by Peter Rabe
“I thought I told you-”
“The light, miss. I’ll have to cross.”
Those hoods at the corner better know how to improvise. Perhaps there’d be a chance to signal them. He crawled across the intersection. Not too slow, Tapkow.
This is it.
“Miss Patricia, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to stop a minute. The drugstore. It won’t take but a minute.”
He was at the curb, the car in neutral.
“Tapkow, can’t that wait till-” But he was out already.
The convertible across the street stood by the curb as arranged. Two men were crossing over, talking. They nodded at each other, looking thoughtful and absorbed. The bastards were overdoing it. Benny tried to catch their eyes, but they never looked up. Pat’s voice came again from the window, calling his name. Let the little bitch froth at the mouth. Don’t turn, Tapkow, the drugstore now…
“Tapkow!”
He froze.
“Are you deliberately trying to ignore me?”
The shock kept him from turning.
“Never mind. I’ve come this far, I’ll get it myself.” Pat walked past him to the neat glass door of the drugstore.
He felt the cold sweat crawl over him at the sight of his failure. His breath was a pain, and his teeth clamped down on his lip so he wouldn’t scream. Only a hoarse rasp like the sound of an animal came through, hurting his throat.
It brought him back, but then it was too late anyway. The two men had opened the doors of the Cadillac, one in the front, one in the rear, and Benny heard the roar of the motor as the car shot away from the curb.
He could see Pat by the glass. She had stopped at the sound, annoyance in the fast turn of her head, and her eyes fixed on the car, which had suddenly started to move. “Hey!” She stepped to the street, bewildered. “Hey, there! Stop!”
A man turned to look, and then a woman. A girl with a child stopped near the curb. And then Benny moved.
He was at Pat’s side and his hand clamped on the arm she was raising in an angry gesture. Her mouth had opened but nothing came.
“Shut up!” he said. He said it low, but there was sharpness in his voice and it worked. “Through the door.” She turned with his push.
It wasn’t going to last. In a moment she’d find her breath, and her temper, and then…
“You-you impertinent swine! Have you completely lost your mind? Will you let go of-”
He started out fast, too fast, but then he smoothed it and it sounded like concern. “The confusion, Miss Pat, the people staring-I’m sorry, an impulse. It was a mistake. They must have made a mistake. One Cadillac looks like another, you know. They’ll be back in a minute, Miss Pat. Don’t let this upset you. In the meantime, I’ll phone the police, then your father’s place. You came here to buy something?”
She blinked at him. “Tapkow, what’s going on here?”
“The shock, Miss Patricia. For a moment I thought they were jumping the sidewalk, coming right at you. I apologize, Miss Patricia. What was it you wanted to buy?”
“Oh. Cold cream.”
“The counter is in the back, to the left. In the meantime, I’ll phone.”
He stood in the phone booth and breathed the thick air. Had it worked? She was at the cosmetics counter, buying things. And now with the snatch gone sour, with nothing to repair it… He gave his head a sharp shake. One thing was clear: He had her and he was not going to let her get away. This thing couldn’t end here, not with the girl in his hands in spite of everything.
The cosmetics counter was empty.
But when he had crashed the folding door she was there, coming toward him. “I need money. My purse is in the car.”
He reached into his pocket and gave her a bill.
“Gad, you’re sweating. Have you called?”
“Just the police. Now your father.”
She watched him close the door, then turned.
This time he took the phone off the hook and dropped his coin into the slot. He dialed a number. If only the contact was still by the phone… But it was late, maybe too late. He heard the signal and sweated. The ringing signal was repeated again and again but no one answered. He hung up. Pat was at the counter.
Perhaps the harbormaster. The yacht must still be there. He dialed again.
“Harbormaster’s Office. Rubin speaking.”
“Hello. Is there a way you can get in touch with a yacht in your harbor? Right away?”
“If they got a ship-to-shore phone. Or if they got short wave you can try the Coast Guard. Which ship is it?”
“No short wave. They don’t have short wave.” All he needed was the Coast Guard. “They got a phone setup, I think. Try and get them, will you? There’s a message.”
“What ship?”
“The Paloma. Are you trying?”
“Hold on. I’ve got to check.”
“Check what? They’re out there, aren’t they? Ring the damn phone.”
“One moment.”
Benny wiped his face and waited.
“I’m sorry, they don’t answer. I can try-Hey! She’s cast off. She’s moving. You still want me to-”
“Yes, for chrissakes, keep it up!”
“Won’t be any good much longer. They’re moving out of range. I’d say your best bet is the Coast Guard. The number is-” Benny slammed the receiver down.
Pat was at the milk bar, waiting for him. He was stuck with her.
Chapter Ten
Alverato’s men never gave Miss Driscoll a chance to explain their mistake. First she was speechless, then they didn’t listen to her, and finally the one who sat in the back with her clapped his big hand over her mouth because she was starting to get too noisy. At the pier she was first clunked over the head and then led out like a drunken woman. The onlookers only laughed.
Afterward she didn’t remember the motorboat ride too well, for during most of it she was feeling dizzy and sick, but when they started to push her up the companionway of the yacht she suddenly jerked to get free and fell into the water.
It cleared her head. They pulled her out and up the companionway again, and once inside the cabin she was glad to be alone. Perhaps she was dreaming. No. She was awake and wet. She pulled at her seersucker suit, which was clinging in a disturbing way, then she huddled down into the sofa. None of this made sense. A kidnapping? What could they want with her? Not money, because whoever owned this yacht must have plenty of that. But then, no respectable millionaire would have ordered this kind of frightful abduction. Respectable! It must be-”Goodness,” she said aloud. “A gangster! A rich gangster!”
Benny’s talk came back to her in a rush. Not until then had she felt frightened. Miss Driscoll jumped up, fluttering with panic, when the door opened.
The big man walked in alone, his red face the image of a lecher. He took quick, energetic steps and with each one the little curls on his head made springy jumps. He stopped in front of the shivering woman and said, “I’m Alverato,” and he looked her up and down. Then he stepped back, reached for a glass and bottle, and poured himself a drink. “Want one?” He waved the bottle at her.
Miss Driscoll drew back.
He took a long swallow. Then he licked his lips. “You know, kid, I thought you was younger.”
Miss Driscoll shivered.
“Guess you’re cold. I’ll get you something.”
Alverato went to the door and yelled a name.
“Yes, boss?” A short man came running.
“We got any dry clothes for her?”
“I don’t know, boss. I don’t think so.”
“Well, go take a look. Take a look where Phyllis had her stuff.”
“She took all hers.”
“Go take a look, damn it There must be something there.”
“Yes, boss.” The man left.
Alverato came back and looked at Miss Driscoll with a cold eye. She tried to step back again, but she had reached a bulkhead. Her fright showed clearly now.
There was a knock on the door and the short man was back. “All I found was some sun suits or something. And a towel.”
“O.K., let’s have ‘em.” Alverato took the handful of clothes and threw them on the couch. He brought her the towel. “Here, kid, dry yourself. Get in those duds and make yourself presentable. Then we’ll talk.” To her vast surprise, Alverato turned and went to the door. “I’ll be back. Yell when you’re ready.” He slammed the door.
Yell when you’re ready! And what did he want her to do afterward? Smile? Coo? Seem happy? Was this nightmare to go on like clockwork, like a customary thing of daily occurrence? A sudden shiver came over her and she began to rub her hair mechanically. The clothes, dry and gay-colored, lay on the couch. Miss Driscoll stepped to the door, tiptoeing, but there was no sound. She clicked the lock and went back to the couch. With trembling fingers she took off her clammy clothes and rubbed herself with the towel. Then she picked through the things on the couch. The man had been right; nothing but sun suits. She picked one with pedal pushers for pants, but her hips were too wide. The next pair of pants fitted, but were so brief she immediately picked up another pair. These were worse, but there was no time to change again now. For the upper part there was a thing with collar, sleeves, and buttons down the front. When she had it on Miss Driscoll discovered that all the upper buttons were fake. They buttoned nothing. In the end only a halter did a job for her, a disgraceful one, but still functional.
The sight she saw in the mirror over the couch made her gasp. She must wait for her own clothes to dry. Nothing else would do. Then Alverato was at the door.
“You decent?” he called.
Decent! Was this man mad?
“Come on, open that door, kid, or do you want me to get rough?”
He was mad.
Miss Driscoll scooped up the towel and draped it over her shoulders. Clutching it tightly in front, she unlatched the door and jumped back, ready to defend herself.
Alverato came in, looked at her, and said, “Sorry I got nothing better. Sit down.”
Where, how, what next?
Alverato looked at her with a puzzled face; then he reached out and pushed her onto the couch. “I said sit. Now listen.”
“Why?” Miss Driscoll’s voice was a wail.
“Huh?”
“Why me? How ever did you come to pick me? This is a terrible nightmare!”
“Huh?” Alverato’s mouth hung open.
“Sir, please,” the wailing continued, “I don’t need the money. I don’t want it, my life and my plans are not-”
“Kid, you nuts or something?” Alverato stepped up to the couch. He peered at Miss Driscoll with a frown.
“Why not some deserving girl, much younger than I, who goes in for that kind of thing?”
Alverato gave a quick shake of his head and then he opened his mouth and yelled. “Will you shut up a minute before I lose my mind?” He picked up a bottle. “First a drink and then you listen to me. I’ll give it to you quick. I’ll-”
“You’ll give it to me quick!” she screamed.
Alverato gave such a start that the bottle fell out of his hands, spilling the liquor all over the front of his pants.
“Damn you! Give me that towel,” and he yanked it off her shoulders. Miss Driscoll leaped from the couch, but Alverato wasn’t noticing. He was busy rubbing his drenched slacks. When he looked up again he started to yell, but she stopped him, just standing there in the middle of the room in the tight yellow briefs and the little red halter.
“Well,” said Alverato. “Well!”
She didn’t move. She stood watching him, seeing how he was watching her, and she didn’t move.
“You look different, kid,” he said. “And not like a kid, either.” He sat down on the couch and swung the towel back and forth. “You may be crazy,” he said, “but you’re a looker. Well,” and he got up again. “I was going to say-”
“Don’t say it.” Miss Driscoll could hardly talk. Her voice was husky.
“Huh?” Alverato got none of this.
“Can’t you-can’t you just forget about it? Can’t you just skip all the-” Miss Driscoll started to sob.
Alverato, puzzled beyond repair, got up from the couch and went up to the crying woman.
“Now, now. Easy there, kid.” Alverato put one arm around her shoulders.
“I never-I’d-”
Alverato held her like that and she looked up into his face, leaning against him, her wet eyes big and close. She wasn’t crying any more. Alverato saw all this and he forgot for a moment what he wanted to say. She leaned against him, she looked up even closer, and her lips parted. Alverato tried to shake his head once more, step back maybe, but he couldn’t He said, “Hey,” and then again, “Hey,” when all conversation was over.
Chapter Eleven
“Well? What did you find out?” Pat looked up from her soda.
“Everything’s arranged. Stay put here another fifteen minutes or so and we’ll be on our way.” He needed time to reach New York. Somebody there might have an idea.
“Fifteen minutes! What on earth can one do in a drugstore for fifteen minutes? Whom did you talk to?”
“Now take it easy, Miss Patricia. I talked to your father’s place and they’re sending a car over. Your father himself wasn’t there yet. Some delay in New York. Then I talked to the police again and they said that with the description I gave them it shouldn’t take more than a few hours to straighten this whole thing out. They don’t think it was anything criminal. Perhaps a prank.”
“I don’t care what it was. The whole thing is a nuisance and as far as I’m concerned there’ll be hell to pay before I get through!” She got up, mean and edgy. “I’m calling a cab,” she said. “Pay the man for his lousy soda and then wait here for the car they’re sending. I’m not waiting any longer.” She started to walk off.
“Wait! If you call a cab now, you’ll probably wait longer than it takes for the car to get here. Besides, and I’m sorry about this, Miss Patricia, I don’t think we have enough money for the cab. It’s another fifty-mile drive, you know. The car they’re sending was right here in town, at a garage.”
“You know, Benny, I’d say you’re acting mighty queer about this. Once I get to the house I can pay the cab ten times over, you know, and any more trouble out of you is going to cost you plenty once I tell Father about this.” She fixed him with her gray, unloving eyes, and Benny thought how easily he could reach out and choke that skinny neck of hers.
“Will you wait just one second till I check again? You can wait that long, can’t you, for chrissakes?”
She looked at him with surprise and was hardly able to speak. “Tapkow,” she managed to say, “that’ll mean your job,” and she walked to the telephone booth.
He didn’t stop her. He let her go and went outside. The yellow convertible was across the street, standing there waiting for him, and that was going to be the way out. He looked back into the drugstore. She was still phoning. He was hoping she was phoning a cab company and nothing else. But either way, he was ready.
When she came out he walked up to her. “They brought the car,” he said. “A mechanic brought it over and it’s across the street.”
“Oh?”
“Call the cab company and tell them not to come.”
“To hell with the cab company. Let’s get going.” She followed him out of the door and to the car. “When did Daddy get this one?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Benny started the motor.
“You know something, Tapkow? Those manners of yours aren’t going to interfere with your job much longer. I’ll see to it that this is your last official act with us.”
He didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the traffic and worked his way to the less crowded side streets.
“Don’t you hear me? I’m talking to you, Tapkow!”
Her voice was nasty.
“Seeing how it is, kid, you can stop calling me Tapkow. It’s either Benny, i
f you want, or Mr. Tapkow. Take your pick.”
“Why, you insolent bastard! Do you think firing you is all my father can do to you? I’ll make it my personal business-”
“Why don’t you shut up?”
She gasped. Then her face turned a dark red. It made her gray eyes look flat and pale, like a fish’s eyes. “Stop this car, you insolent sonofabitch. Stop this instant or I’ll yell for help!”
He kept driving. The knuckles of his hands stood out white where he clutched the steering wheel.
“I said stop!”
He stopped. He yanked at the emergency brake and left the motor running. Then he took off his chauffeur’s cap, tossed it in the street, and turned to face her. “Now you listen to me.”
Her livid face came close and she screamed, “Get out of this car! Get out or I’ll-”
Benny clapped his hand over her mouth, making her head jolt against the back of the seat. She tried to jump up but he grabbed her bare arm and yanked her over to his side. “Another yelp out of you and you’ll regret it. Listen close now, Pat, because I’ve taken all I’m going to take. You yell, sister, and I break your teeth. The pretty ones in front. And nothing’s going to happen to me afterward, so you might as well sit still, keep your mouth shut, and stay out of my hair. That clear?” He gave her arm a sharp yank that made her gasp.
She didn’t move then. He started driving again and hit the highway south.
After a while he turned to look at her, wondering what next. She wasn’t the kind to huddle back and stay under. Any moment now she was coming up to make like her old man.
“Tell me, Tapkow-I beg your pardon, I mean Mr. Tapkow-do you have a wife?”
He didn’t know what to make of it. Her voice had been normal enough, just a trace of that metallic edge in it.
“No,” he said.
“I see.”
She waited, hoping he’d ask her why she had asked. But he just drove south, toward the Pendleton place, to keep her from suspecting and to give himself time to think. And he needed time for that call to New York. Perhaps they knew how to reach Alverato.
