The Devil Wears Wings

by Harry Whittington

  Sid yelled at him. "You not only don't have to-you couldn't do it!"

  The constable exhaled unhappily. He caught Sid's arm and yanked him off-balance, giving him a shove toward the police car. "Get in that car. We won't have any trouble."

  He stared at me, waiting. But I wasn't giving anybody any trouble. I went meekly ahead of him. Sid stumbled getting into the car and I had no idea how much of this was pretense. I followed him, weaving slightly to make it look good.

  I couldn't keep my eyes off that bank.

  The constable went around the car, got in under the wheel, sucking in his gut a little to make it. He turned the ignition key, started the engine. His voice was cheerful, friendly. "Just don't give me any trouble, boys," he said, "and I'll let you sleep it off in the jug. Then you can go on your way."

  "Why, that sounds good to me," I said.

  "Sure. No sense in fines, anything like that. I know how it is a man likes to tie one on once in a while. Eh?"

  "Yeah. That's it, all right."

  The constable laughed and reversed the car from the curb. He pulled half across the street, making a long backward turn and heading east though the town building and jail was less than a block from where we were.

  "Your friend has really got a load on," the constable said to me, making friendly conversation. "He could get you in a lot of trouble."

  "Yeah. I guess you're right," I said.

  Sid was sitting between us. He straightened suddenly and in a movement that I didn't even follow, he jabbed his pawnshop gun so hard into the constable's kidney that the stout man gasped out loud.

  He slowed the car involuntarily and stared down at Sid's gun as though he'd never seen one before.

  "What is this?" he said. "What is this?"

  "This just ain't what you think," Sid told him. "Now you think hard on one thing-just how you're going to keep yourself from getting hurt."

  "I'm starting no trouble." The constable said this with a little chuckle as if he still half-believed Sid was drunk and kidding.

  He was half right. Sid was drunk. But he wasn't kidding.

  "Don't stop for that traffic signal," Sid told him. "Turn right and keep going until I tell you to turn."

  Sid reached across the lawman's paunch and removed his gun from its holster. He shoved it in his pocket. "I'll just take care of that," he said.

  "What you fellows want?"

  "Just keep driving, Slob," Sid said. He cursed the constable for half a block without repeating himself.

  The stout man was tense and starkly white before Sid stopped talking. Sid said, "You just better get it out of your mind that we're drunk, Slob. You do what we tell you, you won't get hurt."

  "If I just knew what you fellows wanted-"

  "You don't have to know, Slob. Just keep your mouth shut and keep driving."

  We reached the outskirts of town. Sid chose a side road and ordered the constable to turn the car into it. He slowed and made the turn, looking around helplessly.

  Once he said, on a note of dim hope, "This can be pretty serious, boys. You can get in a lot of trouble. You give me back my gun and get out of the car. I'll still forget the whole thing."

  Sid cursed him again until the constable was too numb to speak.

  "Get it through your head," Sid yelled at him. "This ain't no game, Slob."

  We didn't speak any more until we reached a secluded spot beside the cypress-black river that wound along the edge of the narrow road. This ancient side road looked as if it were the only change made in this changeless place. Huge oaks grew close against the pavement, great boughs arching low over the road so that they formed a dark tunnel through the trees and beside the water. Though we had come less than a mile from the center of Fort Dale we seemed to have entered a jungle, far removed from civilization. There were no houses along this lane, not even any fences, but only the trees and the sluggish river. Sid's muttering went on and on in the surrounding silence. His mounting frenzy was almost sexual. He had started a flow of words and he couldn't stop talking.

  "Stop here, Slob," Sid said.

  The constable brought the car to a halt. He killed the engine. Then he sat there with both hands on the steering wheel. His face was rigid. His eyes were wide, fixed on something he saw through the windshield.

  "Get out, Slob."

  The constable moved. He opened the door and got out.

  He moved as if he were very tired.

  Sid slid across the seat, following him. He kept the gun lined on the small of his back. I got out the other side. We left both doors open.

  Sid spoke across his shoulder to me. "What time is it?"

  I looked at my watch. I had been checking it every two minutes since we got in the constable's car. "It's twenty of one."

  "My God," the constable said. "What do you guys want?"

  He glanced about as if trying to find some way of escape. The river looked black and deep and made a rustling sound against its banks. Under the oaks, a layer of old leaves covered the white sand. The branches above us were so thick you could see the sky only in patches through them. Bay, water oaks and elder grew tangled on the brink of the river and across it the brush was impenetrable.

  "What you guys going to do?" The constable shook his head. "My God. I got to get home to lunch. My old woman is going to be sore. Hell. She gets sore when she has to wait lunch."

  "Shut up," Sid told him.

  "Mister, I'm just trying to figure what you got against me. Hell, I ain't even the sheriff. I'm just a constable here in town. I got a couple of kids. I tell you, you made a mistake. My oldest girl. Just started high school."

  "For God's sake, shut your mouth."

  "I'm just trying to tell you. You're all wrong. My wife. She'll be sore. The kids are home from school. You know-lunch hour. I mean-if you fellows-I mean, you got drunk. You're all mixed up."

  "Slob. I told you. Shut up, shut up." Sid jerked his gun up, putting it within inches of the man's face. When he fired it, both the constable and I reacted. The sound roared in the silence, raced across the flat land and finally died away.

  The constable staggered back from the concussion of the firing, the flashing burn of gunpowder. He clapped both hands across his eyes, momentarily blinded. He moaned, walking around, agonized.

  Sid caught him and with a backhanded motion slapped the gun across the side of his head, catching him just above the ear, knocking his hat off and toppling him against the front fender of the car.

  The constable crouched there, still unable to see, a jagged line of blood along the side of his head. The first thing he did when he could finally move at all was to pick up his hat and replace it on his head. He did not know what he was doing.

  "Slob." Sid stood over him. His face was white and he was yelling. "You believe we mean business now, Slob?"

  "I think so." The constable barely spoke aloud. Sid yelled at him, making him repeat it.

  " All right," Sid said. "This is kind of just the start, Slob. From now on, you do what we tell you. You got that?" He brought the gun up and the constable cried out, throwing his arms up over his head. He cowered against the fender. This time Sid didn't hit him. He just laughed at him.

  The constable lowered his guard at the sound of Sid's laughter and Sid hit him so hard with the side of the gun that the lawman staggered in a little half-running dance the length of the car. Then his knees buckled and he sank to the ground, his hands washing at his bloody face.

  He pushed himself up on his elbow. His face was streaked with his blood. He shook his head. His voice trembled. "You didn't have to do that."

  Sid strode to him and stood over him with the gun poised. "Don't tell me what I have to do, Slob." He wiped his hand across his mouth. "Now you know I mean business. In about five minutes you're driving us back to town. You got that? You're going to do just what we tell you-because I'd just love to put a bullet in your spine, Slob. You believe that, Hick?"

  The constable nodded.

  "All ri
ght," I said. "It's about time we started back." Sid prodded

  the constable with his shoe. "Get on your feet, Constable Slob. Don't be a fool. Don't be a hero. Don't try anything."

  The constable nodded, pulling himself to his knees, still half expecting Sid to hit him again. He dragged himself to his feet, braced against the car. He did not take his gaze from the gun in Sid's hand.

  "Get in the car, Slob."

  The constable nodded and got under the wheel again. He gripped it with both hands as if it were the last solid thing left in his life. The blood was running stickily down his face and along the corner of his left eye. He did not wipe it away. He did not seem to know he was bleeding.

  We got in with Sid next to the constable, gun thrust into the soft flesh at the side of his belly, gouging.

  "Drive back into town," Sid said. "Drive slow and drive to the bank. We want to get there at two minutes of one. You don't get us there on the button, I'm going to gun whip your face, but good. You believe that?"

  The constable nodded. He kept his face straight forward. "You believe it good. Now let's go."

  We reached the highway much quicker than we had gotten to the oak grove beside the river. Everything seemed accelerated. We whirled along as if we had been caught in a wind tunnel. We raced pell-mell… I looked at the speedometer. We were moving at fifteen miles per hour.

  It seemed like ninety.

  Constable Gill pulled the car out on the highway. The first automobile we saw was a state highway patrol car. We all recognized it at the same instant. The constable caught his breath. I felt my heart pounding harder. I heard Sid's steady cursing, a wild crazy sound in the car.

  "Watch yourself, Hero," he told Gill.

  The constable seemed to understand the same truth that had occurred to me. Even if we shot him now, we could not hope to escape

  the patrolman. The constable didn't have to tell me what he was thinking: his wife waiting lunch, his two kids home from school. But his face was bloody. He was badly hurt.

  Suddenly Gill swerved the town police car directly into the path of the oncoming state car.

  Sid gasped and I sat there waiting. I saw another man riding with the state patrolman. The state cop glanced up, startled. Then he recognized Gill, grinned and waved. He pulled around us and kept going.

  Sid cursed the constable for half a minute. "You know what was going to happen to you? I was going to pull this trigger if that jerk had stopped, Stupid."

  Tears spilled from the constable's eyes. He nodded. He had known that. He had thought it all out in the space of those seconds.

  Sid thrust the gun snout so hard into him the constable gasped involuntarily. "Don't be a hero. I warned you."

  The traffic signal at the main street intersection was green. Several cars came toward us on the highway.

  Gill speeded up, making the left turn directly in the path of the oncoming car. The driver's head jerked up. We saw him slam on the brakes so hard his car wavered. He pulled aside courteously.

  Gill made an animal sound of frustration in his throat. He stepped on the gas.

  Sid laughed. "Just keep it up, man. Fight me. When we do stop-I got it for you. I got it for you bad. I got it waiting." He laughed as if he could not conceal the pleasure he expected.

  Gill kept his face straight ahead.

  "Pull in at the west side of the bank," Sid told him.

  "My God," Gill said. "My God."

  "Name dropper." Sid laughed at him. "What's the matter? Is it your money?" He jabbed him with the gun. "Don't pull all the way to the drive-in window. Stop just past the walk. Don't make me hit you while the car's moving. We're going to have more fun when you stop."

  It was 12:58 by my watch when the constable parked at the west side of the bank. There was only slightly more activity on Main Street than we had found when we arrived.

  "You're a good boy," I told Gill. "You made it, on the nose."

  "He's a good little slob," Sid said. "A real good little slob."

  He reached over, cut the engine, kept the keys. Gill moved slightly toward his door and Sid jerked around, slashing the gun across his face. The lawman moaned and sagged against the seat.

  "That's for free," Sid told him. "That's so you won't get any ideas."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The tension and excitement had Sid strung up tightly. He could no longer sit still. I couldn't dislodge the notion that Sid was getting the kind of charge from this you'd expect a man to get from an exciting woman-or perhaps the kind of sensation he no longer got from women. One thing I knew: Sid had desired this mission for more than the money he would collect. His greatest reward was coming to him right now, and this made him more dangerous to me than any other obstacle I might encounter. Drunk and incensed like a man in passion, he just couldn't be trusted.

  Sid nudged me and I thrust my hand in my pocket seeking the silk stocking. I closed my fist, pulling it out.

  Sid was already working his stocking down over his face, bumping the dark glasses away at the last possible second. He worked it all the way down, sat there fidgeting, waiting for me.

  I couldn't escape the sense that everything was happening at an accelerated pace, going fast the way old-fashioned movies gallop when run through modem projectors at 40 frames per second. Each breath took a long, labored time, and we seemed to be moving in slow motion even while we ran so swiftly that there wasn't time to think.

  I fitted the stocking under my chin and closed my hand on the gun in my pocket. I opened the door and got out of the car. There was no one on the side street. There was no teller at the drive-in window. I heard Sid shoving the constable out of the car ahead of him and after a fleeting eternity they came around the hood and joined me beside the bank wall.

  An awful stillness had settled over the town. I could not help glancing upward at the darkening but cloudless sky.

  "Go ahead, Slob." Sid pressed his gun against the stout constable's spine. You could almost read the constable's thoughts; he knew what a bullet would do to his spine. He looked as though his knees were going to buckle.

  I kept my hand in my pocket, holding the automatic ready but out of sight.

  We came around the side of the bank to the wide front walk on Main. One man in overalls stood before it, a bank-book in his hands. He had just come out through the glass doors. He glanced at Sid and me, the stockings smashing our features out of recognizable shape, and then he looked at the constable and laughed.

  "What is this, Bill-a Hallowe'en trick?"

  Nobody ever thought about robbery in that back country. But in that moment, the rube saw the blood smeared across Gill's face. He had not seen the blood at first because nothing prepared him for it. Now he saw it, and slow as he was, he began to react. Something was wrong. This was no prank. The blood on the constable's face was real.

  Sid jerked his head at the hick in overalls. I moved over to his side and spoke as low as I could, "Back inside, mister."

  "What is this?" Fear showed in the man's face. His mouth went slack.

  "Do what they tell you, John," Gill said, and his agony throbbed in his voice. A decent, kindly man, he wanted to keep anybody else from being hurt unnecessarily.

  For his pains he got the side of the gun against the back of his head. He stumbled forward ahead of us and thrust the glass doors apart, halfsprawling into the bank lobby.

  Everybody in the bank stopped whatever he was doing and stared at the constable. That gave us all the time we needed. Seconds ticked away while Gill tried to regain his balance.

  I forced the John character through the door ahead of me. The bank was practically square with double front entrance, the drive-in window at the west rear and a barred rear door beyond it. The tellers' posts ranged along the front west wall behind a high counter with wickets on top of it. At the rear of the room was a large vault and at the right behind a railing were the desks of the bank officers. Most of the desks were vacant at this hour. I saw two women tellers on duty, and
a young man at a desk in the officers' quarters. I pushed John ahead of me to the first teller.

  Just as Constable Gill caught his balance, supporting himself against the writing desk in the center of the lobby, Sid brought his gun down across Gill's neck and the big man slumped to his knees, clinging to the desk. Then his fingers slipped free and he slid face-down on the terrazzo floors. I heard the women tellers gasp. The young executive jumped up from his desk and ran through the railing gate, shouting, "Here now! What's going on here?"

  Sid waited for him, legs braced apart near the desk. He called him some dirty names, enough so that the young banker began to understand and stopped running. Sid's voice quavered. In that swift-moving moment, I saw him trembling with tension and excitement, wound up and ready to burst. All I could think now was to fill those cloth bags and get out of there before he killed somebody. Robbery was one thing. Murder was another. I had not ever considered it until I realized how much pent-up hate Sid had stored in him.

  "This is a stick-up," Sid yelled at the banker. "You people do what you're told and maybe nobody gets hurt."

  I motioned the two bank customers to move to the far wall and stand facing it, with their hands high against it, palms flat.

  I tossed the cloth sacks at the tellers. Sid tossed his bags at them, too.

  He pressed the snout of the gun against Gill's bloodied ear. "You dames start shoveling money into these bags or I'll blow this slob's brains out."

  The tellers may not have assessed his threat at full value, but I knew better. I motioned with my gun, signaling them to hurry.

  Constable Gill writhed on the floor. Sid caught him by the belt and helped him to his feet, cursing loudly. Gill wobbled unsteadily. Sid kept his fist caught in the man's belt, moving him around in front of him.

  The tellers didn't move fast enough for Sid. He slapped the gun against Gill's bleeding head again. "Faster. You people hurry."

  The tellers stared at the young banker. He did not hesitate. He nodded. "Do what he says," he told them.

  "That's the way to jump when I speak," Sid said. He laughed, a fluting sound.