by Robert Bloch
“I hope so.”
I turned away. I didn’t want her to see how tired I suddenly felt.
Chapter Thirteen
Specs was back before six, and when I saw him drive in I went out to meet him. He climbed out of the car, carrying his suitcase.
“Leave the keys in,” I said. “I’m going to stick this heap in the garage.”
I drove it inside and he waited for me.
“All set?” I asked. “Anybody notice you leave?”
“I don’t think so. Nobody home on Sundays.”
“Perfect. Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Not much I haven’t. Steve, I don’t like this.”
“I don’t like it either. But we’re in it, and we’ve got to go through with it.” I lowered my voice. “So try and keep your mouth shut about the newspapers, will you? For Mary’s sake.”
“I’ll try. But—”
“After all, you and I, we’re men. We can take it.” I patted his shoulder. “That’s why I chose you for this deal, because I knew you had guts. And in just a day or so now, comes the big payoff. Sixty-six thousand in cash, Specs! That’s a lot of lettuce, and it’s all yours. We’ll head south and have ourselves a time—maybe even go to South America on a cruise or something. How’d you like one of those hot little señoritas, hey Specs?”
He smiled, and I felt better. It was that sick look on his face that frightened me, at first. I knew he was yellow, but I hadn’t realized how yellow until today.
“Come on inside, then,” I told him. “And remember, don’t talk about anything or think about anything except the money. That’s the whole secret.”
“Sure, Steve.”
“I’ll fix you up with a bedroom. Want to wash your hands? Supper’s almost ready.”
He came in and said hello to Mary, and I gave him the bedroom nearest the front. He unpacked his things and I went out to the kitchen.
Mary looked at me.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s all right now. But do me a favor, will you? Don’t talk about this business when he’s around. You and I, we’re together and that makes it easy for us. He’s just a weak sister and we got to handle him with kid gloves.”
“Yes. I’ll be careful.”
So there it was. And there I was, playing both ends against the middle. I had to keep it that way, too—him watching her and her watching him,.
But it worked. All through supper, it worked.
Then I got out the opened bottle and some glasses and some coke and a tray of ice-cubes. I put them on the table and tossed the deck of cards down, too.
“Here,” I said. “Help yourself. Maybe you two would like to play a little two-handed rummy or something.”
“Two-handed?”
“That’s right. I’ve got to go out now, and find a spot.”
Specs looked at me. “Spot?”
God, he was stupid! “Sure.” I smiled. “A spot for them to leave the money at.”
“But couldn’t you wait until tomorrow?” Mary asked. “It ought to be easier in the daylight.”
“No.” I shook my head. “First of all, I don’t want anyone to notice me cruising around, looking things over, the way they would in daylight. Secondly, I want to make my call to Warren early in the morning. Thirdly, since I’ll be picking up the dough at night, it’s good that I find out what the place looks like at night. So there won’t be any traps or funny stuff.”
“That makes sense, Steve. You got a head on your shoulders.” Specs nodded at me, and I nodded back.
“Damn tootin’ I do. From now on in, this is my party. There won’t be any mistakes and there won’t be any trouble. Just remember that, both of you, and we’ll be all right. So sit down, have a drink, relax. I’ll be back before you notice it.”
Mary came up and kissed me. “Be careful,” she said.
I grinned at her. “You too. Don’t let old Specs here make any passes. He’s a devil with the women.”
Then I got out of there.
I wasn’t grinning as I rode away. What I told them was true; I had to find a spot tonight. And it had to be right.
I drove up the highway, further out of town. Then I circled west some more, looking for a crossroads.
This wouldn’t be easy.
To begin with, the way I figured it, I wanted to get a spot that wasn’t anywheres around the cottage. I wanted it to be near a main highway, so that when the police started thinking about it they’d guess whoever took the dough would head for Chicago or Minneapolis from there.
The second thing about the location was that it had to be near a crossroads at both ends of whichever side-road it was on. That’s so I’d have a choice in case they were waiting to jump me.
Also I was looking for trees, maybe a woods with a wide path running through it—so I could take off in that direction if I had to.
To make it worse, if the place was on a side-road it had to be one of those roads that run straight in both directions for a long ways. I wanted to be able to see down those roads, tomorrow night.
And finally, the spot I was looking for had to be deserted. No people around. That was most important of all. But everything was going to be important when you came right down to it.
So I kept driving and I kept looking.
After I drove west a ways, I turned north again. I kept track of my route in my head. But that wouldn’t do me any good unless I could finally locate what I was after.
My watch said ten. I’d been gone almost two hours, and no soap. I was beginning to get worried; my hands were sweaty. I wished now I’d thought to pick a spot beforehand. I wished I could quick think up another way of getting the money. I wished a lot of things.
Then I came to County Trunk XX and turned off, just on the chance. And I found the place.
It was just what I’d been looking for, and that was good.
It was even better than good, it was perfect. I drove past twice, then drove back and parked and took a look around.
This was it, all right.
It was one of these old farmhouses, set back from the road. The roof had started to cave in, and it looked like nobody’d lived here for maybe five or six years or more. I had the straight-away on either side of me, and a crossroads about a mile in both directions. In back of the house was this trail through some woods and I could even see where it came out on another back-road about a mile down. Best of all, in back of the farmhouse was a barn.
That’s where I’d be waiting, with the car. Nobody could see me there, from the road, and if I wanted to get out of the place in a hurry, all I had to do was drive straight down that trail.
I couldn’t of asked for a better setup. There was even this big old mailbox in front. I looked at it and it was just made for the job. From reading up, and from my own figuring, I guessed that $200,000 in tens and twenties made a bundle about the size of the average suitcase, give or take a few inches, and weighed maybe twenty-five pounds. It would fit in this oversize mailbox easy.
So there it was. No use sticking around any longer. I drove out the other side and hit another highway. Then I went back, checking the roads and the landmarks as I passed, and keeping track of my time.
Driving straight, it took just forty-five minutes. I took notice of all the side-roads on the way—either in case I had to use them, or in case they played cute and set up an ambush.
I didn’t like to think about that part, but I had to. I had to think of everything, now. What Mary might do, what Specs might do. What the cops were doing, and old man Warren, and the sheriff’s department and the goddam FBI. I had to sort of try and put myself in their places, reason things out. And I couldn’t let up for a minute.
That sure had been some pipe-dream of mine, thinking it was going to be easy. Two hundred grand, just like that—what a laugh! Nobody’d ever had to work harder for his dough than I was working for mine. No wonder they said crime doesn’t pay.
But it was going to pay. That was for sure, it
was going to pay, for me. I hadn’t gone through all this for nothing. No matter what, I wouldn’t stop now.
So if they wanted to try any funny stuff, let ’em and to hell with ’em! I’d be ready.
That’s the way I was feeling when I finally got back to the cottage. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I could see the two of them sitting there. They weren’t playing any cards, but the bottle was almost empty.
Both of them jumped up when they heard the car pull in. I jumped out and met them at the door.
“All set,” I said. “Perfect. You two been telling each other bedtime stories?”
Neither of them said a word. They just looked at each other.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”
Mary came over to me. “Steve, I told Specs about the radio. He looked it over. He found some tubes and put them back in.”
“So that’s it,” I said. “You been listening to the news broadcasts, eh?”
“We wanted to know,” Specs mumbled. “Maybe they’d found out something.”
“All right, let’s have it. Did they?”
“No. I guess not.”
“Of course. How could they? So what’re you so down in the mouth about, you two?”
“Well, you know—the FBI and all. They’re smart, Steve. Maybe they figured something only they’re not saying.”
“Maybe, my hinder,” I said. “Excuse my French, Mary. All you got was a lot of double-talk, isn’t that so?”
“Yes.” Mary came up. I could smell she’d been drinking, but her eyes weren’t glassy from liquor. She was afraid again. “Only at ten o’clock there was this special broadcast, by the governor. He had a message, Steve. He said this crime was a disgrace to the state and he wouldn’t rest until he hunted down the kidnapper like a mad dog. You should have heard him, Steve. He really meant it. He’s—”
“He’s a cheap politician, that’s what he is,” I finished for her. “What did you expect he would say? He’s out making votes with a speech, is all. I’m ashamed of you two, getting took in by a bunch of crap like that. Words can’t hurt you. And that’s all they’ve got, words. They don’t know a thing. You ought to be glad after hearing all this stuff, because it proves they haven’t got a prayer.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Specs said.
“Yes, I know how it is. I know that we’re all here, together, and nothing happened to us. We’ve got ourselves a sweet little setup, a new car, plenty to eat and drink, nice place to stay. There’s nobody left to put the finger on us, and nobody’s going to. And in just twenty-four hours we’re going to be splitting up a cold two hundred thousand in cash. If we all keep calm and don’t lose our heads. I don’t know how you feel about it, but that’s how it looks to me. Any questions?”
There were no questions. Mary put her arm through mine and Specs looked at the floor.
“All right then, folks,” I said. “Let’s have ourselves a drink and go to bed.”
Chapter Fourteen
The big day.
I drove into town at nine. When I got uptown I stopped in at a filling station and loaded up the tank. I put in some oil and some water, checked the tires over.
Then I drove downtown and parked at a meter. I went across to the post office. There was a pay phone there, and it was in a booth in the corner. That suited me.
Getting my dime out, I noticed my fingers were trembling. That wasn’t good. I stopped and took a deep breath, another. I waited almost five minutes before I was calmed down. The way I did it was to think about the money. I just counted it off in my head. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand—
Then I called old man Warren.
I called his office, not his house. Maybe they tapped the phone out there, I had to figure on that. But the office would be safer. At least, I hoped so.
A girl answered.
“Good morning. Acme Trust.”
“Mr. Warren, please.”
“Whom should I say is calling?”
“Uh—Mr. Fuller.”
“Fuller?”
“Harold Fuller. It’s about that mortgage.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Fuller. One moment, please.”
I listened, trying to hear a beep sound like there is when they tap a wire. But there was nothing.
“Hello.” Warren had a kind of a high voice, or maybe he was just nervous and excited.
“Mr. Warren, this is the call you’ve been expecting,” I said.
“Who is this? Where are you?”
“Never mind. You don’t think I’d be dumb enough to tell you, do you? And if you try to trace this call, you’re gonna be plenty sorry.”
“Where’s my daughter? What do you want?”
“Your daughter’s okay—so far. And you know what I want to keep her that way. Two hundred grand. In tens and twenties, like the letter said. In cash. You got it ready?”
“Why, not yet, it takes time to—”
“Never mind that,” I said. “Just listen and pay attention. I don’t care what you have to do to get it—that money must be ready tonight. I want it in a plain paper parcel, at midnight. Here’s where you go. Listen, and repeat the directions after me, because I’m only telling you once.”
He listened and repeated after I told him.
“Got it? Then get this. I don’t want any funny business, or there’ll be trouble. Real trouble. My partner’s an old hand at this business, and he’s got a record a mile long, so one more dead doesn’t matter to him. And that’s just what will happen if you try to cross us. Understand?”
“Yes. I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but I’ll have the money there. And you’ll bring Shirley Mae—?”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, after we get the dough. I’m going to count it and see if anybody’s marked the bills or played tricks with the serial numbers. Now one thing more.”
“Yes.” He was really listening, had been ever since I made that crack about one more dead doesn’t matter.
“I know you got the cops and the FBI in on this. And I know what they’ll tell you. To arrange an ambush out there and try to catch us.
“Well, you better not try it. Because I’m picking up the money, see, but my partner’s gonna be moving around. He and Shirley Mae. And if I’m not back half an hour after I go for the dough—something’ll happen to your kid. That’s all.”
“You’re sure she’s all right?”
“I’m sure. But she wants to go home. And if you want to see her there, you better come through. You can tell the cops I called if you want to, but it’s up to you to talk them out of any funny stuff. Maybe you can say you’re supposed to come out and make a trial run, or something. Just to show good faith. Let them plan their ambush for tomorrow or Wednesday. I don’t care what you tell them, that’s up to you, like I said.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
“You and the money, that’s all I want to see. And if it’s okay, I’ll call you same time tomorrow and tell you where to pick up the kid. Now get busy. If I’m gone too long, my partner gets itchy with his knife.”
I hung up and dived out of the booth. I hopped in the car and drove off, fast. When I was about a block away, I heard something behind me. It was a siren. And it was coming this way.
I pulled over to the nearest parking-space, dropped a nickel into the slot, and started walking back. Sure enough, two squad cars pulled up in front of the post office.
About eight guys climbed out, carrying enough hardware to stop an army. Riot-guns and everything. They ran up the steps.
I’d been right. The girl at the switchboard probably had orders to trace every call coming in. And the police were standing by.
There was a crowd outside the post office now, and I elbowed my way in, so I could see. The cops were talking to the guys behind the windows, and looking around at the phone booth. Some of them collared people who were in there buying stamps and stuff.
I don’t know what they expected to find—
maybe they thought I’d sit there after I finished my call and eat a box lunch. Maybe they figured the post office clerks and the people coming in were all detectives on the lookout to spot everyone who passed by.
It felt good to be part of the crowd there, but I wasn’t really frightened or anything. I knew enough about cops to be sure of one thing—they’re the dumbest bunch of characters in the world. They can’t catch anyone unless they’re tipped off by some squealer, nine times out of ten. Sure, they watch the railroad stations and the bus depots and the hotels, but everybody knows that’s how they work, and if you pull something you aren’t going to show up at those places.
Now I heard more sirens down the street. Probably going after guys in cars uptown, stopping them and asking questions. That was bright, too. How would they able to tell which car, or which guy? Just a lot of crap, trying to show the public they were really doing something. It didn’t mean a thing.
I wasn’t afraid of the cops. But the FBI was different. They got these scientific methods—checking blood stains and fingerprints and dirt under the nails, all kinds of stuff like that. I read up on them, and I didn’t want to tangle with the federals. Not if I could help it.
I wondered if they had a lot of plain clothes operators around. Maybe there was a couple in this crowd. I couldn’t tell. All around me, guys were saying, “What happened? Did they catch somebody?” And one old biddy said, “Somebody tried to hold up the post office” and a younger dame said, “No, I’ll bet it’s that kidnapper.”
A fat man came up alongside me and said, “What’s it all about, buddy?” I looked at him and shrugged. “Damned if I know. Guess the cops are after someone in there.”
He was a big, heavy-set, middle-aged sort of guy, and he didn’t look like FBI to me. He had a kind of mean look to him, like he’d been drinking alone all morning.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “They’re after the kidnapper all right. I hope they get him soon. My old lady won’t let the kids out of the house—she kep’ them in all weekend long.”
