Author: Robert Bloch
Date: 1988-03-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Fiction
Description: Steve Collins is looking for the Big Score, the crime that will set him up for life. He thinks he's found it. He's going to kidnap Shirley Mae Warren, daughter of a wealthy banker and industrialist. The $200,000 ransom will get Collins his new start. He can't do it alone. He'll need help. First, Shirley Mae's nanny, Mary - for her, Collins is the perfect lover. Then, a driver and front man - the man Collins calls his best friend. The plan goes wrong. The child dies. And Collins sacrifices all - friend, lover - to save himself.
Publisher: Tor Books

THE KIDNAPPER

Steve Collins is looking for the Big Score, the crime that will set him up for life.

He thinks he’s found it. He’s going to kidnap Shirley Mae Warren, daughter of a wealthy banker and industrialist. The $200,000 ransom will get Collins his new start.

He can’t do it alone. He’ll need help. First, Shirley Mae’s nanny, Mary—for her, Collins is the perfect lover. Then, a driver and front man—the man Collins calls his best friend.

The plan goes wrong. The child dies. And Collins sacrifices all—friend, lover—to save himself.

The Ransom Demand

It was on dime-store paper, mailed in a flimsy envelope. The letters were rubber stamps, from a kid’s printing set. The special delivery package also included Shirley Mae’s hair ribbon, as proof. But the words were proof enough.

MR AND MRS WARREN

GOT YOUR KID. SHE IS ALL RIGHT. BUT IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER ALIVE ANY MORE DONT CALL THE POLICE. GET $200,000 CASH READY IN TENS AND TWENTIES AND DONT MARK THE BILLS EITHER. THEN WAIT FOR A PHONE CALL. WILL TELL YOU WHERE TO BRING THE MONEY BUT NO FUNNY STUFF. OR ELSE YOUR KID WILL GET HURT.

Look for these Tor Books
by Robert Bloch

AMERICAN GOTHIC

THE KIDNAPPER

THE NIGHT OF THE RIPPER

NIGHT-WORLD

THE KIDNAPPER

Copyright 1954 by Robert Bloch

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

First TOR printing: March 1988

A TOR Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
49 West 24th Street
New York, NY 10010

ISBN: 0-812-51576-5

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter One

I came into town about the first of May. I took a fast ramble up from Florida and saved myself about fifty bucks. Riding freights has never bothered me any, and the extra money might come in handy if I had to lay around a while before getting a job.

Turned out I didn’t have any trouble, though. I staked myself out in a rooming house over on Clay Street, and the first paper I bought carried a Help Wanted for tool and die makers. That’s one line where there’s always openings, and it pays pretty good. Pretty good for a working stiff, anyway.

I went right over to Foster Brothers and they put me on night shift. A big layout they had there, doing government contract work, so it was steady. And they didn’t ask too many questions. I told them my uncle died last winter and I went down to Florida to clean up the estate. If they checked back, they’d find out about my last job, with Pitt Steel, but that wouldn’t tell them anything. What the records would show was that I quit in December. Nobody had ever tied me to the filling station job I pulled off just before I left town. So I had nothing to worry about.

Night shift is all right for a single guy with no strings tied to him. What you do is, you get off at two a.m. and grab something to eat and go home and lay around, reading magazines or listening to the all night disc jockey shows they got on for a while. Along about four you hit the sack, and at ten in the morning you get up and you have all day free ahead of you. I didn’t go on again until five, and I could even have taken a day job if I wanted to.

But you don’t catch me working any more than I have to. And even the night shift got me down, after a while. They had a smart aleck foreman name of Tom Cutrelli, one of those wise Dago boys—you know the type; get married at eighteen, have six kids in a row, work hard and save to buy income property. A real factory man, always bitching at us. He and I didn’t hit it off together from the start.

The only guy I got friendly with was the one working next to me. His name was Leo Schumann, but everybody called him Specs. Little guy, about thirty, with bad teeth, and these real thick glasses. I guess he was kind of lonesome; anyway it didn’t take long before we were kidding around together. Not too much, though, because Specs wasn’t what you would call a sharp character.

But we’d smoke in the john together, and talk, and after a week or so we’d hit some all-night eatery after work and talk some more. I found out all about it, and there wasn’t much to know. He was an orphan, and he’d been in the medics for a while until they kicked him out on account of his eyes or something. He worked up right from apprentice and saved his dough, but he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Why don’t you grab yourself off a broad and get married?” I asked him.

“I don’t know any, Steve,” he said.

He called me “Steve” because that’s the name I always go by—Steve Collins—and it’s even on my Social Security and stuff. My birth certificate says Stanley Kolischek, but I never used that after I ran away from the old man. The reason was, at first, I was afraid they’d come after me for beating him up so bad. Besides, I never liked being called a Polack.

I guess Specs didn’t like to be called Specs much, either. And it turned out he only had one problem—he needed a woman.

Now you take me, I’ve never had any trouble along those lines. When I ran away I was fifteen, but big for my age, and I wasn’t what you would call bad-looking. Got a nice build, and I always bought nice clothes, when I had the dough for it. None of this flashy stuff. I never had to grow long sideburns and stand on the corner and make noises at pigs. There was always all the stuff I could handle, whenever I wanted it. Last winter I ended up with a dame who ran a motel north of Miami. She was all right in the hay department and she treated me good, but she’d been married before and she got so she thought she owned me; besides, I generally like them younger. So I was glad to blow out of there when the time came.

Anyhow, Specs didn’t have any luck with broads. Oh, he went down the line regular, every Saturday and Sunday night, and being the kind of guy he was, he would shell out extra dough to a girl if he liked her. But none of the girls liked him. I don’t know what was wrong with him, really; lots of guys who look worse than Specs never seem to be hard up. But somehow, he just wasn’t the type, and it got him down.

After we got better acquainted, he’d sit there by the hour and talk about it. What was wrong with him, why couldn’t he get to first base with the dames he saw at church on Sunday morning, why wouldn’t they go out with him? And he would ask me what it was like to live with a broad, have somebody crazy about you, whether it was different than going down the line.

At first that kind of stuff got on my nerves, and I didn’t say much. Then, after about a month or so, I got so I talked about it a lot.

Finally, one Saturday night, I went out with him to this place. I hadn’t been doing anything except maybe go to a few shows in the daytime, because I wanted to save some dough for next winter. I hadn’t made any real plans yet because it was too early; one thing I figured was that this time I’d be going down to Florida in style and shack up at some decent hotel instead of ratting around. So I laid off drinking and cut down on smoking and didn’t fool around.

Only it doesn’t work out so good, not when you’re still young the way I was, and you’re used to getting it regular. Before I knew it I was just as bad off as Specs—and like I say, I ended up this Saturday by going down the line with him.

It was a crummy place, and they had nothing but hags. By the time we got there, about three a.m., most of them were canned up, and they’d been doing a rush business for maybe five or six hours.

Specs, he found what he wanted right away, some blonde with dyed hair and a figure like your grandmother’s broomstick. We were drinking downstairs, and two of these tomatoes were hanging around me; a fat, greasy little one that must of been Mexican or part-Indian or something, and a tall redhead. She wasn’t so bad, if you didn’t mind taking a chance. The trouble was, I did mind. I got burned once that way, and let me tell you it wasn’t the kind of a thing you joke about. Don’t let anybody tell you it’s no worse than a bad cold.

But even that greasy little one was better than nothing, and I was half-way up the stairs with her before I knew it.

“Aw to hell with it!” I said.

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Jesus, I hate that, when they call you “Daddy.”

“Nothing. Here’s a present for you.” I slipped her a five and went away, not even waiting for Specs to come down.

I went to a tavern near the shop that’s open all night on Saturdays, and I hung one on. I spent eighteen bucks and I got good and loaded, but when I crawled in the sack Sunday morning I knew it wasn’t enough.

I was going to have myself a woman, a real woman. Or else there’d be trouble.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was going to get both—that same Sunday afternoon.

Her name was Mary Adams.

Chapter Two

The way it happened was I went to this movie downtown, about five o’clock. I had a hell of a headache when I got up, and I didn’t feel like eating much. So I took a bus downtown, and there was this movie.

I went in to see it, and it was this real old one I’d seen before—the one about Houdini, some stage magician from way back. But it was in Technicolor and this sexy dish ran around in tights, and that part made me think about the way I felt. For a minute I wanted to get up and walk out again—and then this Mary Adams came in and sat down next to me.

Of course I didn’t know her name then. The way we got to talking was during the intermission when I went out and got some popcorn and I noticed her sitting there, because the lights were on.

She wasn’t a bad-looking dame; nice and young, about twenty, I figured, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing a skirt and sweater and a jacket over the sweater, but I got a pretty good look at her, and what I saw I liked.

So I asked if she would like some popcorn, and she said no, thanks, and I said well, would she go for some coke then. And she said, “You’re not drinking coke,” and I said, “I’ll fix that.”

I went out and got two cokes and brought them back, and she gave me a kind of funny look, but she said, “Thank you,” and took a coke. And after that she had some popcorn, and we got to talking, and it was easy.

By the time I got her dated for supper and out of there, I had all the dope. Her name was Mary Adams, and she was a maid, and she had Sundays off. Her folks lived up north someplace, but she stayed at the place she worked, out on Shore Point where all the big shots live. She was supposed to meet her girl friend at the show, but the girl friend got sick or something and called it off. So she came alone, because there was nothing else to do.

I figured I could show her something else to do. And I played it right. All through supper I was a good little boy. With my blue suit on and all, she could of taken me for a guy who worked downtown in an office—or a bank, maybe. She was the timid kind, and I didn’t want to scare her off.

It worked. After supper I asked her if maybe she’d like to go out dancing, and she said no, she wasn’t dressed. But I told her I knew a place where they had a juke-box and it didn’t matter.

“Not a tavern,” she said. “I don’t go to taverns.”

“Well, it’s a sort of tavern, yes. But mostly people just go there to dance.”

In a pig’s hinder they went there to dance, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. I just wanted to get her inside.

Well, we went there and we danced. I got her to switch to rum and cokes, by letting her taste mine so she could see it wasn’t strong or anything. The way the stuff hit her was something. I guess she was telling the truth when she said she never drank.

But she was drinking now, and out on the dance-floor we were getting better acquainted every minute. At first she told me about her boy friend, some guy she used to go around with up north before she came down here to work. He was in Korea now. They used to go dancing a lot together.

“But you know something? You’re a better dancer than Ken. He—oh, I don’t know—the way he held me, you’d think I was going to break.”

She’d break, all right, but that didn’t stop me from holding her.

Then I wished I had a car. That’s what cars are for, when you get ready to operate with a dame like this one who hasn’t been around.

But I didn’t have a car.

That was a hell of a note, because I was beginning to get the score on this Mary Adams. This boy friend of hers, this Ken, hadn’t made the grade with her. I could tell. And from her way of talking, I could see she was scared of a lot of things—drinking, and smoking, and getting picked up by strange men. Two or three times she told me, “You know, I can’t help feeling funny. I never did anything like this before.” Of course they all pull that, but with her it was true.

Then I thought of Specs. He had this heap of his, but he never drove it much. Maybe he’d be home tonight—and he only lived three blocks away or so.

I parked Mary down at our table and said, “Excuse me, will you? I have to make a phone call.”

That was all right with her. So I beat it over to Specs’ and he was home, all right. I didn’t have any trouble. He gave me the keys and he wouldn’t even take the fiver I offered him.

“Just so you bring it back before morning,” he said.

I promised and thanked him and got out of there in a hurry. In ten minutes I was back with Mary, and in twenty I was driving her home—she thought.

There’s a beach just before you get to Shore Point, with a big parking space. The cops don’t come around there very often at night, and I knew you could drive even further in back of the regular parking space and hit a gravel drive right inside the woods. That’s where we went.

Even now, it’s hard for me to figure out the way I felt about Mary. I don’t go for this love crap. The big thing about a woman is the way she can make you feel, so you’re just crazy to get at her and have her. And if she’s really good, maybe you’ll keep on wanting to have her again, for a long time.

Well, I was crazy to get at Mary, that night. But there was something else, too. She was such a big overgrown kid; she wasn’t fat, or even plump, but she had those dimples and her arms were round like a little girl’s arms, and she looked at you with her big eyes as if she didn’t know what would happen next, but trusted you. That was it. She didn’t fight me, even after she figured out what I was going to do. She just, well, surrendered. Like they say in the popular songs.

Of course, I was seeing to it that she got her kicks, too. And that helped. But she just let go, and that was the big thing. None of this, “Please—don’t!” business. No scratching or fighting back. She just let go. And that did something to me, because I knew I had really found what I’d been wanting for a long, long time.

The way I’ve got it figured out, there’s only two kinds of women. There’s one kind, the ordinary kind like the dame I shacked up with who had this motel. The kind who goes for you and then after a while takes you for granted. The kind who thinks she’s pretty hot stuff, and thinks everything is coming to her. That’s the kind of woman most guys marry nowadays.

But there’s still some of the other kind, if you can find them. The kind I mean is like the kind in this song, My Man, or whatever the hell it’s called. You know, where she sings about what a sonofabitch the guy is, how he beats her and everything, but she can’t help it because she loves him.

That’s the other kind. The best kind, for me.

Out at Shore Point, that night, I found out what Mary Adams was. I had to hurt her, it was the first time, but she loved it.

And that’s how I got my woman.

Chapter Three

Monday night, back at work, Specs started to ask me questions.

“How come you walked out on me Saturday night?” he wanted to know.

“You don’t catch me paying for it,” I told him. “Hell, I went downtown Sunday and picked me up some real stuff.”

“You did, huh? Is that why you wanted to borrow the car?”

“Sure. And let me tell you, that old back seat of yours really got a workout.”

“Honest?”

“What’s the matter with you, don’t you believe me?” I went ahead and told him all about it, then.

“And what do you know?” I said. “I gave her my phone number at the rooming house, and this noon she was calling me up already, asking please could she come over. Could she come over? Boy, I had her up in my room right up until four, I was almost late for work.”

“But how could she get off?” Specs asked. “I thought you said she was a maid or something.”

“Of course she’s a maid. Works for some rich bugger and his wife, Warren, out in Shore Point. But they have this kid, see, about four years old, and Mary takes her to a nursery school. She doesn’t have to call for her until four and so she generally bums around downtown or does shopping for the family in the afternoon. Only from now on, she’s got better ways of spending her spare time.”

“I don’t see how you do it,” Specs said. “Nothing like that ever happens to me.”

“Things don’t happen,” I told him. “You got to make them happen. Trouble with you, you just sit around and wish. Me, I figure out a plan. You can get anything you want if you know how to go after it.”

“All right, you guys, break it up.” Cutrelli came down the line and gave me a dirty look. I went back to work, then. I didn’t let Cutrelli bother me because I was feeling pretty good.

It was kind of funny, in a way—me telling Specs about how you plan if you want to get something. Because he was the guy who owned the car and had a couple grand stashed away in the bank, and I was just goofing around.

But what I told him was the truth, really. I knew it. You can get what you go after if you really sit down and figure out the right way, and then work it through. Trouble with me, up to now, was I never wanted to put in the work. But I knew I could think about a problem and come up with the answer whenever I felt like it. I always had what you call an analytical mind. I never stop thinking.

Even with Mary, that first week, I was using my head. We’d lay there in my room, afternoons—the landlady was an old bag, Mrs. Delehanty, she always had a bottle of that Jewish wine in her room and she didn’t give a damn whether school kept or not. So we’d lay there and talk, and I kept asking questions.

“What kind of people are they, the ones you work for?”

“Oh, they treat me real nice. Mrs. Warren gave me this dress, she wears the same size I do, only she has so many clothes she doesn’t know what to do with them all. You should see it, Steve—two great big closets full of clothes, and a mink coat and I don’t know what all.”

“Lots of money, huh?”

“Well, Mr. Warren’s the president of the Acme Trust, you know that. And I guess he owns most of Levitt-Cooper. That’s that big knitting mill.”

“He around much?”

“Why, he takes trips to New York about once a month and you know—” She sat up. “Oh, Steve, what do you want to talk about them for?”

“Just interested.”

“Kiss me.”

“In a minute.”

“Please.”

I batted her hand down. “I told you just a minute. I don’t like it when you interrupt me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She was, too. Boy, I could wind her around my little finger.

“Mrs. Warren has a lot of clothes,” I said. “I suppose she goes in for jewelry and stuff, too.”

“I’ll say. There’s this fancy necklace she wears to parties—it’s like a choker, sort of all diamonds. Real ones, too, not imitation. And she has a bracelet to match that she got for their fifth anniversary, and about a dozen rings.”

“Say, do these people ever go away together? Like say on a vacation?”

“I guess so. I only been there since September, you know, but last winter they were all set to go to Mexico only Shirley Mae got diphtheria.”

“Shirley Mae? Oh, yeah, the kid.”

“You should see her, Steve, honestly, she’s so cute! Some day you can walk over to school with me and call for her. She calls me Mary—”

“Shut up. I was asking about vacations.”

“I heard Mrs. Warren say something the other day about going to California this summer, after school lets out. Gee, I was so excited, I figured maybe they’d take me along. But that was before I met you.”

“You don’t want to go now, eh?”

“And be away from you? Steve, I’d die.”

I kissed her. She had it coming.

“Oh, darling.” She sure could make a production number out of it. “I never knew it could be like this. If you only knew how lonesome I used to get. And now—”

“You like this, eh?”

“Can’t you tell?” She pulled my head down. “Steve. Do you love me?”

“What do you think?”

“I just want to hear you say it.”

“I’d rather do it than talk about it.”

“Just once, Steve. Please.”

I pulled my head away.

“What’s the matter, darling? Don’t you feel well?”

“I feel all right. It’s only that I’m getting damned sick of listening to all this romance crap. Where the hell you think you are, in the movies or something?”

“Don’t be angry, darling. I didn’t know it made you nervous. Only a woman kind of likes to be told that—”

“I got my own way of telling things.” I reached over and grabbed her. “Like this.”

Catch me telling some dumb broad that I love her! I could of crowned her, except that I was using my head. I was getting what I wanted from her, and not just the way you think, either. Those questions were beginning to tell me what I wanted to know.

That’s what I call using my head. Asking her about the setup there where she worked. I was beginning to get a pretty smart idea.

So other times, I found out more stuff. The way the house was laid out, when their chauffeur came to work, how often they had people over nights. I got more of a line on this Warren guy, too—Raymond E. Warren, his full name was. He collected old coins for a hobby. He used to get high about once every two weeks down at the Athletic Club. He wouldn’t eat scrambled eggs. Oh, I learned a lot.

Some of it wasn’t important—I should give a damn if he ate scrambled eggs or not, or collected Indian head pennies or whatever.

But what was important was how the house was laid out. And when they were going to California. And if the place would be empty this summer. And whether or nor Mrs. Warren was going to take all her ice with her.

You can see what I was driving at now, what I mean when I say I never stop thinking.

I’d never pulled off a house job before, but from the way this thing shaped up, it might be plenty easy. The right way to work it wouldn’t be to try crashing in there some night. The right way would be if they left Mary home this summer while they were gone. And I just got in the habit of dropping in.

That would be the perfect setup. One fast haul and I could be on my way to Toledo. There’s two or three good diamond fences in Toledo I heard about.

Of course, I wasn’t set on the job, yet. I’d have to figure a way of working it so that Mary stayed home. I’d have to check and double-check on the ice being there. I’d have to get the whole deal set up in my mind so there wouldn’t be a chance of anything going haywire.

By the end of the week, I was certain I could swing it. She’d stay here—and I even thought of a way for her to make it perfect. Along about the time school closed she’d start complaining about not feeling so well. Dizzy spells, stuff like that. And she’d go to a doctor, and he’d tell her she had to rest for a couple of months.

So chances were, if I coached her on just how to pull it, the Warrens would fall for her act. And she’d stay on at the house, alone, while they went to California.

I wouldn’t have to monkey around, then, making diagrams of rooms and all that crap. I’d just walk in and take over.

Nights, after work, I sat in my room figuring it out. I even got the bus schedules for Toledo; then I thought what the hell, if it came to pulling the job I’d buy me a car first. That way I’d make my deal in Toledo and go barreling right down to Florida.

It was a great idea, all right. Only trouble was, one afternoon in my room, Mary had news for me.

“Steve, you know something?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been so worried these last few days.”

“Why?” I sat up right away, and from the look on my face I guess she knew I smelled trouble.

“Oh, it’s not—what you’re thinking. I mean, I was worried because I’d have to go away with them to California this summer.”

“Well, what about it?”

“It’s out, that’s what. Mrs. Warren told me this morning, they’re not going, because they’re buying a new house instead.”

“Where?”

“Out further, on Ranger Road, I guess. They’re going to drive out there Saturday and I’ll see it. A real big ranch-style, she said. It costs eighty thousand dollars. But isn’t it wonderful? Now I’ll be here this summer.”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t have gone anyway, Steve. You know I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have left my lover, my sweetheart, my—”

“Cut it out and leave me alone.”

“Steve, aren’t you happy? Aren’t you—”

“Sure, I’m happy.” I got up and lit a cigarette. “Only I don’t feel so hot. Guess I’m getting a cold or something.”

It wasn’t her fault because this rich bastard was laying eighty grand on the line for a fancy shack instead of going on his lousy vacation.

Only my plans were spoiled. And I’d been getting so I was counting on that diamond job.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk or something. I’m sick of this stinking room.”

“All right, Steve. It’s almost four, anyway. Maybe we can walk over to the school together.”

“I don’t care.”

The way I felt, I’d just as soon walked her to the nearest pier and dumped her off. I was beginning to get a little tired of the whole thing. Every day like this was a little bit too much.

I was getting fed up on all her love stuff, too. She was just a dumb kid, and having her around all the time got on my nerves. I wouldn’t have minded putting up with her until the job came off—but now there wasn’t going to be any caper.

So when I walked along with her, over to the school, I began to try and figure out a way of shaking loose of her. Not just telling her to go to hell, because it would be nice to have her around for kicks once in a while. But I’d have to scheme up some story about a day job, part-time, or something.

“You haven’t said a word for five minutes,” she told me. Just as if I didn’t know it.

“It’s this cold. I feel lousy.”

“Oh, you poor darling! Maybe you shouldn’t go to work tonight.”

“I’ll be all right. Got to get some rest.”

“Have I been—too much for you?” So help me, she was blushing.

“No. Oh, forget it. I’ll be all right, I tell you.”

“Let me feel your forehead.”

“Keep your hands off me!”

“I’m sorry.” We turned the corner, and she said, “Here we are. I’ll just go to the door and wait for her. She should be down in a minute. We always walk to the corner and Paul picks us up in the car. He can’t park here.”

“Oh, the chauffeur. Well, okay then. I’ll get going.”

“No, Steve. Wait. I want you to see her. She’s such a doll.”

“Well—”

“It’ll only take a minute. Oh, here she comes now.”

A bunch of kids were coming out of this big private school, most of them with their old ladies or maids. But this one was all alone.

She wore a red hat and a coat to match, and she had long black hair hanging down to her shoulders. But she was a skinny-looking kid, and her nose was kind of big. I didn’t think she was anything to get excited about.

Mary brought her up to me.

“Shirley Mae, this is a friend of mine. Mr. Collins. Steve, this is Shirley Mae Warren.”

“Hello,” she said, and held out her hand.

So I took it, not knowing what else to do.

And that’s how I shook hands with trouble.

Chapter Four

I hadn’t been kidding about that cold. By the time I got to work that night my head was all stuffed up, and when I got off it was worse. I didn’t feel like eating, and I couldn’t taste cigarettes any more. Even Specs noticed it.

“You sick or something?”

“Cold.”

“You sure? Maybe this girl friend of yours—”

“Shut up and leave me alone.”

“All right, Steve. Gee, you don’t look so hot. You better get some sleep. My old lady, she always used to tell me to take a good hot bath and then—”

“To hell with your old lady. I’m going home.”

I went home and took a hot bath and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. And by noon I was good and sick.

Mary showed up around one, like she always did, now, and I wouldn’t let her in.

“I got a cold,” I told her. “I’m staying in bed.”

She handed me a long line about going out for some kind of tablets or something, and why didn’t I call a doctor, and so forth and so on. I told her to shut up and go away, and she did, finally.

Then I lay there and began to shake. Fever. It wasn’t a cold, it was flu. I knew, I had it before.

Ended up I was in bed for five days. Didn’t even go out to eat, felt sicker than a dog. This fever and all those dreams.

Mary brought me stuff from the store, soup and coffee and things like that. I didn’t want any doctor. I just wanted to stay in bed. She was real worried, tried to play nurse, but I told her to get out and she did.

I was sick of her, sick of the plan that wouldn’t work, sick of the whole damned setup. That’s what was really the matter with me.

Nights, I’d lay there and look up at the car lights flashing across the ceiling. Sometimes they made patterns, like big eyes moving around in the room, watching me. Mrs. Delehanty came up one night, half-lit, and wanted to know what was the matter. I told her I was sick and to go away.

So she left me alone, too. And I lay in bed and had these dreams, these nightmares. For a while I didn’t think at all.

And then, one morning I woke up and the fever was gone. The fever was gone, and I was thinking again.

It was like I picked up just where I’d left off—with meeting this Shirley Mae.

And then the whole idea seemed to hit me all at once.

Jewelry?

That was for the birds.

These people had the biggest jewel in the world right under my nose, just sitting and waiting for somebody to come along and grab it.

Shirley Mae Warren.

Her old man was president of the bank and he owned a big factory. He just bought a house for eighty grand. He was rolling in it. And if he’d pay eighty grand for a house he didn’t need, what would he pay if somebody snatched his kid and he wanted her back?

Talk about jewelry!

I sat up in bed and started to shake all over again. Only it wasn’t the fever this time. It was just that this idea had hit me, and it was big, and I knew I could do it.

Get that? I knew I could do it.

Easy?

Hell, no. I’m no sucker, I know the score on a kidnapping rap. It’s a state offense, it’s a federal offense, and you can burn for it. If they catch you.

But that’s where the thinking part comes in. So they won’t catch you.

And the setup was perfect. Just perfect!

Sitting there that afternoon, that night, I kind of figured it all out in my head, step by step.

Next morning I felt better and I got up. I went out and had breakfast, and I checked back over everything I’d been working on. Like asking myself questions. What if this goes wrong, what if that doesn’t turn out? Every angle I could think of.

But it was still perfect.

And the way to do it was just the way I’d thought it out—step by step.

The first step would be Mary.

There was one sure way to get to Mary, and I knew it. I started as soon as I was feeling all right.

She came around, of course, and I told her I was going back to work.

“Oh, I’m glad, darling. I was so worried.” Right away she wanted to get affectionate, but I stalled her off.

“Let’s take it easy for a day or two until I get back in shape,” I told her. “I still got a lot of germs in my system.” Like hell I had, but I knew what I was doing.

“All right, Steve,” she said, and I could tell she was plenty disappointed, only she wouldn’t let on.

“Did you see the new house?” I asked her.

“Yes, Saturday, and is it ever keen!” She told me all about the place. It was quite a layout, from what she said. Three-car garage, five bedrooms, three bathrooms. What the hell anybody needs with three bathrooms I don’t know, but the richer you are the more bathrooms you got to have, I guess.

“We’re going to move in around July first. The only trouble is, darling, how can I see you every day then?”

“Don’t worry about that. Maybe I’ll buy a car.”

“Gee, that’d be swell. You got enough money?”

“I been saving.”

“That’s a good job you have at the factory, Steve, isn’t it? Do you think you’ll ever get on days?”

“I could if I wanted to. But then how would I get to see you regular?”

She didn’t say anything, and I knew what she was thinking. Not that she’d come right out with it, but all broads got only one idea in their heads—they’re out to hook you into getting married.

“Besides, I’m a funny guy, Mary. Never can tell when I’m gonna get the old itch to get moving.”

“Steve, you wouldn’t go away.”

“Of course not. I was only talking.” I laughed. “Say, I got some errands to do downtown. I better get going.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Better make it the day after.”

She looked at me. “You wouldn’t kid me, would you?”

“What do you mean, kid you?”

“You haven’t got some other girl on the string, have you, Steve?”

“How the heck could I? I been sick in bed all week.”

“Yes, I know. But if you ever got another girl, I’d—I’d—”

“You’d what?”

“I’d kill her!”

It was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing, because of the way she looked when she said it. She really meant it, too, but the idea of Mary killing anybody was funny. A soft kid like her couldn’t hurt a fly.

Anyway, she was getting worried and that’s what I wanted. I fixed up a date with her for the day after tomorrow and then I went downtown.

The first thing I did, I went into the Public Library and looked up a book on kidnapping. They had one there with about a dozen stories in it, true stories, on the Lindbergh case and a lot of other ones, even that last one down south where they got $600,000 for ransom money.

I stayed in the reading room all afternoon, just going through that book. I went out to supper and came back again and finished it up. I didn’t go to work—one day more wouldn’t kill them back at the shop. I wanted to check on all these cases, see where they made their mistakes. And I found plenty.

Every time I ran across something, I made kind of a mental note on it, to think it over later. I got a lot of dope on how they got the ransom money, and how the police and the FBI operated. Most of all, I was looking to see how these guys finally got caught.

Almost every time it was the same thing. They went on the lam the minute they had the dough, and sooner or later somebody spotted them from their descriptions and picked them up. And they got drunk and waved all this moola around. Stuff like that was stupid, just plain stupid.

The next day I goofed around in the park for a while until it was time to go to work. It was a nice warm day, all the leaves were out on the trees, and the grass had turned green. I sat down on a bench and took it easy for a while.

Some guys came along on motorcycles, then, and parked near some bushes. They had maybe two or three of these six-packs of beer along, and they sprawled out on the grass, drinking it and horsing around. They were a lot younger than I was; just kids, twenty-one or twenty-two, thereabouts.

Seeing them made me think back to the time I clouted the old man. It was about a motorcycle, too—a second-hand one, only cost $125, but it was a Harley-Davidson and the guy who owned it got thrown off on his head. That’s what killed him, a concussion, but the motorcycle was in good condition. His folks wanted to get rid of it.

Anyhow, I wanted that motorcycle like I never wanted anything before. I was only a punk sophomore in High School, but some of the older guys, the seniors, had this motorcycle club and they were really sharp. Sharp according to the way kids think, I mean. They wore these leather jackets with the gold and silver studs on them, and black pants and boots, and they all had black uniform caps and goggles.

And they’d go out in the country and buy beer, and they always had these babes riding the back of the seat, dressed the same way. You know how it is in High School, some of the babes put out and some won’t—but the best ones, they went for these motorcycles. I heard about some real parties they had. Anyhow, it was a big deal. Everybody in school knew about it and the guys who had motorcycles were the big shots.

You think my old man would cough up the dough for this second-hand one, though? Not on your life. He was such a stingy old guy, he almost had a stroke when I asked him. All he could do was read the riot act about why didn’t I study more and get better marks. How hard it was for him since my old lady died, and how he worked night and day to keep me and my kid sister Genevieve going.

As if I didn’t know he was always hanging around down at the tavern on the corner, getting his shoes full every night. He spent plenty money there, and I knew it.

Oh, he made me sick, but I didn’t let on. That summer when school was out, I got me a job working over at the lumber yard, and by fall I saved up close to two hundred dollars.

Then I went and told him I was going to buy the motorcycle with my own dough. He had another fit, and said no. But I went over to these people anyway with the cash. Only I found out you had to have your parents sign for you if you were a minor.

So I went back and asked again, real nice. And I told him how bad I wanted one and everything. I even offered to give him the other seventy-five. But he said he had that coming anyway, and it was about time I figured on paying board—and I should give him the money, he’d take care of it and put it in the bank for me.

Then we had it out, and I conked him with a Schlitz bottle, and I got the hell out of there.

I never went back. And I never bought me a motorcycle, either. But you know, sometimes I wonder how things would of turned out if my old man had been different and let me have it.

Maybe I’d never of hit the road, or got tossed in the clink a couple times, or pulled any funny stuff. Maybe I’d of just had my fun until I got out of school and taken a steady job and settled down.

I thought about it, sitting there in the park, and then I figured to hell with it. I didn’t want a motorcycle any more—these punks were just a bunch of jerkies anyway, with their imitation soldier suits and their lousy beer. Riding down the streets and making a lot of noise trying to get people to look at them. Picking up tramps for a quickie and thinking it was a big deal. Kid’s idea of how to be an operator.

No, I was better off, right now, just sitting here and working on my plan. That was the important thing. If I could only figure it right, I’d really be set for life. None of this leather jacket and six-pack stuff for me.

No reason why I couldn’t end up with a classy joint of my own, with a couple of johns on every floor. And drinking off the top shelf, anything I wanted, as much as I wanted. And it didn’t have to stop there. Once I got my hands on a decent stake, hit it off for Florida or one of those islands in the West Indies or East Indies, whichever they are, I could maybe set myself up in something big. Plenty of chances to make real dough, if you have a stake to start out with. And with my brains, I could handle it.

Motorcycles, hell. Those guys kept their brains next to their saddles.

I got out of the park, had me some supper, and went over to the shop.

Cutrelli caught me right after I came in.

“What the hell’s the big idea, Collins?”

“I been sick, I had the flu.”

“I know that. I called your landlady a couple of times, asked you to call back.”

“She never gave me no message. She’s a lush, canned up all the time—”

“Who’s your doctor?”

“I didn’t have a doctor.”

“Well, how the hell do you expect to fill out a form for sick-leave benefits without a doctor’s statement?”

“I never thought about it. I was sick, I tell you, I had a fever, I didn’t get out of bed for five days—”

“You look all right now. And you were well enough to go downtown yesterday. Why weren’t you here last night?”

“What do you mean, I was well enough to—?”

“I called yesterday afternoon again, that’s how I know. And I heard about this girl friend of yours who comes up to see you all the time. You sure you were sick, Collins? Or just—”

“Lay off, will you? I’m back, what’re you squawking about?”

“Well, you’re not getting any compensation. I’ll see to that. And next time you pull a stunt like this, you’re through. Get me?”

“All right.”

It wasn’t all right, but I didn’t want to force a showdown now. The time would come, soon enough.

I went back to work, and Specs was waiting for me.

“Hi, Steve, how you feeling? Boy, am I ever glad to see you! You know, I was coming over on Sunday, only I called first and your landlady she said you was still pretty low. Did she tell you?”

“No. But thanks, anyway.”

“What was the matter with you?”

“Just flu or something. I’m all right now.”

“Well, I missed you.”

“Thanks, Leo. I missed you, too.”

He liked that, when I called him Leo instead of Specs. From now on I wanted him to like a lot of things, because I had plans for him.

That night, after work, we went out to eat and I said to him, “Hey, Leo, you doing anything tomorrow night?”

“Friday? No.”

“Well, how’d you like to go out with me? Sort of a celebration, seeing that I’m well and besides, it’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday? Congratulations, Steve. Say, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.” That was true, but it wasn’t really my birthday.

“All right, Steve, sure. Where you wanna go?”

“Just leave that to me. We’re going to have ourselves a ball.”

The next afternoon I went over to this crummy joint where Specs had taken me that Saturday night. I talked to the old biddy that ran the place and I fixed things up.

I fixed things up for Specs for all night, with that dizzy blonde and also the redhead. Anything he wanted, including all the stuff he could drink. Even a bottle of champagne.

It cost me an even hundred bucks, but it was worth it if it worked. And it was worth it to Specs. The guy almost went crazy the way those two floozies worked on him—they had him thinking he was the answer to a maiden’s prayer. And he got higher than a kite.

That was good, because he never noticed I wasn’t drinking much, or going upstairs either. Specs had it all to himself, and it was the biggest deal he ever had.

Afterwards, in the morning, he passed out and I drove him home and put him to bed. He lay there with a smile on his face, and when I saw that smile I knew I had him. From now on he’d be easy to handle.

They didn’t put that in any of the kidnapping stories I read, but that was the way I got Specs for my driver.

Chapter Five

“Oh, Steve, you’re so wonderful. I missed you so much.”

“I can tell that.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything, as long as I can be with you like this.”

“Sure.”

“When you weren’t here yesterday, I didn’t know what to think—I almost went crazy worrying.”

“I had to see about my sick benefits.”

“Steve, I been thinking.”

“What about?”

“You know, since last September, I saved up nine hundred dollars. You got any money saved?”

“Sure. I got a little.”

“Steve, why don’t we get married?”

I sat up.

“Don’t get sore, I was just thinking about it, how swell it would be.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have to worry any. I wouldn’t be any trouble, you know that. I mean, I wouldn’t care whether we got a house right away, or a lot of furniture. I wouldn’t care if we lived in a tent, just so we could be together. All the time, like this.”

“This is what you go for, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m not ashamed, I love you so much I’d do anything—I always used to think it was so awful and everything, but now I know. Because I love you, and I’m not alone any more.” She ran her hands through my hair; that was another thing about Mary, she couldn’t keep her hands off you for five minutes.

“So how about it, Steve? I meant it, what I said, that you wouldn’t have to worry. I wouldn’t ever nag at you, you know what I mean. If you wanted to go out and have a couple of drinks, or stuff like that. And I could keep on working here, it’s a good job—or if you wanted to go someplace else, I could get a job there. Why not, Steve?”

I looked at her. “I’ll tell you why not, Mary. Because I’m sick of this penny-ante stuff, that’s why. I’m sick of this job, sick of this room, sick of this lousy stinking town. If I had the dough, I’d marry you in a minute. You know that. You know how I feel about you.”

“You really feel that way, then why won’t you marry me?”

“Because of the dough, I told you. When I get married, I don’t want my wife to work at some lousy maid’s job, talking nice to a lot of creeps, taking orders from them. Hell, I want my wife to have maids of her own—and a big house, nice clothes, maybe some jewelry like this Mrs. Warren. That’s what I want you to have, Mary.”

“But, Steve, I don’t want to wait that long. Why, Mr. Warren’s almost fifty—he worked years and years to get that factory going, and even then it wouldn’t have turned out, I guess, except that he inherited the bank to begin with.”

“I know all that,” I told her. “The way things are, I could work until I was a hundred and I’d still be a punk. You can’t get rich on a job nowadays, what with taxes and all.”

“Then what’re you going to do?”

“I got ideas.”

“Tell me.”

“No. You’re not the type, Mary. You’re—oh, let’s not talk about it.”

“But I want to talk about it. You can tell me, Steve. I wouldn’t care. It’s something—dishonest—isn’t it?”

“See? That’s the way you think. Dishonest. No, let’s skip it.”

“Please, Steve. I won’t be angry. I’d do anything for you, anything.”

“All right. I figured things out in my own mind. There’s only one way to get ahead in this world, and that’s to take what you want.”

“You mean stealing?”

“There you go again. Right away I’m a crook or something.” I turned away.

“I’m sorry. Please tell me, Steve.”

“Stealing’s out. That’s a sucker’s way. And besides, it’s too easy to hurt somebody. I’m not the type who wants to hurt anyone.”

“I know that, Steve,” she said. That was a laugh, because she had these big bruises on her arms and shoulders where I’d grabbed her today.

“So that leaves only two other ways. One way is out—that’s the way guys like your friend Mr. Warren operates.”

“But he’s not—”

“A criminal? Don’t be afraid to say it, Mary, it’s only a word. A fancy word that guys like Warren dream up to pin on the little fellow who tries to get ahead. Anytime a little fellow takes dough from a big shot, he’s a criminal. But when a big shot takes dough, he’s a smart business man. He’s got the law on his side because he makes the law to begin with. Like Warren and the bank. You know where a bank makes money, Mary? From these mortgages, where they lend money and charge stiff interest. They lend money to people to buy houses, cars, apartment buildings, businesses. And lots of times they know the guy who borrows it will never make it. So they just take interest until he gets in a tight spot. And then what do they do? They foreclose on him. They take away the house, and the car, and the apartment or whatever, and turn around and sell it. Or they fix up a dummy corporation and run the business themselves. Get into real estate. Or take a factory that would make money and operate it.”

“But that isn’t wrong.”

“Oh, isn’t it? Well listen to this—I happen to know how Mr. Warren got hold of that knitting mill. These two guys, Levitt and Cooper, started the business back in the depression. They were hard up and they went to Warren’s bank to borrow some dough. Warren gave it to them on a mortgage, just like I explained it, see? Well, along came the war.

“Levitt and Cooper had been paying a good stiff rate of interest to the bank, and now they had a chance to really make some money. Government was ready to give them a big order on some G.I. equipment, only they had to put in some new machinery if they wanted to land the contract.

“So they went to the bank and tried to borrow some more. Warren told them no. Then they went to another bank, but you think that Warren hadn’t gone around and slipped this other bank the word? They’re all in it together, these big shots, thick as thieves. So the second bank said they were sorry, no soap. And Levitt and Cooper’s mortgage ran out, and the bank wouldn’t renew, and Warren took the factory. The minute he got it he bought the bank mortgage, paid it up himself, and shoved some dough into equipment. He got the order, and he was set. He made a fortune out of the war and after. And Levitt went out to Colorado and died of a stroke, and Cooper still works at the factory, some flunky job, while Warren sits up there in his big house and plays God. Tell me that isn’t crooked?”

“I never knew all that, Steve.”

“Why do you think Mrs. Warren is running around dripping with diamonds? Because she won a Sunday School medal or something? Do you think she ever did anything to deserve a mink coat, stuff like that? Probably never did a day’s work in her life—but you have to wait on her hand and foot, and all you get is forty-five dollars a week, and she thinks that’s a fortune.”

“It’s good wages for a maid, Steve. After all, I don’t do much except look after Shirley Mae, and—”

“Sure. You look after the kid for her, don’t you? You see that she’s dressed warm enough for school, and gets her milk at lunch, and goes to bed on time. And Mrs. Warren horses around wearing diamonds at parties while you sit home and play babysitter. You’re more of a mother to that kid than she is.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong there, darling. She loves Shirley Mae. They both do. You should see the fuss they make over her! Mrs. Warren can’t have any more children, she had an operation, and they’re so crazy about her.”

“I know that, too. And that’s what I been thinking about.”

“I don’t get it, Steve.”

“Remember when I said there’s two ways to make money? Warren’s way—big business—which is just a lot of cheating and stealing under another name. Ruining guys, making them suffer. Everything legal, but crooked just the same.

“That’s one way. The other way is my way. That’s to make guys like Warren suffer.”

“How, Steve?”

“That’s a good question, Mary. I thought about it a lot. I want a lot of dough in a hurry. I don’t want to harm anyone, hurt them, to get it. And what really counts is to be sure of getting away with the scheme.” I took a deep breath. “Well, I figured out what to do.”

I looked her straight in the eye. “Mary, you and I could have ourselves a couple of hundred grand, just like that, and clear out of here in a month, if you’d go through with it.”

“Go through with what?”

“We could go down to Florida, Cuba, anywhere in the world. We could get married and have our honeymoon in Europe. We could spend the rest of our lives doing whatever we felt like, whenever we felt like it. If you’re willing.”

“You’re serious, you really mean it?”

“Mary, I’m talking about you and me, getting married. I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that. We can do it, and we can be set for life, without harming anyone. And it won’t ruin Warren, he can spare the dough.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Suppose somebody put the snatch on Shirley Mae? What do you suppose the Warrens would pay to get her back?”

“Steve, why—that’s kidnapping!”

She was telling me.

“You couldn’t do a thing like that, you can’t mean it!”

“Why not? I’ve got it all figured out. There isn’t a chance in the world for anything to go wrong. And nobody gets hurt, the kid’ll be all right, the whole thing’s clean as a whistle.”

“No, I don’t believe it, you wouldn’t—”

“I thought you were so hot to get married?”

“But Steve, that’s awful! Why, the way I feel about Shirley Mae, it’s just like she was my own.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“No, Steve. No, I couldn’t. I’d rather starve.”

I got up.

“Steve, where you going?”

“Nowhere. Just wanted to give you plenty of room.”

“Why?”

“So you can get dressed and get out of here, and start starving. You and I, we’d never hit it off, Mary. We don’t have the same ideas. I thought I was explaining things so you’d understand, but I guess you can’t. So let’s not fool ourselves. You want one kind of life, I want another.”

“You’re trying to tell me you don’t want to see me any more?”

“That’s not it, Mary. I want to see you, you know that.” I turned away, trying to register remorse, or grief, something like that. “I’ll always want to see you, and that’s just the trouble. Sooner or later we’ll be getting back to the same old thing again, and everything will be spoiled. We’ll start quarreling, get into arguments. So far it’s been wonderful, Mary. Let’s leave it that way. At least we’ll have our memories.”

How’s that for a hot line? Sometimes I think I should of sold used cars or something, the way I can turn it on.

“All right, Steve.”

She got dressed, and I walked over to the bureau and opened the drawer.

“Here, Mary. I got you something.” I gave her the box. “I thought you needed this, and I didn’t figure at the time it would be a going-away present. But I want you to have it.”

She took it and opened it up. A seventeen-jewel watch. I picked it up downtown for $22.95 plus tax.

“Oh—”

She turned on the faucet then. I patted her shoulder. “Good-bye, Mary. I’m sorry. And maybe I’m glad too, in a way. You’re too good for me, really. Go out and get yourself a nice steady guy.”

I led her to the door and patted her shoulder. “So long. Wear it, huh, and maybe once in a while think of me?”

She bawled all the way down the stairs and out of the house.

Me, I went back in the room and closed the door and sat down on the bed and laughed.

It was working out just like I expected it to. Everything was perfect. I knew she’d say no, the first time.

But I also knew she’d be coming back.

As far as I was concerned, Shirley Mae Warren was as good as snatched, right now.

Chapter Six

That was Friday, and when I went to work I saw Specs. He was just getting over his hangover, and he felt plenty rugged, but he was happy. He kept talking about the blonde, Terry.

“You know, Steve, she’s nuts about me. I dunno, the first time a couple weeks ago she didn’t pay any attention to me. And here all of a sudden she’s nuts about me.” He grinned. “I got to thank you, Steve. I never had so much fun in my life.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Tomorrow night, I’m going back there again. You want to come along? This time it’ll be on me.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got a date Sunday.”

“This girl friend of yours? Say, maybe I could get Terry. She probably’s got time off in the daytimes. We could go out to the park or something like that, in the car.”

“Why don’t you ask her, Specs? Then give me a ring, say around noon, Sunday,”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

And that was Friday night. Saturday afternoon I went downtown and bought a couple of things. I got some hair dye and a pair of big black-framed sunglasses from the dime store, and I went into an office supply place for one of these rubber stamp sets. It has all the letters of the alphabet on it and you can press it against an ink-pad and make letters.

Saturday night I had to listen to Specs again, and what he was going to do with this Terry character. I nearly split to hear him tell it; you’d think he was talking about Queen Elizabeth instead of a two-bit whore.

But I didn’t say anything. I just waited. I went home and played the radio a while. Then I went to bed and by noon I was up and ready to run downstairs when the phone rang.

“Hello, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Specs.”

“How’d you make out?”

“She can’t go. She—she said she don’t feel so good.”

“Tough luck. But I got news for you. My girl has to work this afternoon.”

“Then you don’t have any date either.” Smart boy, this Specs. He could tell you how much two and two is, easy, if you gave him a slipstick and a little time to figure.

“That’s right. So I was thinking, how about if you and I just take the car and go for a ride anyway. That okay with you?”

“Fine, I’d like that. Want me to call for you.”

“I’m ready if you are. We can maybe eat out somewheres.”

“Good, Steve. I’ll be over.”

And he was. We drove through the park and then out on the highway. Specs was all dressed up in a crummy brown tweed suit, and he wore a nylon shirt with it and a bow tie. On him it looked awful, but that’s the way he always dressed on Sundays.

Along about five we stopped at a joint out on the road and had a steak dinner. We drank some beer with it, and when we finished we went into the bar and had a couple of shots.

We sat in a booth and I got him talking. Pretty soon he came out with it.

“You know, I was making that up, about Terry. She wasn’t sick or anything. She just wouldn’t go. I can’t figure her out, Steve. The other night she was—oh, like she was nuts about me. Last night she didn’t even have anything to say, it was like she scarcely remembered my name.”

“What do you expect from a tramp?”

“Steve, you shouldn’t call—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Specs! What are you, a kid or something? Don’t go around fooling yourself. Terry’s a whore. You know it and I know it. And let me tell you something else, while I’m at it. Most women are the same way.”

“You hadn’t ought to say things like that.”

“Shut up and drink your drink. And listen to me. I know what I’m talking about, Specs. I don’t mean that most women actually work at it like a business, the way Terry does. But if you want them to be nice to you, you got to have dough. It takes dough to get married on. It takes dough if you want a steady dame of your own, in an apartment maybe, without getting married. You know that.”

“But I got a good job, Steve. I’m making money.”

“Peanuts, that’s what you’re making. And you look like it, too.”

“What’s wrong with the way I look? This is a new suit.”

“It stinks. Guy with your complexion ought to wear grey, light grey. Something with a stripe in it, make you look taller. And some of this hand-stitching around the lapels, expensive-looking, more classy.”

“Maybe you’d come with me some time when I got a suit?”

“You’ll need more than a suit, Specs. That’s only the beginning. I see where I’ll have to start educating you.”

“You’re my friend, Steve. Here, how about another one?”

“Sure. Call the bartender. But listen to me, now. You ought to get yourself a new kind of glasses, maybe those ones with the steel frames. And a crew haircut, everybody wears them nowadays. Then you go to a dentist, get your teeth fixed.”

“But Steve, I went by Doctor Baumberger last year. He said it would cost maybe five, six hundred dollars to get them all straightened out.”

“You’ve got that much, haven’t you?”

“Here, take a look at my bankbook.” He was one of those kind of guys, too—always carried his bankbook around with him. “See, I got $2100 saved up. In three years.”

“Well ain’t that nice? Let’s see, that’s seven hundred a year you save. If you keep on living in that dump, and don’t get married, and don’t get sick or take any vacations or get laid off, in twenty years you’ll have almost $17,000. Just think of that, you’ll only be fifty years old or so and all dried up, but you’ll have $17,000 in the bank. Enough to buy an old rundown duplex, almost.”

“What’s the matter with that? Saving money’s a good idea.”

“Making money is a better one. Making it, and spending it. Real money, big money. Right now, while you’re still young and can enjoy it.”

“How you gonna do that, though?”

I grinned at him. “Oh, there’s ways. Specs, what would you say if I told you that within a month from now I expect to be worth—well, maybe a hundred and fifty grand?”

“You’re crazy in the head.”

“All right, go ahead and laugh. But along about the middle or end of June, just remember what I told you.”

“How can you ever make that kind of dough so fast—robbing banks, maybe?”

“Don’t talk silly. I’m smarter than that. I’ve got a new angle.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, yet. Here, let me buy this one.”

He was feeling pretty good by this time. “Steve, you’re my pal.”

“Of course I am. And I want to see you get ahead, have a little fun.”

“The other night, that was wonderful, wonderful.”

“That was nothing, Specs. Believe me, that’s only the beginning. But you got to have dough. Or at least look like you have dough. Which reminds me—one of the things you ought to do is buy a new car.”

“Nothing wrong with what I got. It’s only eight years old, but it’s clean and I don’t have much mileage on her, considering.”

“You see? That’s the way you think. Small. No wonder you’ll never get anyplace, Specs. You got to think big. You’re talking about mileage and I’m talking about pickup. Not on the car, but pickup with dames. There’s nothing like a nice new automobile to make them think you’re rolling in cash.”

“You mean one of them convertibles, like?”

“No, who wants a convertible? You want a top on the car, so’s you can use it in the winter. Keep the girls warm for you.”

“But I don’t want to lay out all my savings for no car, Steve.”

“Guess you’re right.” I hit the table. “Say, I’ve got an idea. How about if you and I went in on a car together? I’ve got about seven hundred saved, and we could just make it.”

“I could trade in this one, too.”

“No. You wouldn’t get enough on a trade. Besides, it’s plenty good enough for driving to work in. This other car, we’d just use it this summer to bat around in, have a good time. Sundays like this we could go out and pick ourselves off some real honeys, at dances and stuff. How’s that sound to you, Specs?”

“That sounds good.”

“Let’s shake on it, then. You and I, we’re in business together. I’m going to see that you start living a little.”

He shook on it, and the deal was cinched.

I didn’t waste any time on the rest of it, either. Monday afternoon I went down and found what I wanted. A good last year’s Olds, with only four thousand miles on her. The kind of a bug that can do a hundred and ten without straining, with a fast starter. Black, too.

Tuesday I brought Specs in to look at it. “We’ll put it in my name,” I told him. “On account of taxes.”

“How do you mean, taxes?”

“Well, you know how the Revenue department operates. They look over your income tax, they see you have two cars, and right away they figure this guy is making a lot of money he isn’t telling about. And then they just might start asking questions. No sense looking for trouble.”

“Say, I never thought of that. You’re right, Steve.” He was easy. “When do we buy it? I got to line up another garage.”

“Let me handle all the details. You just hop down to the bank tomorrow and draw out $1100.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“It’s worth it for this baby. Remember what I told you—you got to think big to get anywhere.”

“All right, Steve.”

Everything was right with Specs. And everything was right with me, too. I got title to $1800 worth of automobile for seven hundred. And we were all set for our transportation now.

Friday night I went out with Specs. He wanted to drive, just like a kid with a new toy. We hit the highway and he got her up to eighty-five and then ninety.

“Some job, eh?”

“I’ll say! Steve, you sure know how to pick ’em.”

“This isn’t all I can pick, either. What do you say we go out Sunday?”

“You mean, for girls maybe?”

“Maybe.”

“Sure. It’s a deal.”

And that was that. Saturday afternoon I took the car out myself, without telling him. I went for a long ride on the county trunk roads, out near the lakes. I covered every back road on the map, hit all the resort cottages.

I was looking for something, and I found it.

Sunday I showed Specs.

“What did you drive way out here for?” he asked me. “You don’t want to buy no cottage.”

“I was thinking we could rent one,” I said.

“What for?”

“Don’t be dense, Specs. Where do you think we’re going to take these dames of ours? What could be nicer than a little cottage like this, right here in the woods with nobody around to bother you? You bring ’em out here for weekends, parties, the works. And when we have our vacation this summer, think how nice it would be to shack up here for two weeks straight. Buy a barrel of beer if we like, a case of whiskey. Chances are, by that time we’ll both be lined up steady. If not we can cruise around, pick up a different set of babes each night. Change off. How’s that sound to you, Specs? Twenty-eight different broads in two weeks. Think you could stand it?”

That was the way to handle Specs, all right. Just get him started thinking about women.

“Boy, could I? Just you try me and see.”

“Well, I’ll find out who’s renting this place and we can maybe line it up early for July, say. That’s the best month. It won’t cost much.”

“That’s good, Steve. You know, I want to be careful with the money I got left.”

“Sure, I forgot. You won’t be in on it, will you?”

“In on what?”

“Oh, that big deal I was telling you about.”

“You didn’t tell me about no big deal.”

“Last Sunday.”

“Oh, how you was going to make all this dough in a hurry. You said it, but you didn’t tell me how.”

“I had a damned good reason.”

“You mean—?”

“Never mind what I meant.” I drove away. “Forget it.”

But of course he didn’t forget it, and when we went to eat and he got a few drinks in him, he started in again.

So I worked the same line with him that I had with Mary. Only I told it just a little bit different. I left out all the names. I talked like it was all set up, and I had my people in on it. One for the inside work, and one for driving.

He didn’t seem to get too upset about it. Not when I kept talking about the dough, and what it would buy. “Ought to be at least two hundred grand,” I said. “Split three ways. All in cash, no taxes, no trouble.”

“That’s pretty dangerous, what you’re talking about.”

“You know me, Specs. I never tackle anything I’m not sure of. And I’m sick of working. I don’t want to end up the way you’re going to—fifty years old with a lousy couple of grand in the bank and nothing to show for it.”

“But we’re going to be all set this summer, I thought. And now you’ll be leaving town—”

“Who the hell said anything about leaving town?” I asked him. “That’s the real beauty part of this job. It’s so safe nobody would ever know. There won’t be any running away, holing up someplace and waiting for the cops. It’s a foolproof scheme—I’ve been working on it for months. You wouldn’t find a setup like this in years. Why, the guy who’ll be doing the driving won’t even have to quit his job. In fact it’ll be better if he doesn’t—because nobody’ll get suspicious then.”

I stared at him. “Specs, I got an idea. I don’t know how you feel about this, but I know how I feel. I’m only going to ask you once—and no hard feelings whichever way you answer. Would you like in on this? Would you want to drive the car, for sixty-six grand?”

Specs looked at me. Then he picked up his glass and drank.

“All right, Steve. It’s a deal.”

“Tomorrow night after work, then,” I told him. “We’ll get together and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Why not now?”

“Not in public. From now on, everything goes according to plan. This is one job that’s going to be done right.”

And I meant it.

So far it had worked perfect. And unless I was wrong about my timing, the next step would come very soon.

I wasn’t wrong.

Eight days had been enough. Mary Adams came up to my room the following afternoon.

I was ready for her. The minute she came in, I scowled and slammed the door shut.

“Steve, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to see you, I had to. I been like crazy all week. I don’t care what you want to do, Steve, just so’s we’re together. I don’t care.”

I walked over to her and grabbed her by the hair.

“Go ahead, Steve, go ahead and hit me. I want you to, I deserve it.”

I bit her in the mouth until I tasted blood, and I could taste something else, too. Money.

Chapter Seven

“You’re sure Shirley Mae will be all right?”

It was about the tenth time she’d asked me the question that afternoon, but I was being very patient.

“Of course she will. We aren’t going to hurt the kid. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to pull a stunt like that—why, getting her back in good shape is the most important part of the whole deal. It’ll help take the heat off.”

“You got it all planned?”

“Of course. Why, in a couple of days we’ll have the dough and the kid’ll be back home safe and sound. It’ll be like sort of a vacation for her, with this cottage and all.”

“You even picked out a cottage? You must of been awfully sure I’d come back.”

“Well, no, I haven’t picked one out yet. But I’m going to, tomorrow; I been thinking about it.” I had let that slip, and I reminded myself to take it easy. Slow and easy.

“Steve, you’re positive you know what you’re doing?”

“What’s the matter, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, darling. But it’s so dangerous.”

“Only for the dumb guys. I was reading up, I know. The important thing is to pull the job so nobody even finds out who did it. And that’s the way I’ve got this thing planned. Why, Specs won’t even have to quit his job.”

“This Specs—you’re sure you can trust him?”

“He’s my best friend. That’s why I picked him out. He’s a little guy, kind of quiet. Nobody would ever suspect.”

“But won’t they connect him up with you?”

“Sure. Only I won’t be in the picture, either. I’m going to quit my job now, in advance. By the time we go to work, I’ll be forgotten. My name’ll never appear.” I leaned over and cupped her chin. “You never told anyone about us, did you?”

“Of course not, lover.”

I kissed her. “That’s a good girl. See that you don’t. Because it helps keep you clear, too.”

She frowned. “You know, that’s the one part I can’t understand. I’ll be getting Shirley Mae from school that day. The Warrens will know that. And then I disappear. Won’t the police come looking for me right away?”

“Look, honey, do you think I’d go through with this if I thought you were going to be in a bad spot? That was the first thing I figured out—how to make sure you’d be safe. Don’t worry. A month from today you’ll be the best-looking blonde in Miami Beach!”

“Blonde?”

“Sure. I’ll tell you the whole thing, what you’ve got to do. First of all, how much money you got saved?”

“Nine hundred dollars, like I told you.”

“All right, the day before we pull the job, you go downtown in the afternoon and put five hundred into a Savings and Loan account. I’ll tell you which place to go to, and I want you to ask a lot of questions about how Savings and Loan operates. You know, how much interest you get, stuff like that there.”

“But we could use five hundred—”

“We’ll have money coming out of our ears!” I told her. “This five hundred is your insurance policy. Now shut up and listen!”

“All right, Steve.”

“You deposit five hundred bucks, and make sure you tell the guy your boy friend is coming home from Korea this fall—you want to get married then. See? That’s why I want you to go to a Savings and Loan joint instead of a bank. So you get a chance to talk to someone, and he’ll remember you. Because the cops will investigate everything you’ve done for the past week or so at least. And what will they find? Here’s a girl puts her savings into an account, plans on getting hitched. Doesn’t sound like she’s going to be involved in a kidnapping the very next day, does it?”

“But I’ll have disappeared.”

“That’s right. And they’ll look for you—but not for kidnapping, just for questioning. And they’ll never find you.”

“How’ll you work that?”

“I was coming to it, if you’d only shut up for a while and listen. You take Shirley Mae out of school. Specs is waiting to pick you up, in the alley before the corner. He’ll drive back down the alley, not out on the street. You’ll be at the cottage in half an hour, long before anybody misses you at the house. It’ll take that long for Paul to figure something’s gone wrong. Then, for a day or so, they’ll be trying to locate you.

“The police will come out to the house. They’ll find all your clothes and stuff, still there. Nothing missing. First thing they’ll figure is somebody snatched you both. And the call will go out to locate Mary Adams. Five three, weight one-twenty or whatever, brown hair, brown eyes.

“But don’t worry. There won’t be any such person any more. Instead there’ll be a Mrs. George Henderson, who moved into a cottage out at Long Lake the day before, for a two-week vacation with her husband. Mrs. George Henderson’ll be about five five with high heels on, and she wears sunglasses outdoors and horn-rimmed glasses indoors. And she’ll have blonde hair. She’ll also have entirely different clothes—I’ll buy ’em with the four hundred you got left. Nobody will have seen me, so they won’t look for me. Specs will still be working. Perfect setup.”

“But won’t they get suspicious after a while?”

“Sure. They’ll suspect everybody—but by the time the second day rolls around, the police will get a letter from you. It’s going to tell all about the kidnapping. Three men in a blue Chevvie, looked like Mexicans or Dagos. How they came up alongside you and snatched the kid and drove off. How you were scared when they let you out uptown, heading south. How you were afraid to go back because you knew you’d get mixed up with the cops, get all this publicity, lose your job. So you took a bus there at the uptown terminal and kept going. And now you’ll never come back.”

“But the letter’ll be postmarked—”

“New Orleans, airmail. Haven’t you ever read any of these ads in the back of the magazines? Amaze Your Friends—you send two bits to some guy in New Orleans or California and he re-mails your letter from there, makes whoever gets it think you’ve been travelling. That’s what we’ll do. The letter goes out when we snatch the kid. It gets to New Orleans, is airmailed back. The heat’s off. And when the police get to checking on you and find out about the Savings and Loan and nothing being missing, they’ll believe the pitch. So you’re safe, too.”

“But won’t somebody see Shirley Mae at the cottage? And what about collecting the ransom money? And returning her to the Warrens?”

“They’ll never see the kid at the cottage. First of all, because I’m going to make sure that the one next door to wherever we go isn’t rented. Secondly, because we won’t bring her into the house until after dark.”

I patted her arm. “And about the ransom money, and getting her back home—that’s my department. You don’t think I’m letting you and Specs take all the risk, do you? My job is to get the dough, safely. And return the kid, safely. And I’ve got both those deals figured out just as careful as all the rest. So stop worrying.”

“I just can’t help—”

“Quit talking. You and I got better things to do.” I reached for her. “It’s been a week hasn’t it? A week since you and I—”

After, I said, “That’s only a sample, baby. Wait until I get you all to myself down there on one of those moonlight beaches, with the palm trees and the stars and everything. You can lay out there all night, every night, listening to the waves pound and watch the moon come up over the water.”

“It sounds heavenly.”

“It will be.” I poked her. “Come on, get up. We’re going for a ride.”

“In what?”

“Come and see.”

I took her outside and showed her the car. Women are funny. I guess it was the car that sold her more than anything. She couldn’t get over it.

“We’ll get another one down South, too,” I told her. “A convertible. Just stick with me, kid. We’re going places.”

“Yes, Steve. Yes.”

That’s the kind of talk I wanted to hear from her. And that night I got the same answers from Specs.

I took him out after work and told him the setup. With him I went into details—how I planned on getting the money, how we’d arrange for a getaway after the heat cooled down. None of this moonlight on the beach baloney for Specs. He had to feel sure that he could depend on me, that I knew what I was doing. And most of all, that it was safe.

“But what if they see me driving the car?” he asked. “With the girl in it and the kid?”

“Nobody’ll be looking for you that soon. And I told you, they’ll be down inside the back, nobody’ll spot them. Besides, you’re going back to work at five.”

“That’s going to be awful, keeping on working.”

“It’s the best part of the whole deal, for you,” I said. “Who in hell would ever connect you up with this kidnapping in the first place? You’re doing the same as you always have. Work every night. You won’t even have to come out to the place, except to get your cut of the dough when the time comes. Then, in about a month or so, you feel like quitting, you quit. You can join us down South, someplace. We’ll figure it out. But the whole thing is like taking candy from a baby.”

“How about you? They’ll notice you’re gone from the shop.”

“No they won’t, Specs. Because I’m leaving tomorrow night, two weeks ahead of time. And I’m not quitting, either. I’m getting fired.”

And that’s the way it happened.

The next night, Tuesday, I stalled around until maybe seven o’clock. I’d been busy most of the afternoon, anyway, locating the people who owned this cottage. I found them, too—rented it for two weeks starting June fifteenth. For my wife and myself, for our vacation. And I found out that the next one down the line wasn’t rented until July first. Plenty of time.

Then I ate and drifted in around seven.

Cutrelli was waiting for me, just like I figured he would be.

“Now what’s the story, Collins? You get another attack of the flu?”

“Well, I wasn’t feeling so hot, tell the truth.”

I stood up close to him, so he could smell the two drinks I’d taken on purpose across the street just before I came in.

“Truth, my foot. You’ve been drinking.”

“Just one, for the cold I got.” I swayed a little.

“Collins, you’re drunk! I’m getting fed up with this stuff. We’re loaded with jobs as it is, and you keep turning up missing.”

“You don’t have to holler at me.”

“Holler at you? I got a good notion to can you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You might as well check out right now.”

“All right. To hell with you.” I walked away. “But first I got something else to settle.”

I walked back into the shop and he followed me. I went over to Specs. He looked up, because he knew what was coming—I’d coached him in advance.

“Look,” I said. “This sorehead here just gave me my notice. So let’s you and I settle up. Where’s that twenty you borrowed off me two weeks ago?”

“What twenty, Steve?”

“Whaddya mean, what twenty? That twenty bucks I loaned you over at Miller’s Tavern, two weeks ago Saturday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never borrowed no twenty bucks from you.”

I grabbed him by the collar. “The hell you didn’t! You said you’d pay me back last Thursday. Come on now, I’m leaving. Where is it?”

“Take your hands off me.” I was holding him tight enough so that when he said it, it would sound like he really meant it.

“Let him alone, Collins,” Cutrelli yelled.

“All right, you asked for it!” I batted Specs one across the side of the jaw, hard enough so that he fell back over the bench. The other guys were looking up now, and coming over.

“Hit a guy wearing glasses, will you?” Cutrelli said. He stepped forward and stuck out his left. That was just what I’d been waiting for. I moved to one side, back, then came in. I swung from my hip. My right came up under his jaw and I heard a sound like a bat connecting with a ball for a homer over the fence.

Nobody else tried to stop me. I walked out of there, knowing I’d played it perfect, knowing that each step was taking me closer and closer to the big day.

Chapter Eight

It was Friday, June sixteenth. A nice warm day, the last day of school. Everybody was planning their vacation. I had mine planned, too.

I got up at noon and checked out of the YMCA. That’s where I’d been staying, the YMCA, after I quit my job. I told Mrs. Delehanty I was moving to Oregon. The YMCA was a good place for me to stay, these last days, because I’d been plenty busy getting things set.

There’d been only one meeting, Sunday, with Specs and Mary. The rest of the time I had them call me, afternoons, from a pay phone to the booth across the street from the Y in Walgreen’s.

They were ready now, and I was ready.

I went across to the drug store and had lunch. I carried my suitcase.

At one, Specs drove up in the old heap and picked me up. He took me out to the road near the cottage, backed onto a side road.

I walked down and got the Olds out of the garage. I’d put it there yesterday afternoon, when I moved in—and Specs had waited on the road then, too, to drive me back in his car.

Now I looked the place over once more. It was a perfect setup. These people I’d rented it from, the Racklins, used to live out here themselves, and they had fixed it up real nice. First of all, there was a two-car garage, with a driveway, set in back of the house and on the way down to the lake. Trees all around on both sides—and the next cottage was half a block away, easy.

This cottage was more like a house, really. Big front room, small dining room, good-sized kitchen with a bottle-gas stove and an oil heater in case it got cold. John off the kitchen, too—no running outdoors to a privy. There were two bedrooms off the dining-room. They had a linen closet and plenty of towels, dishes in the pantry and everything. The place was even furnished half-way decent. Radio and a phonograph attachment. I knew, because Mrs. Racklin showed me through the joint and I had to pretend to be interested and ask all kinds of damn fool questions. I told her my wife was working until Friday afternoon, that’s why she couldn’t come out.

Another thing I’d made sure of was that the Racklins weren’t going to be around. They lived in town, and they were driving up north over the weekend.

They gave me the keys Thursday morning, the fifteenth, and when I came out with Specs that afternoon I’d lugged quite a few groceries. There was a store down the line at the crossroads, about a mile and a half away. We’d be eating regular.

Now I took a final inspection tour and I was satisfied. I’d done everything I could think of. Even brought a deck of cards and some magazines out. And there was milk in the icebox for the kid.

Things were okay. I walked back down and took the Olds out, driving to where Specs was parked.

“All set,” I said. “You know what to do.”

“Anybody see you get the car?”

“Hell, no. There’s nobody out there. I told you that.”

“Steve, I’m nervous.” He wasn’t handing me any news bulletin. I could see he was jumpy as a cat on hot bricks.

“Well, don’t be. You do just like you’re told and we’ll have no trouble. You want to go over it again with me once more, just to make sure?”

“All right. We drive back to town. I take route sixteen and you take the county trunk. I park down the alley half a block south of the school, going in from the street side, at three o’clock.”

“Sharp,” I said. “They get out an hour earlier, on account of this is the last day. Make sure you get in there, and keep that motor running.”

“What about cops?”

“I already told you. The cop on that beat goes to the north corner to direct traffic when school lets out. He won’t bother you. And there’s no warehouse outlet or anything in the alley. It’s safe.”

“But just suppose there’s a truck in there or something?”

“Suppose, my hinder,” I said. “There won’t be. You go into the alley. And then what?”

“Then Mary comes along with the kid. I open the door. She pretends she’s scared. Then I say for her to jump in the back seat with the kid or I’ll let her have it. And I point the gun.”

“You don’t point the gun. You just show the gun. Remember, this is all for the kid’s benefit, in case she talks. She’ll say Mary had to get in because you had a gun. But don’t wave it around so’s anyone could see it in case they pass the alley.”

“I get it.”

“And make sure you’ve got your hat on, and your glasses off.”

“That’ll be tough, driving without glasses.”

“It’ll be a lot tougher if you wear them, and they check up on you. Remember, you only got a minute where she’ll see you—and a kid four years old, she won’t be able to identify you very good. If you follow orders.”

“Yeah, Steve. I know.”

“All right, what do you do then?”

“Then I take out the sap and hit Mary.”

I nodded. “And for Christ’s sake, remember you’re only pretending you hit her. It’s for the kid, that’s the reason.”

“I will, Steve. And then I take this rope and tie the kid’s hands.”

“Like hell you do. First, the blindfold.”

“Oh, sure, the blindfold first. Then I tie her hands and put her down in the back seat next to Mary. And I drive two blocks and turn right in the second alley we come to. That’s where you’re waiting.”

“Right. I switch them to my car there, and you drive away.”

“Suppose somebody sees us there?”

“Nobody will. I tell you, there’s a blank wall on three sides where we’ll be. And this loading platform space isn’t used because the warehouse is closed.” I grinned at him. “Stop worrying, Specs. This is a lot easier than working. But keep going. Then what do you do?”

“You give me the ransom note. And we put in the kid’s handkerchief and hair ribbon, if she’s wearing any.”

“Right. Here’s the note now.”

I showed it to him. Dime-store paper and envelope, special delivery stamp, and this big rubber stamp lettering.

MR AND MRS WARREN

GOT YOUR KID. SHE IS ALL RIGHT. BUT IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER ALIVE ANY MORE DONT CALL THE POLICE. GET $200,000 CASH READY IN TENS AND TWENTIES AND DONT MARK THE BILLS EITHER. THEN WAIT FOR A PHONE CALL. WILL TELL YOU WHERE TO BRING THE MONEY BUT NO FUNNY STUFF. OR ELSE YOUR KID WILL GET HURT.

That’s all it said, and I figured it was enough. “You catch on?” I asked. “I don’t say ‘I’ or ‘we’ in the note, so they can’t be sure how many people are mixed up in this. They ought to get this before tonight, and that’ll give them plenty of time to start worrying. By Monday morning, old Raymond E. Warren’ll be out rounding up the cash.”

“You’re sure they won’t go to the police?”

“Of course not.” I wasn’t sure, but I really didn’t give a damn—that was one risk we’d have to take. At the same time, I wanted Specs to figure we were in the bag. “They’ve read about these cases where people go to the police and the kids get killed. They won’t take any chances.”

“They can’t trace this letter?”

“Not in a million years. So quit bothering about it and tell me what you do next.”

“Next I drive back home and get ready to go to work.”

“That’s right. And be sure you tell Healey or somebody on the floor about the movie.”

“That cowboy picture?”

“That’s the one. Tell him how good it was, he should see it tomorrow afternoon at the matinee, like you did.”

“All right. But I don’t know how I’m gonna get through tonight.”

“Just think about the sixty-six grand you got coming. That’s how to get through it. Hell, the news won’t even be in the papers, yet. And I doubt if it hits the radio until after everybody’s left for the night shift. So don’t worry. And tomorrow noon, you get over to that drug-store and wait for me to call.”

“Right.”

I looked at my watch. “Well, time we got started.”

“Steve, you’re absolutely sure about all this?”

“Absolutely. Come on, boy. In less than an hour it’ll be all over.”

I waved at him instead of slamming him one the way I felt like doing. Then I waited until he got in his old heap and drove away.

I turned the Olds around and took the other road back. It wasn’t a long drive, but I thought it would last forever.

It was all Specs’ fault. Him and his goddam worrying. He got me jittery too, now. Even though everything was planned. Nobody knew better than I did that something could go wrong. A lot of things.

There could be somebody notice them getting into the car at the alley, or turn down there while they were tying the kid up. But it had to be done.

Mary hadn’t gone for that part at all. I had to explain over and over again that this story about the Mexicans I told her was out. On account of the kid being there and seeing who picked them up. It would only work my way—make it look like Specs pulled a gun and forced them in, then knocked her out.

After the kid was tied and blindfolded, I’d be waiting in the other alley to take over. The kid would never know about the Olds, what it looked like. The kid would never see me. The kid would never even know Mary was still along—because I was going to talk like she’d come to and I was throwing her out. She’d ride back in front with me and keep her mouth shut.

And when we got out there, the kid still wouldn’t know where she was—or see anything either. Because I’d keep those hands tied and that blindfold on.

Mary was hard to sell when I told her this. She was afraid the kid might get hurt. But I convinced her we could feed her and keep her warm out there in the garage until dark, then bring her in. And she mustn’t hear Mary’s voice or anything. It was the only way.

Of course there were a lot of hitches in that part of it, too. I could get messed up when we changed cars in the other alley. We might have a flat or a crazy accident on the way out. The kid could accidentally see or hear something in spite of everything.

But there was no other way that made sense. It was a big risk from beginning to end—but that two hundred thousand was a big stake. It was worth the gamble. My share of the pot, mine and Mary’s, was $133,666. Not bad, with no taxes.

So driving back, I finally took my own advice and just thought about the dough.

I wheeled into the alley at five minutes to three. All clear. I sat there, making a last-minute checkup. Thinking of all the things Mary had to do. Carry the head scarf and wear it in the car. Take the sun glasses and put them on. Get the kid around on the right side of the car without anyone noticing or following them. And most important of all, keep her trap shut. Before, during, and after.

Well, it was too late to do anything more. She and Specs were on their own. The big job would be up to me.

I looked at my watch. One minute to go.

One minute and it would all be starting. And once it started you could never stop. You couldn’t go back, you just had to go through with it.

Kidnapping is risky business.

But two hundred grand is enough money to last a lifetime, if you know where to go and what to do with it.

And I couldn’t turn back now. It was as if everything I’d ever done had somehow led right up to this moment.

I looked at my watch again.

Three o’clock, on the head. This was it.

The snatch was on.

Chapter Nine

The car came tearing down the alley at eight minutes after. I started my motor and waited. Specs turned off and shoved on the brakes at the same time. Our bumpers almost touched.

He jumped out and nodded at the back seat. Mary sat up. I got out and opened the rear door.

“Okay, sister—here’s where you get off!” I said. “Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone what happened or I’ll kill you.”

That was for the kid. The kid was lying on the floor in back. I took a good look at her to make sure the handkerchief was tight over her eyes and the rope was knotted around her wrists. She was crying, but not loud. She didn’t look like she was in such bad shape.

I reached in and picked her up, fast. Out of the corner of my eye I was watching Mary slip something to Specs. The hair ribbon and the kid’s handkerchief.

Meanwhile I got my own handkerchief out and put it over the kid’s mouth, for a gag. Mary saw me do it and started to say something. I shook my head. “Sorry, kid,” I said—but I was really talking to Mary. “I got to do this, can’t have you bawling.”

Then I stuck her in the back seat of the Olds, on her side. With her hands tied she couldn’t sit up.

Mary climbed in next to me. I gave the bug the gun and backed down the alley, watching through the rear-view mirror. I didn’t see any cars, any people. So far so good.

As soon as I was clear, Specs got back into the driver’s seat. I watched him put on his glasses again and pull away. He’d sure looked different without his glasses. Now, if he ditched his old suit like I told him to, they’d never be able to identify him.

I waited until I saw his car turn out into the street. Then I followed. He turned right at the end of the alley and I turned left.

Still nobody in sight. I looked at Mary now, but I didn’t have to look—I could feel her against me, trembling.

Without saying the words out loud I moved my lips so she could see me. “Snap out of it. Head scarf. Glasses.”

She got them out of her purse, put the scarf on and then the glasses. I drove along at about thirty-five. No sense getting panicky and speeding.

The kid was making sounds under the gag. Mary frowned. Her hand dug into my arm. I reached over and slapped it down.

I looked at my watch. Just twenty after. Specs should be at the post office by now, mailing the letter. Fast work, but my hands were tired and my neck was stiff like I’d been driving for hours.

I made myself take deep breaths, to relax. Then I got a cigarette into my mouth, but I couldn’t taste it so I threw it away.

Mary started to look around again, at the kid. I tugged at her shoulder and she stopped.

Then we were on the highway and rolling. It was just quarter to four when we pulled in the driveway. I got out, left the motor running, and opened the garage door. Then I drove right in.

Mary and I got out of the same side of the car, so only one door would slam. I didn’t figure the kid would hear us, but no sense taking any chances. I walked her up to the back door, opened it, and pushed her into the house. Nobody’d seen us.

“How’d it go?” I asked, when the door was closed behind us again.

“Oh, Steve, you aren’t going to leave her out there that way—she’s tied so tight, I’m afraid she’ll—”

I grabbed her and shook her. “How’d it go!” I said.

“All right.”

“Nobody noticed anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

I shook her again. “Don’t guess at it. Are you sure?”

“Y-yes. I’m sure.”

“Then we’re okay.”

She started for the door and I grabbed her arm.

“Where you think you’re going?”

“I want to see if she’s all right. Maybe I can loosen that rope a little—”

I walked over to her and slapped her in the mouth.

“No you don’t. I explained how you can’t go out there. I’ll see that she gets along. You got a job to do, remember? Hop into the john and get busy with that hair-dye.”

“Steve, you hurt me.”

“Steve, you hurt me.” I imitated her whiney voice. “That’s only a sample of what you got coming if you get any more ideas. Now get moving, quick. This isn’t a game—we’re playing for keeps, now. They hang you for kidnapping in this state.”

I thought for a minute she was going to pass out. I went over and grabbed hold of her just in time.

“Mary, I’m sorry. Honest I am. Look, I’m just as nervous as you are—maybe more. But I got to control myself. You got to control yourself. That’s why I said that, about what they do to you if they catch you. Only just remember one thing; you do what you’re told and nobody’s going to get caught.”

“Steve, I wish—”

“Never mind. I know what you wish. But everything’s fine so far. The kid isn’t hurt. In a couple days she’ll be back home playing in the yard. And we’ll be having our fun on a pile of twenty-dollar bills.” I kissed her, and it was like kissing a piece of ice. “That’s my girl! Now you run along and turn yourself into Marilyn Monroe or somebody, and I’ll go look after the kid.”

She went into the john and shut the door.

I walked out to the garage. I went inside and shut the overhead behind me, turned on the light.

The kid was still lying on the seat, wriggling around and whimpering. When she heard me come in, she began to get louder.

I climbed into the back seat and lifted her so that she was sitting up.

“Listen, kid,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

She nodded.

“Then stop crying, will you? Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’ll be all right.”

She made some sounds under the handkerchief and I could tell she was trying to say something like, “I want my Mamma.”

“Of course you want your Mamma,” I said. “And I’m going to take you back to her. In just a little while. But you’ve got to behave. No more crying, understand?”

She didn’t nod or anything, but she quieted down. I could feel how warm she was, sitting next to me like that.

It made me feel funny all of a sudden. I looked at her, and she was a mess. Hair all tangled, and this handkerchief over her eyes and another one over her mouth. Her blouse was torn, too. I reached down and looked at her hands. They were white and cold. They’d tied the rope pretty tight. Come to think of it, it must of been pretty bad for her, all this happening so quick. She was awful skinny. I noticed that again.

“Look, kid,” I said. “I’m fixing this rope so it’s a little looser. It won’t make your wrists sore then. That okay?”

She jerked her head up and down. I reached over and untied the knot, then tied it again after I moved the rope up a little. Her wrists were all red where it had cut in.

“That’s better now, isn’t it?” I asked. “See, nobody’ll hurt you if you behave. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll come out after a while and bring you some supper.”

She nodded again. She was getting the idea.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “why don’t you just lay down on the seat here and go to sleep? I’ll go and fix supper—don’t you worry, the door’ll be closed and nobody’s coming in to bother you. Just lay down and pretend you’re at home in your own bed. That’s a girl! Here, I’ll put this blanket over you. Now, go to sleep.”

Hell, you’d think I was saying goodnight to my own kid or something. But she lay down without a peep out of her, and I got out of the car and closed the door.

I went back into the house and turned on the radio, soft. Mary was still in the john, and I could hear water running in the bath tub. I knew there was a 4:45 news broadcast, and I wanted to hear it without her listening.

It came in fine and clear.

“Good afternoon, everyone. This is Arch Wesley and the news. Today’s biggest headline comes from Washington, D.C., where top government officials announced this morning that—”

I switched the radio off again. I knew the pattern. Any big local story always was announced first. They hadn’t sent out a report on the kidnapping yet. Or notified anyone that the kid was missing. I kept forgetting they hadn’t had time to get that letter. Right now, it seemed as if this had all started days ago.

Anyway, it was all right.

I went out to the kitchen and monkeyed around in the icebox, looking over the groceries I’d brought out. Then I got out the frying-pan and set the table. I had bought some steaks, but I figured it would be easier to fix hamburgers right now. Easier to feed them to the kid, that is.

Just about the time I was ready to get rolling on the cooking, the bathroom door opened and Mary said, “Did you go out there?”

“Sure,” I said. “And everything’s all right. I loosened her wrists for her and she stopped crying. She even went to sleep.”

“That’s swell.”

“Sure it’s swell. Stop worrying, Mary. How you feel now?”

“I took a bath, a hot bath. Now I feel better.”

“Of course you do.” I walked over to the door. “That’s good for you, makes you relax. Did you fix your hair?”

“I’m just letting it dry before I put it up. It should be all right by tonight.”

“Everything’ll be all right by tonight. I’m getting us some supper ready. Nothing more to worry about. We’re okay, the kid’s okay.”

The minute I said it, I felt better. It made her feel better, too. All the panic was gone, and nothing was left but a sort of excited feeling. The same feeling you get when you’re sitting in on a big poker game, and you’re playing your hand close to your belly because you know you’ve got a cinch, you’re bound to win.

“Let’s see how your hair looks,” I said.

“It isn’t ready yet. I haven’t got any clothes on.”

I opened the door. She was standing by the wash bowl, looking in the mirror and trying to put in some curlers or whatever you call them.

“Say, that’s nice,” I told her. “I always did like blondes.”

“You really think it looks good?” She turned around.

“You know what I think?” I walked right up to her.

“Steve, let go, what if somebody—”

I kissed her, hard. “There’s nobody around,” I said. “Nobody but us. The two of us, together, from now on in.”

And all at once it was true, there was just the two of us in the whole world, the two of us with all that tightness inside, fighting to get out. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

It was pitch dark when I went back to the kitchen again. She fixed her hair and I made the hamburgers.

“Go ahead and eat while they’re still warm,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I got one of those little cardboard cartons with a half pint of milk in it, and I put a hamburger on a plate and a cruller.

“This ought to hold the kid,” I said.

“Make sure she drinks all her milk,” Mary told me. “Then maybe you can bring her in. It’s dark enough now. She probably has to go to the bathroom.”

I nodded and went out.

I went into the garage and switched on the light. I had to set the food down on the floor, first, and when I got the light on I stood up again and something hit me in the back.

I jumped about a foot, and then I noticed it was only the car door, swinging open against me.

It was only the car door, but it was the rear door.

I turned around and saw how it was.

What had happened was that she had her hands looser than before, and could use them. She couldn’t untie the bandage or the gag, but she could reach out and find the door handle and open it.

Only thing is, she was still blindfolded and didn’t know where she was going. So the door came open, and she must of leaned against it and slipped.

That’s why she was lying there on the cement. She’d fallen straight out on her head. There was no blood or anything, but I could tell what had happened from the way her neck was bent.

Even before I reached down to turn her over, even before I felt her, all cold and with her head dangling like a chicken’s, I saw how it was, knew what had happened.

She was dead.

Chapter Ten

I didn’t do anything, then.

There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t think, and it was hard enough just trying to keep from passing out.

She was dead.

And that meant—

I leaned against the wall and tried to figure out just what it meant.

Then the answer came to me.

Nothing.

It meant nothing. A minute before I was ready to scream, run away, bat my head against the concrete, all kinds of crazy things. Now I was calm again. Because it meant nothing, if I stayed calm.

The kid was dead. But the ransom note had been sent, and they’d pay up. The only difference was that now they wouldn’t be getting their kid back. Too bad, but that’s the way the ball bounces sometimes. Hell, I didn’t kill her. I was bringing her some supper.

And it didn’t matter either way, as far as the law was concerned. They’d hang me if they caught me, either way.

Only they wouldn’t catch me. Not if I stayed calm, and just played the hand out.

It would be a little different hand, but I still held all the cards. For one thing, I’d have to figure out what to do with the body. That wasn’t good—but I’d hit on something.

The next problem would be handling Mary and Specs. I couldn’t let them go overboard on account of this thing.

I’d just have to figure things one at a time, now. And there was no sense rushing.

So I lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the butt. That helped a little. But it was still bad, having to pick her up and put her back on the seat. I managed to do it, all right, and I covered her up. She looked like she was sleeping.

That’s what they always say at funeral parlors. “She looks just like she was sleeping.” I tried to think about something else. The first step now was Mary.

I dumped out the milk and the hamburger, closed the car door, turned out the light, went outside. I made sure the garage was locked tight.

Then I came back into the kitchen.

“Where’s Shirley Mae?”

“I just finished feeding her. She fell asleep right away. The poor kid’s plenty bushed, I guess.”

“But aren’t you going to bring her in and put her to bed?”

“She’s fine right where she is. Got a blanket over her and everything.”

“Hadn’t I better make sure?”

“You sit right there.” I pushed her down in the chair. “How often do I have to tell you before you get it through your head? She mustn’t see you or hear you. So you don’t go out there, see? And you don’t bring her in here, either. That way there’s no chance of a slip-up.”

“But the poor little thing—”

“She’s fine, I tell you! You’ll be the one to feel sorry for, if they ever heard her say you were out here.”

“All right, Steve. Here, eat your meat.”

“I’m not hungry. Guess I’m too tired.”

Tired wasn’t the word for it. But I didn’t want to eat, and I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to think. I’d have to do a lot of thinking between now and tomorrow noon when I called Specs.

She cleared away the dishes and I sat there, smoking.

“Gee, it’s quiet out here in the country.”

“Don’t bother me—I’m trying to think.”

She came over and stood behind my chair and put her arms around my neck.

“Poor lover. He’s so tired.” For a minute I almost felt good again; it was sort of like having your old lady around when you’re a kid and hurt yourself.

Then I wanted to laugh, or cry or something, because she said, “Don’t worry, Steve. I know how you feel, but everything’s going to be all right.”

That was a hot one. Now she was cheering me up! If she only knew—

But she mustn’t know. Not yet. It’d drive me nuts, spending the night out here with her alone, if she knew. I had to keep her busy. And then I remembered.

“Holy cow!” I jumped out of the chair. “Now I know what I was trying to think of. We almost forgot something.”

“What?”

“That letter. You got to write a letter, right now. To the Warrens. For me to send to New Orleans to be mailed. Remember?”

“Yes. You got any paper, envelopes and things?”

“Sure. I brought some in my suitcase. You can use your pen. Wait, I’ll go get you the stationery.”

I found it and came back to the kitchen.

“Oh, Steve, I don’t know what to write.” She made a face. “I’m no good at writing letters, anyway. And I’m afraid they’ll figure out it’s a lie.”

“Not if you’re careful. That’s the whole reason for doing it in the first place—so they won’t suspect you. Now sit down there and get your pen out. I’ll tell you what to say.”

She spoiled three or four sheets of paper, but we finally got it done. This is how it read:

Dear Mrs. Warren:

I am writing this so you won’t worry about me. You know what happened the other day. It was just awful. One minute we were walking along and the next minute this car pulled out of the alley near the school and a man pointed a gun at me and said to get in or he’d shoot.

Maybe I should have yelled or tried to run, but I was afraid he might really do something and hurt Shirley Mae. So I got in and then he hit me over the head with the gun and I guess I passed out.

The next thing I knew we were riding along somewhere and he pushed me out of the car and said to get going and if I told anybody I’d be killed.

I was so sick and dazed I couldn’t think straight. He let me out way uptown, near the bus station there, and all I could think of was I had to get away. I am so ashamed now, but that’s what I did. You paid me in the morning, so I had $45 and another $30 of my own in my purse. I just went in the bus station and asked when the next bus left going south.

There was one in about ten minutes, so I took it as far as Chicago, and then I took another bus to New Orleans. By the time you get this letter I will be moving along. Maybe to California, where my aunt lives.

I am sorry now I ran away, but I just couldn’t stand coming back and telling you what happened, or getting mixed up with the police.

I sure hope Shirley Mae is back home safe by now. I will read the papers and see what happened. In case they have not caught the man who did it, here is what I remember and you can tell the police.

He was driving a blue Ford with white sidewalls. He was dark complected and bald headed, about fifty I guess, and he talked sort of broken English. But he did not look mean or cruel and I don’t think he will hurt Shirley Mae. I think he just wants money. Anyway I sure hope they catch him.

Mrs. Warren, I am sorry about everything. You folks always treated me nice, and I loved your little girl so much. If whoever did it wants a ransom, I have $500 in Downtown Savings and Loan. Take this letter and tell them to let you have the money and you can put it toward the ransom if that will help. Maybe some day when it’s all over I will come back just to see Shirley Mae. I hope you are not angry and realize this was not my fault.

Yours sincerely,
Mary Adams

I had quite a time getting Mary to put in that stuff about how it happened.

“Shirley Mae will tell them it wasn’t a blue Ford,” she said. “And she saw Specs—she knows he isn’t bald or old like you said.”

I calmed her down. “That all helps to get them confused,” I told her. “And the more confused they are, the better.”

Then I put her letter in an envelope and had her address it to the Warrens. I put an airmail stamp on it. After that I got a sheet of paper and stuck two bits to it with Scotch tape. I took her letter and the paper and put it in another big envelope, to go to this box number in New Orleans where they mail stuff out again for you. I had the ad clipping in my pocket.

“Let me see, now,” I said. “If this goes out tonight it should get to New Orleans on Monday morning. They mail it right back, airmail, and the Warrens’ll have it Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning at the latest.”

“But you can’t mail it tonight!”

“Why not?” I asked. “There’s a box right down at the crossroads. I saw it when I came in.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here alone with Shirley Mae, I couldn’t bear it.”

“Shirley Mae’s asleep in the back seat. I’ll just take her with me. Only be gone ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Steve, let me come with you. I’m scared to be alone.”

I took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Mary. You and I been through a lot of things together already, and one thing I’ve noticed. You’re not chicken. That’s why I go for you. So don’t spoil it now. In the first place, nothing’s going to happen while I’m gone. And I don’t want to risk the kid seeing you—I’m just thinking of how to protect you.”

“You’re sure it won’t take long?”

“Positive. You just sit tight, read one of those magazines I brought you till I get back. The house’ll be locked.”

I walked over to the door. “Maybe I’ll bring you back a surprise,” I said. “So don’t worry if I’m gone a few minutes longer.”

She nodded. I went out and locked the door behind me.

Then I went into the garage.

All of a sudden it had come to me, what I could do about the kid. It had come to me fast, and I knew I had to do it, fast.

Reading up on all these cases in the library had helped. One of the big mistakes I noticed all along was what they did with the bodies, most of them. Like burying them out in the woods, or under cement, or just tossing them in the lake or something. Sooner or later the cops always find them, and there’s always clues. That’s how kidnapers get caught.

The worst part about finding the body is that then they know for sure the kid is dead, and the heat is really turned on. Everybody goes crazy: parents, police, the FBI, and the whole damn country. The way the papers play it up, you’d think kids weren’t getting killed every day by reckless drivers and stuff. Anyhow, they start a real manhunt then, and that makes it tough. If they find the body.

But if they don’t find it, there’s always some hope left. And they’re a little more careful what they say or do.

That would help, if I could get rid of the kid so they wouldn’t run across her.

If I did it now, Mary wouldn’t see her, and that would help, too. Sooner or later she was going to have to know, but I could handle her. Just so she never saw the kid. I knew how sick it had made me, and I could just imagine what it would do to Mary.

So I was glad I’d thought of a way. And right now was my chance, if I could find what I was looking for.

I went out to the garage, closed the door, and I found it.

A twenty-gallon oil drum, sitting in the corner.

I pried the lid off. It was on tight, and that was good. The drum was dry and empty, in good shape. I kicked the sides in, dented it up all I could without folding it.

Then I went around to the back seat of the car.

It was awful, getting her into that drum. The drum was big enough, but her arms and legs wouldn’t fit. And I had to do it. I had to do it, and I did it.

By the time I finished I was sweating, my clothes were wringing wet, and my hands shook so I could scarcely jam the lid back on. I looked around until I found a wrecking bar and I pounded the lid tight shut, bending the edges.

Then I put the drum in the back seat and drove off. I hoped Mary wouldn’t notice how long I took before I got the car out, or hear the pounding. But it couldn’t be helped.

Nothing could be helped now, and I had to keep going. I had to keep going the right way, all the way. If I stopped, they’d catch up to me. And that meant the rope.

I drove ninety to the crossroads, parked next to the box and dropped off the letter.

Then I climbed back in and headed up the highway. I didn’t put her up past fifty, now, because I was looking for something.

The night was dark and there wasn’t any traffic to speak of. That suited me perfect. But it made it hard to see. I had to go four or five miles before I found what I’d been hoping to find.

It was back off the highway on a little gravel road, maybe half a mile. Near the town of Richmond. Just a big old abandoned gravel pit of some kind, heaped up with stuff inside and all around. The town of Richmond dump.

I drove in, cutting my lights, and turned around so I wouldn’t have to back out. Then I got out and lugged the drum over to a pile right on the edge. I wedged it in between a rusty bedspring and some busted fenders and stuff nobody would ever come looking for. I didn’t shove it down into the pit because it might come open. Besides, I read somewheres that the best way to hide things is to leave them right out in the open, where you wouldn’t expect to find them.

The beat-up old can looked plenty natural lying there, so I left it and drove away.

Then I came back to the crossroads and stopped at the tavern there. I picked up a bottle of whiskey and a bunch of cokes. There was a big Friday night crowd at the bar and nobody paid any attention to me.

I was back and parked in the garage in twenty-seven minutes, flat.

Mary was standing at the door when I unlocked it.

“Steve, I was so worried—everything all right?”

“Perfect. I mailed it. The kid slept through it all and nobody spotted us.”

“What took you so long?”

“I had to get this.” I held up the whiskey and the bag full of coke. “I told you I’d bring a surprise. You and I are gonna forget all about worrying the rest of tonight. Get out some glasses and let’s have a party.”

We had our party.

She still wasn’t used to drinking, and it didn’t take much to get her going. The liquor loosened her up, and I kept her glass filled. She began talking about what we’d do in Florida, and after a while she got high.

That’s what I wanted to see, because she forgot her troubles then.

But I didn’t forget. Even liquor wouldn’t help me, now, and I only had a few to keep her going.

Pretty soon she was sitting on my lap and pawing me, but I kept telling her to wait awhile and I kept feeding her more drinks.

Finally she passed out and I carried her into the bedroom. That was what I wanted. I couldn’t have had anything to do with her tonight, the way I felt.

I just lay there in bed, thinking about tomorrow. I had a lot to think about, and I didn’t want to go to sleep anyway because I was afraid of what might happen if I slept.

Along about the time it was getting light outside I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I dozed off, and sure enough, it happened just like I’d been afraid it would.

They’d been waiting for me all along. I was too smart for them as long as I stayed awake, but when I slept they could find me. Find me and catch me.

They came after me, then, all of them. The cops and the sheriff and the FBI men and then the prosecuting attorney and the jury. They were bad, all of them were bad. But the worst guy was the last one, the man with the rope.

Chapter Eleven

After the dreams, I really slept. The first I came to was when Mary started shaking me.

“Steve, wake up! Wake up, it’s almost noon!”

I opened my eyes. She was sitting on the side of the bed. Her hair was all messed and she looked like hell.

“How do you feel?”

“My head aches.”

“Hangover. I’ll fix that. Let me get you some coffee.”

“After a while. But you better go look after Shirley Mae, first.”

I jumped out of bed. “You’re right, I forgot! I’ll take her some milk.”

“Eggs, too. And change those handkerchiefs and things. The poor little thing, I’ll bet she’s scared stiff. Let me go with you. Steve, please.”

I shook my head. “It’s tough, Mary, but we can’t take the chance. I’ll look after her. She’ll be all right.”

I went out and fried up a couple of eggs and got out some more milk.

“Here, you fix for us,” I told Mary. “I won’t be long.”

Then I went to the garage. This time I looked over the car. The back seat was clean, but I turned the light on and brushed it out. Then the front seat. I got a rag and wiped the door-handles, everything. No sense slipping up on the details now.

After that I dumped the eggs and the milk into a paint can. I’d make sure of getting rid of that later, too.

Then I sat down in the car and had a smoke. I was feeling better because I had a hunch the worst was over. Not seeing the kid helped. Once she was gone it was almost as if she’d never been there, in a way.

All I had to think about now was the money. But in order to get the money, I had to handle Mary. That part I didn’t look forward to.

I went back to the house then. Mary had everything ready.

“How is she this morning?”

“Fine. I changed handkerchiefs. Her hands aren’t bad.”

“Did she talk? Did she ask about me?”

“No. She wanted to go home. I told her in a day or two.”

“What’re we going to do, Steve? I’m worried about her staying all that time out there.”

“Only a couple of days. It won’t hurt her.”

“Did she go?”

“What do you mean? Oh, yeah. In a can.”

“Oh, Steve, that’s awful! That poor little—”

“Drink your coffee and shut up. You’ll feel better.”

“I can’t. What if she gets sick, what if something would happen to her?”

I took a deep breath.

“All right, what if something did?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s face it. Suppose the worst came to the worst and she died.”

“Steve! Don’t even talk like that!”

“I’m going to talk like that for a minute, Mary. This is important. You never know in things like this what might happen next. So let’s suppose something did happen to her.”

“I’d never forgive myself, never.”

“It would be tough, yes.” I walked around the table and put my hands on her shoulders. “But that’s not the problem, whether you forgive yourself or not. The problem is, nobody else is liable to forgive us whether she’s all right or whether she isn’t. Either way, if we get caught, we swing for it.”

I felt her shudder all over. “Oh, I wish we’d never started this in the first place. I shouldn’t have listened to you, I must have been crazy—”

“Think straight for a minute, will you?” I rubbed her shoulders. Looking down at her I could see the brown part at the roots of her hair. She’d washed and put on her makeup and she looked all right now, in one of the new slips I’d bought her. But I still didn’t feel like touching her—only I knew I had to. It was the only way.

I kept talking. “You weren’t crazy. You went in on this deal because you love me, remember? And because we’re going to go away together. We’re going to be rich, you and I. We’ll make out. As long as you don’t go soft on me. If you do, we’re cooked.”

“I won’t go soft on you, darling. You know that.”

I ran my hands down over her neck and shoulders. “Whatever happens, just remember there’s the two of us. That’s what we’re doing this for, that’s the big thing.”

I pulled her up out of the chair, held her facing me. My hands dug in. She looked up at me and came close.

“Which reminds me. You still owe me something for passing out last night.”

“Oh, Steve—”

“Come on,” I said. My heart was pounding, my stomach was turning over, but this was the only way. Then maybe I could tell her and she’d take it.

I made myself go ahead and grab her. Rough, the way she liked it. I kissed her so that she cut her lip, and then she closed her eyes and went limp.

Then we were in the bedroom, and I was kissing her again, and she was breathing hard.

All at once, just when I figured she was set, she opened her eyes. She stared right up at me and stopped me cold.

“Steve,” she said. “Shirley Mae—she’s dead, isn’t she?”

I was so surprised, I couldn’t think what to say. So I told her. I told her the truth, all of it.

She listened, and there was nothing in her face. Nothing. And when I finished, still nothing.

“Don’t you understand?” I whispered. “I didn’t hurt her. She did it herself. It was an accident, just one of those things that happen. Nobody’s to blame.”

She said, “What did you do with her?”

“I won’t tell you that. I took her someplace, last night. Someplace where they’ll never find her. Oh, I know how you feel, because it’s the same way with me. But it can’t be helped, now. We’ve got to go through with it.”

Maybe it was because she had no expression on her face, maybe it was on account of the blonde hair—whatever it was, she looked like a stranger, lying there. And when she spoke, she sounded like a stranger to me.

“Steve.”

“Yes, Mary.”

“Do you love me?”

I bent over, looking at the stranger. The stranger in a strange house, in a strange bed, in a world where everything was strange and unreal to me now.

“You’ve got to tell me, Steve, because it’s important. Do you love me?”

It was important, all right. I knew that. So I stared right back at her and at last I got it out.

“Yes, Mary. I love you.”

Then she smiled. She closed her eyes. She pulled my head down.

I knew it was going to be all right, then.

Chapter Twelve

“Steve! Wake up!”

I’d dozed off and she was poking me again.

“What’s the matter, honey?”

“You know what you forgot? You forgot to call Specs!”

“Hey, you’re right. What time is it?”

“Almost three.”

“Come on, get dressed. We’re going down there.”

“Where?”

“To the drug store. I’ll bet he’s still hanging around the booth, waiting.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“Of course it’s safe. Step on it, while I shave.”

I sure as hell wasn’t going to go downtown or even go out to phone by myself and leave her behind now. I knew I could trust her but it wasn’t a good idea to let her stay alone.

That was one thing I’d have to watch from now on in. And I’d have to watch how I talked, how I acted. I couldn’t relax for a second.

I shaved fast, and it made me feel better. It made me look better, too—that was another thing I had to remember, not to scowl or look funny around her.

Well, I’d asked for the job. And I could handle it. For two hundred Gs I could handle anything.

“Ready?”

She was waiting for me, wearing those high-heeled shoes and a black sunback dress I’d picked out for her.

“You look swell, baby,” I told her. And she did.

She hesitated when we got to the door.

“I don’t like to go out there. Suppose somebody sees us?”

“Let ’em. Don’t forget, we’re supposed to be on a vacation here, you and I. And my name is George.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“And from now on, we might as well act like we really were on vacation. I’m going to get some weenies, we can use that outdoor fireplace in back to roast them. And maybe we can even go in swimming. That lake water’s warm.”

She smiled and I knew I’d got her cheered up.

When we got into town I reached into the glove compartment. “Here, put on these glasses,” I said. “There isn’t a chance anyone will recognize you, but you might as well get used to them.”

Funny, the way she looked in glasses. With that blonde hair and that dress, I just had to laugh. She got a peek at herself in the mirror and then she was laughing, too.

We stopped laughing at the drugstore. Specs wasn’t there.

I’d parked right in front and we went in. No Specs.

“Steve, you think maybe something’s gone wrong?”

“Got out to the car and wait,” I said. “I’ll take a look around.”

The minute she left I walked over to the newsstand and looked for a paper. The afternoon edition was out, and I stared down at the headline.

MISSING GIRL BELIEVED KIDNAP VICTIM

Police Seeking Sender of Ransom Note

So they’d hollered copper right away, after all! Well, it was too much to hope for, that they wouldn’t. Actually, I guess I’d counted on it all along. And it still didn’t make any difference.

I glanced through the story, fast. I wouldn’t buy the paper because I didn’t want Mary to see it.

It was a long story, but I skipped over everything except what I wanted to know. Paul, the chauffeur, was the one who made all the trouble. I hadn’t figured on him, really. He’d waited for Mary and the kid for about twenty minutes, then went inside to the school. When he found out they’d left he cruised around and then called Mrs. Warren. So before there was time for them to get the ransom note special delivery, they’d already called the cops and put in a report.

There was a lot more about the police combing the city, and the sheriff ordering patrols and county road-blocks. And there were plenty of statements—all the usual crap about what a horrible tragedy it was, and what the penalties were. But not one word about clues. Except for Mary’s name. They were out looking for her, all right. And that’s why I didn’t want her to see the paper.

One other thing I noticed. The reporters had asked old man Warren if he was going to pay the money. And he told them he was willing to do anything to get his daughter back.

That suited me.

I put down the paper, went into the booth, and called Specs at his place. He must of been waiting right alongside the phone.

“Hello, is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.” Who did he think it was, the king of Siam?

“Where were you? I waited and waited—”

“I got tied up. But everything’s all right.”

“Sure? I been so worried I couldn’t sleep.”

“Everything’s fine. Stop talking about being worried.”

“But the papers—”

“Don’t talk about the papers. Somebody might hear you. Just listen to me, Specs. It’s too late to get together any more today, so let’s make a date for tomorrow. Suppose you come on out to the place around noon. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

“Okay. But I kind of hate to think about going to work again tonight, you know?”

“You’ve got to, Specs. One other thing, when you’re through work you go right home. No taverns or anything, understand?”

“I understand. Way I feel, I couldn’t hold any liquor on my stomach anyhow.”

“All right. See you at noon then.”

“Steve, I—”

I hung up. Talking would only get him more nervous. It didn’t do me any good, either.

Back at the car, Mary said, “Did you get hold of him?”

“Sure, he was at his place, like I thought. I told him to come out tomorrow around noon.”

“What did he have to say? Is everything all right?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?” I patted her cheek. “Come on, we’ve got the rest of the day off. Let’s go do some shopping.”

I drove uptown to a Super Market and we loaded up on some more groceries. I filled four of those big cartons.

“Gee, this is a lot.”

“Keep us going for a week. Maybe we won’t need that much, but we might as well get it and be set.”

Then I stopped off at a liquor store. I bought two bottles of light rum, two bottles of bourbon, and a case of coke.

“Let me go in the drug store and get some magazines,” she said.

“You sit right here. I’ll get some. You like those confession magazines, don’t you?”

“Why can’t I pick them out myself?”

“Because I say so, that’s why.” And because I didn’t want her to see any headlines. But I shouldn’t have snapped at her, and I remembered just in time. “Sorry, honey. Just nerves. I’ll be back in a minute.”

When I came back she looked at me. “Steve, you should have gotten a paper. Maybe there’s something in it.”

“No, I looked. You don’t want Saturday’s paper, anyhow—it’s so thin. We can get the Sunday paper tomorrow, with the comics and everything.”

“All right.”

On the way back she said, “I wish you had a radio in this car.”

“What for?”

“Well, maybe we could hear a news broadcast or something.”

“Will you stop worrying? I told you, nobody said anything.”

“Just the same, I’m going to listen when we get back to the cottage.”

“Suit yourself.”

When we drove in it was just getting to be twilight. I put the stuff away and she changed into slacks.

“Go on outside and find some sticks of wood,” I said. “Take all this paper and stuff and start a fire in the fireplace. We’re going to have a picnic.”

“You got weenies?”

“Sure. Marshmallows, too. Find two long sticks we can use when we roast ’em.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Fix us a drink,” I said. “I’ll be out.”

I did fix a drink, and I did go out. But not until I’d unscrewed a couple of tubes from the radio and stuck them in back, underneath the cabinet. There weren’t going to be any news flashes tonight.

The weenies were good, fixed that way. For the first time in about three days I was really hungry. I ate about half a dozen of them, and some marshmallows and a couple peaches. It was a nice warm night and you could hear the motor boats going out on the lake. I saw some lights in cottages down the line, and along about nine somebody started playing the accordion way off.

Mary and I walked down and looked at the water. I brought the bottle and a blanket. After a while we lay down and just stared up at the sky. You could see stars all over the place.

“Steve, you know something?”

“What?”

“I’m all right now.”

“Good.”

“Up until a little while ago I was still nervous. I tried not to show it, but I was scared to death. Thinking that maybe they’d catch us, you know.”

“They won’t.”

“I’m sure of it too, now. And I’ll never be scared again, never, as long as you’re here with me.”

“I’ll always be here.”

She leaned back and I put my head in her lap. She stroked my forehead. “Just think, darling, how wonderful it’s going to be. You and I, together, always. Someday this will all seem like a dream, won’t it?”

It seemed like a dream to me, right now. But I didn’t tell her that. “Yeah. It’s going to be great. One of the things I always wanted to do was to take a cruise. You know, down to South America, places like that.” I sat up. “Say, you know, we could even live down there if we found a place we liked.”

“We’re going to have enough money to last, aren’t we, Steve?”

“Sure. What do you mean, last? If we spend it all, we can always get—”

“No, Steve. That’s one thing I wanted to get straight with you.”

“Huh?”

“This is the only time, darling. You’ve got to promise. We’ll never do anything like this again. Never.”

“All right,” I said. “Anything you say.”

“I really mean it, Steve. Promise?”

“I promise.”

That satisfied her. After a while we went back to the cottage. First thing she did was try to turn on the radio.

“Something’s the matter,” she said. “All I get is this buzzing noise.”

“Let me try it.” I stooped down and fiddled around. Then I looked in back.

“Must be some tubes burned out,” I said. “Well, I can pick some up in town Monday. To hell with the radio anyway. How about another drink?”

We had another drink, and then we went to bed. I was all ready for her, but she said, “No, let’s just go to sleep. I’m so tired, darling. So tired.”

She put her arms around me and we slept. Funny thing, I didn’t dream at all; maybe it was because I could feel her there with me.

The next morning we got up late and had breakfast together. Both of us felt pretty good. I watched her close, and she wasn’t nervous or upset today. Once she made up her mind to play along, that was it.

Or so I figured.

The car pulled in right after lunch time. Specs jumped out and came running up to the side door.

“Did you see the paper?” he yelled. “Did you see it? They’re calling in the FBI!”

“Here, give me that!” I grabbed the paper out of his hand, but it was too late. Mary heard him.

“Let me see,” she said.

So I gave it to her. What else could I do? I just sat there, reading parts over her shoulder.

They’d called the FBI, all right. And the whole damn front page was full of it. Even the governor had to get in his two cents worth about maybe turning the National Guard loose. They were raising a real stink.

“God, that’s all I been hearing about, down at the shop,” Specs said. “Everybody’s talking about it. I got so sick I went back to the can and heaved my supper.”

“Well, calm down. We’re all right.”

Mary turned the page. She started to read something like, “Police are seeking Mary Adams, twenty, a maid in Warren’s employ, who left the school in the company of—”

I grabbed the paper away.

“Quit reading that crud,” I said. “It’ll only make you upset.”

“You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” she said. “You knew yesterday. That’s why you wouldn’t buy a paper.”

“Sure,” I told her. “I knew. So what? No sense filling yourself full of this newspaper malarkey. You got nothing to be afraid of. That letter will clear you and nobody could recognize you anyway. Look at her, Specs—would you know it was the same girl?”

“No,” Specs said. “She looks real different.”

“There, you see?”

“But what about me?” Specs asked. “That’s what I want to know.”

“What about you? You’re doing all right. And tomorrow, we get the dough.”

“So soon?”

“Sure. Why wait?”

“I thought you figured Tuesday or so.”

“Quicker the better.”

“I guess you’re right. Maybe once they get the kid back they won’t care so much.”

Mary’s mouth opened. I tried to catch her eye, but he saw it.

“What’s the matter?” Specs asked. “Anything wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“Where’s the kid? How is she?”

“I been meaning to tell you,” I said. “There’s been an—”

Mary cut in. “The kid’s dead.”

“What?”

“You might as well know it. The whole thing. Go ahead and tell him, Steve.”

I told him.

“Oh my God!” He looked like he was going to faint in his tracks. “This is awful!”

“No it isn’t,” Mary said. “If I can take it, you can. We’re all in this thing together.” It was the second time she’d surprised me. “Steve, get him a drink.”

“I don’t want any drink.”

“Do you good.” I went out and came back with half a water glass full of bourbon. “Here.”

“Steve, what we going to do now?”

“We’re going to do just what we planned. Only we’ll move up the schedule a day or so, do it faster. Tonight I’m going to line up a place where we can tell them to leave the money. Then, tomorrow morning, Warren gets his phone call. He can leave the dough tomorrow night and we’re set. You two don’t have to worry about that part at all—it’s up to me to handle it. All you got to do, Specs, is go back to work tomorrow, just like nothing happened.”

“Steve, I can’t go back. I can’t.”

“You got to.”

“I just can’t. Thinking about that kid, knowing she’s dead—”

“Shut up and drink your drink!”

“Steve, I won’t do it. You can’t make me. I’m scared, Steve, I wish I was dead too—”

Mary came over and stood next to me. I looked at her and she nodded.

“All right, Specs. You don’t have to go back. But you know what it means—sooner or later somebody’s going to wonder where you disappeared to. And why. And you’ll have to leave your car here, too, in case the FBI starts getting fancy and checking tire-marks in the alley or someplace. The heat will be on for you, Specs.”

“I don’t care. I got to stay. If I went back, I know something’d happen, I’d tell or something. And if they ever find that kid—”

“They won’t find her, not where I put her, so don’t talk about it. Now go home and get some clothes.”

“I can’t drive, Steve, I’m too shaky.”

“Go home and pack,” I said. “That’s the least you can do. We’re taking a big chance letting you come here this way, and the only reason I’m doing it is to give you a break. So buck up and go get your things. See you at supper time.”

We watched him go, through the window.

Mary turned to me. “Steve, this is bad, isn’t it?

“You mean about him coming here to stay with us? It’s better than having him running around loose, the way he feels. No telling what he’d be liable to do in a few days. At least we can keep our eye on him here.”

“You think they’ll trail him?”

“Not a chance. I’ll see that he keeps out of sight once he gets here. And besides, he doesn’t go to work until five tomorrow. Nobody will start thinking about him as a suspect until at least Tuesday night or Wednesday. We’ll have the money, then, and I’ll figure out what our next move is. Maybe he’d look good as a blonde, too.”

She nodded. “All right, Steve. You know best.”

“Of course I do. And it might turn out to be a good thing, at that. We’ll have him out of harm’s way, and we’ll have the car in the garage in case they do mess around with tire marks. It’s going to work out fine. You’ll see.”

“I hope so.”

I turned away. I didn’t want her to see how tired I suddenly felt.

Chapter Thirteen

Specs was back before six, and when I saw him drive in I went out to meet him. He climbed out of the car, carrying his suitcase.

“Leave the keys in,” I said. “I’m going to stick this heap in the garage.”

I drove it inside and he waited for me.

“All set?” I asked. “Anybody notice you leave?”

“I don’t think so. Nobody home on Sundays.”

“Perfect. Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Not much I haven’t. Steve, I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like it either. But we’re in it, and we’ve got to go through with it.” I lowered my voice. “So try and keep your mouth shut about the newspapers, will you? For Mary’s sake.”

“I’ll try. But—”

“After all, you and I, we’re men. We can take it.” I patted his shoulder. “That’s why I chose you for this deal, because I knew you had guts. And in just a day or so now, comes the big payoff. Sixty-six thousand in cash, Specs! That’s a lot of lettuce, and it’s all yours. We’ll head south and have ourselves a time—maybe even go to South America on a cruise or something. How’d you like one of those hot little señoritas, hey Specs?”

He smiled, and I felt better. It was that sick look on his face that frightened me, at first. I knew he was yellow, but I hadn’t realized how yellow until today.

“Come on inside, then,” I told him. “And remember, don’t talk about anything or think about anything except the money. That’s the whole secret.”

“Sure, Steve.”

“I’ll fix you up with a bedroom. Want to wash your hands? Supper’s almost ready.”

He came in and said hello to Mary, and I gave him the bedroom nearest the front. He unpacked his things and I went out to the kitchen.

Mary looked at me.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s all right now. But do me a favor, will you? Don’t talk about this business when he’s around. You and I, we’re together and that makes it easy for us. He’s just a weak sister and we got to handle him with kid gloves.”

“Yes. I’ll be careful.”

So there it was. And there I was, playing both ends against the middle. I had to keep it that way, too—him watching her and her watching him,.

But it worked. All through supper, it worked.

Then I got out the opened bottle and some glasses and some coke and a tray of ice-cubes. I put them on the table and tossed the deck of cards down, too.

“Here,” I said. “Help yourself. Maybe you two would like to play a little two-handed rummy or something.”

“Two-handed?”

“That’s right. I’ve got to go out now, and find a spot.”

Specs looked at me. “Spot?”

God, he was stupid! “Sure.” I smiled. “A spot for them to leave the money at.”

“But couldn’t you wait until tomorrow?” Mary asked. “It ought to be easier in the daylight.”

“No.” I shook my head. “First of all, I don’t want anyone to notice me cruising around, looking things over, the way they would in daylight. Secondly, I want to make my call to Warren early in the morning. Thirdly, since I’ll be picking up the dough at night, it’s good that I find out what the place looks like at night. So there won’t be any traps or funny stuff.”

“That makes sense, Steve. You got a head on your shoulders.” Specs nodded at me, and I nodded back.

“Damn tootin’ I do. From now on in, this is my party. There won’t be any mistakes and there won’t be any trouble. Just remember that, both of you, and we’ll be all right. So sit down, have a drink, relax. I’ll be back before you notice it.”

Mary came up and kissed me. “Be careful,” she said.

I grinned at her. “You too. Don’t let old Specs here make any passes. He’s a devil with the women.”

Then I got out of there.

I wasn’t grinning as I rode away. What I told them was true; I had to find a spot tonight. And it had to be right.

I drove up the highway, further out of town. Then I circled west some more, looking for a crossroads.

This wouldn’t be easy.

To begin with, the way I figured it, I wanted to get a spot that wasn’t anywheres around the cottage. I wanted it to be near a main highway, so that when the police started thinking about it they’d guess whoever took the dough would head for Chicago or Minneapolis from there.

The second thing about the location was that it had to be near a crossroads at both ends of whichever side-road it was on. That’s so I’d have a choice in case they were waiting to jump me.

Also I was looking for trees, maybe a woods with a wide path running through it—so I could take off in that direction if I had to.

To make it worse, if the place was on a side-road it had to be one of those roads that run straight in both directions for a long ways. I wanted to be able to see down those roads, tomorrow night.

And finally, the spot I was looking for had to be deserted. No people around. That was most important of all. But everything was going to be important when you came right down to it.

So I kept driving and I kept looking.

After I drove west a ways, I turned north again. I kept track of my route in my head. But that wouldn’t do me any good unless I could finally locate what I was after.

My watch said ten. I’d been gone almost two hours, and no soap. I was beginning to get worried; my hands were sweaty. I wished now I’d thought to pick a spot beforehand. I wished I could quick think up another way of getting the money. I wished a lot of things.

Then I came to County Trunk XX and turned off, just on the chance. And I found the place.

It was just what I’d been looking for, and that was good.

It was even better than good, it was perfect. I drove past twice, then drove back and parked and took a look around.

This was it, all right.

It was one of these old farmhouses, set back from the road. The roof had started to cave in, and it looked like nobody’d lived here for maybe five or six years or more. I had the straight-away on either side of me, and a crossroads about a mile in both directions. In back of the house was this trail through some woods and I could even see where it came out on another back-road about a mile down. Best of all, in back of the farmhouse was a barn.

That’s where I’d be waiting, with the car. Nobody could see me there, from the road, and if I wanted to get out of the place in a hurry, all I had to do was drive straight down that trail.

I couldn’t of asked for a better setup. There was even this big old mailbox in front. I looked at it and it was just made for the job. From reading up, and from my own figuring, I guessed that $200,000 in tens and twenties made a bundle about the size of the average suitcase, give or take a few inches, and weighed maybe twenty-five pounds. It would fit in this oversize mailbox easy.

So there it was. No use sticking around any longer. I drove out the other side and hit another highway. Then I went back, checking the roads and the landmarks as I passed, and keeping track of my time.

Driving straight, it took just forty-five minutes. I took notice of all the side-roads on the way—either in case I had to use them, or in case they played cute and set up an ambush.

I didn’t like to think about that part, but I had to. I had to think of everything, now. What Mary might do, what Specs might do. What the cops were doing, and old man Warren, and the sheriff’s department and the goddam FBI. I had to sort of try and put myself in their places, reason things out. And I couldn’t let up for a minute.

That sure had been some pipe-dream of mine, thinking it was going to be easy. Two hundred grand, just like that—what a laugh! Nobody’d ever had to work harder for his dough than I was working for mine. No wonder they said crime doesn’t pay.

But it was going to pay. That was for sure, it was going to pay, for me. I hadn’t gone through all this for nothing. No matter what, I wouldn’t stop now.

So if they wanted to try any funny stuff, let ’em and to hell with ’em! I’d be ready.

That’s the way I was feeling when I finally got back to the cottage. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I could see the two of them sitting there. They weren’t playing any cards, but the bottle was almost empty.

Both of them jumped up when they heard the car pull in. I jumped out and met them at the door.

“All set,” I said. “Perfect. You two been telling each other bedtime stories?”

Neither of them said a word. They just looked at each other.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Mary came over to me. “Steve, I told Specs about the radio. He looked it over. He found some tubes and put them back in.”

“So that’s it,” I said. “You been listening to the news broadcasts, eh?”

“We wanted to know,” Specs mumbled. “Maybe they’d found out something.”

“All right, let’s have it. Did they?”

“No. I guess not.”

“Of course. How could they? So what’re you so down in the mouth about, you two?”

“Well, you know—the FBI and all. They’re smart, Steve. Maybe they figured something only they’re not saying.”

“Maybe, my hinder,” I said. “Excuse my French, Mary. All you got was a lot of double-talk, isn’t that so?”

“Yes.” Mary came up. I could smell she’d been drinking, but her eyes weren’t glassy from liquor. She was afraid again. “Only at ten o’clock there was this special broadcast, by the governor. He had a message, Steve. He said this crime was a disgrace to the state and he wouldn’t rest until he hunted down the kidnapper like a mad dog. You should have heard him, Steve. He really meant it. He’s—”

“He’s a cheap politician, that’s what he is,” I finished for her. “What did you expect he would say? He’s out making votes with a speech, is all. I’m ashamed of you two, getting took in by a bunch of crap like that. Words can’t hurt you. And that’s all they’ve got, words. They don’t know a thing. You ought to be glad after hearing all this stuff, because it proves they haven’t got a prayer.”

“Well, you know how it is,” Specs said.

“Yes, I know how it is. I know that we’re all here, together, and nothing happened to us. We’ve got ourselves a sweet little setup, a new car, plenty to eat and drink, nice place to stay. There’s nobody left to put the finger on us, and nobody’s going to. And in just twenty-four hours we’re going to be splitting up a cold two hundred thousand in cash. If we all keep calm and don’t lose our heads. I don’t know how you feel about it, but that’s how it looks to me. Any questions?”

There were no questions. Mary put her arm through mine and Specs looked at the floor.

“All right then, folks,” I said. “Let’s have ourselves a drink and go to bed.”

Chapter Fourteen

The big day.

I drove into town at nine. When I got uptown I stopped in at a filling station and loaded up the tank. I put in some oil and some water, checked the tires over.

Then I drove downtown and parked at a meter. I went across to the post office. There was a pay phone there, and it was in a booth in the corner. That suited me.

Getting my dime out, I noticed my fingers were trembling. That wasn’t good. I stopped and took a deep breath, another. I waited almost five minutes before I was calmed down. The way I did it was to think about the money. I just counted it off in my head. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand—

Then I called old man Warren.

I called his office, not his house. Maybe they tapped the phone out there, I had to figure on that. But the office would be safer. At least, I hoped so.

A girl answered.

“Good morning. Acme Trust.”

“Mr. Warren, please.”

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Uh—Mr. Fuller.”

“Fuller?”

“Harold Fuller. It’s about that mortgage.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Fuller. One moment, please.”

I listened, trying to hear a beep sound like there is when they tap a wire. But there was nothing.

“Hello.” Warren had a kind of a high voice, or maybe he was just nervous and excited.

“Mr. Warren, this is the call you’ve been expecting,” I said.

“Who is this? Where are you?”

“Never mind. You don’t think I’d be dumb enough to tell you, do you? And if you try to trace this call, you’re gonna be plenty sorry.”

“Where’s my daughter? What do you want?”

“Your daughter’s okay—so far. And you know what I want to keep her that way. Two hundred grand. In tens and twenties, like the letter said. In cash. You got it ready?”

“Why, not yet, it takes time to—”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Just listen and pay attention. I don’t care what you have to do to get it—that money must be ready tonight. I want it in a plain paper parcel, at midnight. Here’s where you go. Listen, and repeat the directions after me, because I’m only telling you once.”

He listened and repeated after I told him.

“Got it? Then get this. I don’t want any funny business, or there’ll be trouble. Real trouble. My partner’s an old hand at this business, and he’s got a record a mile long, so one more dead doesn’t matter to him. And that’s just what will happen if you try to cross us. Understand?”

“Yes. I don’t know how I’ll manage it, but I’ll have the money there. And you’ll bring Shirley Mae—?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow, after we get the dough. I’m going to count it and see if anybody’s marked the bills or played tricks with the serial numbers. Now one thing more.”

“Yes.” He was really listening, had been ever since I made that crack about one more dead doesn’t matter.

“I know you got the cops and the FBI in on this. And I know what they’ll tell you. To arrange an ambush out there and try to catch us.

“Well, you better not try it. Because I’m picking up the money, see, but my partner’s gonna be moving around. He and Shirley Mae. And if I’m not back half an hour after I go for the dough—something’ll happen to your kid. That’s all.”

“You’re sure she’s all right?”

“I’m sure. But she wants to go home. And if you want to see her there, you better come through. You can tell the cops I called if you want to, but it’s up to you to talk them out of any funny stuff. Maybe you can say you’re supposed to come out and make a trial run, or something. Just to show good faith. Let them plan their ambush for tomorrow or Wednesday. I don’t care what you tell them, that’s up to you, like I said.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“You and the money, that’s all I want to see. And if it’s okay, I’ll call you same time tomorrow and tell you where to pick up the kid. Now get busy. If I’m gone too long, my partner gets itchy with his knife.”

I hung up and dived out of the booth. I hopped in the car and drove off, fast. When I was about a block away, I heard something behind me. It was a siren. And it was coming this way.

I pulled over to the nearest parking-space, dropped a nickel into the slot, and started walking back. Sure enough, two squad cars pulled up in front of the post office.

About eight guys climbed out, carrying enough hardware to stop an army. Riot-guns and everything. They ran up the steps.

I’d been right. The girl at the switchboard probably had orders to trace every call coming in. And the police were standing by.

There was a crowd outside the post office now, and I elbowed my way in, so I could see. The cops were talking to the guys behind the windows, and looking around at the phone booth. Some of them collared people who were in there buying stamps and stuff.

I don’t know what they expected to find—maybe they thought I’d sit there after I finished my call and eat a box lunch. Maybe they figured the post office clerks and the people coming in were all detectives on the lookout to spot everyone who passed by.

It felt good to be part of the crowd there, but I wasn’t really frightened or anything. I knew enough about cops to be sure of one thing—they’re the dumbest bunch of characters in the world. They can’t catch anyone unless they’re tipped off by some squealer, nine times out of ten. Sure, they watch the railroad stations and the bus depots and the hotels, but everybody knows that’s how they work, and if you pull something you aren’t going to show up at those places.

Now I heard more sirens down the street. Probably going after guys in cars uptown, stopping them and asking questions. That was bright, too. How would they able to tell which car, or which guy? Just a lot of crap, trying to show the public they were really doing something. It didn’t mean a thing.

I wasn’t afraid of the cops. But the FBI was different. They got these scientific methods—checking blood stains and fingerprints and dirt under the nails, all kinds of stuff like that. I read up on them, and I didn’t want to tangle with the federals. Not if I could help it.

I wondered if they had a lot of plain clothes operators around. Maybe there was a couple in this crowd. I couldn’t tell. All around me, guys were saying, “What happened? Did they catch somebody?” And one old biddy said, “Somebody tried to hold up the post office” and a younger dame said, “No, I’ll bet it’s that kidnapper.”

A fat man came up alongside me and said, “What’s it all about, buddy?” I looked at him and shrugged. “Damned if I know. Guess the cops are after someone in there.”

He was a big, heavy-set, middle-aged sort of guy, and he didn’t look like FBI to me. He had a kind of mean look to him, like he’d been drinking alone all morning.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “They’re after the kidnapper all right. I hope they get him soon. My old lady won’t let the kids out of the house—she kep’ them in all weekend long.”

“Tough,” I said. “My wife’s the same way.”

“You got any kids?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Then you know what I mean. What the hell’s the world coming to with these bastards sneaking around, pulling stuff like that? Christ, I’d like to get my hands on that son of a bitch. Hanging’s too good for him.”

“Yeah, sure,” I told him. And I turned around and walked back, to a smoke shop. I picked up a carton of cigarettes and came out again.

The squad cars were pulling away. I watched them go, watched the crowd break up. Then I went into a cafeteria in the next block and had lunch.

I would have liked to have stayed in town all afternoon, maybe see a show or something and take my mind off things. But there wasn’t time.

Besides, I had to get back out to the cottage. Every minute away from those two was risky. They’d been fine this morning, but I knew that waiting for me to come back would wear them down. That, and the radio.

I got the car and headed out.

When I got to the crossroads, there was trouble.

Four or five cars ahead of me had slowed down, and I could see a roadblock, and a couple of state police cars parked next to it. They had troopers out checking on traffic, both ways.

There was nothing to do now but stay in line and wait. I sweated it out.

Finally the car ahead of me took its turn—old man and old lady in the front seat, and the trooper just sort of gave them a nod, so they went on.

Then I pulled up.

“What’s your name?”

“Ste—Stanley Kolischek.”

“You got a driver’s license?”

“Here it is.” I’d remembered just in time, about my real name being on the license. He looked it over.

“You’re the owner of this car?”

“Yes.”

“And where you headed for?”

“Waukegan.”

“Waukegan, Illinois?”

“That’s right. I got a brother down there, in Great Lakes Naval Training.”

“All right. Get going.”

I turned down the side road, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing.

Squad cars, roadblocks—what a jerkie deal that was! How could they expect to find anyone, pulling kid stuff like this?

No, I had nothing to get excited about as far as the cops were concerned—unless they kept that road blocked off tonight, too. but I doubted it like hell. It was all a gag.

Come to think of it, the FBI was a gag. Now I remembered what the paper had said. The FBI were called in and were standing by. Standing by meant they weren’t operating yet—and I suddenly remembered why.

Because the federals aren’t supposed to work on a case like this unless somebody crosses a state line. That’s the way the law was set up. So they were on hand, yes, but they wouldn’t make a move until after the money was claimed. Then perhaps they’d go into action, if they figured out I was leaving.

“I.” Where did I get this “I” stuff? They didn’t know about me. I reminded myself to calm down. Two o’clock, not much time to go.

Driving in, I saw them both sitting in the front room. I waved and they waved back.

“What’re you sitting inside for?” I asked. “Nice day out—why don’t you go down to the lake?”

Then I realized why. They’d been listening to the radio again.

“We just heard it,” Specs said. “About your phone call.”

“What’d they say?”

“How they traced it to the post office, only they didn’t find anybody. I’ll bet you got out of there in a hurry.”

I laughed. “You lose,” I said. “Matter of fact, I stuck around and watched the fun. One of the cops even asked me did I see anyone. And I said yeah, sure, a little guy with glasses named Leo Schumann. You’ll find him at—”

“Aw, you’re kidding me.”

“Sure. And why not? It’s a big laugh, all of it. Those cops, I watched them. They couldn’t find second base. I wish you two had been along. You wouldn’t have a care in the world after seeing those clowns fall all over themselves.”

Mary looked at me. “They say Warren is going to deliver the money,” she said. “He issued a statement or something, that there won’t be any double-cross. And he made the police promise that if they didn’t find anything by midnight they’d lay off. It was on the radio just now.”

“Good.”

“You must of talked to him pretty convincing,” Specs said. “What’d you say?”

“I told him where to leave the dough, is all. And about my partner, how itchy he was with a knife. That’s you, Specs.”

“Steve.” She spoke soft and didn’t look straight at me.

“Yes, Mary?”

“What did you tell him about Shirley Mae?”

“I said I’d call him tomorrow.” Now it was my turn not to look at her.

“And when tomorrow comes?”

“Don’t worry, I got that one figured, too. I’ll call him. I’ll call him in the morning, just like I said. And I’ll tell him a place for midnight, tomorrow night. That gives us another day at least.”

“And then what do we do?”

“Take it easy, one thing at a time! I’ve got a plan, all worked out. Tell you all about it when we’re ready to go. But right now I got to concentrate on tonight.”

I turned to Specs. “I got a job for you,” I said.

“What’s up?”

“I want you to take that heap of yours down to the filling station and gas up.”

“The one at the crossroads?”

“No. There’s a little one, remember, just this side.” I sure as hell didn’t want him to go to any crossroads, not with the troopers there. He’d blow his top, sure. “Go to this place and get some gas and oil. Check your water and air, too. I want that car in good shape for tonight.”

“Won’t you use the Olds?”

“No. I been thinking it over. The Olds is faster, yes, but I’m going to take a chance Warren and the cops will play ball. Then I won’t have to run. It’s a sure thing, after I’m gone, they’ll try to check the tire tracks. So it might as well be your car; we’d be leaving it anyway, because they’ll be on the lookout for it in a few days—after you haven’t been to work, and they start hunting for you.”

“You mean I’m gonna lose my car?”

“We own the new one, don’t we? And with the dough we’ll have, we can buy a dozen cars if we like.”

“All right, Steve.”

“Get going. I’ve got things to do.”

He headed for the garage. I backed out to let him through, then parked. I waited until he was out of sight down the road, then came back to the steps.

Mary said, “What do you have to do, Steve?”

“Nothing. But I’m glad to get rid of him for a while. He’s beginning to wear me down. How was he this morning?”

“All right, I guess. Until the broadcast. Then he got jumpy, you know, wondering if you’d made out okay.”

“Well, don’t pay any attention to him. It’ll only be for a few days.”

“But he’s coming with us, isn’t he?”

“Only until we get south and locate a boat. I don’t want him hanging around on any cruise. That’s just for the two of us.”

“Oh, Steve, I can hardly believe it. This is all—I don’t know—such a nightmare.”

“Be seeing daylight tomorrow.” I hugged her. “Remember, there’s always the two of us, together.”

“I know, Steve. What do you think keeps me going, so far? If it wasn’t for you, I’d be out of my mind.”

I wanted her to get it off her chest this way. It would do her good, and keep her from handing the same line to Specs tonight. Tonight was going to be bad for them, waiting here.

And it was going to be worse for me.

I went inside. “Fix some supper, Mary.”

“So early?”

“That’s right. I’m leaving soon as it gets dark.”

“But I thought midnight—”

“I’m going to get set, first. So there won’t be any slip-ups. I told you from now on in this is my show, and I’m running it right.”

She went out to the kitchen. Specs drove in.

“Everything set?”

“Perfect. And I got some magazines, and this paper—”

“Give me that.” I took the paper out of his hands and crumpled it up without looking at it. “Now listen to me, Specs. I’m serious about this. From now on, no newspapers around here unless I say so, get me? And no radio, either. We can’t afford to have Mary getting upset with all that baloney they hand out. You wouldn’t want her to crack up, go running to the cops, would you?

“Aw, Steve, she’s not like that. She’s so nuts about you she’d do anything, kill herself even, before she went to the cops.”

I knew that. But it was Specs I didn’t want reading the papers.

“Just the same, what I said goes. Here, you can have your magazines.” He’d bought three of them, these two-bit girlie-picture deals. Pinups, that was Specs’ idea of a hot score.

“Read these tonight while you’re waiting,” I told him. “And just think about how it won’t be long until you’ll be able to climb in the sack with the real thing.”

The sun was slanting off over the lake now. I walked down to the water for a minute and looked out. Only a few clouds, and it would be a nice clear night. No moon yet, though. I’d used the calendar when I figured, too.

Looking at the sunset now it was hard for me to remember what was coming. The water was calm, not a ripple. And the air was so still you could hear birds calling from way across on the other side of the lake. It was lazy and peaceful and real.

Nothing else had seemed real, lately. But this did. It reminded me of when I was a kid, on vacation up north. We used to go to a cottage like this and I’d do a little fishing in an old rowboat they had there. Sometimes I’d get tired and lie down in the bottom of the boat along about sunset and just let her drift. I’d look up at the sky and watch the colors change. I remember I’d wonder, sometimes, what I was going to be when I grew up.

I would have liked to have stayed and watch some more, but then I remembered what I had to do. To hell with twenty years ago—tonight was what counted!

Tonight was the night I got the dough.

Chapter Fifteen

I drove into the barn at exactly eight o’clock on the head. There hadn’t been a sign of anything wrong, all the way over. No more roadblocks, no squad cars cruising, nothing. I’d taken the back road first, instead of coming straight in, just in case they were over there. But it was clear.

Now I parked and climbed out. Four more hours to go. That was a long time.

But I had things to do. I walked down the drive, scrunching gravel, and checked the mailbox. It was empty. I left it open.

Then I peeked in the windows of the house. There was no glass and I could look straight through to the other side. Nobody there.

So far so good.

Something made a noise off in the field, but it was only an owl. I moved back along the path, took out a cigarette. No—it wasn’t a good idea to smoke. It made a light and besides they’d look for butts.

I checked the barn door to see that I could clear the sides if I had to leave in a hurry. It was all right.

Then I left the car standing there inside and took a walk down the road. I hugged the ditch. In my blue suit nobody could see me if I had to hide down there.

I walked all the way to one crossroads and back. Nobody there.

Then I walked back, passing the house and making another checkup before I went on, to the other crossroads. That was clear, too. It was almost half past nine before I finished and got back.

Now I tried the woods. I didn’t go in, just sneaked around the edges. It was real dark in there, and awful quiet. But I guessed it was safe.

At ten I went back to the car and tried to sit down, but I couldn’t hold still. The barn smelled awful, and it was warm in there—oh, what the hell, let’s face it, I was just too damned nervous to sit still. I kept having to go outside; I felt like a kid that has to wet his pants all the time.

And sweating. I was soaked under the arms and in the crotch, too.

So I took another walk to one crossroads, then back to the other. It killed time, and I wanted to make sure. I was pretty certain that if anybody was coming to plant themselves there, they’d arrive before eleven. So as to be hidden by the time they expected me to show up.

I couldn’t see hide or hair of anyone, so I came back again, cased the house once more, and settled down in the car. It was a little past eleven.

Less than an hour to go.

I reached into the glove compartment and took out a flashlight. I didn’t intend to use it unless I had to, but I wanted it ready, just in case.

Then I reached in again, and took out the gun. It was my rod, the one I’d given Specs for the snatch the other day. I owned it about six years, and it wasn’t hot to begin with.

I didn’t intend to use this, either, but I sure as hell wanted it handy. I checked to see it was loaded and pulled the safety.

Quarter after. Forty-five minutes to go. That damned owl was screeching again.

I couldn’t help but hear it, because I was listening for every sound that came along. And I was staring out the door at the road, watching shadows.

I wondered about the money, now. How could old man Warren get hold of that much cash in a hurry? Well, that was his lookout. He ran this big bank, they’d have a lot stashed away. And he could get some from other banks, he could even send away to towns nearby and pick up the rest today. He’d better have done it.

Come to think of it, just counting the stuff would take a lot of time. He’d have to have about a dozen people at least, just sitting there and counting it out. Two hundred thousand dollars!

I’d had to figure pretty close on that, too—just what to hit him for. At first I thought a hundred or a hundred and fifty, tops. Until I took a look at his income tax figures, and doped out what he probably had laid away. He must be worth a half million, anyhow. And two hundred grand was cheap enough, to get his kid back.

Of course, his kid wasn’t coming back.

That was tough. But it wasn’t my fault. She did it herself. Hell, you can’t think of everything, you can’t.

Anyhow, I’d been smart. I’d guessed right about the money. It wasn’t too much. And it was a sweet little amount for a guy like me to latch onto.

If he really got it, and if he really brought it.

Well, he would. He had to.

Quarter to twelve. Only fifteen more minutes. I hadn’t realized how quickly the time would fly.

I heard it then, far away. The car motor, coming from my left. Coming fast.

The gun was in my right hand. I switched to the left, so I could stay at the wheel and point it out of the window. I slipped the key into the ignition. I was ready now.

Then I saw the lights down the straightaway. Coming closer. I had to look, but the lights were blinding me. I looked past them, trying to see what was behind them. Just one set.

Here it was. But it wasn’t slowing down! It just kept whizzing right by. The dirty, damned double-crosser!

Then I looked at my watch. Only five minutes to. Of course, what was wrong with me? It was somebody else’s car passing. After all, this wasn’t a private road or anything.

I settled down again. I watched the radium-paint hand move up to twelve, meet the other hand there. The watch was ticking loud, and I could hear my heart going, too.

All at once lights caught my eye, on the right. A single set of them again. I heard the car coming, doing about thirty or even less.

This was it.

A big Packard nosed along, hugging the side of the road. When it was almost abreast of the farm, it cut down to dim lights, then stopped. The motor was still running.

The door opened, and a man got out, crossing over. It was hard for me to make him out, but he walked slow and he was carrying something. He lifted a big package up and shoved it into the mailbox.

Then he stood there for a minute, just looking at the house and at the barn. I was ready and waiting, in case he moved closer. But he didn’t try anything. I watched him turn around, get back into the car, slam the door shut.

The car drove away.

The lights disappeared, the noise of the motor died out. I opened my door, watching the little red tail-lights way off until they winked out.

I started forward, then changed my mind and got back into the car. I drove down the gravel driveway and turned right at the mailbox.

Then I slid across the seat, still holding the gun, and opened the door on the right-hand side. I reached out and lifted the package from the mailbox. It was even heavier than I’d figured it would be, and wrapped in brown paper tied with twine.

I dumped it down in the seat next to me, closed the door, slid back under the wheel and started up. I made a U-turn and cut my lights all the way.

Then I went back down the drive, past the barn, and headed through the field in back. It was dark there—I had to keep going slow, not more than fifteen. But I came out on the other road at last, turned left and kept going until I could cut over to the main highway.

Nobody stopped me, nobody was tailing me. It was clear sailing all the way.

When I got back to the cottage it was 12:45 on the head. The shades were all pulled but the lights were on, and when I turned in I could see the two of them standing at the door.

I drove past and put the car in the garage. I turned on the light, reached over and ripped at the twine with my right hand. It came loose. I ripped the paper off the top.

Then I saw the bills. They were in bundles, tens, and twenties, packed just as tight as could be.

I picked up the package and got out of the car. At the last minute I realized I was still holding the gun in my left hand, had been holding it all this while. I put it away.

Then I was out of the garage, walking up the path to the door.

Mary and Specs came down the steps to meet me.

“Thank God!” she whispered. “You’re safe!”

Specs stared at the package.

“You got it!” His voice cracked, almost as if he was laughing. “You got the dough!”

It was hard for me to hear them talk because the sounds seemed to come from far away. The package in my arms was heavy, but I could scarcely feel it. I hadn’t really felt anything all the way back here.

They both looked at me, expecting me to say something. I started to smile, started to nod, and then all at once everything was slipping away and I blacked out.

Chapter Sixteen

When I opened my eyes, they had me propped up on the sofa in the front room and Specs was saying, “Here, drink this!” and holding a glass of whiskey under my nose.

I swallowed some of it and the rest ran down the front of my shirt.

“Darling, are you all right?” Mary had a cold towel on my forehead, and she looked worried.

“Sure. It’s just excitement. Where’s the dough?”

She nodded towards the kitchen. I could see through the door, where it was lying on the table.

“Don’t try to move,” she said. “Just rest, now.”

“Rest, hell!” I sat up. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. Come on, let’s go!”

I got up. My knees were a little wobbly, but I moved. They followed me into the kitchen. “Lock the door,” I said. “Mary, bring me that carton from under the sink.”

She brought over one of the empty cartons we’d hauled groceries in.

I was ripping the rest of the twine and paper off. The money spilled out over the table, covered it in a heap that must have been over a foot high.

The three of us just looked at it for a minute.

“Jesus!” Specs shook his head. “Think of it, two hundred grand. I never seen so much dough in all my life!”

“Don’t be bashful.” I grinned. “Help yourself. It’s all ours. Come on, you two, start counting.”

The money lay there under the light, bundle after bundle of it. It was something to run your hands through, something to feel all that cash, pick it up, hold it, and say to yourself, “Here’s a trip to Europe,” or “A hundred twenties, enough for a new car.” And you could do it over and over again, each time thinking of something else to buy, to have, to own. Some of the bills were brand new, and the light was shining down on them all green and beautiful. It was enough to make you drunk, just to see the stuff, feel how crisp it was, and even to smell it.

Best of all was the counting. I counted fast. I counted $114,000 while the other two just counted $86,000 between them. I made Mary check it over again when we finished. It was all there, and it was all ours.

“I can’t hardly believe it,” Specs said. “No sir, I can’t hardly believe it.” He stared at the piles of bills.

“Neither can I.” Mary was staring, too. “It’s just like a dream.”

“Well it’s real,” I told them. “Every bit of it. And we’ve earned it. Now let’s put it away where we can all be sure it’s safe.”

“Aren’t you going to divide it up now?”

“What for, Specs? You going anyplace tonight?”

“No, but—”

“Don’t be childish.” I swept it off the table into the cardboard carton Mary had brought for me. “This goes into the trunk of the Olds. That’s the best place for it.”

“Okay,” said Specs. “I guess you’re right. Just so we all know where it is.”

“What the hell, you want it now, you can have it. Keep it under your pillow if you like.”

“Aw, don’t talk that way, Steve. You know I trust you.” Specs came over to me and slapped me on the back. “I sure got to hand it to you, the way you pulled this thing off. It took a lot of nerve.”

“I told you we’d do it. And the big thing is teamwork.” I grinned down at him, then looked at Mary. “But say, this calls for a celebration. How about fixing up a drink while I take this out?”

“Sure, Steve.”

I picked up the carton and started for the door. Specs ran after me. “Hey, wait, you dropped a pile of tens!”

“Who cares?” I said. “It’s only money.”

Then all three of us started laughing. I went out and stowed the cash away in the trunk compartment, locking it after. When I came back, Mary had the whiskey and the coke on the table.

All of us were feeling keyed-up with the excitement, and we drank fast. It didn’t take too long before we were pretty high. For the first time, I felt like drinking myself. I loaded up with the two of them. Mary poured into water-glasses and we’d dump coke on top of that. She kept the glasses filled up.

When the first bottle was empty, she got out the second and opened it. Then she came over and sat on my lap and ruffled my hair.

“Oh boy!” Specs said. “Could I go for some of that!”

“You’ll get your chance,” I told him. “Soon’s we head out of here.”

“When we going, lover?” Mary put her head on my shoulder. “Tomorrow?”

“Day or so. Don’t bother about it now. Here, finish your drink.”

“Boy, I wish that Terry was here now.” Specs leaned over the table, pouring himself another. “Maybe we can take her along with us, hey Steve?”

“Don’t talk crazy. You know we can’t do a thing like that. But you don’t have to worry—with what you got, you can line yourself up with a real number.”

“Terry’s all right with me.” Specs took a swallow. “What’s wrong with her, Steve? What you got against Terry? Maybe she’s skinny, but she’s the best goddam—”

“Here, watch your language!” I said.

Mary giggled. “That’s okay. It doesn’t bother me. I know what he means.”

“Sure you do.” Specs took off his glasses. “You know what’s wrong with you, Steve? You think too much. That’s the trouble with you. Never stop thinkin’. Never relax, let your hair down. Never have a good time.”

“Oh yes he does,” Mary said. “Don’t you, lover?” She breathed in my ear.

“That’s right.”

“We’ll have plenty good times,” Mary said. “From now on, no more trouble, just good times.”

“Check,” I said.

“And you know why?” she said. “Because Steve. That’s why. Because Steve. He thought it all up. All out of his own beau’ful curly head. Every bit of it! Wasn’ for him, what we have? Nothing! Now what we got? Two hundred thousand dollars, that’s what. And don’ you forget it, you Specs!”

“Who’s forgettin’?” Specs rolled his head around. “Not me, I don’t forget. Steve’s my pal. My only true, best pal. Best friend man ever had.” He started to get up, then fell back in his chair. “Goddam, wish I had Terry here. Know what I’d do? I’d take her in the bedroom, see? And that sixty-six grand, I’d have that dough lyin’ all over the bed. And I’d show it to her and I’d say, ‘Honey, how about you and me lyin’ down in all that money and knockin’ off—’ ”

“Hold it.” I held up my watch. “It’s three o’clock. We got work tomorrow, you know? Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Yes.” Mary grabbed my arm. “Let’s go to bed. Come on, Steve.”

Specs stood up, knocking over his glass. “Okay, we go to bed. All three of us.”

I lifted Mary off my lap and stood up. “Take it easy, boy,” I said. “Here, let me help you.” I went over, got him by the arm and helped him into the bedroom.

“Where’s Mary?” he mumbled. “Ain’t she comin’ too?”

“In a little while. Lie still so’s I can get your shoes off. There. Now roll over and I’ll cover you up.”

“Don’ need covers. Gonna wait for Mary.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” I covered him up and turned out the light. He started to sit up, then fell back on the pillow. A couple of seconds later he started to snore.

I went out. Mary was in our bedroom, in the dark.

“Lover?”

“I’m here. Just put Specs to bed. He’s all right, passed out cold.”

“Steve, you think he meant it, about the three of us?”

“No, he was just high. You know how drunks are.”

“I know.” She giggled again. “Everything’s going around and around. Like the first time—remember?”

“I remember.”

“Only that Specs. Always talking about women. Steve, he worries me.”

“Forget it,” I said. “You didn’t come to bed to talk about Specs.”

“Uh-huh. You’re so right. So right, lover!”

She wasn’t thinking about Specs any more, not now she wasn’t. But all of a sudden, I was.

I tried to think about what I was doing, and I couldn’t. Everything was moving so fast and there was nothing you could hang on to. That was the whole trouble. Even having the money didn’t really end things. The whole two hundred grand wouldn’t help to stop things for a second. They just kept on going, and I had to keep going with them.

It was a funny time and a funny place to be thinking about it, but I had to. Tomorrow was another day, and I’d have to call old man Warren and hand him a line, and then I’d have to dope out a way of getting out of here, and I’d have to keep Mary hepped up, and I’d have to handle Specs. We’d have to get out of here, out of here, out of here, and never a moment’s rest until we were safe, never a minute of peace and quiet; I had to keep on thinking and thinking and moving and moving—

“Steve, is anything the matter?”

“No, Mary. Nothing’s the matter.”

I hoped she believed me. But I knew when I said it, it was a lie. Getting that money hadn’t solved any problems for us yet. The real problems were just beginning.

I lay back, stuck a pillow under my head, and stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, waiting for tomorrow to come.

Chapter Seventeen

Once things start moving, they move fast. It seemed like I scarcely managed to close my eyes before Mary was shaking me and saying, “Time to get up, Steve. You want to make that call, don’t you?”

I got out of bed. She was dressed, and I could see Specs through the doorway. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast already.

“Be ready in five minutes,” I said. I went into the john and shaved and dressed in a hurry. Then I came back out and had some eggs.

“You want me to go into town with you?” Specs asked me.

“No. Just stick here.”

“Well, I been thinking things over. I don’t feel so bad now. Maybe I could call the shop—tell Cutrelli I was sick last night or something, so he won’t get suspicious.”

I shook my head. “That’s out. You forget you took your clothes along when you moved in here. He might call back, check with your landlady.”

“It was just an idea.”

“I know. But don’t bother with any more ideas. That’s my department, from now on. You just stick here with Mary.”

“But it makes me nervous, just sitting around with nothing to do, and all.”

“Tough.” I leaned back. “Only you got to figure it won’t be for long. This afternoon, when I get back, we’ll start planning our next move.”

“Getting out of here?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I’ve been thinking it over. Now’s the time to go—before they miss you at the shop and start putting two and two together. I was going to wait until I was sure old man Warren got Mary’s letter from New Orleans. Now I think we’re smarter if we pull out ahead of time. So that when the kid doesn’t show up, we’ll already be on our way. That suit you?”

“I’ll say it does.” Specs looked a lot happier all of a sudden.

“What are the plans, Steve?” Mary asked me.

“Wait until I get back,” I told her. “Then we can sit down and take our time talking.” I stood up, jangling the car keys.

“Hey, you aren’t going to take that dough into town with you, are you?” Specs asked.

“Why not? Can you think of a safer place?”

“Well, you could leave it right here. Suppose something was to happen—”

“Nothing’s going to happen. I’m taking the money with me because I have to take the gun, too. And I’ll feel a lot safer knowing the money and the gun are together. Just in case.” I walked up to him. “What’s the matter, Specs, don’t you trust me?”

“Sure, I trust you. Only—aw, go ahead, do it your way!”

“Damn right I’ll do it my way.” I turned and looked at Mary. “See you later,” I said.

“Be careful, darling.”

“Quit telling me to be careful! I know what I’m doing.”

And I walked out, pulled the car out of the garage, and drove away.

That hadn’t been smart, flying off the handle. But they were starting to get me down, both of them. It was easy enough to talk, but when you came right down to it, I had to do the dirty work. I was sticking my head in the lion’s mouth now, and they sat back and took it easy, waiting for me to dope out the next move.

When it came right down to it, what the hell did I need them for now? I couldn’t depend on either one to come up with any good ideas. They were just dead weight from now on in. No wonder they got under my skin.

I drove up to the crossroads. No roadblock today, so far. I started to turn right, then stopped.

Suppose I turned left, instead?

I had the money in back, and the gun in front. What more did I need? Turn left, drive to Chicago maybe, or better still, some town like Rockford or Peoria where I could catch a plane heading south or southwest. What was there to stop me?

Plenty, that’s what.

If Warren didn’t get a call pretty soon, the word would be out and then there’d really be hell popping. Yes, and if I didn’t come back, those two dimwits wouldn’t sit there forever. They’d run to the law and start singing. My name, description, everything.

No, it wouldn’t work. The chips were down. I had to go through with it.

I turned right.

It was hard for me to put my foot down on the accelerator. I didn’t like the idea of going back into town again. Even though I told myself nothing had changed, nothing was different, nobody knew any more than they had three days ago. It was just the idea, just that I knew the score. What if there was one of those freak accidents and they opened up the trunk of the car? What if I happened to run into Cutrelli, or Mrs. Delehanty who thought I’d left town? What if they’d figured some arrangement so that all the pay-phones were being tapped for calls? For all I knew, they had a plain clothes detail covering every booth in town.

What was the matter with me, going chicken like this? I had the dough. Everything was under control. Everything except my nerves. And that was the most important of all.

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t closing my eyes any more. No telling who might show up with my eyes closed, show up to wave that rope around with the funny knot tied in it. Deep breaths were safer. You’re safe as long as you’re breathing.

Then I was downtown, and everything was normal. People on the streets, cars going by, stores open, business as usual. A nice summer day. The kind of day for thinking about a good, long vacation.

That was better. Think about the long vacation ahead. Years and years of it, with nothing to worry about, no more working, no more grief. And all I had to do was make a phone call, just to cover up. It was simple, looking at it that way.

I didn’t go all the way in to downtown, though. I parked over on Washington and went into the Manufacturer’s Building. They had three phones in the lobby downstairs.

I walked in. There was a fat dame talking in the middle booth, so I stood there waiting for her to get through. She kept yakking and yakking, long enough for me to smoke all the way down on a cigarette. Why is it the fat ones always seem to yak the longest?

Finally she got out of there and I took a quick look around and stepped into the end booth, at the right. I dialed the number.

“Good morning. Acme Trust.” The same girl.

“Warren.”

“Who should I say—?”

“Never mind. It’s the guy you called copper on the other day. Listen, sister, if you pull that stunt again today, I’m coming after you. Get me?”

“Ooh—yes!”

“Then put Warren on, quick.”

Click, buzz, then, “Hello. This is Warren.”

“I got the money. You’re all set.”

“How’s Shirley—”

“Shut up and listen. I’m only going to tell you once. I’m wise to you and your tricks—trying to trace calls on me like you did. So here’s the story. Come alone. Tonight, midnight, the same place. Got it?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s all, brother.”

I banged the receiver down, turned around and marched out of there. I didn’t know if the call was being traced or not, but I didn’t want to stick around a second longer than I had to. I made for the car, and drove away.

On the way back, I got to thinking. Specs and Mary were so damned dumb they’d have to be watched every minute. Particularly after tomorrow. Because tomorrow, when Warren’s kid didn’t show up, the real fun would start. FBI and everything, the works. I could almost see the headlines. NATION-WIDE SEARCH FOR KIDNAPPERS.

Tomorrow. Suppose we started, right now. Head east, cross the state line into Illinois. Say, five hours. Keep driving in shifts, down through Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee. Then North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida.

No. We’d never make it in a day, not in two days. Take three at the least. And by that time there’d be roadblocks all over. No matter what route we took, we’d hit a couple of them, we were bound to by the law of averages.

And the word might be out then, about Specs. They’d be looking for him. We could take a train or a plane from someplace, only there was that nation-wide search angle again. They’d be checking on passengers. We didn’t have near enough luggage, either. And hanging onto a suitcase full of dough would look bad.

No. I made up my mind.

And when I got back, as soon as I parked and went into the kitchen, I told them.

“Here’s the word, folks,” I said. “We’re not leaving for a while.”

“What’s the matter?” Specs.

“Something go wrong?” Mary.

“Not a thing. And that’s why we’re staying right here.”

“You talked to Warren? What’d he say?” Specs, again.

“Nothing. I just told him. Same place tonight, for the kid.”

“But he’ll go there tonight and find out.”

“Sure.”

“And you said we’d leave, get a day’s start. Didn’t he, Mary? He said that last night.”

“I said a lot of things last night. But I’ve been thinking it over. A day’s start isn’t going to be enough.”

“Why? I don’t see why you change your mind all of a—”

“I’ll tell you why, if you’ll calm down long enough to listen.” And I told them, both of them, what I thought.

“Figure it this way,” I finished up. “We booked this cottage from the Racklins for two weeks, starting last Thursday. We’ve got ten days to go. And as far as I can see, this is still the safest spot we could think of to hole up in. We’ve got food, we’ve got liquor, we can go out and get more. We’re close enough to town to know everything that’s going on. What more could we ask? And by the time ten days are up, the noise will have died down. You know how it is; something else comes along in a week or so, and there’s a new bunch of headlines. Give people time to think about something else, give the authorities time to get excited over a bank-robbery or a rape or a Communist spy hunt. Then when we leave we take our good-natured time, without a lot of hotel clerks and filling station operators playing amateur detective all over the country.”

“You mean, stay here all that time? I’ll go nuts!” Specs stood up and began walking back and forth.

“What’re you squawking about? Look, it’s like a vacation, figure it that way. You can go swimming, you can rent a boat even, go fishing—”

“That ain’t what I went into this for! You know what you said, what you promised. We’d get the dough and then we’d have anything we wanted.”

“You will have,” I said. “If you’ll only be patient about it. Hell’s bells, you aren’t any kid, waiting for Santa Claus to come. A couple days won’t kill you.”

“Steve, you really think this way would be safest?”

“Of course, Mary. That’s all I’m thinking about—how to protect you. Come to figure it out, the quickest way to get somebody suspicious is for us to blow out of here, now. The Racklins are going to wonder why we rented the cottage for two weeks and then disappeared in such a hurry. So we stay put. Agreed?”

“All right, Steve. You’re the doctor.”

“Fine doctor!” Specs was still grumbling. “I thought you said you had all this planned, how we was getting to Florida and everything. I thought you said it would be easy. we could iust—”

“Goddam it!” I yelled so loud Specs stopped pacing the floor. “If you don’t like it, then do it your own way. I’ll give you your share of the dough and you can take your car and get started, right now. Go wherever you damn please. Alone! And when Cutrelli checks with your landlady today and calls the cops and they send the word along ahead, you can figure things out for yourself, you’re so smart.”

Specs was short to begin with, but he seemed to get shorter now. “My God! I forgot—I didn’t go to work last night, and they’ll find out, the car is gone and everything, they’ll know—”

He was almost crying. “Steve, what’ll I do, what’ll I do?”

“You’ll stay here and behave,” I said. “That’s what you’ll do.”

“Yes, Steve. You’re right. I’ll stay.”

“Come on, then. How about some lunch?”

Mary went out and got busy. She took out the skillet and mixed up some pancakes. They tasted good to me, but Specs wasn’t eating much, I noticed. And when it came time for coffee, he got up from the table and went to the john. He stayed in there with the door closed, a long time.

“What’s the matter with him?” Mary whispered.

“Nerves, I guess.” I got up and went over and knocked on the door. “Specs, open up.”

He opened. He was leaning against the wash basin, white as a sheet. I could see he’d heaved his cookies.

“I’m sick,” he mumbled. “Real sick. Get a doctor.”

“Doctor, hell! It’s nerves, that’s all. Come on, let me help you—lie down for a while, you’ll feel better.”

“No, I’m sick, I tell you. Feel my forehead.”

It was hot. And I felt his pulse, too. He wasn’t kidding. I got him into bed. He was trembling so bad I put the covers on him from our bed, too.

“Now go to sleep and forget about it,” I said. “I’ll pull the shades.”

“I’m so sick—”

I went back to the kitchen, after closing his door.

“How is he?”

“All right. He feels rugged, but there’s nothing really wrong. It’s one of those, what they call psychosomatic illnesses. You get it from worrying.”

“Poor little guy.”

“You’re not worried, are you, Mary?”

“No. Not as long as you’re here.”

“Good. Finish the dishes and let’s go down to the water.”

We spent the afternoon down there. It was nice. Mary took her shoes and stockings off and went in wading. I sat up on the bank, where I could watch the house and hear in case Specs called.

But he slept straight through the afternoon, and through supper, too. I didn’t wake him. Mary and I ate alone, and then we just sat there.

It was dark outside, and quiet. Inside, you could hear the wall clock ticking.

“Want a drink?” I asked.

“No thanks.”

“Want to play some rummy?”

“I don’t feel like it. Oh, Steve, what will he think?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Warren. When he shows up tonight, expecting to find Shirley Mae. And—”

I reached out and grabbed her arm. “None of that stuff, now! You’ve got to keep calm, remember?”

“Yes. But I can’t, Steve, I can’t! I keep thinking and thinking about it—how awful it will be for him and Mrs. Warren. And what everybody will say, how it was all our fault, like we did it on purpose. You know what they’ll call us? They’ll call us murderers. I’m not a murderer, Steve, I’m not a mur—”

She began to cry, and I grabbed her and patted her head.

“There, there, honey, forget it, everything’s all right, everything’s fine.”

All at once she pulled away. “No it isn’t, Steve. It’s not fine. Specs was right. He didn’t know it, but I can tell. I can tell when you’re lying, and you lied last night and you lied today. Saying you had things planned. You don’t have any plans, Steve. You don’t know how we’re going to get out of this place. And we’ll sit here until they come and find us and then it’ll be too late.”

She almost spit it out, standing right in front of my face, and her voice got higher. “Why did I ever trust you, why did I ever believe you? You’re nothing but a liar, a liar, a li—”

Then she shut up because I hauled off and hit her one across the mouth. Her jaw wobbled and her eyes got glassy. I grabbed her by the hair and hit her again. Then she came to life and tried to claw me. I yanked her hair as hard as I could and then I reached down and scooped her up in my arms.

“Let me go, let me go! What are you—”

“We’re going to bed, you and I,” I told her. “You said I was the doctor. Well, I got just the medicine for you. The best medicine in the world.”

It was, too, for her.

Not for me. I don’t like medicine, and besides, she’d figured things out.

It was the truth. I didn’t know what would happen to us next. And tomorrow, they’d find out. The heat was on.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning Specs was still in bed. I went in and took a look at him.

“How you feel, boy?”

“Sick. Real sick. I had the awfullest dreams. You better get a doctor, Steve.”

I felt his forehead. “You don’t need a doctor. All you need is a good meal. How about some breakfast?”

“I can’t eat. Get me a doctor.”

“You’re nuts if you think I’d let a doctor in here! Besides, there’s nothing really the matter with you. You don’t have any fever now. It’s just your imagination.”

“I don’t care! I can’t stand this any longer, I can’t!” He began to cry, and his eyes were real puffy without his glasses on.

I sat down on the bed and grabbed him by the collar.

“Cut that out and listen to me! There isn’t a damn thing wrong with you, and you know it—you’re just yellow.”

“All right, I’m yellow, I admit it. If we could only get out of here I wouldn’t mind. But I’m sick of waiting around, waiting for something to happen.”

“We’ll go as soon as it’s safe,” I told him. “Hell, don’t you think I feel it, too? It isn’t any easier for me to sweat it out.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He sat up now. “With you it’s different. You’ve got Mary. You think I don’t know what you two are doing? I heard you, last night. But me, all I can do is lie here. I’m going batty thinking about it.”

“So that’s what eating on you, is it?”

“Of course, that’s what you promised, wasn’t it? We’d go to Florida, have ourselves a time down there. Instead, here we sit. You got Mary, you don’t care what happens to me. You’d think I was one of these here morphodites or something.”

“Just hold your water,” I said. “It won’t be long now.”

“Well, it better not be. I’m about ready to blow my top, the way I feel.”

“Come on, get up and have something to eat.”

“No, I don’t feel like it. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t worry.”

He turned over and closed his eyes. I went out and shut the door.

Mary and I ate breakfast together, but I didn’t tell her anything except that Specs was still a little woozy. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, of course—no fever now, or even a cold. But he’d told the truth. I could see that. He was getting ready to blow his top.

Something had to be done about that, and fast. I’d better think of a plan.

Meanwhile, there was the radio.

Mary turned it on, after breakfast. She kept it low, so as not to wake up Specs. But it was loud enough for us to hear, and we heard plenty.

Like I figured, the heat was on, now. There was a news broadcast every hour on the hour, and they all said the same thing. The whole story was out—how Warren paid the kidnappers off and how he went to get the kid, only the kid wasn’t there. So he’d gone to the police with his hair down, and promised to cooperate. He was still hopeful, but the chief of police had issued a statement that they thought the kid was dead.

“Did you hear that?” Mary asked. “Now they know!”

“They don’t know a thing—they only are guessing,” I said. “So don’t get upset. After all, we expected this. It’s all part of the deal.”

“But they’re organizing search parties, they’re going out to look for the body. Steve, where did you put the body?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” I got up and turned off the radio. “It’s safe, I swear it. They won’t find her in a million years. And even if they do, it won’t mean a thing. We’re in the clear, so stop listening to all that junk.”

“Well, I want to know what they’re doing. Besides, it gets me down, just sitting and waiting like this.”

“Go read your confession magazines or something.”

“Oh, honey, don’t get angry!” She came over and kissed me. “I’m sorry I’m so nervous and all.”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But you got to remember, we’re doing this for a reason. So we’ll be safe. Some day we’ll look back on all this and laugh.”

She drew away from me. “No, Steve. Not laugh. I’ll never be able to laugh about what happened to Shirley Mae. You don’t feel like that, do you, Steve? You’re sorry it happened, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I was just trying to cheer you up.” I gave her a pat on the fanny. “How about some lunch now?”

“All right.”

We ate lunch and did the dishes. It was a fine day, but neither of us suggested going outside that afternoon. I didn’t want to leave Specs alone, and there was something about going ouside now that made me edgy. Outside was where they were—the police, and the sheriff’s department, and the FBI and all. The fat guys who wanted to kill you. They were all against you, outside.

It was better to stay in here, with the money, and be safe. Stay here and plan the next move.

Mary got out a magazine and sat down on the sofa. Specs was still sleeping when I looked in, so I closed his door again and came back and sat down at the kitchen table. I lit a cigarette and tried to get myself organized. It was time to think of what to do next.

There had to be a way of moving out of here sooner than next week. Specs wouldn’t sit still for that long. And Mary was plenty jumpy already. I’d have to take chances. Maybe along about the weekend we could start. Today was Wednesday. Say Friday sometime.

But how would we do it, and where would we go?

There was a U.S. road map in the car. I decided to look it over, so I got up and went to the back door.

Just then the car drove in.

We didn’t hear it until it turned onto the driveway, and then Mary jumped about a foot.

“Steve!”

“Shut up!” I ran back to our bedroom and grabbed my coat, put it on. My gun was in the coat pocket.

When I got to the kitchen again, I could watch through the window. Two people were coming up the steps, a man and a woman. Somebody knocked.

“Steve, what’re you doing?”

“Letting them in, of course,” I whispered. “Sit down and be quiet—I’ll handle this.”

I opened,the door.

“Mr. Henderson?” said the woman.

I stood there for a second, until I recognized who it was—Mrs. Racklin, the dame who had rented me the cottage. And that was the name I’d given her, of course. Mr. Henderson.

“Yes,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She was standing on the top step with the man behind her. Now, when she moved, I got a good look at him. He was a stocky guy of about forty-five or so, with grey hair and a mustache. He had real blue eyes.

“This is my husband. Hans, this is Mr. Henderson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said.

He held out his hand. “A pleasure.” Boy, he had a grip on him like a wrestler.

“I hope we’re not intruding. We just happened to be driving by and I said to Hans, why not stop in for a minute and see how things are getting along? Are you enjoying your stay?”

She looked around the kitchen and then into the living room, and of course she saw Mary sitting there.

“Everything’s just fine,” I told her. “You haven’t met my wife, have you? Merna, this is Mrs. Racklin.”

Mary just sat there for a minute. She was so scared, I guess, she didn’t catch it when I called her “Merna.” Then she got up and smiled.

“Glad to meet you,” she said. And nodded at Mr. Racklin.

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Well, we can only stay a second. We’re on our way to visit some friends for dinner.” But the old dame sat down, and so did her husband.

I looked over to make sure the bedroom door was still closed. It was, and I didn’t see any of Specs’ stuff lying around, either. Mary looked at me and I could tell she was praying the same thing, that Specs wouldn’t come out all of a sudden. Then she smiled at me.

“Uh—George, maybe you can fix the folks a drink or something?”

“Of course,” I said. “How about it?” Good girl. Mary had remembered I was supposed to be “George.”

Mrs. Racklin shook her head at me. “No, thank you. Hans and I don’t indulge.” Old Hans nodded but he didn’t say anything. He had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen—like the sun shining through a piece of ice.

“Have you been in swimming yet?” Mrs. Racklin asked Mary.

“No, not yet.”

“I’m surprised to find you both indoors on a day like this. When Hans and I were here, we spent most of the time on the beach.”

“We’ve been listening to the radio,” Mary said.

“The radio? Oh, you mean the news broadcasts. About that kidnapping. We heard a report while we were driving. Isn’t it terrible?”

“Awful,” I said. “Sure I couldn’t get you folks a coke or something like that?”

“No, really. Don’t bother, Mr. Henderson.” She leaned over, looking at Mary. “I don’t know what things are coming to, nowadays. It’s getting so a person doesn’t feel safe any more. Can you imagine, kidnapping a child like that, right in broad daylight?”

I walked over to Mr. Racklin. “Cigarette?” I said.

“No, thank you. If you do not mind, I will smoke this.” He pulled out a cigar.

“Go right ahead.” I gave him a light.

“Thank you.” He didn’t have an accent as near as I could tell, but he sounded like a foreigner just the same. Maybe because he was so polite.

“Hans and I were talking about it when we drove up,” Mrs. Racklin was saying. “You know, I think there’s a lot more to it than the papers tell you. This maid, what’s-her-name, Mary something—I think she must have planned the whole thing.”

“What thing?” I asked. “Oh, you’re still talking about that kidnapping. We haven’t really paid much attention to it. After all, we’re on vacation.”

“But you can’t just ignore something like that when it happens right under your nose,” Mrs. Racklin said. “Whoever did it is still running around loose. Suppose they showed up here?”

“Not a chance.” I laughed. “Why, I’ll bet they’re a thousand miles away by now.”

“Then you too think the child is dead?” Mr. Racklin puffed some smoke my way.

“Why, I don’t know.”

“That is my belief. This crime was the work of a clever man, or several clever men. The very simplicity of it indicates that. Even though the police have managed to trace the owner of the automobile through the tire tracks found at the scene of the ransom exchange, I am quite sure it will lead nowhere. The criminal, or criminals, would abandon the car immediately.”

“They traced the car? When did you hear that?” Mary was getting excited. She talked to Mr. Racklin, but she was looking beyond him—out the window, at the garage. At the garage, where Specs’ car was.

“Just now, on the radio. The car belongs to some factory worker named Schumaker, or Schumann—perhaps a fellow-countryman of mine.”

“Do they think he did it?” I asked.

“The broadcast did not say. This man has been missing from his residence and from his work since the beginning of the week. Personally, I believe he was probably the victim of the kidnappers. They took his car, and it is my theory that—”

“Oh, Hans, I’m sure the Hendersons aren’t interested in your theories!” Mrs. Racklin waved her hands. “My husband used to be a detective, in the old country. In Czechoslovakia, before the war.”

“Not a detective,” he said. “A criminologist. There is a great distinction.”

“But you think you’ve got this case figured, eh?” I asked.

He shrugged. “One can only surmise. There is so little to go by. If the police can find this girl, this maid, then we would know.”

“You think she did it?” Mary had to ask.

“Contrary to my wife’s opinion, I do not. I believe she might have served as an accomplice, yes. It is probable that one of the kidnappers may have formed a liaison with her and persuaded her to arrange for the abduction. Such a man would find it necessary to be well-informed about the routine of the Warren household. He would desire definite information which the maid could supply. If the police capture him, I am sure they will find the girl in his company.”

“Do you think they will catch him?” Mary had to ask that question, too.

Mr, Racklin smiled. “He will capture himself. Excuse me, I am not saying it very well. I mean, he will betray himself. It is all a part of the pattern.”

“Please, Hans—” Mrs. Racklin said. “We’ve got to be going.”

“No, wait a minute. This is interesting,” I said. “What do you mean by this pattern you were talking about?”

More smoke drifted my way. I preferred it, because it hid his eyes. They were too blue, and he could look right through you. But I wanted to hear the rest.

“The pattern I refer to is a peculiar one,” he answered. “You know, in Europe, there are very few crimes of this sort. Kidnapping is almost—how shall I say it?—an American crime. It is the sort of activity that would appeal only to an American criminal. Because of the pattern, which is merely a way of thinking, a way of life. It is the American ideal all over again—to get something for nothing.” He smiled at me. “I trust you do not misunderstand when I talk this way, Mr. Henderson. I am not by any means a Communist.”

“Hans left Czechoslovakia when the Reds came in,” Mrs. Racklin said.

“Sure, I understand. Go ahead. You figure whoever did it was looking for easy money, is that it?”

“The professional criminal has always sought money,” Racklin said. “Today he seeks social recognition which is security.”

I thought I heard a sound in the bedroom, but I couldn’t be sure. All of a sudden I wanted him to get out of here. But he was wound up.

“There is no security for the average man today. It is no longer enough to be a good husband, a good father, a good craftsman. If you do not have a Cadillac in the garage, you are a failure. That is the message of modern advertising, that is the new standard of values we accept.

“Of course, most people adjust. They compromise. The man who cannot buy the Cadillac as a symbol of success will buy a television set. The man who cannot afford a television set buys whiskey. The weak conform. But the strong rebel.

“Some have entered business. During the last war, fortunes were made—and if you are a successful business man, nobody cares where you got your money. Maybe you evaded taxes, cheated the government into building you a factory and turning it over to you for next to nothing. Maybe you took it under the table in the black market or made it gambling. Who cares? Such men are socially accepted today; their names are linked with motion picture stars, they have friends in Washington.”

Mrs. Racklin stirred in her chair. “Please, dear, it’s so late!”

“In a moment.” The cigar was getting short and I could see his eyes again. “So what does our strong man do, our rebel? If he cannot enter a business and succeed by such methods, he may turn to crime. Not out of revenge on society, but merely to gain recognition and security—in a culture where the only real crime today is getting caught.”

“And you figure the kidnappers think that way?” I asked.

“They may not reason it out, no. But that is the pattern.” Racklin stood up, and so did his wife.

Mary looked at him. “You said they would betray themselves, though. What did you mean by that?”

He shrugged. “If I were the police, I should look for these people in the playgrounds of the wealthy. Florida, California, resorts in Mexico or the West Indies. Look over the major crimes of the past few years, involving large sums of money. Most of the culprits were caught because they couldn’t wait to show off, flash their wealth, talk about it. They were too eager to enjoy their new recognition.”

Racklin moved towards the door. “If I were the police, I’d go to these resorts. And I would wait. Sooner or later there will be quarrels about money, drunken displays. Somebody will crack, come and inform on the others. It is true, you know—crime does not pay. They will be caught, these kidnappers.”

Mrs. Racklin bustled up. “My, what a lecture!” she said. “Would you mind if I used the mirror in the bedroom? I want to powder my nose.” She started walking towards the closed door.

“In here,” Mary said. “The light’s better.” She got her over to the john and I breathed easier.

Racklin and I went outside and stood on the steps.

“By the way,” he said. “I wanted to inquire—did you by any chance notice, in the garage, a large oil drum?”

“Oil drum?”

“Yes. I thought I might have left it behind.”

“Why, I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” He started down the steps. Specs’ car was out there. Specs’ car—

“Wait a minute! Now I remember. There was a drum, yes. But I didn’t know anybody wanted it. I gave it to my brother-in-law when he came up here Sunday; he noticed it and said he wanted a spare for his garage.” I talked fast. “Gosh, I’m sorry, I just didn’t think. I’ll be glad to pay you for a new one, if you want.”

“No. That is not necessary.” Racklin stopped. Mary and Mrs. Racklin came out together.

“Well, it certainly was nice, visiting. And I’m glad everything is all right.”

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Stop by again.”

“Maybe we will.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Racklin said. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

He would, he’d done all the talking.

“Goodbye!”

“Goodbye!”

They drove off, switching on their lights. It was getting dark already. I couldn’t see Mary’s face as she stood there, but when we got inside again I turned on the light.

She was pale.

“Aw, forget it,” I said. “It’s just talk.”

“But even a man like that, he suspects me—”

“Tomorrow they get your letter,” I told her. “Maybe even this afternoon it came. It’s all right.”

“No it isn’t!”

I turned. Specs was standing in the doorway.

“I heard,” he said. “I was standing in the bedroom and I heard every word. They traced the car.”

“Hell, we can take it out tonight and ditch it. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“No.” He came in, shaking his head. “You can’t talk me out of it this time. Give me my dough, Steve. I’m getting away from here.”

Chapter Nineteen

Specs was right. I couldn’t talk him out of it. The argument went on, all through supper.

“What a sucker I was,” he said. “Listening to you, doing it your way!”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? We’ve got the money.”

“Sure, we’ve got the money—but what good is that? You were the smart one. You quit weeks beforehand. Nobody saw you. But they’re looking for me, and they’re looking for Mary, too. Because you planned it that way.”

“What’re you driving at? You think I had any choice? This was the only scheme that would work. I didn’t hear you come up with a better one.”

“Well, it’s not any good now. I’m not sitting here until the cops arrive, or until those Racklins come back again. Jesus, I nearly passed out when I thought that dame was going into the bedroom where I was.”

“They probably won’t come back before we leave.”

“That’s what you say. And what am I supposed to do in the meantime—stay in there night and day, out of sight, in case they do show up?” Specs hit the table with his fist. “No, I’m through. I’m leaving tonight. If you want to come with me, good. If I was you, I would—at least, if I was Mary. She’s in as deep as me, now.”

“What do you say, Mary?”

“Steve, it’s up to you. I still trust you.”

“Thanks.” I leaned across the table. “Would you mind telling me just where in hell you think you’re going, how you expect to keep under cover if the cops are looking for you?”

“Damn right I mind! It’s none of your business. I’ll get by. You didn’t tell us where you hid the body, why should I tell you my secrets?”

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” I said. “You’re not taking your car. Maybe if you get rid of those glasses, dye your hair or something, you can get by. But they’ve got the car spotted—the license number too, by now. You’ll have to take the Olds.”

“Suits me. I’m all packed and ready to go. So where’s the dough?”

“I’ll get it.”

And I did. I brought the carton in. The shades were down, the door was locked. I began to put the money on the table.

“I still think you’re making a mistake,” I told him. “But it’s up to you. I only hope, if they catch you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“You know me better’n that, Steve. They won’t get nothing out of me. Mostly because they aren’t gonna catch me.”

I finished counting. “Here it is. $65,000. Count it over.”

“Hey, wait a minute—it’s supposed to be $66,666.”

“Like hell it is! What about the car you’re getting? And our expenses, for the cottage here and all.”

“All right. Give me the keys.”

I gave him the keys, stood up while he went into the bedroom and lugged his suitcase out. He opened it up and tossed a bunch of shirts and socks onto the table.

“I won’t need these,” he said. “Gives me more room.” He stuffed the bills into the suitcase, closed it up again.

“That does it. I’m off.” He stood there, looking down for a moment, and then he smiled. “Goodbye, you two. And—I’m sorry, Steve, for saying all that. I didn’t really mean it. It’s just that I’m like you say, chicken. You two’ll be better off without me around, anyway.”

“Good luck,” Mary said.

“Thanks.” He held out his hand to me and I took it.

“So long,” I told him.

Then he opened the door and went out. Mary sat down and looked at me.

“I didn’t really think he’d go,” she said. “You suppose it’s going to be all right?”

“Sure. It’s his life.”

“But I hate to think of that poor weak little guy, trying to hide out all by himself. He could get caught so easy.”

I reached into my coat pocket.

“Maybe he needs this,” I said.

“The gun? Yes, Steve, he ought to have something. But what will we do without it?”

“Never mind. We’ll get by.” I headed for the door. I could hear the motor starting up, and I ran down the steps. He had the garage door open. I walked in and closed it behind me.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” he asked. He shut off the motor.

“I forgot something. I didn’t want anyone to see from the road, because I thought maybe I’d better give you this.”

He stuck his head out of the window.

“What is it?”

I showed him the gun.

“Gee, thanks! You’re right, that’s just what I need. Maybe it’ll come in handy.”

“It will,” I told him. “You still sure you want it?”

He reached out. “Give it to me,” he said.

I gave him the gun, then. I gave it to him, right on top of the skull.

Chapter Twenty

I didn’t go back to the house for about five minutes. And when I did, I paid no attention to Mary. I just walked right over to the cupboard and got out the whiskey.

“What’s the matter?” Mary asked.

I took a shot raw, out of the bottle. I still wasn’t ready to look at her.

“Steve, something’s wrong. I didn’t hear Specs leave yet.”

“He left, all right. He’s gone for good.”

“Steve!” She came over to me, put her arms around me. Then she drew back and reached into my pocket. She’d felt the gun there, of course.

“You didn’t give it to him?”

“Yes I did. Oh, yes, I gave it to him good.”

Her eyes started to bug out. “Oooh—you—you didn’t!”

I swung her around. “What in hell did you think I was going to do? Let him drive away from here with our car? Let him take his chances on getting recognized by the cops?”

“But—”

“I tried to talk him out of it, didn’t I? And you heard what this guy Racklin said. He’s no dummy. He figured the score on Specs, all right. First thing Specs would do, he’d head for some resort. Or maybe even not get that far. Hole up in a roadhouse, hotel, someplace, and start drinking. You saw what happens when he gets drunk, Mary. You know how he’d act. Wave his money around and holler for a woman. That’s just the way they catch most of these guys. And if they ever caught Specs, we might as well give ourselves up. Because they’d have him spilling his guts in ten minutes.”

“But what you did, it’s murder—”

“Self defense. Him or us, that’s the way it was. And it’s not going to be us, Mary. Not after we’ve gone this far.” I put my arms around her. “You think I liked having to do it, sweetheart? You know better than that. Listen, you can hear my heart, it’s still pounding. But I did it for you. To protect you. You’re all that counts.”

“You shot him in cold blood.”

“I didn’t shoot him. I hit him over the head. He’s in the back seat, under the blanket. And now you and I are going to go out and get rid of him.”

“Oh, no, I can’t!”

“What’s the matter, you cracking up on me, too?”

She sort of gasped and I said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. But you’ve got to help, this time. I want to ditch the car and Specs both. I’ll drive him in his car and dump them. You follow me, and when I’m finished I’ll ride back with you. Understand?”

She shook her head.

“Sit down and I’ll explain it to you. Here’s what I got in mind. Coming back from getting the ransom money the other night, I noticed this place. It’s around the lake, past the bluff. There’s a little side road runs right down to the edge of the water, with maybe a twenty-foot drop. Nothing but a rail fence there, an old one. What I’ll do is load Specs into the car, run it to the edge, then jump out and let her crash. Won’t be anybody around there this time of night, and chances are nobody’ll find the wreck for a day or so. When they do, they’ve got their kidnapper. And just to make sure, I’m going to take that rubber block printing set along and leave it in the glove compartment. I hate to say it, but this may turn out to be a good thing after all.”

“Steve, that’s awful!”

“It’s our best bet.”

“Anyway, we won’t have to come back here again.”

“Of course we will. That’s the whole point of the thing—we got to stay here until they find the car and his body. Then they’ll figure he’s the one they were looking for, and the heat goes off. All they’ll be after is where he hid the money. Then we can leave anytime we like—with the whole two hundred grand.” I gave her a grin. “Sweetheart, our problems are solved.”

“It still sounds risky.”

“Sure, it’s risky. Everything’s risky. But this is the last step. And I’ll tell you what to do. You follow maybe a half a mile behind me, no closer. When I turn off, you wait at the head of the road, with the lights out. Then, if you see or hear anyone, turn on the lights. That’s my signal to duck out through the woods. And it’s your signal to go like hell.”

“And leave you behind?”

“You heard me. You’ll have the dough in the car. Don’t wait for me, just run for it and get back here without being followed. I can take care of myself. Don’t worry—I’ll make it. Nothin’s keeping me separated from you.”

Or from that two hundred grand, either, but I didn’t tell her that. Instead, I said, “That’s only in case of emergencies, anyway. Chances are a hundred to one we won’t have any trouble. I’ll look over the lay of the land first to make plenty sure.”

“All right, Steve.”

“You still love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Come on, then, let’s get started. Wait, let me go out there first. You bring the money.”

I wanted to get out there ahead of her, so as I could transfer Specs to his old car without Mary seeing him. I’d bashed his head in pretty bad, and he was nothing to look at. The cops would figure he got it banged in the car going down, or on the rocks sticking out of the water.

Putting him into the seat, I was careful to keep a blanket around him. I didn’t want to get all messed up. But I managed all right.

Then she came out, we locked the carton with the money in the trunk of the Olds, and started out.

I drove slow and kept my eyes open. This was one time for sure when I wouldn’t take any chances. I began to sweat when I got close to the crossroads, but there was nobody in sight. Couple cars parked outside the tavern, but no cops.

She trailed me a good half mile. I turned off, waiting until she could see me, and hit the other road that wound in around the side of the lake. It was dark and quiet. Just a piece of the moon was out. For a while we were passing cottages regular, with lights in the windows. Then they thinned out and the road went through woods. Nobody built around here because of the bluff on this side; they couldn’t get down to the water.

I kept going, not doing more than twenty-five, and she came along slow behind me. Then I saw the little cutoff I wanted. It ran back through the trees to the water for maybe a block and a half, no more than that. And it was clear. I could see the fence at the edge.

I stopped right where I’d turned off and waited for her to come up behind me. Then I got out and walked over.

“Drive back about a quarter mile,” I told her. “Keep your motor running, but no lights, remember? I’m going up and look at that fence, see if this deal can be rigged to fool them. If it’s okay, I’ll run the car in. Then, the minute you see me moving, come along. I’ll jump out and get back here to be picked up. Won’t take more than a minute after I’m started.”

“Yes, Steve.”

“Quit shivering, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Just do like I say. And if you see anyone coming behind you or ahead of you, get those lights on and take off. They won’t chase you—not if they hear the splash. They’ll stop to find out what’s happening. Go back to the cottage and wait. Just wait. I’ll be there.”

“No—”

I kissed her. “Run along, now. Here goes.”

I waited until she backed up, then walked down to the fence. I leaned against it; it was so rickety the boards almost came off in my hand. The water was black below, and I could see little white patches sticking up. Rocks. Everything was perfect.

Then I walked back to the car and put Specs up on the seat. I unwrapped the blanket, but tried to keep from looking at his face and head. This was the bad part; driving down the last little stretch of road with him.

But I had to do it. And like I told Mary, it would only take a minute.

I opened the door and got ready. No need to go too fast. I should have brought a whiskey bottle or something, so they’d think he’d been drinking. But they probably would figure that anyway. No, this was good enough as it was.

I started up. The motor sounded loud.

Then I realized why. There was more than one motor going. I could hear another—two others. They came from the road. I looked in the mirror. Sure enough, there was Mary coming in the Olds, with the lights on. And that meant—

That meant I couldn’t stop now. I jammed my foot down and the car rolled. I could see the fence coming up, and the car lurched, and for a minute Specs’ body wobbled and bounced against me.

Then we were hitting, and I jumped clear. There was a crash, and the whole works went over. A wave splashed up and soaked me from head to foot.

I looked back. The Olds was gone. But there was another car, and it was slowing down, getting ready to turn in. A light came sweeping along the road. In a second it would hit me.

But I didn’t wait for it. I looked down, took a deep breath, and dived into the water.

Chapter Twenty-One

I almost thought I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t dare come too close to the shore, and I had to go slow so as not to make any noise.

The two times I really was scared about was when boats came by, with outboard motors. I ducked underwater, then.

The boats were headed over to the shore where the car had gone down. They could hear the noise.

By the time I was far enough out so I figured it was safe to look back, I couldn’t see anything. There was a car parked there at the edge, and I saw two more come driving in, but that’s all. Nobody was shining any spotlights out over the water, so probably they hadn’t noticed me. That was good. It might still be all right, if they hadn’t. And if Mary got back safe.

But I was tired. I wasn’t used to swimming such a long ways, and the last half-mile across that lake was murder. I had to make sure of coming out below our cottage, too. It was tough going, there in the dark, but every stroke took me farther away from Specs and closer to the dough. That’s what I kept telling myself.

When I finally got in to where I could wade ashore, I just lay down in the shallows and panted until I got my breath back. I didn’t even have the strength to look up over the bank, see if the cottage lights were on.

I don’t know how long it took me to swim back, or how long I rested. At last I felt good enough to stand up and take a look. The lights were on, all right, and there wasn’t any cars in the driveway. She’d made it.

She’d made it, and I’d made it.

That should have made me feel good. But I was just numb. Today had taken everything out of me. It was all I could do to drag myself up the bank, into the back yard, up the steps.

The door was locked. I banged on it. She stuck her head around the corner of the shade, then opened up.

“Darling, you’re all right!”

“Sure. Nothing to it. They see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Cops?”

“No. I couldn’t see very good, but it looked like a light-colored car to me.”

“State police have cream-colored sedans.” I brushed the wet hair out of my eyes. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. They’ll be there soon enough. Main thing is, if they didn’t see you or see me go over.”

“You swam all the way back?”

“Yeah. I’m beat.”

“Get out of those wet clothes. I’ll fix you a drink.”

“Good idea.”

I went into the john and stripped. I ran water in the tub, climbed in, lay down. Then I closed my eyes.

She was knocking on the door.

“What’s the matter, Steve? What’s happened?”

“Oh.” I opened my eyes. “I guess I fell asleep here in the tub. I’ll be right out.”

I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. Boy, was I a mess! It wasn’t that my face was still dirty or anything, and I’d shaved around noon—but my eyes were all red and sunk into my head. That’s what today had done to me. Today and all the other days of waiting and worrying. Well, it was over now.

I put on my robe and walked out to the kitchen. Mary had helped herself to a drink, and now she poured a second one to keep me company. I watched her put it down. She’d changed, too—she knew how to drink now. Except that I noticed her hands trembled a little, and she poured another shot right away for herself.

But what the hell. She deserved it. And so did I. I bought myself another drink, too. And another. The stuff was all right, but it didn’t work on me tonight. I was too tight, too nervous.

All of a sudden I noticed a funny thing.

We weren’t talking to each other.

Neither of us had said a word for over twenty minutes—we just sat there and tossed it down.

“Come on, honey, cheer up and say something. It’s all over now.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Sure. We made it. Like I said we would—you and me, together.” I lifted my glass.

She started to lift hers, then put it down again. “Let’s hear the news,” she said. “Come on.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

“Aw, forget it. Wait until morning.”

“I can’t wait. I want to know.”

She got up and went into the front room. It was a couple minutes past twelve, time for the broadcast, all right. The radio came on strong.

“—no liquor found in the car, although police believe that Schumann had been drinking. The printing set found in the glove compartment has been positively identified as the one used to print the ransom note sent to the Warren family. Borger is certain that he saw the lights of another automobile disappear down the road at the moment Schumann’s car went over the bluff, and it is possible that accomplices escaped with the ransom money, none of which was discovered at the scene of the accident. In a statement issued just half an hour ago, however, Chief of Police Hoskins has this to say, quote: I am confident that the kidnapping was the work of one man. On the basis of the evidence, and of the letter received today by the Warren Family from the missing maid, Mary Adams, it seems certain that the entire crime was conceived and executed by Leo Schumann, in spite of his references to a partner in telephone conversations with Mr. Warren. This department, however, has no intention of relaxing its vigilance until the ransom money is found and the whereabouts of Shirley Mae Warren is discovered. Unquote. The Chief refused to comment on the possibilities of the Warren child being alive at this time. And that’s the latest news on the kidnapping at this moment. Time now for the news bulletins, but first—friends, the next time you suffer from acid indigestion, why not try—”

I snapped it off.

“Satisfied?” I said.

“Oh, yes! That sounds good, doesn’t it, Steve? Except what this Borger said—he must be the one in the car behind me, don’t you think? But he told about the lights, and maybe they’ll check up.”

“What can they check up on? Not tire tracks—I’ll bet a hundred cars have come by that stretch since then. Besides, you heard what that fathead chief of police had to say. We’re safe. You willing to drink to that now?”

“I guess so.”

“Come on, then.” We went out to the kitchen and I filled our glasses. “Down the hatch.”

“You’re drinking a lot tonight, Steve.”

“I need it. Rough day.”

“Oh, I don’t care.” She got a smile on her face, at last. “It’s nice, the way it makes you feel. Only, remember the other time, when I drank too much and passed out? I don’t want you to pass out tonight, Steve.”

“You don’t, huh?”

“No.” She came over and sat in my lap. “I had a rough day, too. I need some more medicine, I guess.”

“Try this.” I poured her another.

“Thanks.” She gulped it down. “Only that’s not the kind I mean.”

She put her hand inside the robe. I slapped it away. “Cut it out,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, I am.”

“You.” I grunted. “You’re always in the mood.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Sure.” Only I didn’t. Sitting there, with her on my lap, it suddenly came to me, and it was the truth. I didn’t want her. I’d had enough. She was too dumb, and too flighty; I’d had to watch her all week now, play up to her, keep her from messing up the details.

“Just think, Steve, here we are, just like you promised! The two of us, with all that money. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful.”

Like hell it was. I hadn’t gone through all this, taken all those crazy chances, even killed a man, sweated it out to get that dough, just to spend the rest of my life with her. Her and her goddam “medicine.” I was going into the big leagues now, with real money, real women. Not an overgrown kid you had to cuff around to get anything out of: a dumb female who, every time you looked at her, would remind you of all the grief and bad times you went through.

“Steve, what’s wrong? You look so funny.”

“Tired.”

“Have another drink.”

“All right.”

“I’ll have one, too. Just one more itsy-bitsy one. And then, you know what we’re gonna do?”

“Sure.”

I had to think about it now, had to plan. And I was tired of thinking and planning. But here it was, starting all over again. I had to do it.

And meanwhile, Mary mustn’t know. Keep her happy, that was the way. The only way.

This time it was different. This time, the minute we got in there, she grabbed me in the dark. “Oh, darling, I couldn’t tell you this before, but I want you to know now, the way it made me feel because you did it, you killed a man for me, didn’t you, darling? That’s why I love you, because you’re strong and you aren’t afraid of anything, and—”

Christ, she went on like that, panting and panting and half-laughing and half-crying like she was crazy. And all I could think about was Specs. When she said the part about killing a man, I could see Specs’ face in the dark. His face, staring at me, the blood running down it, the eyes popping.

Then, when we were on the bed, she was clawing at me and I couldn’t hear what she said, couldn’t do anything, because I was watching that face.

So I pretended I’d passed out. After a while she lay down and went to sleep.

I stayed awake and planned. Maybe it was all for the best, the way she’d acted. At least, she’d made up my mind for me, once and for all.

It would be easy to kill her now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I could have killed her while she slept, of course. That was my first idea, and it wasn’t smart. I figured it out and I saw the answer right away.

If I killed her, and beat it, they’d find her. Sooner or later, no matter where I hid the body, they’d find her. And they’d know. Put two and two together. Specs dead and her dead. That would mean somebody was left, somebody with the money. Then they’d come looking for me.

And the Racklins could furnish them with a good description, too.

No, the smart way to play it would be to clear out of here with her. Go away, far enough away so nobody would know us. And then—maybe in a week, maybe in two weeks—a chance would come.

After that, I’d be free. Free, with two hundred grand in my pocket.

The minute I figured it out, I felt better. I felt so good I even was able to decide where we’d go, how we’d get there. And then I went to sleep.

I went to sleep and to hell with all of it. To hell with Specs’ face, and Shirley Mae in the oil drum and to hell with Racklin’s blue eyes—they were like my old man’s eyes, I remembered that now—and to hell with everything that happened this past week.

I slept.

I slept until she shook me and shouted in my ear. “Steve, Steve, for God’s sake, wake up! They’re coming!”

“Coming? Who’s coming?”

“The police, the police, Steve, wake up!”

I woke up all right. I was out of bed and across the room, digging into my coat pocket. “Where? Where?”

“Oh, not outside! Not yet. But I was just listening to the radio, the news. The coroner says it wasn’t an accident—something about all that blood on the blanket, and Specs wasn’t bleeding in the water. I didn’t understand it very well, I got so scared—”

“Take it slower. What’re you trying to tell me?”

She could hardly talk, she was that excited. “Anyway, they figured out there must have been somebody in another car, and the Sheriff says they’re going to search the whole lake area—check up on all the cottages and places to see if they can find clues. Steve, they’re coming, we’ve got to do something—”

“Damned right we do.” I grabbed her arm. “So don’t stand there and waste time talking. Get yourself packed. We’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”

I hit the john and shaved. It was a fast job, but I didn’t cut myself. I was calm. It was almost as though I’d expected something like this, and in a way I had. Nothing is as easy as it looks—there’s always a joker somewhere.

And suppose they looked. We’d be out of here and on our way.

Mary came in, putting on her makeup behind me.

“You ready?”

“I guess so. Steve, where are we going—Florida?”

“Uh-uh. You heard what Racklin said. He was right, and we’re taking his advice, even though he didn’t know he was giving any. No Florida for us—not yet. What we’ll do is head for Chicago. Take a plane out of there. Trans-Canada Airlines for Montreal, Quebec; whichever leaves soonest. We’ll go up to Canada for a while until this thing cools down. That’s our best bet to be safe.”

“Canada? But isn’t it cold up there?” Dumb broad, that was all she could think of. Canada was going to be plenty cold, for her.

“It’s summertime,” I said. “Nice in those parts. We can take a boat up through the islands, maybe rent a cabin for a while.” That would be a good spot for what I had in mind; a nice backwoods cabin. I’d get her out in a boat, perhaps, make it look like a real accident if I had to.

“I don’t want to go to Canada.”

“All right. We’ll talk about it later. The big thing now is to get out of here. Where’s my coat?”

“I’ll get it.”

I went in and took the suitcases off the bed, carried them out to the car. I checked the gas and oil—better than half full. I made sure the trunk was locked, then stuck the keys in the ignition. After that, there was time for one more quick look around the garage. Everything was straight. I opened the garage door.

Mary was still inside, sitting at the kitchen table. I called to her. “Come on, hurry up!”

She came out, carrying my coat, and locked the door behind her. I grabbed it, put it on. She gave me the house keys and climbed in the front seat.

I started to get in and she said, “Oh, Steve—I forgot my purse.”

“Jesus Christ!” I ran up the steps. “All right, I’m getting it.” How stupid can you get, I asked myself.

Yes, how stupid can you get?

Because I reached in my pocket, for the keys, and I noticed something all of a sudden. My gun wasn’t there.

“Mary! You got my gun?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t hear me anyway, because of the engine. She’d started the car, and it was going down the drive.

I turned and ran for it. She shot out of the driveway, going like a bat out of hell, and turned onto the road. She didn’t even look at me.

For a minute I just stood there. Then I went back and opened the door and went inside the cottage. There was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do now except wait.

Her purse wasn’t there, of course; that was just a gag. But I found something else. That’s what she’d been doing at the kitchen table—writing me a note. I sat down and read it.

Steve:

Maybe when you read this you will find out that you are not the only smart one around here. I suppose you thought I didn’t know what you had up your sleeve. But I know you like a book now and after last night I can’t take any more chances. Because I am sure of one thing, that you don’t love me any more.

You thought you had me fooled, didn’t you. But I can tell. This morning when you said about going to Canada I was sure. I don’t want something to happen to me the way it did to Specs.

So I am leaving. Do not be mad, because it is only what you were going to do to me. Except that I am not a murderer and I am letting you off easy by not killing you.

There is no use trying to find me because I know where to go. And the police won’t believe you anyway because of the letter.

If you get away, maybe you will think twice before you try to pull a stunt like this again.

Mary

She was crazy, that’s all, just plain crazy. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” I said. “How can you figure the cops won’t get you? You left this note, didn’t you? Why, you won’t get ten miles before they pick you up, you dumb double-crossing little—”

I was crazy, too, because I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to myself.

She was gone. The car was gone, the gun was gone, the money was gone.

I looked around. It was just ten o’clock. That reminded me of something. I ran over to the radio, switched it on.

Sure enough, the same announcer.

“—roadblocks have been set up at every crossing in the county. State police and a group of deputies numbering well over four hundred men are systematically combing the area in and around the lake shore in an effort to locate the whereabouts of—”

I went over to the radio and started to shut it off. Then something came over me all of a sudden, and I bent down instead and heaved the whole damn works over on its side. It crashed to the floor and lay there.

That did it. I knew they’d get her now. And they’d be coming after me.

Racklin was right. Somebody always cracks up, spoils the deal. I had my chance to kill her last night, and I muffed it.

Now there was nothing left to do but make a break for it. No gun, no car, no money—but the worst part was, I had no place to go.

No place to go.

I went out to the kitchen. The whiskey was all gone, but there was still some rum left. I filled a water-glass and took a swig. It tasted awful. Anything would have tasted awful to me, even champagne.

Because all of a sudden it hit me. Racklin and his theories about why guys pull a job like this—that was a lot of bull. Maybe they thought they wanted a lot of dough, just like I thought I did when I planned it. But now I knew it wasn’t the reason at all. It didn’t matter now whether I’d gotten away with the money or not; the money wouldn’t have helped. Because I really didn’t know what I wanted.

Just sitting around in some fancy bar wasn’t the answer, and neither was shacking up with a bunch of high-class broads. Sure, I’d have tried it for a while, but sooner or later I’d get sick of it.

It wasn’t real. That’s the answer. Nothing was real any more, hadn’t been since the kid died. And maybe for a long time before that. Maybe ever since I ran away from home.

Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out that I was just like Specs and Mary, underneath? That all I really wanted was somebody around to love me? Specs wanted a woman, and Mary wanted me—maybe I just was looking for somebody a little more high class, and figured I couldn’t make the grade unless I had plenty of cash.

Could that be it?

Well, it didn’t matter, now. Nothing mattered, because I heard the sound.

The sirens were coming.

Sure enough, I looked out of the window and there they were. One second the road was empty and the next second it seemed the whole driveway and yard were full of them. Cars and motorcycles and cops.

They had a cordon around the house, riot guns and tommy guns and rifles. They stood there, waiting for orders, and it was very quiet now.

All at once a big guy got out of one of the cream-colored sedans. He had a badge on and I figured him for the Sheriff. Two state police stood right behind him and he was looking straight at me.

“All right,” he yelled. “We know you’re in there, Collins. No use trying anything—we picked up the girl down the road.”

I saw the Olds, now, parked outside the drive. Cops all around it.

“You’d better come out peaceful,” the Sheriff called. “I’m going to count to ten. After that, we’ll come in after you.”

I stood there, waiting. He began to count, and I just listened, wondering what he’d do next.

When he got to ten, he lifted his hand.

“Collins, I’m giving you one more chance! You don’t deserve it any more than a dog, but there’s been enough killing around here already. Come out on that porch with your hands raised and we won’t hurt you.”

To hell with him, to hell with all of them, let them shoot if they wanted to, I didn’t care. They hated me, they’d always hated me, even Mary hadn’t liked me except when I slapped her around.

I could tell this Sheriff wanted to kill me. Well, if I went out now, he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. At least I could get back at him that way.

So I opened the kitchen door.

“That’s right, Collins! Come on out—we want to see what a mad beast looks like.”

I raised my hands and then I stepped out on the porch.

“Take a good look,” I said.

Table of Contents

Back Cover

Preview

Books

Titlepage

Copyright

THE KIDNAPPER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two