King's Ransom

by Ed McBain

  Diane studied the overcoat in Reynolds’ hands with a practiced mother’s eye. “I think that might be a little heavy, Reynolds. I’ve already given him one of Bobby’s sweaters.”

  Reynolds looked at the coat as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh…”He smiled sheepishly. “Well, thank you, ma’am. I never can seem able to decide what…”

  “You’ll probably be driving Mr. Cameron to the airport, later,” King cut in. “Plan on that, will you?”

  “Yes, sir. When will we be leaving, sir?”

  “That’s not definite yet. I’ll buzz you when we know.”

  A bloodcurdling scream erupted from someplace upstairs, followed by a second more chilling one, and followed immediately by the thunder of elephant hoofs on the stairs. Bobby King, wearing a blue sweater, his blond hair hanging over his forehead, charged down the steps with Jeff Reynolds in hot pursuit. At first glance, the boys seemed to be brothers. They were both blond, both of the same height and build, both carrying toy rifles, and both screaming in the same high voices. They were, however, both eight years old and did not really resemble each other in the slightest except for their build and coloration, ergo the brother concept was instantly shattered unless one admitted the possibility of their being fraternal twins. Whooping and yelling, they headed for the front door, ignoring everyone in the living room.

  “Hey!” King shouted, and his son pulled up an imaginary horse.

  “Whoa, boy, whoa!” Bobby said. “What is it, Dad?”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Outside to play,” Bobby said.

  “How about a goodbye?”

  “Goodbye,” Liz Bellew said, rising and rolling her eyes. “This is beginning to resemble my menagerie.”

  “We’re in an awful hurry, Dad,” Bobby said.

  “Why? Where’s the fire?”

  “There’s no fire, Mr. King,” Jeff said, “but we’ve got a game to play.”

  “Oh? What kind of a game?”

  “Creeks,” Jeff said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s what I’ll be up unless I get home soon,” Liz said.

  “It’s Injuns,” Jeff explained. “Creeks are Injuns, don’t you know?”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “We take turns bein’ Creek,” Bobby said. “We got to find each other in the woods. When I’m the cavalry…”

  “Oh, God, this is really all too familiar,” Liz said. “I must go.”

  “… and Jeffs a Creek, I got to find him. When I capture him…”

  “Is that what all the artillery’s for?” King asked, indicating the toy rifles each of the boys carried.

  “Sure,” Bobby said solemnly. “You can’t go in the woods unarmed, can you?”

  “I should say not.”

  “Don’t go too far from the house, Bobby,” Diane said.

  “I won’t, Mom.”

  “Who’s the Creek now?” King asked.

  “I am!” Jeff said, and he let out a war whoop and began dancing around the room.

  “Jeff!” Reynolds cried sharply, embarrassed.

  “I’m doin’ the ceremonial,” his son explained.

  “Don’t shout so. And take good care of the sweater Mrs. King loaned you.”

  “Oh, sure,” Jeff said, glancing at the bright-red sweater cursorily. “He won’t catch me, Dad, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t care whether he catches you or not, just so—”

  “Oh, won’t he now?” King interrupted. You’d better catch him, son. The family name’s at stake.”

  “I’ll get him,” Bobby said, grinning.

  “What’s your strategy?” King asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Your plan.”

  “Just chase him and catch him, that’s all.” Bobby shrugged.

  “Never chase the other fellow, son,” King advised. “That’s no way to do it. I can see you need help.”

  “Oh, Doug, let them go play before it gets dark,” Diane said.

  “I will,” King said, smiling, “but the boy needs assistance from a professional scalp hunter, can’t you see that? Come here, Bobby.” He took his son aside so that Jeff could not hear the conversation. Whispering, he said, “Climb up a tree, see? Watch him from up there. Watch everything he does. You’re holding all the cards that way because he doesn’t know just where you are. Then, when you’re certain of what he’s about to do, beat him to the punch. Pounce!”

  “Doug!” Diane said sharply.

  “You weren’t supposed to be listening, hon,” King said.

  “But climbing trees is against the rules of the game, Dad,” Bobby said.

  “Make your own rules!” King said. “So long as you win.”

  “Doug, what in the world are you telling him?” Diane said.

  “Only the facts of life, I’d suspect,” Liz answered.

  “All they want to do, you know, is get outside and start their game.”

  “How come I don’t get any help?” Jeff said, turning to his father. “What should I do, Dad?”

  Reynolds, caught by surprise, obviously embarrassed in the presence of his employer, said, “Well… uh… you can lie flat behind a rock. He’d never find you that way.”

  “Unless you move, Jeff,” King said. “Then, brother, watch out!”

  “But if you don’t move, son, you’re safe,” Reynolds said with seeming logic.

  “If nobody moves, there’s no game,” King said. “What’s the sense in playing?”

  “I think you’d do best, boys, to play the game just the way you want to,” Diane said, somewhat coldly. “Go on now, have fun.”

  The war whoops erupted again, the rifles were once more brandished in the air. The red sweater and the blue sweater moved in a purplish blur toward the front door, and the ensuing slam shook the house.

  “Wow!” Liz said.

  “I’ll have the car ready whenever Mr. Cameron needs it, sir,” Reynolds said.

  “Fine,” King said, mentally dismissing Reynolds even before he had left the room.

  “Thank you, sir,” Reynolds said, and he backed into the dining room and then turned and walked into the shadows toward the kitchen.

  Diane waited until she was sure he was gone. Then she said, “You shouldn’t have told him that, Doug.”

  “Huh? Told who what?”

  “To… to climb a tree and then pounce. Make your own rules! Win at any cost! What are you trying to raise? A jungle tiger?”

  “Mmmm, yes,” King said, “like his mother. Flashing eyes and sharp teeth and—”

  “Doug, I’m serious!”

  “Darling, so is he,” Liz said shrewdly. “He’s making love to you, can’t you tell? I’d better go.”

  “What kind of nonsense is that to tell a boy?” Diane said angrily. “Pounce! For the love of—Do you want… do you want him to grow up to be a… a… ?”

  “A rapist?” Liz supplied.

  “Yes, thank you, Liz.”

  “Why not?” King said. “Like father, like…”

  “I’m terribly sorry you think this is a joke. I don’t happen to see anything so funny about it.”

  Liz Bellew sighed. “Methinks I see a storm warning for Hurricane Diane,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Diane said in utter composure. “You’ve known me long enough to tell when I’m angry or not.” She allowed her fury to smolder silently for a moment longer and then exploded. “Pounce, pounce, pounce! The way you’re doing with this Boston thing, the way you did with poor Robinson!”

  “Poor Robinson?” King said.

  “Yes, you know very well what I mean.”

  “I fired a man. What’s so criminal about that?”

  “Harold fires men every day,” Liz said.

  “Of course,” King said. “Honey, when you’re in business, you can’t worry about…”

  “Yes, but why did you fire him? And how? The Robinsons were our friends.”

  “Friends? Because we had them in for bridg
e a few times?”

  “It wasn’t a few times, and they were our friends!”

  “All right, they were our friends. They’re not any more.” King paused. “He was making me look bad.”

  “And is that a reason for…”

  “Look, I told you he was charging sales trips to the cost of a shoe. Some idiot, goes to Italy to buy silk, and Robinson charges that up to Cost. He was making me and the factory end look sick. He was being unfair, and I asked him repeatedly to re-evaluate his system. You know he refused.”

  “So you fired him. You didn’t even give him the chance to resign.”

  Liz Bellew, apparently bored by the kind of talk she heard endlessly in her own house, stretched out on the couch and glanced at the staircase.

  “Resign?” King said. “The hell with resignation! When a man isn’t doing his job right…”

  “What happens when he looks for another job, when he has to tell a prospective employer he was fired?”

  “Only a damn fool would say he was fired. If Robinson has any sense at—”

  “You know they’ll check with Granger, no matter what he says.”

  “Well, he should have thought of that before he began holding hands with the Sales Division. Diane, he was knocking Cost way the hell out of line!”

  “You didn’t have to be so ruthless!”

  “Ruthless? Me?” He laughed. “Liz, am I ruthless?”

  “You’re a darling,” Liz said.

  “What makes you think I’m ruthless? Because I get things done while other people sit around on their fannies? Honey, there are sitters and there are doers. Just because a man takes action doesn’t necessarily mean…”

  “No, but if you make a habit of stepping on people, of not caring…”

  “Honey, if I’d sat on my duff all these years, you wouldn’t be living in this house right now, you wouldn’t be wearing that bracelet, you…”

  “He’s right, darling,” Liz said, and she extended the hand with the diamond on it.

  “Of course I am. You either do or you sit, right, Liz?”

  “Absolutely,” Liz said. She swung upright. “I’ve always enjoyed a little action myself.” She looked at her watch. “Well, back to the little shack on the hill for me. You two coming to the club tonight?”

  “Maybe,” Diane said angrily.

  “Mmmm.” Liz stared at Diane. “I know what she needs,” she said to King.

  “So do I.”

  “I figured you did. By the way, if Pete asks—” She cut herself off. “Never mind, he’s a big boy now.” She waved her hand, called, “Have fun,” and walked out of the house.

  There was a dead silence after her departure. Diane stood stock-still in the center of the room. King studied her for a moment and then began circling her slowly.

  “Diane?” he said gently.

  “What is it?”

  “Diane, I’m sitting in a tree, and I’m looking down at you…”

  “What?” she said, puzzled.

  Circling closer, King said, “And I’m warning you now… in all fairness… that I am getting ready to… pounce!”

  He seized her suddenly, holding her close to him, his mouth an inch from hers.

  “Let me go!” she said. “If you think you can—” and King kissed her. She struggled for a moment longer, and then submitted to his kiss, and then returned it, clinging to him, and then pulled her mouth from his.

  “You…you oaf,” she said gently.

  “Yes,” he said, and he kissed her again.

  “You are,” she said weakly. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I am. Deeply.” He kissed her again. “You’re beautiful. Especially with that new sexy streak in your hair.”

  “I’m too good for you, that’s for sure, you ape.”

  “I know, I know. Listen, what time’s dinner?”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I thought we might…” He shrugged.

  “And I didn’t appreciate your discussing me with Liz as if I were a head of cattle or something.”

  “Mmmm, you’re a gorgeous head of cattle,” he said, and again he kissed her. “You didn’t answer me.”

  “What did you ask?” Diane said dizzily.

  King kissed her neck. “Dinner,” he whispered. “The time before dinner.”

  “Pete’s wandering around the house, you know.”

  “I’ll get rid of him. I’ll fire him.”

  “How can you…?”

  “I’ll send him out to the airport early.”

  “Well…” Diane said hesitantly.

  “Well?”

  “Well…” An embarrassed smile formed on her mouth.

  “Good!” King said. “Let me check with Hanley first.”

  “Check with Hanley!”

  “I mean, I don’t want him calling back in the…”

  “Maybe I should arrange this through your secretary,” Diane said.

  King grinned and slapped her on the rump as he went to the phone. He picked up the receiver, turned toward her, and said, “This’ll only take a minute. All I want to do is—” He stopped suddenly, aware that someone else was on the line, and then recognizing the voice as Cameron’s.

  “… yes, George,” Cameron was saying, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Well, I thought you’d like to know…”

  Hastily, King pushed a button in the base of the phone, switching to another line. “Funny,” he said.

  “What’s the matter?” Diane asked.

  “Pete’s on the other line,” King said. There was a puzzled look on his face. “I could’ve sworn he was talking to…” He shrugged, dialed the operator and waited. “Think you can get me Oscar Hanley at the Hotel Stanhope in Boston?” he said. He listened for a moment. “All right, call me back, will you?” He hung up and turned toward his wife. “In the meantime, my dear, how about a little drink to—”

  The front door burst open. The Creeks were returning. Or at least one of the Creeks.

  “Bobby, don’t come barging into the house like that!” Diane shouted at her son as he charged up the steps to the bedroom area.

  “Sorry, Mom! I forgot my powder horn! Where is it, Mom?”

  “Upstairs in the toy chest, where it usually is.”

  “Help me find it, will you?”

  “You know where it is.”

  “Yeah, but I’m in a hurry,” Bobby said. “Jeffs already got a head start, and I—hey! There it is! Hanging on my doorknob!” He let out a wild whoop and stomped down the corridor, to return a moment later with the powder horn slung over his shoulder. “So long!” he yelled. “I got to find myself a tree, Dad!” and he stormed out of the house again.

  “Wait,” Diane said reproachfully, “and then pounce.”

  * * * *

  The man in the bushes was waiting to pounce.

  He was dying for a cigarette, but he knew he dared not light one. From his hidden vantage point, he could see the windowless side of the King house and the entrance to the garage. The long black Cadillac was parked in the driveway, and a chauffeur was running a chamois cloth over the sleek hood of the automobile. The man in the bushes glanced at the chauffeur, and then at his watch, and then at the sky. It would be dark soon. Good. Darkness was what they needed.

  He wished for a cigarette.

  He wondered if Eddie was still with the car. He wondered if everything was okay at the house. He wondered if the whole thing would work, and, wondering about it, he began to worry about it, and his palms got damp and he wanted a cigarette more than ever.

  He heard a noise in the bushes, and he felt fear crackle up his spine to explode inside his skull like a yellow skyrocket.

  Cool, he told himself. Cool.

  He forced his hands to stop trembling by clenching them tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again, and then saw the figure coming through the woods, and his heart gave a sudden lurch. It was the boy.

  He wet his lips.