by Lionel White
Joyce Sherwood shuddered and for a moment she almost lost the iron control which she had been exerting in an effort to fight off hysteria.
“We can’t,” Cribbins said. “It’s too late for that.” The others looked at him quickly.
“Too late?”
“Yeah. Some old busybody across the street saw us arrive. She came over to see Paula and Paula gave her a song and dance. But she saw the dog. I don’t want to do anything now to create curiosity. Anyway, we won’t be here long. The heat’s bound to die down within a few days. Then we can blow.”
“The dog won’t cause any trouble,” Luder said. “He won’t be talking to anyone.”
“Anything can cause trouble,” Santino snarled. He looked at Joyce and then his eyes went to the dog. She felt the hidden menace in his words.
“We’re all right just as long as we sit tight,” Cribbins said. “We just can’t do anything now to create suspicion. People know I’m here. They know she’s here—” his head nodded to where Joyce sat. “We just have to lay low and sit it out for another few days. By that time Mitty should show. I can contact Goldman, and then we can blow. The way we planned it.”
“You think Mitty is going to be okay?” Luder asked.
Cribbins shrugged. “How do I know?” he said. “You can bet he won’t crack. The cop doesn’t live who can make him talk. And they got nothing on him. Just an attempt to steal the car. He was stupid about that—but he won’t talk.”
“And suppose they keep on holding him?”
“He’ll make bail. Sooner or later he’s got to. He’ll have been in touch with Goldman. He’d know enough to do that, once they let him get to a phone. And Goldman will spring him. Don’t worry about Mitty.”
“I worry about everything,” Santino said. Once more he looked at Joyce out of his yellow, jaundiced eyes.
Cribbins stood up and stretched. “You worry too damned much,” he said. “Come on, we’ll go and get some grub. Paula will have something ready.”
He walked to the door of the room and then turned back. “You stay here,” he said to Luder. “Keep an eye on things. I’ll have Paula bring you something.”
Santino followed him out of the room and Luder went to the door and closed it after him. Joyce watched him with wide, frightened eyes. He seemed to feel her eyes on him and turned to her and half smiled.
“Don’t fret, lady,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to make it reassuring.
“What are they going to do with me?”
Joyce’s words came in a tight whisper.
He dropped his eyes and half turned away. “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “Just don’t make any trouble. Do what you’re told to do.” He wanted to change the subject. “That’s a cute pup,” he said. “A real cute dog. I had a dog a little while ago myself,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
He held out his hand and snapped his fingers.
“You say his name’s Flick? That’s a good name for a poodle.” He hesitated a second and then said, rather aimlessly, “You know, I’m a family man myself.”
Once more he snapped his fingers at the dog. “I’ll take him for a walk after we eat,” he said.
Lieutenant Parks waited until Sims finished speaking, and then sat for several minutes before looking up. When he did, he looked directly at Bart Sherwood.
“I’d give it to the papers,” he said slowly. “You got nothing to lose and it might help. I’m sorry about that other thing. When Sims tipped me off about the phone call, I thought we might have something. Thought it might help.”
“Well, it helps this much,” Sims said. “We know why she drew out the twenty-six hundred dollars.” He looked at Bart. “We know she was planning to surprise you with a new car for your birthday. We know that she didn’t disappear voluntarily, anyway.”
“I knew that all along,” Bart said. “My God, I told you … “
“We have to make sure,” Parks said, his voice conciliatory. “You’re positive this guy Hartwell was telling the truth?”
Sims spoke up quickly. “I’m sure,” he said. “You should have seen his face when we caught up with him after tracing the call. He explained why he hung up on Mr. Sherwood like he did. He said Mrs. Sherwood told him the car was to be a surprise birthday present and that naturally, when she didn’t show to take delivery, he called up to see if she’d changed her mind. When Mr. Sherwood answered he didn’t give his name for fear it would tip off the surprise. No, his story stands up all right.”
Parks played with the letter opener on his desk and looked thoughtful. At last he shook his head and looked up. “Well, as I say, I think we better give it to the press. Tell them that we suspect foul play.”
He held up his hand as Bart started to speak.
“I know,” Parks said. “I know. I hate to worry you, hate even to suggest anything could have happened. But if we give it to them that way, at least they’ll use it. Play it up. It may turn up some kind of a lead. Right now we have absolutely nothing at all to go on. Nothing. Publicity may not be pleasant, but we have to try to turn up something. Maybe your wife got amnesia. Maybe she—well I don’t know what could have happened, but maybe someone or other saw her. Someone must have seen her. A woman and dog and a car just can’t simply disappear. If the newspapers give the story a play, it might possibly help.”
Bart nodded miserably. “God knows I want to try anything at all which will find Joyce,” he said.
“We’ll do everything we can. I know it’s stupid of me to say so, but just try to hang on to yourself, try not to worry, try and get some … “
The ringing of the telephone interrupted him and he quickly reached for the instrument. He listened for several seconds and then put the receiver back on the hook.
“They sprung Mitty on bail,” he said. “Not that it matters, I guess. One more day like this … “
Sims walked over and put his hand on Bart’s shoulder. “You better go on home and get some rest,” he said. “I’ll take care of the newspapers.”
Bart looked up at him dumbly. “Maybe if I offered a reward—” he began and then he suddenly realized that there was no money for a reward. All the money in the world which he and Joyce had was in a certified check which she carried with her. He hoped to God she still had it with her. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to her if she didn’t.
Fifteen minutes later Bart Sherwood slowly walked away from the Brookside police station. He didn’t wear a hat and his hair was disheveled. His necktie was loose at his throat and his shoulders were sagging, giving him the appearance of an old man.
It was after ten o’clock, on Wednesday evening. Joyce Sherwood had been missing for more than sixty hours.
A couple of miles to the south, in a small, one-story development house on which there was still a mortgage of more than seventy per cent of its outrageous sale price, a sad-faced woman sat with her two young children and tried to fight back the flow of tears which periodically drowned her rather pretty, soft, dark eyes. Her husband, Red Kenny, one time armored-car driver, had been dead for two days.
Wednesday was the day Flick disappeared, and it was also the day when Santino and Cribbins had their showdown …
It was the business about Paula which probably planted the germ which was to grow rapidly and spread until the ultimate explosion came.
They’d argued about the money, down there in the kitchen after Joyce had been returned to her room and locked in. The three of them sat around the table and Paula had wanted to stay, but they’d sent her to the front part of the house on the pretext that they wanted her near the door in case anyone came.
It was Santino who’d insisted they bring the three canvas bags into the house and check the contents. Cribbins had argued against it, saying first that they should do nothing until Mitty arrived. He lost that argument, but he’d gone on to insist that no division should be made until the money had been exchanged for the bills which Goldman was bringing up. B
ut Santino had insisted.
“Divide it now,” he said. “What difference does it make? You can hold out Mitty’s share. When Goldman comes, we just each turn over our individual shares. But it should be counted and divided now, in case something should happen and we should have to lam suddenly.”
Luder was on Cribbins’s side, of course, but they had finally given in rather than risk a fight over it.
That was the first thing and it had angered Cribbins, even though he privately admitted to himself that Santino had logic on his side. But he had shrugged it off and given in and the money had been brought into the kitchen and the bags opened. It had taken a long time to count it.
The loot totaled something over two hundred and thirty-eight thousand dollars. The trouble began then.
“As long as you insist,” Cribbins said, “we’ll cut it up. Three-tenths to me, the way we agreed. Two-tenths to each of you and to Mitty and one-tenth to Paula for arranging the hideout.”
“Put her tenth in with mine,” Santino said.
Cribbins, who’d been arranging the bills, stopped, his hands still on the table, and looked at the other man.
“That’s right,” Santino said. “Paula’s cut and mine together. I’ll handle hers.”
Cribbins slowly shook his head. “No, not that way. We give her her cut the way we arranged. What she does with it after we split out is her own business. But we said she gets one-tenth and she’s going to get it.”
Luder coughed and covered his mouth and then spoke, his voice conciliatory. “It doesn’t matter, Harry,” he said. “If Santino wants to take care of his girl’s dough, what the hell—it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a lot,” Cribbins cut in, his voice cold and hard. “It matters a hell of a lot. Paula is in on this thing. She knows all about it. When we break out of here, I want to leave knowing that she’s satisfied. I want to be damned sure everybody’s happy when we split out.”
He looked across the table at Santino, who slumped in his chair, his face twitching and his lean fingers nervously playing a tattoo on the edge of the table.
“As I say, what she does with it after she gets it is her own business—but I’m going to see that she gets it.” Santino began to nod his head slowly. His thin cheeks were drawn in tight and his lips were pale and quivered slightly when he spoke. “What’s all this sudden interest in Paula?” he asked. “You wouldn’t be tryin’ to take over, would you, by any chance?”
Slowly Cribbins drew his hands away from the money. He took a cigarette from the package on the table and deliberately took his time in lighting it. When he spoke his voice was smooth and barely audible.
“Listen, you little ape,” he said. “Listen to me closely. You haven’t got your chopper now, so just sit still and listen. If I wanted Paula, I’d take her. Any time, from anybody. Get that straight. And get something else straight —I don’t happen to want her. I don’t want any wet deck from you, or anything else you got.”
Santino’s right hand darted toward his trouser pocket, but Luder, sitting next to him, moved with amazing speed for an old man.
“All right, kid,” he said, his hand grabbing Santino’s wrist. “All right, just take it easy. You started this.”
“I’ll finish it,” Santino said.
Cribbins suddenly leaned back in his chair and once more his hands rested easily on the table. Unexpectedly, he laughed.
“For God’s sake, kid,” he said. “What the hell are we fighting about? To you, the girl’s a piece of merchandise. Why kid us about it? You’d let her go for a fifty-dollar bill, so why get serious about it? What you’re worried about is the dough that comes with her. Get one thing straight in your head—I don’t want that dough. I’m in this thing for my three-tenths and I’m going to be perfectly satisfied with that. The only thing is, we agreed that Paula would get a tenth for her part. I told you I don’t give a damn what she does with it. She can keep it or she can turn it over to you, but I want to see that she gets it. I’m just trying to protect all of us. You may think you can control her, but I don’t think any dame can be controlled. Not forever. So I don’t want her thinking we screwed her on her cut on this job. I don’t want her unhappy and talking. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll handle it the same way.”
Luder felt the little man relax and he removed his hand from his wrist.
“It’s what we agreed on,” he said. “Harry’s right. He don’t want your dame; he just wants to play it safe.”
Santino stared at first one man and then the other. Slowly he leaned back in his chair. He took a cigarette from his pocket and before putting it into his mouth, coughed and then turned his head and spit into the corner.
“Oke,” he said. “We won’t argue. Do it your way.” He looked up at the ceiling then, apparently losing interest in the matter. “Let’s divvy it up,” he said.
Dividing the money into five piles, Cribbins wrapped up each stack of bills with twine and put a slip on it, marked with their individual initials. Then he drew a long breath and leaned back in his seat.
“Call Paula in,” he said.
Santino made no move, so after a moment, Luder got up and went to the front of the house. Cribbins looked down at his watch and saw that it was well after midnight.
Paula followed Luder back into the room and stood by the doorway, her eyes on the bundles of money.
“It’s divided up,” Cribbins said, “just the way we planned, only we’ve made the divvy now instead of waiting for Goldman. That’s just in case anything should happen; in case we have to take it on the lam.”
He reached down and took a suitcase from under the table. “I’m putting the money in here, where it’s going to stay until Mitty and Goldman show. If everything goes right, we redivide, the same way, as soon as Goldman makes the exchange. But if anything should happen, grab the pile with your name on it and everyone is on his own.” Carefully he tucked the money into the suitcase and closed it as the others watched. “I’m putting the keister in the closet up at the head of the stairs,” he said.
He stood up and yawned.
“I want you to spend the night with the dame upstairs, Paula,” he said. “We all should be getting some sleep.”
Santino looked up then. “Why should she stay with the dame?” he said.
“It’s better someone stays with her,” Cribbins said. “I don’t expect any trouble, but we’ll all be sleeping and it’s better someone stays in the room with her.”
“So maybe I’ll stay with her then,” Santino said. Paula suddenly laughed.
He was up like lightning and before either Luder or Cribbins could move, he crossed the room and viciously slapped her across the mouth. He was taking a second swing when Cribbins reached him.
“What the hell’s the matter with you, anyway,” he said. “You seem to want trouble.”
Paula had fallen back and she was staring at Santino. “You dirty little bastard,” she said.
Cribbins half pushed her, turning her toward the doorway. “Do what I say, Paula,” he said. “Go on upstairs and stay with that girl. And for God’s sake let’s not have any more arguments tonight.”
Paula turned wordlessly and left the room.
“That bitch,” Santino muttered. “Wait till this is all over. I’ll fix her. I’ll fix her, but good.”
“Aw, let’s cut it out and get some sleep,” Luder said. “Where do we hit the deck, Harry?”
“It’s safer to stay downstairs, in case of trouble,” Cribbins said. “There’s a couple of cots in the dining room—that’s the room next to the living room. I’m going to have a cup of coffee and then hit the deck on the couch in the parlor.”
“And about that … ” Santino looked at the suitcase sitting on the edge of the table.
“Take it up and put it into the closet,” Cribbins said, nodding at Luder.
8.
Joyce had lain awake listening and when the single chime struck for the second time, she knew that it w
as one o’clock, Wednesday morning. Joyce turned over on her side —they’d changed the routine and now her wrist was handcuffed to the side rail of the bed so that she was slightly more comfortable and could sleep in more than one position. She used her free hand to pull the thin blanket up higher and closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep. It wasn’t more than a minute or two later that Flick growled deep in his throat and then, as she heard the key in the lock of the door, the growl changed to a series of sharp barks.
The door opened and the girl Paula spoke soothingly to the dog. Joyce made no move, pretending sleep.
She heard the door close, and realized that although the girl had entered the room, she had not locked the door behind herself. A moment later she could hear Paula talking softly to the dog. Paula spoke then, turning toward the bed.
“I’m taking him downstairs,” she said. “He’s going to stay with old man Luder for the night. I’ll be back—I’m spending the night up here.”
Joyce didn’t answer her.
The girl returned within minutes and again when she entered the room, she neither locked the door after herself nor did she turn on the light.
There were soft rustling sounds and Joyce knew that the other girl was stripping off her clothes.
“If you’re going to be here,” Joyce said, speaking very low, “I wish you would take off this handcuff. My wrist is sore where it’s rubbed against it and my arm is cramped. I can’t sleep.”
Paula sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you nuts?” she said. “Why, they’d murder me if I did. Suppose you tried to get out or something?”
“I’m not going to try anything,” Joyce said. “What chance would I have?”
“None,” said Paula, flatly. “None at all.” She hesitated a moment then and yawned. “All right,” she said, “I’ll unlock it. But you stay on the inside of the bed and don’t try anything. Get smart and you’ll get us both killed.”
“I won’t try anything,” Joyce said.
