Girl on a Slay Ride

by Louis Trimble

  Graef was tucking his handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit coat. He reached up and slapped his fingers across Mallory’s mouth.

  Denise made no move. Mallory tried to shout at her again. Graef hit him casually in the throat with the edge of his hand. Mallory’s words turned to a retching gasp.

  Graef’s features had begun to work. The icy mud of his eyes glittered insanely. His breath began to gush out in rhythm to the swinging of his arms.

  He gasped, “No one touches me, Mallory! No one throws things at me! No one at all. Not ever!”

  His voice began to rise until it was high and thin. “The next time more than this will happen to you. So don’t let there be a next time.”

  He dropped his hands and turned away. “Put him in back with Blalock, Nick,” he ordered. “I’ll drive.”

  “Okay, Miles,” Thoms answered. His voice was soft, as though he wished to comfort Graef. He pushed Mallory toward the wagon. “Get in the back with the other nut,” he said.

  Graef walked around the front of the wagon and slid behind the wheel. Mallory settled in the seat Thoms had occupied. Thoms got in front. His big body forced Denise over toward Graef. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Mallory daubed at a thin trickle of blood running from a slight cut at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say anything as Graef started the motor. He was watching Denise.

  She looked straight ahead, her cheeks flushed.

  Graef slammed the wagon into reverse. He stomped the throttle to the floor and let out the clutch. The rear wheels spun in the soft dirt. They took hold suddenly. The wagon lurched backward, hit the ditch, and bounced onto the road. Mallory held tight to the seat to keep from being thrown against the top of the wagon.

  Blalock had not moved since they’d stopped. Now his lumpy body jounced upward. His fedora hit the roof of the wagon, and the top of his hat crushed in. He fell back onto the seat, his mouth twisted with pain.

  “You damned madman!” he shrieked at Graef.

  Thoms reached back and struck him across the mouth. “Shut up.” He shifted his gaze to Mallory. “And don’t you ever try nothing like that with Miles again. You set him off. And that ain’t such a good idea.”

  Mallory didn’t reply. He had found a weakness in Graef. He nursed his knowledge, wondering if he could make some constructive use of it. He was no longer angry. He was tired. He leaned back and ran his tongue against the cut in the corner of his mouth. The slight pain it aroused gave him a kind of pleasure. It reminded him of Graef’s weakness, that Graef was just a man of flesh and blood like anyone else.

  Graef drove stolidly, his hands tight on the wheel, his face thrust forward. He made no concessions to the surface of the road. The wagon jounced over chuckholes which could have been avoided. Once it struck and broke an unseen rock. Graef ignored all obstructions. He simply drove over them.

  Mallory remembered Graef saying about the wagon, “It’ll go where I want it to go!” and he wondered how long the wagon could stand the kind of treatment it was getting.

  They began to climb. Thick timber closed in on the ever-narrowing road. Any attempt at grading had vanished. The road was only twin ruts, twisting through the trees. And they were climbing. Even without Graef’s abuse, the motor would have probably been laboring, the radiator boiling. As it was, the whole vehicle was creaking and murmuring with effort. Now and then Mallory could hear the bottom brushing against the grass that grew in high tussocks between the ruts.

  He wondered what was going to happen when the road grew too bad and too steep for the wagon. What would Graef do when he couldn’t force unbending machinery to obey his commands?

  Mallory decided he’d find out soon. They were climbing very sharply now. The road twisted and turned like an angry snake. Once Mallory thought the side of the wagon scraped lightly against the bole of one particularly massive fir. The air became sharper, colder as they climbed. Once they reached a gap in the trees and Mallory could see a glacier reaching down toward them like a white finger.

  Mallory said jerkily, “You’ll burn out the motor pretty soon.”

  Graef was gripping the wheel harder. His knuckles were an ugly white, the bones in them pressing harshly against his olive skin. His face was set rigidly, making his jawline a knife edge. His nostrils were flared out in anger. The wagon began to buck, and he lifted his foot from the throttle, then kicked it down again viciously. The pitch was too steep. The road surface spun loosely under the wheels. Graef thrust his leg down hard, holding the throttle to the floor. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped off his nose.

  Suddenly there was the shriek of metal on rock. The wagon paused in its forward progress, its rear wheels spinning viciously. Then it lurched ahead for a few feet and came to a full stop.

  A deadhead rock under the grass, Mallory thought bitterly. Graef still had the throttle to the floor. The rear wheels were digging futilely in the soft dirt of the ruts. The car did not move. A smell of hot metal began to fill the air.

  Graef stopped trying to force the car forward. The rear wheels began to slow down. He opened his door and looked back. “Find out what we hit, Mallory!”

  Mallory climbed out and knelt in front of the wagon. He parted the long grass that covered the crown of the road. He looked and then got up. “You hit a deadhead rock. You rode the axle over it and cut a hundred-dollar hole in the pan.”

  Graef slammed his door. His olive skin was mottled and liverish-looking. He slammed the wagon into reverse and gunned the motor. The rear wheels spewed rock and dirt underneath the chassis. Metal snapped. The wagon bounced backward, jounced up, and dropped its front wheels into the ruts with a violent thump.

  Graef paid no attention. Mallory stood helplessly by as the wagon bounced backward, leaving a trail of oil on the grass. The front wheels rose and dropped again. A front tire blew. Graef swung the wheel sharply. The wagon backed out of the ruts and began to hammer its way through the brush and timber lining the road. A wiry fir branch whipped in the window and stung Graef across the face. He began to curse in a high, shrill voice again. Even a tree could not touch Graef with impunity. Mallory wondered bleakly if he’d order it cut down.

  The motor began to hammer. The acrid stench of scorched metal filled the sharp, clear air. Mallory did not move as he watched the wagon buck and grind into the trees and out of sight. Branches snapped forward, filling the hole Graef had bored into the forest.

  There was nothing left but crushed fern and grass and a line of oil smoking in the cool, bright sunshine.

  Chapter XI

  MALLORY realized that he could run. Graef and Thoms were still in the wagon. By the time they came back to the road, he could be hidden in the timber and heading back for the highway.

  Only Graef had Denise, and he had the forty thousand dollars in securities.

  Mallory stood and waited by the spot where the wagon had disappeared. Thoms came noisily out of the brush, carrying a load of camping gear. He said, “Miles wants you.”

  Mallory followed the trail of oil drippings toward the wagon. He met Denise. She was carrying her make-up kit and suitcase. Mallory moved in front of her, blocking her path.

  He said, “What got into you?”

  Her eyes met his and then slid to one side. She said in a low voice, “I told you how I felt, Cliff. As long as I’m up here, at least I’m safe from Rick.”

  “Safe with a murderer and a rapist?”

  She flushed. She said defiantly, “Safe as long as you don’t try any more fool stunts like that one with the coffee. Stop using your head for a battering-ram.”

  She moved to one side and walked around Mallory. He let her go and walked on toward the wagon.

  Graef was as calm as if nothing had happened. He was waving his gun as he directed Blalock in the unloading of the wagon.

  He said, “Mallory, get that folding shovel of yours and cover those oil spots and tire tracks.”

  Silently, Mallory got the shovel. Graef watched as he wo
rked from the wagon toward the road. By the time he was done, Thoms and Blalock had the wagon emptied and the gear carried somewhere up the road. Mallory tried to recall this spot as he worked, but the memory eluded him.

  Graef came out of the brush carrying a hand ax and his gun. He studied Mallory’s work. “That’ll do,” he said. “Follow me.” He took the shovel. He started up the road, ignoring Mallory.

  Mallory followed closely. Graef wasn’t worried about him now, he thought bitterly. Graef knew that as long as he had Denise, he also had Mallory.

  They walked a good eighth of a mile past the deadhead. Mallory began to remember the country, and he wasn’t surprised when the road broke through a narrow gap in a sheer rock wall and ended in a flat, grassy meadow.

  The meadow was cupped in an almost perfect circle of sheer rock walls rising eighty to a hundred feet everywhere except where the road entered. A thin circle of timber rimmed the meadow, and a low-water creek ran along the south side of the grass.

  Mallory realized how clever Graef had been in choosing this spot as a base of operations to explore the rugged mountains to the east. There was wood and water, but more important, there was the wall of rock. The ten-foot-wide gap they had come through was the only possible exit. Once Graef had Blalock inside, Mallory reasoned, he had only to guard the gap to keep him there.

  Graef stopped at the edge of the meadow. He turned to Mallory. “There are some weed-grown trails that lead around this meadow and eastward. I imagine one of them will take us to where Blalock hid the money.”

  “You’ve got everything figured out,” Mallory said.

  “Everything,” Graef agreed.

  “Except how to get Blalock to tell you where he hid the money,” Mallory said.

  Graef’s empty smile slipped briefly and then returned. He said, “I won’t have any trouble with him. You can plan to guide us to the place by tomorrow morning.”

  Mallory took in a deep breath of the cold, dry air. He had worked off his anger. Now he felt pretty good, he decided. This was his country, his element.

  He said softly, “That’s right, Graef. I can guide you. But no one else can. Remember that.”

  Graef laughed. “So now you hold a few cards yourself.”

  “That’s right,” Mallory said.

  Graef made a mocking bow. “Then forward, oh scoutmaster, and take charge.” The laughter disappeared from his voice. “Only don’t forget that your authority has limits, Mallory. And mine doesn’t!”

  Mallory walked past him toward the center of the meadow. Thoms was there struggling to erect Mallory’s umbrella tent.

  Mallory said, “A cub scout could do better. You’ve got the tent in a low spot and too close to the creek. A quick rain would flood you out.” He moved to his left. He pointed at a circle of stone filled with dead ashes. “And you’re to windward of the fireplace and too close to it. Or maybe you want to be burned out.”

  Thoms scowled at him. Graef said, “This is Mallory’s element, Nick. Notice how he’s changed. He’s come into his own. I told you he’d be the man we wanted.”

  Thoms said, “Then let him do the work.” He left the tent to Mallory and stalked away.

  Mallory saw that Blalock was roosting like a great, ungainly bird on a boulder near the fireplace. There were half a dozen other boulders near-by. Thoms sat on one and stared sulkily at the ground. Mallory looked around for Denise. She was nowhere in sight although her two pieces of luggage were on the pile Thoms and Blalock had made.

  Graef interrupted his thoughts by saying, “What other ideas do you have, Mallory?”

  “You, Thoms and Blalock haven’t got a tent,” Mallory said, “so put your sleeping bags under that clump of runt firs over there where they’ll keep dry. And the fireplace needs cleaning out.”

  He glanced up at the sky. He was surprised to see that the sun was sliding downward toward the rim of mountains to the west. He hadn’t realized they’d used up so much time since Graef picked them up. “Better get some firewood stacked too,” he said. “It’s easier to find in the daylight.”

  Graef said, “Aye, aye, sir. You heard him, Nick. Put the bags over under the trees and hunt up some firewood.”

  Thoms looked around at the grassy meadow floor. “Where?” he asked.

  Mallory said, “You’ll find some downed timber over in the trees. If it isn’t punky, bring it.”

  “See, Nick,” Graef said, “Mallory is a nature boy. He feels this sort of thing.”

  Mallory ignored him. He set the tent up on a flat-topped knoll some distance from the fireplace and close to the creek. He began to carry equipment into the tent.

  He was looking for the briefcase when he became aware that Graef was laughing at him.

  Graef said, “I’ll just hold the securities for a while, Mallory.”

  “They aren’t mine,” Mallory said. “Go ahead and steal them.”

  He felt the elation of mild victory as he saw Graef’s lips tighten. Graef said, “I don’t intend to steal them. I’m using them just as I’m using Mrs. Lawton—to keep you in line.”

  “And if I do everything you want, I get both back?”

  “Certainly,” Graef said.

  “And what happens,” Mallory demanded, “once you find the money?”

  “Then you lead us down the north slope of these mountains, to a cove on the strait. I told you that I had everything planned. I even have a boat waiting to take Nick and me into Canada. From there we board a freighter and go where we can spend Blalock’s money.”

  “Why all the trouble? Why not go back to Kansas City and spend it?”

  Graef smiled. “Because it’s marked, after all. That point was brought out at Blalock’s trial.” He nodded. “So just behave, Mallory, and you and your lady friend won’t be out anything but that station wagon. And it wasn’t worth very much.”

  He was lying, Mallory thought. Once Graef had the money and was guided out of the mountains, he’d have no further need for any of them but Thoms. And, as Graef had said, he left nothing to chance.

  Mallory walked away. He went into the tent and opened his suitcase. He brought out the twenty-two. He wasn’t surprised to find it empty and his two boxes of shells gone. Thoms would have seen to that.

  Mallory saw Denise coming out of the woods. She walked awkwardly over the rough ground on her high heels.

  Mallory said, “You’d better change your shoes.”

  She entered the tent in silence. Mallory had set up the folding table and stool against one wall and put her make-up kit on the table. She sat on the stool and lit a cigarette. Mallory saw that she carefully rapped the ashes into the palm of her hand.

  He began to inflate one of the air mattresses. Denise said nothing to him. She finished her cigarette, took the butt outside and flipped it into the creek. She returned to the tent and lowered the flap over the entrance. She began to undress.

  Mallory looked up from the air mattress he was inflating.

  She removed her jacket and skirt. She still wore no slip. She reached back and undid her brassière strap. She let the brassière fall to the floor of the tent. She ran her hands over her bold breasts, smoothing out the marks made on the white flesh by the brassière’s elastic band.

  She said coldly, “I’m going to take a nap, if you don’t mind.”

  Mallory got up and walked out of the tent. He was shaking with anger.

  Chapter XII

  MALLORY found Graef and Blalock seated on boulders near the circle of stones. Thoms was not in sight, but Mallory could hear the ax ringing faintly from the timber to the west.

  Blalock did not appear to have moved since he reached the meadow. He sat hunched in his overcoat and he still wore his hat pulled low to shield his face. A mixture of pity and revulsion washed over Mallory. Then he looked toward Graef. He felt a sudden surge of hatred.

  Mallory said tartly, “If you want a fire, those ashes will have to be cleaned out.”

  “It’ll be done,” Graef said. “Yo
u tend to your own chores.”

  Mallory turned away. He located the grub box and set it up. He dropped the top half of the cover down, making a table of it. He put the gasoline stove on the table, filled the tank and lit one burner. He carried the coffeepot to the creek and filled it with water.

  When he returned to the campsite and set the water on the stove, Graef asked, “What are you cooking?”

  “Coffee,” Mallory said shortly.

  “Good. I like a man who knows when he’s licked.”

  “I don’t give a damn if you like me or not,” Mallory said. He turned from the stove. “When the water boils, throw in a handful of coffee and turn off the heat. I’m going to get some sleep.”

  Blalock lifted his head and stared toward the tent.

  He lowered his chin back to his chest. He appeared to be asleep again.

  Mallory walked away and into the tent.

  Denise was stretched on top of the sleeping bag Mallory had fixed. The air in the tent was hot and close and she lay nude except for a thin negligee. He could hear her breathing slowly and steadily.

  He unrolled the other bag and lay down. He kicked off his shoes and rolled onto his back. He flung one arm over his eyes and tried to sleep.

  He could smell Denise’s perfume. He thought of her as she had been last night, and he felt his irritation at her dissolving. His mouth grew dry and he tried to moisten it with saliva. The dryness crept into his throat, making it ache.

  Denise stirred. She said softly, “Cliff?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been a bit of a bitch, haven’t I?” Her voice was no longer tart with anger, but soft and sensuous again.

  He said, “Yes.”

  She said, “Graef frightens me. But not as much as Rick. Can’t you understand that, Cliff?”

  “I’m trying,” he said.

  One slender leg slid over to his sleeping bag and pressed lightly against him. Mallory stayed quiet.

  She whispered, “Don’t be angry with me, Cliff darling.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said.

  Her voice rose to a murmur. Her head was toward his and very close. He could feel the whisper of her breath against his cheek. “I couldn’t stand your being angry. Not up here—with them. I’d be so alone.”