The Thursday Turkey Murders

by Craig Rice

  “Doubt if you’ve got enough blood in your skinny body to give a transfusion to a chicken,” Doc Svensen growled. “You look like a victim of your economic environment, to me. Hold still, now.”

  Bingo shut his eyes tight and held still. Before he knew it, it was all over.

  “With any decent system of circulation, things like this wouldn’t happen,” Doc Svensen roared. “No! I don’t mean the circulation of the blood. I mean money, bank-made money, unearned increment—” He glanced at Bingo and said, in a suddenly gentle voice. “You better lie quiet and rest awhile.”

  Bingo had lain quiet and rested for quite a while. Until, in fact, Doc Svensen had announced that she was going to be all right. Now he sat in the most comfortable chair, watching while Doc Svensen prepared to dress the wound.

  “Doctor,” Handsome said, anxiously. “Doctor, tell me—”

  “I said she’s going to be all right,” Doctor Svensen said, ripping the cover from a sterilized dressing. “Did you shoot her?”

  “Me? No,” Handsome said. His face was twisted into a scowl. “But, Doctor—”

  “If you didn’t shoot her,” Doc Svensen said, “why do you care?”

  “I don’t care,” Handsome said. “I mean, I do care. I mean. Doctor Svensen. Tell me. Does she have two moles in the small of her back?”

  “Don’t be morbid,” Doc Svensen said, applying the dressing with his big, ugly, and incredibly gentle hands.

  “It’s important,” Handsome insisted. “Does she have two moles in the small of her back, and is one left molar missing?”

  Doc Svensen glared at him. He used his teeth to pull the wrapping off a roll of adhesive tape. “Why should I count her teeth for you? Are you going to marry her? Do you want me to guess how old she is? And moles on her back. Will it matter to you if she has moles on her back? Will it bother you, if she does have moles on her back?”

  He finished tearing off the wrapping, looking slightly like an indignant St. Bernard as he did so, and muttering through the mouthful of wrapping.

  “But, Doctor,” Handsome said.

  Doc Svensen spit out the wrapping paper and began applying adhesive tape. “If I were not an atheist, I would tell you to go to hell.”

  “Now, Doc,” Sheriff Judson said, placatingly. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to know if this girl has two moles on the small of her back.” He turned to Herb and said. “Maybe you better bring the parson in here.” As Herb reached the door he added, “And maybe you better not tell him we found his niece.”

  “Because we ain’t,” Handsome said. “His niece has one left molar missing, and two moles in the small of her back. And this girl hasn’t.”

  “Oh, you’ve looked already,” Doc Svensen snapped. “Then why are you bothering me about those moles?”

  “I haven’t looked,” Handsome said. “But I know she hasn’t. Because—” He turned helplessly to Bingo. “Remember? I said she isn’t the same girl.”

  Doc Svensen muttered that Handsome was obviously not only morbid but a madman. He finished the bandaging, continuing to mutter under his breath. Bingo suspected that the other words he was using were considerably less complimentary than “madman.”

  “Now, Doc,” Henry Judson said in his mildest voice, “calm down.”

  “I’m perfectly calm!” Doc Svensen roared. His face was scarlet.

  “Does she have those moles?” the sheriff said.

  Doc Svensen said, “No!” in a voice that almost shattered the windows. He pulled the sheet down as far as her hips. “There. Take a look. There’s the small of her back. See any moles?”

  Sheriff Judson shook his head and said, “Smooth as a baby.”

  Herb came in with the Reverend Frederick Hammerville Williams, otherwise known as Doc and as Uncle Fred.

  “Thanks for stepping in,” the sheriff said. “Hope Herb didn’t have to wake you up. Thought maybe you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this young lady. Maybe you can identify her for us.”

  Doc Svensen had finished turning the injured girl, handling her as though she were a baby. For a moment as he adjusted the sheet, all Uncle Fred could see was a long curl of dark, silky hair.

  “The poor, misguided child,” he gasped. “I have always feared she would come to some such tragic end! Her unfortunate parentage—” He sighed deeply and sonorously. “May heaven forgive her!”

  He tiptoed across the room and looked down at the girl.

  “Hey!” he said. “What kind of a game are you trying to pull on me? This isn’t my niece. What’s the gag?”

  A grin flashed across Sheriff Judson’s face.

  The girl’s pale eyelids fluttered open. There was a faint color in her face now. Her lips parted.

  “You keep quiet!” Doc Svensen said angrily.

  She paid no attention to him. She looked up. Her eyes brightened with recognition. The corners of her lips moved ever so slightly.

  “I’ll—be damned!” she breathed. “You must be—Elayne’s—Uncle Fred. No wonder—she—ran away from home.”

  Her eyes closed again. The smile faded from her face. She was asleep.

  “You get outa here,” Doc Svensen said. “All of you. Can’t you let this girl get some sleep even if she hasn’t any moles in the small of her back?”

  “Oh, sure,” Sheriff Judson said. “Only, how soon can we ask her a few questions?”

  Doc Svensen adjusted the blankets over her, carefully and tenderly. He turned off everything save one small light. Then he sat down in a chair facing the door and folded his arms.

  “Anyone who disturbs her before tomorrow morning,” he said firmly, “is going to have to disturb me first.”

  “Oh, all right, all right,” the sheriff whispered. “I was just asking. You be sure, though, ’n’ let us know when she can talk. She might know who shot her. And you don’t want a murderer running around loose.”

  “The presence of a murderer in the community,” Doc Svensen said, “is a symptom of the rotten state of capitalist society. Good night.”

  Out in the hall, Sheriff Judson said, “Doc Svensen can be real stubborn, once he gets his mind made up, and he makes his mind up easy. Good doctor, though. Figure we can wait till tomorrow to talk to her, anyway. The murderer ain’t shown no signs yet of running off some place.”

  “There is something, though,” Bingo said rather uneasily, “that hadn’t better wait till tomorrow.” He paused. “What could they do to you in Iowa for harboring escaped convicts? Only we’d like to talk to you about it alone.”

  “Sure,” the sheriff said amiably. “Herb, you take the parson here back to his cell, and tell Ollie he should make some fresh coffee and take it in to Doc Svensen. Tell him to be careful not to make no noise when he takes it in.” He led the way along the corridor to his office.

  “Well, what’s on your mind, boys?”

  Bingo sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair. “You see. Well, it’s like this.” He paused. “’Those escaped convicts.” He decided to plunge right in. “They’re all out in our shanty.”

  Sheriff Judson stared at him for a full minute. Then he called loudly, “Say, Herb! Tell Ollie he better make us some coffee, too.” Then he stared at Bingo again. “You mean, you captured ’em?”

  “No,” Bingo said. “They captured us.”

  He told the whole story, including the convicts hiding while Herb was in the shanty. Sheriff Judson seemed to think that was funny.

  “Everybody in the county looking for them guys,” he said, “and that Herb, he’s right there in the room with ’em, and never knows it. Mind if I call him in and tell him?”

  “Go ahead,” Bingo said. The worst part of the confession was over now, anyway.

  Herb didn’t seem to think it was funny. He said, “Yeah? Well, you were in there yourself today, and you didn’t notice them convicts hiding there neither.”

  “I know it,” the sheriff said. “It’s a good joke on me, too.” He grinned at Bingo. “Joke on you, for that matt
er. Them making you think there was another one of ’em keeping that girl tied up somewhere. Good thing you found out otherwise, or they might have had you sticking around and taking care of ’em till kingdom come.”

  Ollie brought in coffee, fresh, hot, and strong, in thick china cups.

  “Ollie, guess you have to go wake up Earl,” the sheriff said. “Tell him to get dressed and come here. Take him a cup of coffee when you go. That Earl wakes up awful slow.”

  He sighed, as Ollie left the room. “Figure we’d better go get them guys while they’re still there,” he said. “We could call up state prison but then Thursday County wouldn’t get the credit. Will wouldn’t like that. He thinks he’s gonna run for governor some day. So Herb ’n’ Earl ’n’ me, we’ll go bring ’em in.”

  “You can’t,” Bingo said. “You mustn’t try. Look. There’s five of them. They’ve got sawed-off shotguns. One of them is watching out the window every minute of the day and night. And they don’t want to go back to prison.”

  “I know it,” the sheriff said. “Case like this, somebody’s bound to get hurt. Hope it’s one of them, and not one of us.” He looked smaller and milder and gentler than ever.

  “Henry,” Herb said. “Sheriff over in Carson County has a couple of tear-gas bombs. Salesman left ’em with him one time, and he never had no chance t’ try ’em out.”

  Sheriff Judson shook his head. “Take too long. Escaped convicts ain’t what you’d call stationary population. We know where they are now. But by the time you’d drove all the way to Carson and back, they might of moved some place else.”

  “Mr. Sheriff,” Handsome said. “Mr. Judson, I mean. Could I speak to you privately?”

  “Why, sure,” the sheriff said. He rose, and opened the door to the inner office.

  Bingo said, “Huh?” He tried to catch Handsome’s eye, but Handsome didn’t look at him. The sheriff led the way into the inner office and shut the door.

  Herb glanced at Bingo, and opened a cupboard that was crammed with papers and record books. “You better have a drink, Mr. Riggs,” he said. “I read in a magazine once about how in them big city hospitals they always give a feller a drink after he’s given a blood transfusion.” He reached behind a pile of record books and pulled out a brown bottle. “Feller near Spring Hill makes this. Grows his own corn. It’s good stuff.” He took a Dixie cup from the water cooler and poured out a generous slug. “Only, hold your breath for a minute after you get it down.”

  Bingo downed the drink and held his breath, as directed. He was glad Herb had warned him to do so. He had a feeling that if he’d exhaled suddenly he’d have breathed out flames.

  Herb put back the bottle and said, “That oughta make you feel better. You had a hard evening. Finding that girl, and giving a blood transfusion, and all the time knowing you had them convicts on your hands.”

  Earl came through the hall door, dressed and combed, but sleepy-eyed.

  “This feller’s got them five escaped convicts out to his place,” Herb said. “They got sawed-off shotguns. You and Henry and me, we’re going after ’em.”

  “Hell,” Earl said. “Just when I’d gotten to sleep.”

  He opened a locker, took out two service revolvers, examined them, and tucked them into his holsters. Then he donned an underarm holster and added a third revolver.

  “I never get enough sleep any more,” Earl complained.

  Herb finished examining his own revolvers, and took the machine gun out of the locker. “Wish the county’d buy us two of these,” he said. “You check the first-aid kit for the car, Earl.”

  Bingo looked at the two lean, calm-faced, tanned young men. They seemed incredibly efficient. Efficient, and deadly. He began to feel a little better about the whole thing. Or maybe it was the effect of the corn whisky.

  “Wish we could talk Henry outa coming along,” Herb said. “He’s a terrible shot, and he ain’t as young’s he used to be.”

  “You could talk his ears off,” Earl said, “he’d come along, anyhow.”

  “I’d hate to have anything happen to Henry,” Herb said.

  “Henry’s a swell feller,” Earl said. “Gave me a fish pole on one of my birthdays when I was a kid. Real boughten fish pole, from Kansas City. I got it yet.”

  “He ain’t very strong, either,” Herb said. “He’s smart, but he ain’t so strong.”

  Earl said, “First-aid kit’s O. K. Herb. We still got the blackjack we took off that tramp.”

  “Yeah,” Herb said, nodding. “Only, we’d have to hit him awful easy. Just enough so he’d stay out until we got away from here and tended to them convicts.”

  The two young men exchanged glances. Then Earl reached into the locker and brought out the blackjack. Just then the door of the iner office opened, and he hastily stuffed the blackjack into his back pocket.

  Sheriff Judson said, “Well, this gentleman here’s convinced me we should wait till daylight. He figures he can keep them fellers from departing in the meantime.”

  Bingo gasped. Herb said, “Henry!” Earl said, “You can’t do that. Not after waking me up.”

  “I can do anything I darn please,” the sheriff said. “I give the orders around here.” He beamed at Bingo. “You two go on home now.”

  “But,” Bingo said, “you can’t—”

  “Now, Henry,” Herb said. “You may be the sheriff, but—”

  “Don’t argue with me,” the sheriff said. “You fellers just go home, and act natural. Like nothing had happened. And don’t say nothing about the girl.” He repeated, “Just act natural.”

  Bingo walked out of the building in a daze. Handsome started the car silently.

  “I don’t get it,” Bingo said. “Why did he change his mind?”

  “Well,” Handsome said, “it’s easier to see what you’re doing in the daytime.” He didn’t say anything more. He just drove.

  Bingo sighed and leaned back against the seat. He was tired, very tired. Just a little bit drowsy, as a matter of fact.

  Handsome parked the car behind the shanty. Thin ribbons of light showed under the blinds. One of the ribbons, a little wider than the others, showed a gleam of light on metal.

  “Wait,” Bingo said. “Handsome. I just remembered—”

  To his surprise, Handsome said, “Shut up,” and walked on into the shanty.

  The five men were all awake. Loogan was manning the shotgun. There was an air of waiting.

  “Well?” Terrier said sharply.

  “He’ll be along in about an hour,” Handsome said. “Only, I thought you’d better make sure he’s the same Clancy.”

  “How’s that?” Crip said.

  “This guy you knew in jail.” Handsome said, “you remember how he looked. But maybe this guy is just pretending to be Clancy. It might be a trap of some sort. So I took some pictures of him. I can get ’em developed before he gets here, and you’ll know if it’s the right guy or not.”

  “That’s smart,” Terrier said. “But this guy, Clancy or not, better turn up.”

  “Don’t worry,” Handsome said.

  He cleared off the table top, brought out developing equipment, lighted the red lamp, and turned off the oil lamp. In the weird glare the convicts crowded around to watch.

  Bingo sat down on the nearest chair and tried to act natural. His head was whirling. Had the whole world gone crazy? Sheriff Judson changing his mind like that. The way Handsome was acting. There weren’t any pictures of Clancy, and Handsome knew it. How was he going to talk his way out?

  It was a hot Indian-summer night, but suddenly Bingo was shivering.

  Handsome started unwrapping the big roll of film. Suddenly he paused to light a cigarette. He took a couple of puffs, and laid the cigarette on the edge of the table. Then he picked up the roll and went on unwrapping it.

  Had Handsome gone completely insane?

  The room was very still. A passing car honked twice, and Bingo jumped.

  Act natural, Bingo reminded himself. Act n
atural.

  But how was he going to act when the five tough guys discovered that roll of film showed nothing but a bunch of campers taking swimming tests?

  Handsome was moving with maddening slowness. Once he picked up the cigarette, puffed at it, and laid it down again.

  Suddenly one end of the hundred-foot film touched the lighted cigarette, and hell broke loose.

  There was a crackling roar, a blinding light, and the room was filled with fumes.

  “Run,” Handsome screamed in terror. “Run! There’s ten thousand feet of explosive film on that table—if we’re in here when it goes up—”

  Bingo was going through the door by the time Handsome reached the second word. He was halfway across the yard before he realized that there was a reception committee.

  The police car was parked by the shanty. Suddenly its spotlight flooded the scene. Herb’s voice came from one direction with “Hands up!” Earl’s from another with “Stay where you are!” and the sheriff’s from a third with “Drop that shotgun!”

  Loogan, who still had the shotgun, aimed it in the direction of the floodlight. A revolver cracked. Loogan fell, the shotgun rolling harmlessly to the ground. Crip tried to make a break for it. Handsome dived at him and brought him down. Herb came into the range of the floodlights, the machine gun nestled in the crook of his arm. From then on, everything was peaceful.

  Sheriff Judson chuckled. “Will Sims talks about experts!” he said happily. “But if that wasn’t a scientific job, I never heard of one!”

  Bingo had caught his breath. He stared at Handsome.

  “You didn’t get told in advance,” Handsome said guiltily, “because I wanted you to really act surprised.”

  “I was surprised, all right,” Bingo said. “Handsome! We never owned ten thousand feet of film in our lives!”

  “Those guys didn’t know it,” Handsome said. “Bingo. Did I do right?”

  “You did wonderful,” Bingo said. “And we can take some other pictures of those campers tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Handsome said. “That was an unexposed roll I set fire to.” He gasped, and with horror. “Bingo! You don’t think I’d have burned up pictures!”