Deadly Welcome

by John D. MacDonald

  Buddy was mildly incredulous.

  “Listen,” Alex said, “your good old familiar Donnie is like a lighted fuse. If Lawlor wasn’t the big thickheaded exhibitionist he is, if I could be sure he’d listen, I’d go talk to him. But we’ve got a hell of an involved chain of deduction. Too many ifs in it. If we had a little more evidence, I’d try to get him locked up.”

  “It’s because he beat you up, Alex. You’re jumpy.”

  “I’ll tell you something you don’t know, if you promise not to take any action whatsoever—except to be careful.”

  “What is it?”

  “Promise first. It may sound childish, but promise first.”

  Buddy did. Alex told him of the truck and the narrowness of his and Betty’s escape. And he told him why he had told Betty not to tell him. “Because I was afraid you’d turn into a wild man and get yourself in trouble and mess up any chances we have of trapping Capp.”

  Buddy, with iron face, turned slowly and smacked a stone fist against the shed wall. A pair of nippers ten feet away bounced off a hook and clanged on the slab floor.

  “If he had…”

  “Settle down! Do you still think it’s stupid to use a little care?”

  “No! Christ! I think he’s gone crazy.”

  “He hasn’t gone crazy, Buddy.”

  “No?”

  “No. He went over the edge six months ago. And this whole town is to blame. You lawful people didn’t care if he whipped heads just so long as he whipped the heads on the people who had no way of fighting back. You were even kind of sneaky proud of him. Toughest deputy on the west coast of Florida. And you thought that Old West outfit of his was amusing. You folks grew yourself a paranoid. Nobody has told me, but I can tell you just how he lives. He has a small place somewhere. With a lot of privacy. And he keeps it as bare and neat as a monk’s cell. He’ll have a gun rack and he’ll keep those guns in perfect shape. He’ll scrub the floor on his hands and knees. After he makes his bed, you can bounce a coin on it. No books, no television, no hobby except the guns and hunting. Nobody will ever drop in on him. When he wants a woman he’ll go after one that’s drab and humble and scared, and it will be as close to rape as the law allows.”

  “You’re so damn right, Alex. How did you know about that?”

  “I’ve seen so many of them. In the army, mostly.”

  “I never thought of it before, but there was a guy like that in my outfit. BAR man. God, he kept that thing in shape. He could do a sniper’s job with it. Never had a word for anybody. Neatest damn marine I ever saw. Sneak out at night by himself and come back with gook hardware. A killer. Volunteer for every patrol. He finally bought it, but he sure had a lopsided score before he did. He cost them. Donnie has a little cinder-block place he built by himself, off to hell and gone behind the new school.”

  “Keep an eye on Betty and on yourself.”

  “I will. Can’t he get to you out there on the beach?”

  “If he wants to try. And if I happen to stay there. But I won’t. I’m going to buy some bug juice and some netting and scoop me a hole in the sand south of the cottage, down under the tree shadows. In case he comes calling.”

  “I’ll stick close to Betty.”

  “Good deal.”

  chapter TEN

  THE BIRDS woke Doyle in the first gray of dawn. He made a cautious inspection of the cottage and the surrounding area before going in with the blankets. By the time he had washed and shaved, the sun was beginning to cut the morning mist and promise a perfect day. The Gulf had quieted down.

  Just as he was pouring a cup of coffee, he heard a racing engine approaching at high speed. He went to the back door. Buddy Larkin skidded to a stop in the pickup and scrambled out and ran heavily toward him, his strong face stamped with panic.

  “Come on!” he said. “I’ll tell you on the way. I think he’s got Lucas and Betty too.”

  “How the hell did that happen?”

  “Mom woke me up about an hour ago,” Buddy said, backing the truck around recklessly. “She was worried because Betty hadn’t come in.”

  “I thought you were going…”

  “Hell, I did what you said. We all went to bed, about eleven I guess it was. He wouldn’t come right into the house. Mom said when she woke me up that she heard voices down in the kitchen about two o’clock so she put on a robe and went down. Betty was down there, talking to Lucas Pennyweather. Mom said Lucas looked completely pooped. He said he’d done an awful lot of walking. Seems that Lucas was out in the side yard hollering to me. I sleep like I’m dead. Betty is a light sleeper. She heard him and got up.”

  They bounced almost clear of the road when they hit the crown of the wooden bridge.

  “Lucas said he had come back and gone right to the Mack and run into Arnie Blassit, and Arnie said he was to get hold of me right away. So Lucas walked back to the house and he was calling me. Betty let him into the kitchen. Mom came down in time to hear Lucas telling her he was supposed to see me, but he didn’t know what about. Betty told him it must be some kind of a mistake, that Arnie was probably drunk and got confused. By then it was a little after two. Lucas looked so tired Mom asked him to stay in the spare room. But he said no, he thought he’d be getting back to the Mack and get a ride on down with Arnie to the shack and get settled. He’d left his stuff on our back porch. Betty said he might miss Arnie.

  “So nothing to do, but Betty decided she’d best drive the old man back to the Mack, and if Arnie had left, she’d drive him on down to Chancy’s Bayou to the shack. Mom said Lucas looked pretty grateful. So Betty left in the jeep and I didn’t hear a thing, damn it. Mom stayed awake. When Betty wasn’t back quick, she figured she’d had to take the old man down to the shack. Finally she dozed off, and when she woke up again, about an hour ago, she looked out the window and the jeep wasn’t there, and Betty wasn’t in her bed, so she got nervous and woke me up.”

  They got out of the truck and hurried to the boat yard office. John Geer was sitting in the office looking unkempt and upset.

  “Any luck?”

  “He’s flying a party over to Clewiston. They got word there for him to call here soon as he gets in. I couldn’t get Daniels.”

  Buddy explained to Alex. “First thing I did was check and found his boat gone. His car is at Garner’s. Got the glasses and got up onto the work-shed roof. Couldn’t see a thing. Phoned the Coast Guard. But they’re running a big air search for an outboard cruiser lost in the Gulf somewhere off Sarasota. I figure a plane search is the answer. Take a look at the chart.”

  A big chart was open on Betty’s desk. Just south of the key bridge, the mainland cut sharply back, so that the bay became very wide. The marked channel hugged the bay shore of Ramona Key and Kelly Key. There was a bay area of ten miles long by an average of four miles wide to search, including the shore line of both keys and the mainland shore line. Forty square miles, so densely pocked with islands that a lot of it was like a great saltwater marsh, with winding tidal streams. He saw the oddly shaped indentation of Bucket Bay on the mainland side, eight miles down, opposite Kelly Key.

  “Skippy Illman flies charter out of Fort Myers. He’s got a good little twin-engine amphib. He’s a friend, and once he phones in and gets the pitch, it won’t take him long to get on down here. When will he phone in, John?”

  “Fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “I got hold of Lawlor and I told him just enough so he ought to come roaring over here with some of his people.”

  “Maybe he didn’t take Betty with him.”

  “Then where the hell is she if he didn’t? I found the jeep. In the lot behind the Mack. And then I came over to get you.”

  “Did you look around that area? Look thoroughly?”

  Buddy swallowed with an obvious effort. “See what you mean. Let’s go back. Stick by that phone, John.”

  They turned into the alley and parked beside the empty blue jeep. They looked into it. Buddy pointed at an old canvas duffle bag
on the floor. “Didn’t see that before. Belongs to Lucas, I guess.”

  Doyle heard a screen door bang and he turned and saw Janie, pasty and squinting in the morning sun, wearing a shiny green-satin housecoat with a ripped hem, come out with a bulging brown bag and stare at them curiously as she went over to a row of four lidless garbage cans buzzing with flies and dropped the bag in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Did you tend bar last night, Janie?” Buddy asked.

  “Just till it got too rough and Harry made me quit. That was maybe nine.”

  “Is Harry around? I’d like to see him.”

  “I’ll get him.”

  They quickly searched the brush around the perimeter of the parking lot. Harry came out in his underwear top, baggy cotton slacks, his belly hanging over his belt, the sun shining on the dark spots on his bald head, picking his teeth with a certain amount of daintiness.

  “I looked out and seen your jeep earlier and wondered what the hell,” Harry said.

  “Did you see Lucas last night?”

  Harry strolled over and stood by the jeep with them. “Hell, yes. The old basser made it all the way back. He talked to Arnie and then he took off after only one drink, and everybody in the place trying to buy him one.”

  “I suppose Donnie was in.”

  “Sure. He’s always in and out a half dozen times on a Saturday night. Wisht he’d stay to hell away. He puts a gloom on the place. But he’s sure handy when folks get troublesome.”

  “Harry, see if you can remember. I know how busy you are. How many times did Donnie come in after Lucas was here?”

  “That ain’t hard, because Lucas was here late. Half an hour before closing. Donnie come in one more time about quarter of, and everybody was still talking about old Lucas. I see him come in but I didn’t see him go. He couldn’t have stayed more than a minute. One of the times Donnie was in earlier, Gil Kemmer was in jawing at him and I was sure Donnie would take him out back and work him over but he didn’t pay any attention to Gil. Seemed funny. Gil was sore on account of Donnie clubbing Lee Kemmer up so bad he had to be took off the road gang and put in the hospital over in Davis. The way I figure…”

  “Thanks, Harry.”

  “Anything I can do, you just let me know.” He walked back toward the screen door. He turned and said, “Say. Janie and me are going to get married, Buddy.” Doyle saw the girl standing behind the screen and heard her giggle. It was a singularly empty sound.

  And then, as he turned, something caught his eye. It was a brown smear on the sharp corner of the windshield frame. Adhering to it, and moving slightly in the east wind, was a small swath of hair, perhaps a dozen long glossy strands, ginger and cream, unmistakably hers.

  Buddy examined it and then the men exchanged quick glances, as though involved in some kind of special shame, a climate of inner revulsion.

  “Let’s get back to the office,” Buddy murmured.

  John Geer shook his head dolefully as they walked in. Buddy said, “I’ll take it. You go get that Prowler ready to roll. Take the aluminum dink off the Huckins next to it and just dump it in the cockpit. Put that little three-horse of mine on the dink and make sure it’s gassed up.”

  John Geer loped off.

  As soon as he was gone Buddy said, “This is just as rough on old John as it is on me. He’d follow her around like a dog if she’d let him.”

  The phone rang and he snatched it up. “Yeah? That’s right. Hello! Skippy? We got trouble. I don’t want to take time to explain. Need you for a search. All those bay islands to the south of us here. It’s life and death, boy. Can you get over here fast? Good. I’ll be out in the bay on a Prowler. White with blue trim. It’s got a ship-to-who, and when you get close enough, you call me on the Coast Guard emergency channel and I’ll tell you what to look for. You run that bird flat out, hear?”

  He hung up. “It won’t take him long.”

  John Geer had followed orders, and he had the twin engines of the fast little cabin cruiser turning over. They went aboard and Buddy took the controls while John Geer cast off the remaining lines. Doyle noticed that Geer had a pistol shoved into the waistband of his jeans. It looked like a twenty-two, possibly a Woodsman. Once they were clear of the docks, Buddy shoved the throttles forward. The boat came to life, the engines roaring in synchronization, the white bow cutting the blue morning water. They headed down the bay about four miles before Buddy throttled down. He sent John to the bow to throw over the small anchor. When it bit firm and the boat swung to rest in the tidal current at the edge of the channel, Buddy cut the motors, leaned below and turned on the ship-to-shore. From time to time, very faintly, they could pick up the routine reports of the search planes off Sarasota.

  Doyle looked at the islands. They were unchanged from the days when the Caloosas had built their mounds there. Jungles of mangrove to the water’s edge and, where they were high enough, clumps of cabbage palm, some live oaks on the bigger ones.

  Sunday fishing traffic passed them, and people waved casually.

  “If you fixed the motor,” Doyle asked, “could he get to where he was going?”

  “Running at night it would be cooler. It wouldn’t heat up so fast. He might make four miles. He might make ten. Depends on how fast. And at night he’d run slower. He could get where he’s going, maybe. He might have gone into the islands and then waited for daylight so old Lucas could guide him the rest of the way. It would have time maybe to cool down so it would start again. But even if it didn’t, he had a paddle in there. If he took Betty along, I guess he figured on running. But he won’t get out of there fast with that motor. I wish to God I hadn’t buggered up the motor now. Maybe he would have just left them there. But if he’s stuck…”

  “Shut up, please, Buddy,” John Geer said and turned away.

  “Slow Goose calling Larkin on the Prowler,” a drawling voice came in, startlingly loud and clear. Buddy jumped for the hand mike.

  “Larkin on the Aces Up, come in, Skippy.”

  “Slow Goose to the Aces Up, I’m halfway from Davis, boy, and you should spot me soon. Where are you? Over.”

  “Aces Up to the Slow Goose, I’m about a mile northeast of Windy Pass anchored beside the channel. Look for a twelve-foot aluminum boat with a bright red motor on it. Check the islands and the shore lines. If it’s pulled up under the trees we may be out of luck, but you might still be able to spot that motor. There can be one person in it or two or three. One is a woman. Betty, if you want to know. And in one hell of a jam, boy. Over.”

  “Coast Guard to the Aces Up and the Slow Goose. This is an emergency channel reserved for Coast Guard use. Vacate the emergency channel.”

  “Aces Up to the Coast Guard operator. This is an emergency. Repeat. This is an emergency. We’re using a private search plane because you people are busy on something else. This is the only channel we have in common with the search plane. Will continue to use emergency channel, but we’ll keep it as short as we can. Over.”

  “Coast Guard operator to the Aces Up. No authority here to grant permission. But no way to stop you. Good luck. Over.”

  “There he is!” John Geer called. Doyle saw the small amphib coming at them at low altitude, coming from a point just south of Ramona.

  The small aircraft gleamed in the morning sun. He buzzed the boat and climbed high.

  “Slow Goose to the Aces Up. I’ll take it high first and if no dice, I’ll make a low square search. I’ll give you the word. Over.”

  They stood at the rail and watched the high slow pattern, squinting up against the brightness of the sky. Time passed with a sickening slowness.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Buddy snarled. No one answered.

  Suddenly the plane tilted and dropped, leaf-lazy in the sun. It swung up again and began a wide slow circle.

  “Slow Goose to Aces Up,” the voice drawled. “Got your customer, Buddy boy. He’s in the middle of a little round bay right under me. Trying to start the motor appare
ntly. He’s stopped now. Paddling toward shore. Fella in khaki with a kind of a cowboy hat on him. What now? Over.”

  “We’ve got to get to him, Skippy. Fast as we can. Can you tell us how to get in there? Over.”

  “Slow Goose to Aces Up. Damn if I can tell you how, boy. I noticed you got a dinghy. If you run south to the channel marker south of the pass and leave the big boat there, you’ll be close as you can get with it. Then you head in between those two bigger islands and turn right and… Damn, boy, it’s a mess down there. Tell you what. Once you get going in the dinghy, I’ll be Lura, the girl guide. When you got a turn to make, I’ll tilt a wing at it, flying right at you or away from you as the case may be. Only way I can see to get you through that mess. And some places you may have to wade. I see deeper water here and there, but I don’t know how the cowboy got in there. Over.”

  “Just get us in there, Skippy. Over and out.”

  They ran up to the marker. John waited for Buddy to edge the boat into the shallows beyond the channel and then dropped anchor. They dropped the dinghy over the transom and climbed down into it. Three big men badly overcrowded the eight-foot dinghy. John Geer ran the small motor. It started on the first pull, and, at its meager top speed, it made a sound like a small and diligent hornet. Buddy knelt forward. Doyle had the middle seat.

  As soon as they went between the two islands Skippy had indicated, they were in flats so shallow that Geer had to tilt the motor until the blade was thrashing half out of water for a few moments until it deepened again. The plane shadow swept over them and they followed the tilt of the wing. The guiding system worked. Doyle quickly lost track of the turns. They were in the narrow tidal channels that cut the low land into islands. Needle fish darted away in alarm. Blue herons stared with a fierce amber eye, then flapped slowly away. Doyle saw a water snake swimming near shore. Several times they had to step out and pull the dinghy across shallows and then start it again. As they walked in the shallows they shuffled their feet to minimize the chance of getting hit by a sting ray.