Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “Well,” Blackie snapped, “it isn’t your fault that we both ain’t lying in that car spread around like mashed potatoes. I told you to slow down, but you gotta do things your way. Now we gotta do some real thinking to get ourselves out of this jam.”

  A blinding flash of lightning exploded as he finished speaking and before its brilliant illumination faded, Sledge grabbed his arm excitedly.

  “I seen a house,” he said breathlessly. “A big joint, more like a castle than a house, straight off through them trees. All stone and towers like them castles in the movies. Who’d ever be screwy enough to build a dump like that out in this wilderness?”

  Blackie didn’t answer for a minute. His dark brow was wrinkled over his beady eyes. He was silent until the next lightning flash and then he peered tensely in the direction of Sledge’s pointing finger.

  “You’re right as hell,” he snapped. “I saw it myself. Maybe this is the break we’ve been needing. In a lonely, out-of-the-way dump like this we could hold up till the heat’s off. Ever think of that?”

  Sledge whistled admiringly. “It might work, at that,” he said slowly. “We’ve got gats enough to hold off an army if we was trailed here.”

  “We got to chance it,” Blackie said decisively. “Come on.”

  He led the way to the car and got down on his hands and knees to wrench at the twisted door. He worked silently and furiously for a minute or so and then he stood up weakly.

  “It’s no go,” he panted. “We’ll have to leave the stuff until we can come back here with an acetylene torch. The first thing we got to do is get out of this rain and get some dry clothes. A meal and a hot bath wouldn’t be hard to take, either.”

  Sledge looked helplessly at the twisted steel body of the car and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  BY the time they sloshed through the ankle-deep water and mud that covered the floor of the ravine, they were almost completely plastered with mud and water. The storm was increasing in intensity. The rain was driving at them in cold, needlelike streams; the rumbling detonations of thunder and the eye-searing brilliance of lightning were following each other without pause. They had taken a twisted, winding trail that seemed to be leading them to their goal. Blackie paused at the top of a knoll and looked back in perplexity.

  Sledge stopped and asked,

  “How’re we goin’ to find our way back to the car?”

  Blackie scratched his damp head. “You got me,” he said.

  There was nothing else to do so they went on. After an interminable, miserable hour of weary plodding they emerged from the forest onto a plain upon which the strange castle was built. It was a mammoth structure, made of huge blocks of stone and peaked with dozens of towers of all sizes and heights. Lights were burning from several windows and this dispelled, to some extent, the foreboding air of the place.

  “Barnum was right,” Blackie said disgustedly. “What kind of a sucker do you suppose we’ll find here. Any guy who’d spend the dough to build a dump like this out a million miles from nowhere must need a straight jacket. Come on.”

  They trudged wearily across the cleared plain to the front of the castle. The storm was pounding them now with all of its wild fury and a white mist was rolling over the floor of the valley blotting from sight completely the forest they had just left.

  A stone walk led to the front door and up this Blackie and Sledge walked cautiously. Blackie slipped his hand in his pocket and he felt his courage flooding back as his hand nestled over the comforting hardness of his automatic. Ten feet from the heavy oak-beamed door he stopped abruptly.

  The door was opening slowly, a band of light was spreading on the ground before them.

  “What’s the gag?” Sledge whispered tensely.

  The door swung all the way back and a man’s form appeared silhouetted against the light. It was the form of a medium-sized man with stooped shoulders and a hesitant, diffident manner. It was not possible to see his face.

  “Won’t you come in?” he asked politely. “We have been expecting you.”

  Blackie looked at him suspiciously.

  “Whadda you mean you been expecting us!”

  “On nights like this,” the man in the doorway said quietly, “we are often a haven of refuge to unfortunate travelers.”

  The man backed slightly as he spoke and it was possible to see his face. It was an impassive face, lined somewhat, with large eyes and a medium-sized mouth. It was not at all consistent, Blackie decided, with the mysterious air of the place.

  “We’d be obliged,” he said haltingly, “if you could put us up for the night and maybe toss out a little grub for us.”

  The man in the doorway—evidently a servant—smiled. “I’m sure that can be arranged. Please come in.”

  BLACKIE looked at Sledge and nodded approval. They entered the house, but before the door closed behind them, Blackie noticed that the white mist had rolled across the plain and seemed to be enveloping the house itself. Then the door clicked shut and they were standing in the foyer of the castle.

  “Follow me, please,” the butler said. “We have a fire in the next room. I’m sure that you will be comfortable.”

  Blackie and Sledge peered about like dogs in a strange yard, and then they followed the butler. He led them to a large, sumptuously appointed room, where a huge roaring fire was casting a welcome heat throughout the room.

  “I will have dinner sent in,” the butler informed them, “and in the meantime you can change your damp clothes. I’ll bring something suitable. For the immediate present let me offer you something in the nature of a liquid stimulant.”

  “Now you’re talking turkey,” Blackie chortled.

  The butler poured them drinks from a decanter on a table before the fire. Then he left them.

  The bank robbers gulped their drinks appreciatively. Blackie refilled his glass and sank into a comfortable chair and extended his feet to the fire.

  “This is more like it,” he sighed gratefully. “We’ve just fallen into a barrel of luck. An-out-of-the-way place with all the comforts of home.”

  His eyes traveled appraisingly over the heavy drapes, the luxurious furniture, the teakwood tables. A thoughtful look stole over his face. “Might be a good idea to find out where all the mazuma for this stuff comes from,” he muttered.

  They lounged, then, without speaking, before the fire, letting its warmth flood their chilled bodies. They poured themselves several more drinks and then the butler reappeared, pushing a coffee table before him. The table was loaded with steaming dishes and bottles of fragrant wines. Without a word he prepared a place at the table for them. Gold knives and forks were arranged beside paper-thin china plates. Gleaming white napkins and crystal clear goblets completed the service.

  Blackie and Sledge were too famished to marvel at the perfection of the table appointments. They uncovered the glistening silver bowls and went to work. It was delicious food, but most of it was strange to them. They ate, in an almost savage silence, until they collapsed against the cushioned backs of their chairs, too stuffed to move.

  “Boy!” Blackie ejaculated. “That was a real grunter. I feel like sleeping for a week.”

  “Your rooms are ready, gentlemen,” the butler said quietly. “If you are tired I will show you the way. The Master will receive you tomorrow. He has instructed me to tell you that everything here is at your disposal. He hopes you will enjoy your stay.”

  Blackie stood up.

  “That’s right nice of him,” he said. “Who the devil is this boss of yours anyway?”

  “I can’t say, Sir,” the butler said imperturbably. “Will you follow me, please.” He turned and moved toward the door.

  Blackie shrugged. He patted the gun in his breast pocket and winked to Sledge.

  “As long as we’re heeled, we got nothin’ to worry about.”

  “I dunno,” Sledge said dubiously. “Everything seems kind of funny. I wish it would stop raining and th
undering for a while. It gets on my nerves.” Blackie laughed. “Don’t look gift horses in the mouth, me old man used to say. We got a perfect hideout and you’re worrying about a storm that’ll keep the coppers away like nothin’ else could. This is about the best break we’ve had since we’ve been in the business.”

  HE turned, and with Sledge at his heels, followed the butler out of the room. The servant led them down a wide, high-arched hall. The floor was of blue-veined marble, and thick gold tapestries shrouded the walls. Chandeliers, gleaming with thousands of lights, it seemed, poured sun-bright illumination into the corridor. Blackie and Sledge walked slowly, peering frequently over their shoulders at the luxurious wonders they were passing. At the end of the block-long corridor two mighty doors swung slowly open at their approach.

  Blackie stared incredulously at the door, and then grabbed Sledge by the arm.

  “Look at them doors,” he hissed. “If they ain’t damn near solid gold I’ll eat a doorknob.”

  Sledge stared at them and nodded slowly. The breath left his body in a single hissing stream. He tried to speak and couldn’t.

  They passed through the arch of the door into a large court, in the middle of which an elaborate fountain was playing. Brilliantly colored trees and shrubbery grew in orderly profusion about this magnificent display.

  Blackie and Sledge looked at each other in silence. On their faces were stamped ludicrous expressions of bewilderment. Looking up, they could see the ceiling, apparently hundreds of feet above their heads. It seemed to be composed of some sort of translucent marble that moved and undulated before their eyes. It gave a surprisingly realistic impression of clouds in motion.

  In dazed silence they followed their guide through the huge court, and into another corridor, identical to the one they had just passed through. Everywhere they looked, the evidences of wealth and riches met their eyes. Silks, jewels, gold, were lavishly used in the decorations of these mighty rooms through which they were passing.

  At last the butler stopped and opened a smaller door leading from the main corridor. He stood aside and motioned them to enter.

  “These are your rooms,” he said suavely. “I am sure you will find everything you need. Good night.”

  He closed the door behind them and they peered about in wonder. Two wide, satin-covered beds occupied the middle of the room. They shuffled over the thick pile of an oriental rug and peered into the lavatories. Blackie whistled in wonder.

  “Sunken tubs,” he whispered in awe. His eyes traveled greedily over gold faucets and marble walls, inset with brilliant mirrors. “What a joint!”

  But even the splendor of these appointments could not keep their eyes open. Blackie yawned.

  “I’m turning in,” he said sleepily.

  Sledge nodded dully in agreement and they threw themselves on the soft, pillowed beds. Almost at the same instant the lights in their apartment dimmed to a faint, comfortable glow.

  “That’s real service,” Blackie yawned. The last thing he remembered was a drowsy realization that the electric storm was still raging outside this strange castle.

  BLACKIE was awakened from his dreamless sleep by a rough, excited hand shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes groggily and saw Sledge standing over him. Even in his sleep-drugged condition he could see that Sledge was hipped up. His face was flushed a dull red and his loose lips were working spasmodically.

  “What’sa matter?” he muttered sleepily.

  “Plenty,” Sledge snapped. “That storm ain’t let up a minute since we went to bed. Now look at this.” He crossed to the wall and flung back a tapestry, revealing a high window.

  Blackie blinked as another fork of lightning split the skies. It was still storming and thundering, he could see. He turned an exasperated face to Sledge.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said irritably. “You goin’ batty, waking a guy up in the middle of the night to show a rain storm. Forget it. Tomorrow morning everything’ll be okay.”

  “It is morning,” Sledge said flatly. “My watch says ten o’clock. It’s still dark because of the storm. But that ain’t what I woke you up for. Come over here and look out.”

  Blackie climbed out of bed, muttering to himself. He padded to Sledge’s side and peered out the window. The mist that he had noticed the day before was still swirling through the air. Through it he could see water, green, cold-looking water lapping against the sides of the castle. His eyes opened in astonishment.

  “W-why,” he gasped, “we’re in the middle of a flood.”

  “You catch on quick,” Sledge observed drily. “That’s what I woke you up for. Whata we goin’ to do now.” Blackie frowned a minute and then his face cleared and he smiled.

  “Nothin’,” he drawled. “What could be sweeter? Safe from snoopy coppers in the perfect hideout. We can lay up here until the heat’s off. In the meantime I got ideas about all this stuff.” His hand indicated the lavish furnishings of the room.

  Sledges’ eyes narrowed and he grinned evilly.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to think of that. It’d make a nice haul.”

  “We gotta take it easy,” Blackie cautioned, “until we meet the Boss of this place and find out what kind of a show he’s running.”

  ‘Sledge opened his mouth, but Blackie motioned him to silence. The door was opening and their impassive servant was entering.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I trust you slept well.”

  He stepped into the room and clapped his hands. A second later four comely, attractive girls entered the room. They were dressed in simple white robes that did not detract from their charming femininity in the least. Over their arms they carried freshly pressed suits, shirts, shoes, even underwear. They spread them on the beds and one of them left and returned in a minute with a tray.

  “Breakfast,” the butler explained unnecessarily. “After you have dined and bathed and clothed yourself the Master will see you.”

  The girls left the room and Sledge whistled happily.

  “All the comforts of home is right.” he murmured.

  Blackie winked at the butler. “Tell the boss we ain’t got a squawk in the world.”

  “He’ll be pleased to hear that,” the butler murmured. Then he backed from the room.

  Blackie stretched luxuriously. There was a complacent, satisfied smirk on his face. He glanced from the steaming trays of savory foods to the new, expensive clothes which had been brought to them.

  “Draw my bath, Jeeves,” he said smirking, “and don’t forget the bath salts.”

  AN hour later Blackie and Sledge finished their breakfasts with a contented sigh. Clad impeccably in well-fitting clothes, and glorying in a luxurious sense of well-being, they lit cigarettes and relaxed in cushioned chairs.

  Blackie looked lazily at the window. The storm was still roaring, unabated. He grinned slowly.

  “That’s just fine. I hope that this rain just keeps coming,” he said languidly.

  “Do you like storms?” a smooth voice asked behind them.

  Blackie and Sledge turned to the doorway. Standing there was a slim young man dressed in dark clothes. He was smiling faintly. A thick black mustache twisted upwards with his slight smile. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes for they were nothing but shadowy caverns in his face. Still smiling, he walked toward them with lithe grace.

  “Allow me to welcome you,” he said easily. “I’m very sorry that I haven’t been able to see you before this.”

  “Well that’s all right,” Blackie said magnanimously. “We haven’t suffered any. Your butler has taken care of us fine.”

  “If you need anything,” the young man smiled, “just let him know. I’ve instructed him to take the best care of you gentlemen. I’m confident that you won’t want for anything.”

  “You know we’re flooded in, don’t you?” Sledge asked. “How soon will it be before the water gets down far enough for us to get out of here?”

  The young man smiled apologet
ically. “This is a very rainy country,” he said regretfully. “But we shall try and make things pleasant for you.”

  “Could we get a radio?” Blackie asked.

  The young man pointed to a small compact radio on a corner table.

  “I think this is working,” he said, moving toward it. He flicked it on and almost immediately an announcer’s voice boomed into the room:

  “Late flash. There is still no news of the bandits who robbed the mid-western bank in a daring day-time raid. Police, however, are promising speedy results.”

  The young man switched off the radio.

  “Was that the news you wanted?” he asked smiling.

  “You’re wise, eh?” Blackie rasped. His hand dug into his pocket and reappeared holding a black automatic. He covered the young man and stepped to the door and closed it. “Frisk him, Sledge,” he said tersely.

  Sledge went through the smiling young man’s pockets with expert swiftness. He found nothing but a thickly stuffed leather wallet. He peered into it and his mouth dropped open in stupefied astonishment.

  “It’s crammed with grand notes,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Freeze onto it,” Blackie ordered. His eyes swung to the young man. “You must have a sweet racket,” he said with begrudging admiration, “but don’t underestimate us, Junior. We’re tough and if you think I’m afraid to use this gat just make a play.”

  THE young man held up a hand protestingly.

  “Believe me,” he smiled, “I have no use for violence. If the money pleases you then keep it. Anything else you like is yours for the asking.”

  “That ain’t natural,” Blackie growled. “Something’s screwy. I’m goin’ to keep my eye on you, fancy britches.” He slipped the gun back into his pocket. “You can scram now. And don’t forget I’m running this show from now on. When this storm lets up we’re clearing out. And all we can carry is goin’ with us. In fact I’ll make contact with the mob and bring trucks in here and strip this joint bare.”

  “Tell him,” Sledge said, “to send some men up here. We can put ’em to work loading things that we want to take near the door.”