Talk of the town Page 20

  He whistled. “Son, I don’t know how this is going to come out, but there’s one thing. They’ll sure as hell know you’ve been here.”

  I hope so.”

  “If only there was some way I could stop Redfield!”

  “You can’t. His office has jurisdiction. And he’s in charge.”

  “Maybe if I did call the F.B.I—”

  “I’ve got no proof. Not yet.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to need it.”

  I hung up, and checked my watch. It was twenty past midnight; we were going to have to work fast. T.J. and Trudy were watching me uncertainly. I called Georgia. She hurried in.

  I think we’re in business,” I said. “But there’s no time to talk now. See if there’s a sheet on that bed back there.”

  She brought it, and I began tearing it into strips. She watched, mystified. I rolled T.J. over on the floor, and tied his hands behind his back. The sheet was raw muslin, and quite strong. He struggled weakly and cursed. I shoved cloth in his mouth and made it fast with a strip tied in back of his head. I tied Trudy’s hands, but didn’t bother to gag her. She called me things I’d never heard before.

  Hauling T.J. to his feet, I took the car keys from his pocket, handed Georgia the sap, and jerked my head towards Trudy. She was lying on the floor in front of the jukebox. “If she tries to get up, slice her across the backs of the legs just as hard as you can. Think you could do it?”

  She nodded grimly. “I would love to. Believe me.”

  I shoved T.J. out the door ahead of me, and took him outside to his car. Pushing him inside on the rear seat, I tied his legs together with some more of the sheet, and drove the car down behind the barn where it would be out of sight. When I went back, Trudy was still mouthing obscenities and Georgia Langston was kneeling beside her with the blackjack poised. I untied Trudy’s hands. Georgia looked at me questioningly.

  I grinned coldly. “Trudy’s our secretary. She’s a great little girl on the telephone and she’s about to go to work for us now.”

  I hauled her to her feet, “You impress me,” she said. “You really do. Scare me some more.”

  “This may not be very pretty,” I said to Georgia. “You keep an eye on the road.”

  “All right,” she said quietly. “But don’t think it would bother me.” She went out.

  I took Trudy’s arm and led her over to the desk. “What a pair of creeps,” she said, full of bright insolence.

  I ignored her, looking up Frankie Crossman’s residence in the phone book. Hoping he and his wife would be asleep, I dialed it, and listened, holding my finger on the switch. It went on ringing . . . four . . . five ... six. . . . Just after the seventh ring, somebody picked it up. I pressed down at the same instant, breaking the connection. I hung up.

  “I’ll bet that was a real smart move,” Trudy said. “If I was stupid enough to figure it out.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “You just do what I tell you. In about two minutes, as soon as he gets back to bed, you’re going to call him. I’ll tell you what to say.”

  “Up yours,” she said.

  I slapped her.

  She staggered sideways and fell to one knee. When she got up she tried to scratch me. I caught both her wrists in my left hand and slapped her twice more, forehanded and backhanded. I shoved and let her go. She fell backwards.

  She looked up at me with the beginnings of doubt.

  “You sumbitch, you’re crazy-”

  “Get up, Trudy,” I said.

  She climbed to her feet, watching me warily and trying to back away. I said nothing, and merely slapped her again, feeling a little sick at my stomach. She was about eighteen. But it had to be done. This was the method they’d left us.

  “You cut it out,” she said, sullen now instead of insolent.

  “Your trouble, Trudy, is that you’ve been milking complacent mopes all your life and never did run into a desperate mope before. I haven’t got anything more to i lose. Catch?”

  I pulled the .38 from my pocket and cocked it.

  “You wouldn’t.” She licked her lips nervously.

  “We can use T.J. if you don’t want to do it. He’ll be easier to convince, too.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Guess,” I said.

  She cracked. All the brass melted at once and she began to whimper. “What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s better,” I said. I want you to call Frankie. If his wife answers the phone, don’t say anything. I’ll ask for him myself, because she might recognize your voice. As soon as we get hold of him, you do the talking. Here’s what you say.” I told her. “You got it?”

  She nodded.

  “All right,” I said grimly. “And remember. If you try to tip him off, God help you. The State can’t kill me any deader than Redfield.”

  I dialed the number and held the instrument so she could speak into it and we could both hear. Crossman himself answered.

  “Listen, Frankie,” she said hurriedly. “Pearl just called from town, and he’s on his way out here now. He said he tried to get you, but you didn’t answer—”

  “He hung up before I could get to the phone,” Frankie grumbled. “What is it?”

  I don’t know, except something’s gone wrong. All he said was he was leaving right then and for me to call you and keep calling till I got you, if I had to try every place in town. Don’t tell anybody, not even your wife, but just get out here as fast as you can.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Frankie said. He hung up.

  I replaced the instrument and looked at my watch. It was 12:47. We were cutting it dangerously fine. She’d said Pearl sometimes came home as early as one. It would take Frankie a couple of minutes to dress, and then Calhoun would wait two or three more. It was very still in the room. I was hot in the flannel jacket. Sweat ran down my face. My hands were so stiff now I could hardly close them.

  “How long have you been living with Pearl?” I asked Trudy.

  “Three or four months,” she said defiantly. Then she started to whine again. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with anything. I came here from Tampa.”

  “When did T.J. show up?”

  “About the same time. He was in a cuttin’ scrape up in Georgia.”

  They were small change, I thought. I had to have the three big ones, and some kind of proof, and even then it might do me no good at all.

  “What’s in the safe?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied sullenly.

  “What’s in the safe?” I repeated harshly, taking a step towards her.

  “Honest to God.” She began to whine again. “He never lets nobody see in it. Or watch him open it. That Miz Redfield offered me three hundred dollars if I could steal the combination—” She stopped abruptly.

  “Why?” I asked. “What did she want with it?”

  She retreated into sullen stupidity. “I don’t know. But Pearl carries it in his head. Nobody’ll ever know it but him.”

  I looked at my watch again. It was 12:55. Calhoun should be talking to Mrs. Crossman now. And Frankie should be here any moment. “When Mrs. Crossman calls,” I told Trudy, “tell her Frankie’s not here and Pearl’s not here. Nothing else. Got it?”

  She nodded. We went on waiting in hot, bright silence.

  The phone rang. I nodded, and she picked it up. I stood beside her with my ear close to the edge of the receiver.

  “This is Bessie Crossman,” a woman’s voice said. “Is Frankie there, Trudy?”

  “No,” Trudy replied. “He hasn’t been here.”

  “You don’t know where Pearl is?” I shook my head. She replied no.

  “I’m worried. He got a phone call and rushed off somewhere, and then Calhoun come looking for him just a few minutes later.”

  It was beginning to work. I motioned for Trudy to hang up.

  Almost at the same instant Georgia Langston said quietly at the side
window, “Car turning in, Bill.”

  “Right,” I said. “Stay out of sight. Don’t come in unless I call you.”

  I strode to the corner beside the door, where I could watch Trudy and was out of sight from the windows. “Stay right where you are,” I ordered. “And don’t say a word.”

  The car came on and stopped under the tree near the corner of the front porch. Hurrying footsteps sounded in the hall, and Frankie came in. “Hey, Trudy, hasn’t Pearl got here?”

  I put a hand in his back and pushed. “You’re the first, Frankie. Come on in.”

  He whirled, and the dark and bony face was mean as he caught sight of me. The lip was swollen where I’d hit him in the bar. He was wearing only khaki trousers and shirt, and I could see no place he could be carrying a gun, but I whirled him around against the wall and shook him down anyway. He had nothing except a knife. I threw it under the bed at the back of the room and returned the revolver to my pocket.

  He looked from me to Trudy, and back again. “What the hell’s all this? Where’s Pearl?”

  “He’ll be here, Frankie,” I told him. “And Cynthia, I hope. Too bad Strader can’t come. You could have a reunion.”

  Fear showed on his face for an instant. He whirled on Trudy. “Why, you little slut!”

  She shrilled at him, “He made me call you!”

  “Who killed Langston?” I asked. “All of you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Who hit the truck driver too hard?”

  “You must be nuts.”

  “It makes no difference,” I said. “You know that. All of you take the rap, regardless of who hit him.”

  I was wasting time with Frankie. He had realized by now that Trudy had told me nothing. “Turn around,” I said. “Against that wall.”

  He glared, about ready to jump me. I was too tired to want to fight him. I took the sap from my pocket and swung it in my hand. “Turn around, Frankie.” He turned. I tied his hands with another strip of the sheet and stuck a wad of it in his mouth and made it fast. I shoved him onto the sofa, and turned to the girl.

  “Call the Silver King and ask for Pearl. Here’s what you say.” I told her carefully, and then repeated it. “You got it?”

  She began to cry. “He’ll kill me.”

  “He won’t be able to. Call him.” She still hesitated, deathly afraid of him. “Call him!” I said harshly. My nerves were about ready to snap.

  She picked up the phone and dialed. “Exactly the way I told you,” I warned.

  I held my car close to the receiver. We were in luck. I heard the bartender say, “Yeah. I think he’s still here. Just a minute.”

  He must have put the receiver on the bar directly in front of somebody. Above the jukebox and the ground-swell of bar-room conversation I heard a man say, “I’m glad I’m not in the sum-bitch’s shoes when Redfield catches him!”

  “Hello.” It was Talley’s mush-mouth drawl. I nodded to her.

  “Pearl!” she cried out. I think something’s wrong. Miz Crossman phoned out here a few minutes ago—”

  “What’d she want?”

  “She’s tryin” to find Frankie. She said he got a phone call from somebody about half an hour ago and left the house in a big hurry and didn’t say where he was goin’. And just after he left, Calhoun came there lookin’ for him She don’t know what for, but Calhoun acted like it was real serious.”

  “Oh, Frankie’s jest been in another fight, or somethin’.”

  “No! That ain’t all. Frankie called too. He jest this minute hung up. I don’t know where he was, but he said he was gettin’ out of town. He was so excited I couldn’t make out everything he said, but it was something about all hell was going to bust loose. He said he found out that man is a private detective workin’ for an insurance company. I’m not sure what he meant, but I’m scared, Pearl. T. J.’s scared. We’re goin’ to get out of here—”

  “You stay right where you are,” he said coldly. “That’s the worst thing you can do—” He apparently realized that he was being listened to by people in the bar, for he went on easily. “Shucks, it ain’t nothin’. You jest sit tight. I’ll be along.”

  He hung up.

  I dropped the receiver back on its cradle, feeling myself tighten up. We had seven or eight minutes at most. “All right, Trudy. Stand up and turn around.”

  “Damn you!” she lashed out. “He’ll kill me. You don’t know him.”

  “Shut up!” I told her. “I’m trying to get you out of sight before he gets here.”

  She put her hands behind her willingly then. I began tying them. “Georgia!” I called out. She came in quickly.

  “What’s Frankie’s car? That panel truck?”

  ”Yes,” she said. Then she gave a short laugh that ended in a little choking cry, and put a hand against the doorframe to steady herself. She brushed the other across her face. The strain was beginning to get her.

  “Take it easy,” I said.

  “I’m all right.” She took a deep breath. “It was just the truck. The same one that backed into you—when was it? How many years ago?”

  I managed to grin at her. “We were young then.” Then I jerked my head towards Frankie. “See if the keys are in his pocket. If he tries to kick you, brain him with something.”

  “The keys are in the switch,” she replied. “I’ve already checked.”

  “Good girl.” I finished off Trudy and hustled Frankie to his feet. “Bring the rest of those strips,” I said, and shoved them ahead of me, holding them by the arms. We went out on the porch. After being in the light, I couldn’t see at all for a moment or two. Frankie stumbled, stepping off the porch, and almost fell. I caught him. Georgia led the way to the truck. I opened the doors in back and shoved them in. She found the switch and turned on the light. I hurriedly tied their ankles. Frankie lay on his side, the black, mean eyes staring at my face. I was suddenly sick of all of them, sick to the bottom of my heart of the whole tough, cheap, crooked lot. Be a police officer and look at that all your life?

  “Watch the road,” I warned. “He’ll be here any minute.”

  “Nothing yet,” she said.

  I slammed the rear doors and we got in and drove down behind the barn. I cut the lights and the engine, and sighed, beat-up and tired and hurting all over. I put out a hand to touch her, and she took it and held it between both of hers, in her lap.

  “What are our chances?” she asked calmly.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “They pulled off a robbery that night and killed a man up in Georgia. Bringing the stuff into another State makes it a Federal case. That, and the felony murder, is what they’ve been so jittery about.”

  “Can we prove it?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I’m trying to make them lose their heads. I couldn’t get anything out of Frankie, but we’ve still got Pearl and Mrs. Redfield to go.” I broke off wearily, aware that if Cynthia Redfield sat tight and didn’t panic we had no chance. We had to get her or it was nothing.

  “But Kendall?” she asked. “Where was there any connection with him?”

  “One of the places they robbed was a jewelry store,” I said. “They must have had some of the stuff there in the house that morning, and he saw it. Remember, it wasn’t just robbery; they knew they’d killed a man. A felony murder is the same as first degree.”

  “But why would he go there?” she insisted.

  I don’t know,” I said.

  Well, I thought defiantly, I don’t really. It’s just a guess.

  And maybe I was still wrong about the whole thing. There was the time element. Langston was apparently killed at a few minutes past four in the morning. Weaverton was nearly a hundred miles. If they’d entered the first place shortly after twelve, when the lights went out and the police converged on the fire, they still had only four hours. They might have been able to get away with the safes and drive back in that length of time, but they couldn’t have opened them. That would
take hours. And disposing of them in a river somewhere would take more time. So what had Langston seen?

  Well, they’d cleaned out a jewelry store, and everything wasn’t kept in a safe at night. There’d have been watches, and silver. . . .

  “I hear a car coming,” she said.

  Headlights flashed briefly across the trees beside the barn, and died. A car door slammed. Pearl was here.

  17

  “Stay here,” I whispered.

  I eased out of the truck and around the corner of the barn. It was too dark to see him, but I heard his footsteps as he hurried across the front porch. He wouldn’t waste any time looking for the others. The car’s being gone would be evidence enough they’d run out. I hurried across the yard and reached a position by the side window as he came into the room. I couldn’t see him; he was off to my left somewhere. Then I heard the sound and recognized it, and excitement ran along my nerves. It was the faint, metallic rattle of the knob of the safe as he spun it through the combination.

  He could be after money so he could run; or my hunch might be right and there was something in it he wanted to get rid of and hide somewhere else. I waited tensely; I had to be sure it was open before I went in. Then the telephone rang. It rang again. He paid no attention to it. I heard the click of the handle as he swung open the door of the safe. Slipping round in front, I eased the screen door open, and stepped into the hall. The telephone shrilled once more in the silence, covering any sound I might have made.

  He was kneeling before the opened safe with his back to me, wearing another of those garish shirts, the cowboy hat pushed onto the back of his head. On the floor beside him was one of the metal drawers from the safe. It held two chamois bags, one of them very small.

  “Turn around, Pearl,” I said. “And get away from the front of that safe.”

  He whirled and stood up. After the first gasp of surprise, there was no confusion or fear in his face. The blue eyes were calculating and more than a little cold as they looked at me and then moved slightly, estimating the distance to the desk drawer.

  “There’s no gun in it,” I said. I crossed over in front of him. The telephone started to ring once more, but cut off in the middle of it. Whoever it was had hung up. Silence seemed to roar in my ears. I thought of the shotgun going off in that loft, and the obscene foaming of acid, and whispered filth on a telephone. For an instant I wanted to get my hands on him now that we were alone and beat him into something unrecognizable, but I pushed it wearily aside. What good would it do? What good had it done last time?