Border Town Girl

by John D. MacDonald

  She brought a handful of hangers. Lane rolled the man onto his face and wired his wrists together behind him, then his ankles. He used three hangers on the wrists and three on the ankles, twisting all the ends tight. He soaked a hand towel, jammed most of it into Christy’s mouth and then tied it in place with one of Diana’s nylons.

  Only then did they sit down, utterly exhausted from the physical and emotional strain. As he sat in the stupor that comes after violent action, Diana went and knelt beside Christy. He numbly watched her take a fat sheaf of large bills from an inside pocket. From another pocket she took a tight roll of bills wrapped in oilcloth and fastened with a rubber band.

  She sat very still, a curious expression on her face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m busy adding two and two.”

  “From here that looks like a lot of money.”

  “It is.”

  “Is that the money to pay for whatever is hidden in my car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be too much trouble to brief me? Or would you rather not?”

  She smiled at him. “Maybe some day I’ll be able to tell you how much I owe you.” She laughed. “I don’t know your name, even.”

  “Sanson. Lane Sanson.”

  “I’ve got a phone call to make, Lane. I don’t want you to hear what I say.”

  “That’s blunt enough.” He stood up. “I’ll wait in the bathroom.”

  “Wait until I get my party. It may take some time.”

  It had happened so quickly, so finally, leaving the big man grotesquely on the floor, that Sanson had a strong sense of unreality, a feeling that his violence had no relationship to actuality—indeed, that this had not happened. But it had happened, and with the realization came the knowledge that it was a commitment he did not care to make. Once an act is performed there is no handy way to sidestep the flow of events that stem from that act. The record of his failure with Sandy was a record of responsibilities sidestepped because the initial act was never performed. But with this act a strong flow of events had been initiated. He did not know where they would carry him, but he did know that with his act he had ceased to function in any way as a free agent, and thus would be carried along with the events, a reluctant passenger. And he was afraid.

  He heard the murmur of Diana’s voice as she placed the phone call and it seemed to come from a great distance.

  She hung up the phone and turned to smile almost shyly at him. An indescribable muskiness hung about her—not something which could be scented, but was rather felt.

  “Sorry?” she asked.

  “I don’t know how to answer that. I am and I’m not. I never did anything like this before. God, I could have killed him with that glass!”

  “I would have been glad!”

  “That’s nice. You could have sent cookies to my cell.”

  She came to him and put her palms flat against his chest. She strained up against him and kissed him. Her lips had a faint sting, like candle wax drops on the back of a hand.

  “Thank you again, Lane,” she said.

  He smiled very wryly. “Oh, it was nothing, really.” She stood so close to him that he could see the dark roots of her hair where it was growing out.

  She turned away. “You’re a strange man, Lane Sanson.”

  “Do you know chess?”

  “No.”

  “There’s something called a forcing mate. Your opponent makes a series of moves and you have only one possible response to each one. After the series, you’re cooked. The first in this game was when a little brown gal came up to me in a bar in Piedras Chicas. Nothing I’ve done since then has been on my own.”

  She looked from him to Christy. “Baby’s awake.”

  The small blue eyes were open. He looked up at the two of them without expression. Diana sat on her heels in front of Christy’s face. She bounced the oilskin package up and down in her hand and her voice had a hard, teasing note. “This is going to make George happy, isn’t it?”

  Christy didn’t answer. He was curiously immobile. Lane suddenly realized that the man was straining against the twisted wire. He bent over the wrists. The hands looked bloodless. As he watched, the wire cut into the flesh of the left wrist and the blood began to flow. The wire was taut, but it didn’t slip. Diana laughed.

  The phone rang. She motioned to Lane and he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

  7

  PATTON AND RICARDO WERE ON DUTY, IN A small basement room near the boilers. It was furnished with a chair, a table, a cot, one lamp, a phone, a washstand and a jumble of recording equipment. Ricardo snored on the couch.

  Patton smiled tightly as he checked the reel of tape, then he went over and shook Ricardo awake.

  “This is one you should hear, I hope, Rick,” Patton said.

  Ricardo sat up groggily. He shook himself awake. Pat-ton stood up and turned up the volume on the amplifier.

  “Live like a coupla moles for half your life and—”

  “Shh!” Patton said.

  “Here is your party,” the operator said.

  “George! This is Diana.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to—”

  “Shut up, George, please!”

  “Aren’t you getting a little plump for your panties, sis?”

  “I’ve got your present, George.”

  “By God, you should have it! I gave Christy the money.”

  “Christy, my love, happens to be tied up at the moment. With wire. Know what he had in his pocket? That little item that was stolen from me. So now I’ve got enough to buy it twice. Doesn’t that make you think, George?”

  There was a long silence. The tape reel turned slowly, recording the hum on the phone wire. “Kid,” George said, “maybe I jumped a little too fast. Maybe I got sore a little too easy.”

  “Wouldn’t you say it was a little late for that? I would.”

  “Kid, who clobbered Christy? That’s a good trick.”

  “A new friend. You see, George, I need new friends. Seems like I can’t depend on the old ones.”

  “Couldn’t we skip a little misunderstanding?”

  “No, George. And speaking of little misunderstandings, the salesman met with a small unimportant fatal accident.”

  “It was expected. There’s a new deal lined up.”

  “I don’t think I like you any more, George. I don’t think I like you handing me over to Christy.”

  “Kid, did he say that? He was lying to you, baby. Believe me. I wouldn’t think of a thing like that.”

  “I’ve got a present for you, George, but maybe I’ll give it to somebody else.”

  “Now hold on!”

  “Squirm, George. Squirm nice.”

  “Diana, don’t play games with me.”

  “How’s your new protégé?”

  “Kid, look! Here’s an angle. Give me the present and keep the double fee for yourself. It’s a nice wad.”

  She laughed. “You know what, George? I kept myself from thinking about what a foul stinking business this is just on account of you. And now I wish you were dead, George. Do you hear me? So maybe nobody will get the present.”

  “Hello! Hello! Diana!” He rattled the hook. “Diana!”

  There was a sharp click and that was all.

  Patton picked the tape reel tenderly from the spindle and kissed it. “I love you, I love you,” he said.

  Ricardo had already picked up the direct line and was making his report. “Yes, sir. That’s what the Saybree girl said. I can’t help what Tomkinton reported. He must have missed the transfer. That’s right, sir. She’s got it. Well, if she hasn’t gone out, she has to be calling from the hotel, doesn’t she? So that’s where Christy is.” Ricardo listened for a long time, unconsciously nodding as though his superior were talking face to face to him. “Right away, sir,” he said and hung up.

  “Something new?” Patton asked.

  “Tomkinton sent Clavna over this
morning to look at some guy that got it during the night. Turns out it was an old friend of ours. Shaymen. Traveling under the name of Brown. Now that other phone call makes sense—the call when the girl reported the dough had been lifted.

  “Christy must have sent Shaymen on ahead,” Ricardo explained. “He lifted the dough and then, for some damn fool reason, Christy must have killed him, because the body looks like Christy’s handiwork. We got word from our friends south of the border that they cleaned up the whole mob down there, but couldn’t find any sign of the last shipment. They got it across somehow. They’re going to flash Tomkinton and Clavna to pick up the little tea-party down there. I got to take the tape over. A car’s on the way to grab George.”

  Patton grinned. “End of the road. Boy, I’m going to rent me a cellar apartment. I won’t feel at home, living above ground.”

  “After the pinch, Pat, and after we report, would you be morally or ethically opposed to an evening of fermented juices, females of the opposite sex, and some nostalgic cantos?”

  “I’m your boy.”

  Ricardo opened the door. “I just happen to know a nice cellar bar…”

  He dodged out as Patton snapped his cigarette at him.

  As the door closed Patton heard the warning dial tone. He shrugged and slipped a new reel on the spindle. Odds were against any last-minute information, but you couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes?”

  “Al? This is George. I got to make a quick trip. Think you can hold the fort?”

  “Maybe nobody’s told you, George, but without any merchandise there won’t be any fort to hold.”

  “That’s all set. And you’ve got too much mouth over the phone, Al. Now get me a plane reservation to Houston and—hold on a minute. Somebody at the door. Hey, get the door for me, delicious, I’m on the phone. And look, Al, I want to get down there no later than—”

  Patton grinned and whispered, “Son, you ain’t goin’ no place nohow.”

  There was a mumble of voices and then he heard George say, his voice pitched high, “But there’s some mistake!” There was a click on the line.

  “George!” Al said sharply. “Hey, George! What happened? George!”

  A heavy voice came faintly over the line. “You can hang up now, Al. George’ll be busy for a long, long time.”

  There was the clatter of the phone dropping from Al’s hand, several hoarse grunts, a scuffling sound, a padded blow and a moan. The phone was quietly replaced on the cradle.

  Patton grinned with delight. He made a quick movement and changed the equipment over so that he could use the hand mike to record. He put it right into the same tape after that last conversation.

  “And thus, friends, we bring to a close this concluding episode of our exciting drama entitled ‘The Snow Birds’ or, ‘Georgie Porgie goes to Atlanta.’ This thrilling series has come to you through the courtesy of the Narcotics Division. Run, do not walk, to your nearest recruiting station and some day soon you, too, can live in a cellar.”

  It was all right. If the office thought it was unfunny, they could erase it from the tape. Only one thing left to do now. Grab Christy and the gal. The retailers were being picked up in droves by now. Too bad about the gal. Nice husky voice. A looker, too. But that’s what happens to little girls who run with the wrong crowd. A couple of years of that starchy prison food and nobody’d look twice at her. They sure spread once they’re on the inside.

  The phone rang and he grabbed it. “Yes, sir. Yes, I’ll unhook and pack up the stuff. About an hour and a half. Yes, I got one more. Just George calling Al and asking him to get him a plane ticket. The pinch came right in the middle of the conversation. Thanks a lot. Good-by.”

  He hung up and, whistling softly, began to unhook the apparatus.

  “What!” Lane Sanson said to Diana.

  She held his hand with both of hers. “I can’t stay here! And I can’t tell you why now, but I can’t have the police take him. I have to go with you. Please.”

  He looked at her. Christy had stopped struggling against the wire. He followed them with his eyes.

  “I’ll pay you, Lane. I’ll pay you well.”

  “That’s nice, but it isn’t important. If there’s something you have to run from, can’t you do your own running? I’m up to my neck in this, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like out. I’ve got a job to go to. I’m scared of the job, afraid I can’t handle it. And that’s enough to worry about.”

  “Please,” she said.

  “No, thanks. I’m afraid even to think of what was hidden in my car. I want it out of there. And then I want to say good-by.”

  Her face changed. “Okay then. But you can do a little bit, can’t you?” He nodded. “Then wait here while I pack. I don’t want to be left alone with him. I’ll come down to your room while you pack. Well both check out. We can leave separately so nobody will think of us as being together. I can pack what I need into one bag and leave the other here. I’ll tell you the rest where he can’t hear us. It won’t be much for you to do.”

  “I’ll go along with you that far, Diana.”

  She took fresh clothes into the bathroom and changed quickly. She seemed to grow more nervous as she packed. She neither spoke to nor looked at Christy as they left the room. Lane told her his room number and went ahead and unlocked the door, leaving it ajar. She came in behind him as he started to pack.

  “Look, my suit isn’t back from the cleaners yet.”

  “I’ll pay you for one twice as good.”

  He shrugged. He put the new manuscript in the bottom of the replacement suitcase he had bought when he had gone down to eat the evening before. She stood near the door. It was open a few inches.

  “Where do you want me to—”

  “Sssh!” she said. He looked at her in surprise. Her body was tense and she stared out at the hallway. He came quietly up behind her. Three men were just heading up to the third floor. One of them wore a ranger’s uniform.

  “What is it?” Lane asked in a low tone.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Now look, honey. Let’s just say you have to get out of here. I think I’d welcome a nice warm friendly cop at this point.”

  She turned on him. Her face had gone feline. “You would, eh? Listen, friend. They’ll grab me and you and your car. They know where you came from. And there’s no power in the world that’ll keep you from doing time for it.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “No? Lane, there’s fourteen hundred ounces of heroin in your car. Refined diacetyl-morphine worth a quarter of a million dollars in the retail market, and you brought it in from Mexico. Do you still want to play innocent?”

  “But you could explain how I happened to—”

  “Either I get help from you right now or what I’ll tell them about you will be something you won’t want to hear.”

  “That’s a filthy trick!”

  “I’m not what you’d call a good girl, Lane.”

  “Somebody else said that to me a few days ago. She’s worth fifty of you.”

  “Do you help me?”

  “Just until I can get that damn stuff out of my car.”

  “Come on, then.” She ran ahead of him down the corridor: She yanked open a broom closet, shoved her suitcase inside, and slammed the door. The back window was open. The outside fire escape reached down to the yard behind the hotel.

  Diana looked out cautiously. “Okay. Come on.” She went down first. He followed her. A kitchen helper stood out by the garbage cans, a cigarette between his fingers, his mouth open in surprise.

  “Which one?” she said.

  “Over there. The red Buick.”

  They both ran to it He threw his bag into the back seat, slid behind the wheel. She jumped in beside him and slammed the door. He fumbled with the key, got the motor started and stalled it

  “Come on! Come on!” she said.

  The back tires skidded and threw gravel. He drove down the alley besid
e the hotel. Evidently the kitchen helper had run in to the desk. The clerk came along the sidewalk, his face red and angry. He jumped into the alley mouth, blocking the way, and stood there waving his arms.

  Lane lifted his foot from the gas. Diana reached her foot over and trod down on his. The car leaped forward. The clerk made a frantic dive for his life. Lane got a quick glance at the man rolling over and over on the sidewalk as they shot out into the traffic. He wrenched the wheel hard to avoid a big truck. The tires screamed, horns blew, and people shouted angrily at him.

  The midmorning sun beat hotly down on the town.

  “Now slow and easy,” Diana said.

  “Oh, fine,” he said bitterly.

  “Head east out of town. Step it up once you’re outside the city limits.”

  “Yessir, boss.”

  He stepped it up to seventy. The two-lane concrete rushed at them and was whipped under the wheels.

  “Can’t you make it faster?”

  “Take a look at the heat gauge, boss. The radiator needs flushing. Any faster and I burn up the motor.”

  They sped through country full of reddish stone, cactus and sparse dry grass. Far ahead the road disappeared into the shimmer of heat waves.

  After a full hour in which neither of them spoke, Lane saw a side road far ahead. It led over to a grove of live oaks that were livid green in the sunbaked expanse. It was a dirt road and he could only hope that the live oaks did not screen a house.

  He stepped hard on the brakes, corrected a tendency to skid, and shot down the dirt road, the car bouncing high.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  “Shut up, angel. There’s been a shift of authority. You’ve been deposed.”

  She tried to grab the wheel. He slapped her hand away. The road turned sharply to the left once it reached the grove. A dry creek bed ran through the grove. There was no house. He pulled the car under the biggest tree and cut off the motor.

  “What kind of a bright idea is this?”

  “Please shut up.” He took the keys out of the switch and put them in his pocket. The world seemed silent after the roar of the motor. In the distance a mourning dove cried softly. On the highway three hundred yards away a car sped by with an odd whistling drone, fading off into the distance.