his work.
The little dark-haired girl he had pressed back against the desk wasn’t bothering to cry any more and she was giving him a good fight of it, pound for pound. The trouble was that she was outweighed. She stood about five feet two and dripping wet, her slender, well-formed little body wouldn’t have tipped the scales at more than a hundred and five.
A couple of deck chairs had been kicked over and a vase of flowers that must have been on the office desk had been knocked to the floor. A framed motto hung cockeyed on the wall and the floor itself was strewn with papers and what had been a desk set. A card index made confetti around the tiny room.
She had put up a good fight, but the fight was over. The only damage he showed was a scratch along one side of his face which was bleeding a little and a tom T-shirt, but from the looks of him, the shirt could have been that way for a long time. The girl, however, wasn’t doing as well.
He held both of her slender wrists in one hairy paw and his gross body I pinned her down to the scarred desk as he bent her over backwards. His free
hand was grasping the thin cotton shirt she wore and as I started across the room, he jerked and the whole front of it came away, along with a strip of fabric which must have been her brassiere. He had his face buried in her neck and
he was rapidly getting where he wanted to get. But he never made it.
I may be the careless, heroic type, but I am not a complete damned fool. I took time to pick up the ceramic flower vase from the floor as I crossed the room. I didn’t care whether the vase or his skull would shatter when I hit him.
If I expected the big man to suddenly relax and drop neatly at my feet, I was inforashock. Hedid, however, pay me the compliment of recognizing a new force in the room and he relaxed his hold on the girl. He straightened up, shaking his head and rapidly blinking his eyes. He turned slowly around. He grunted, but it was a new sort of grunt, inspired by shock and surprise rather than by sex. He grunted again. He had quite a repertoire of grunts. The last one was inspired by anger.
His little red eyes became pinpoints and his flabby mouth opened to show a set of broken teeth. He stuck out a bull-dog chin and moved an arm as big around as a piano leg, pushing the girl aside.
He led with his right, which was a mistake, and I landed my own right full to that bull-dog chin. It bothered him, but it didn’t do what it was supposed to do. He kept right on coming in and I knew that if he ever got his hands on me I was gone. But I know something about boxing and I hit him twice more and his nose started to bleed.
That was when he decided boxing wasn’t his forte.
The blackjack came out of his back pocket and he got my left arm at the wrist, on the first swing. It didn’t break it, but it put it out of working order.
He wasn’t satisfied with the handicap. He swung again. He might not have known a great deal about boxing, but he knew how to use a blackjack. I backed toward the door realizing that in just about one more half minute,
I d be lying on the floor with my head split open.
But he was clever. He circled me, cutting off escape.
The girl had spunk. She picked up a heavy brass wastebasket and swinging it, clouted him on the side of the head. But it wasn’t going to help.
He had his hand on my throat and his knee in my groin and had backed me to the wall. I saw the blackjack going back for a full swing and there was nothing at all I could do. He was too close for me to use my right. It was then that voice came from the doorway. A thin, high, slightly effeminate voice which pronounced the words sharp and clear. I didn’t have much confidence in the
V°‘AllbUt 1 Sh°Uld HaVe' Rstopped bmcold-
right, Battle, the voice said. “That will be enough. Drop your
weapon.”
I felt the hand on my throat tighten for a second and then it relaxed. His other hand, the one with the blackjack, slowly fell to his side. He turned slowly, faring at the little man who stood in the doorway, his mouth opening and his jaw dropping. He looked, very suddenly, like a whipped dog.
‘ ‘Deputy sheriffs don’t beat up their prisoners—not in my county, ’ ’ the voice said, and Battle moved aside and I could see the man who was speaking.
He was about five feet one inch tall, thin as a toothpick. He didn’t look more than twenty-six or -seven and he was dressed in a neat blue serge suit, a white shirt and conservative tie. He was as immaculate as his voice. He looked prissy and smug, but I was never happier in my life to see someone and I wasn’t going to be critical.
“Was this man causing you trouble, Miss Cutter?” the little man asked.
I thought at first he was talking about the big redhead, but he wasn’t. He was talking about me. “You are to arrest troublemakers, Battle,” hewenton before anyone else could speak. “Arrest them, not beat them up.”
The girl cut in before I could say a word.
“Martin,” she said, “I have asked you to keep your ape away from me. He came here again and he was the one who was making trouble. This other one—”
But she didn’t get to finish.
The little man stepped into the roo
m and he moved so fast I barely saw it happen. His arm shot out and his hand slapped the redheaded man across the face, back and forth, a half dozen times. He hit as hard as he could and I was surprised to see the big man stagger under the blows. For a lightweight, Martin carried a lot of muscle.
“You were told to stay away from here, ” he said, and his voice was more vicious than his hand. “There won't be any more warnings. Understand? No more warnings.”
He shoved past the other man and went to the girl, who was making an attempt to cover herself with her torn shirt.
"I am sorry, Sarah,” he said. “It won’t happen again. You may be sure of that.”
“You should keep your animal chained,” she said, her young voice furious. Her hazel eyes were blazing and she was shaking, but I don’t know whether it was anger or the reaction to what had happened. It wasn’t fear. She was no more afraid of the little man than she had been of the one called Battle.
“ If an assistant district attorney can’t protect—’ ’ she started, but he quickly interrupted her.
“I am sorry,” he said. "I promise, Miss Cutter, that he will stay away from nowon.”
He sounded as afraid of her as the big man had been afraid of him. I didn’t get it at all.
“Who is he?” he asked, nodding his head toward me.
"He heard me cry out and he came in and tried to help me,” the girl said. “I guess he was stopping to get a room.”
She turned and looked at me, making a small smile, and the little man stared at me. His eyes were cold and curious. He was waiting for me to say something.
It was then that Battle interrupted. He had time to collect himself and do a little thinking.
"I was here trying to check the registrations, Mr. Fleming, ” he said. “That’s my duty an’ I’m supposed to do it. This girl wouldn’t let me see 'em and I was tryin' to and this guy come in and hit me over the head with that flower pot.”
The girl swung around, her eyes blazing.
“Flower vase,” she said. “And you are lying. When this man came in you were trying to—”
But Fleming cut it short.
“You are both a liar and a fool, Battle,” he said, his thin voice like the edge of a razor. “And I have told you to stay away from here. Understand? Stay away. As for you,” he swung back to me, "it isn’t a good idea to strike an officer of the law. If you want a room, just check in and let it go at that. I assume that was what you were here for?”
I don’t know why I did it, but I guess I was still in a fog. But before I had a chance to really think, I spoke.
“I want a room,” I said.
The look of gratitude the girl gave me almost made up for the sudden sense of stupidity which overcame me the moment the words left my mouth.
He nodded his small head and again turned to the other man.
“As for you, ’ ’ he said, "it might be a good idea to listen to your radio once in a while. I have been trying to get you for the last half hour. There’s been a bad accident up the road several miles. A dead man in a Cadillac in that culvert just before you come to Kilski’s broiler farm. Now get on up there. We don t want the state police taking this one over. I’ll be along and I want you there. Don’t let anyone touch anything until I arrive.”
The redhead edged out of the door and the little man again turned to the girl. Miss Cutter, ’ he said, “I am very sorry that Battle—”
But she wasn t having any of his apologies.
You should keep him chained,' ’ she said. “ I have enough troubles without your pet gorilla coming around here and making more. Some day he’s going
Please, he said. I have told you. He won’t be back. If there was any damage—” his eyes went around the room.
“The damage is personal—to my feelings,” she said. She leaned down and picked up a registration book from the floor. “You can sign right here,” she continued, ignoring him and smiling at me. “Cabin with private bath is five dollars a day.”
I signed, aware of the little man staring into my back. He started to speak again, but once more the girl cut his words short.
“You better get up and see to your dead man,” she said icily, and then added, “before your ape steals his wrist watch.”
I thought that would get him but it didn’t. He just turned and walked out, closing the door behind himself.
“That will be five dollars and you may pay now if you will,” shesaid. “Take cabin six. And thanks for coming in. The Lord knows I can use the business.
She had crossed the tiny office and taken a jacket from a hook on the wall and slipped into it.
“I hope he didn’t hurt you,” she said. “Is your wrist—”
"It isn’t in the best shape in the world,” I said, moving my fingers painfully, “but at least it isn’t broken. Are you all right? Is there anything—”
“I’m all right,” she said. “And you don’t have to worry—he won’t be back. Martin Fleming will see to that. ’ ’ She was starting to pick up some of the junk which had been scattered to the floor. “As though I don’t have enough trouble making a go of this place since Dad died,” shesaid, halfspeaking to herself and shaking her head and beginning to look mad. She looked up at me again.
“If you don’t like number six,” she said, “you can have one of the others. They are all empty.”
“Number six will do fine,” I said. “I just want to wash up a little and then I will be going out for a while. I’ll be back later to catch a little sleep. ”
I started for the door, but her voice stopped me.
“You have forgotten your key, ” she said. And then, with a certain hesitancy, “I want to thank you. Thank you first for trying to stop Battle and thank you secondly for taking a room which I don’t believe you need at all. I need the five dollars but I don’t need charity. And even if you did want the room, I think I should advise you to be on your way. Battle isn't the sort to forget what happened. And he carries weight in this county.”
She started to hand me back the five-dollar bill.
‘If he will make trouble for me,” I said, “how about you?”
She smiled without humor.
Fleming will keep him away from me from now on,” she said, her voice filled with irony. “This time he went too far.”
I began to get the picture. The assistant D. A. was in love with her and Bat-
tie was his boy. I thought it quite possible that Fleming had put Battle up to bothering her in the first place so that he might time his arrival so as to appear to be a knight in shining armor. I dropped the key back on the desk and took the five dollars from her. I had her pretty well figured. She was running the place herself and having a tough time of it, but she wasn’t asking for, or accepting, favors.
She must have been reading my mind.
“Martin Fleming wants to marry me,” she said. "He doesn’t think I can make a go of the cabins, now that Dad is gone. He wants to take care of me.”
"And you?”
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“I think you can. And I wish you luck. ”
She was back straightening out the office as I left.
The thought of Sarah Cutter and her personal problems quickly faded from my mind as I got back into the Pontiac and headed for the Whispering Willows. It had been an unpleasant interlude, but it was over and done with and I had more important things to think about. I had Marilyn K. and a suitcase full of money to think about.
And I had reached a decision.
I would stop at the motel, but I wanted to put as many miles as I could between that dead man up the road, crouched down behind the wheel of his wrecked Caddie, and myself. I would pick up the girl and her suitcase—and also my own suitcase which I had left at the tourist camp—and we would get out of Maryland as fast as we could. It would be dangerous enough to be with her, but it would be doubly dangerous to be anywhere in this neighborhood.
The boys from New York would be on thei
r way down in no time at all; even without them, I wanted nothing to do with Martin Fleming’s private territory. I would be having troubles enough without him and his stooge, Battle.
An hour later I realized I could have saved myself considerable mental and emotional energy if I hadn’t bothered making decisions. The decisions which were to vitally effect my immediate future were already made. They were made by the girl who was waiting for me at Whispering Willows and her decisions were a lot stronger and a lot more binding than any I might formulate.
Marilyn K. knew exactly what she planned to do and she also knew what she wanted me to do. It wasn’t that she was stronger than I am or any more stubborn; it was merely that she was a hell of a lot more persuasive. And she was endowed with exactly the proper weapons and the right ammunition to win all her points.
I parked the Pontiac in the driveway and walked down the path which led to the lobby of the motel. There was no one at the desk when I passed on my way to the rooms we had checked into.
I keyed the door open, walked through the living room of the suite and carefully opened the door of the bedroom. I didn’t want to alarm her if she was still sleeping.
I was wasting my time being quiet about it.
One of the prettiest pictures in the world is a really beautiful girl sitting cross-legged on a double bed, her hair rumpled and down over one eye, dressed in nothing but a brassiere and panties and with her stockings rolled down just below her knees. It is especially fetching if the girl happens to be smiling when she looks up at you.
There is only one thing which can improve this picture and Marilyn K. had managed it.
She was sitting there counting money.
The smile, which was a seemingly impossible blend of childish delight, wickedness and invitation, turned into a tingling laugh.
“Three hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars,” she said. “And I called Suzy.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stood there in the doorway with my mouth open.
"Where did you go?” she asked. “I missed you.”
