Pulp Crime

by Jerry eBooks

  “Just wondering,” I said. “Did you have any trouble fishing him out?”

  He shook his head. “No. It was only a few feet from the dock. Turpin swam back himself, grinning like a monkey.”

  In September, Turpin was transferred to the garbage crew. It was still outside work. Every afternoon he was down at the incinerators at the beach.

  And the fog weather began.

  I was in my room in the guard’s quarters when I saw the first heavy concentration coming from the northwest—from the sea. This would be the time he would try it. I could almost feel that.

  The siren cut through the fog at two-thirty. I put my cigar in the ashtray and made my way to the armory.

  Lieutenant Farley was assigning the search details. “This time it’s Turpin. The fog came down on the garbage gang so fast that the guard was caught by surprise. He started herding the prisoners to the truck, but Turpin slipped away and disappeared into the fog.”

  Farley grinned at me. “Relax. You’re not winning any bet today. I happen to know for a fact that Turpin can’t swim a stroke.”

  I shrugged. “Then why would he run away?”

  Farley chuckled. “He lost his head when he saw a chance. He wasn’t thinking. Now the best he can do is to hide out in some cave or corner of this island for a couple of days and hope that we’ll think he’s gone out and drowned himself. He probably figures that when we stop looking for him, he can smuggle himself aboard the supply boat.”

  I pocketed two clips of ammunition. “Then it won’t be much good to take out the launch?”

  Farley showed his teeth again. “No good at all. But we take it out just the same. That’s our job.”

  A half a dozen more guards reported, and Farley began giving them instructions.

  I picked the launch keys off the board. “I’ll wait for you down at the dock.”

  Outside, it was like walking through smoke. Every object was shrouded and strange, and the trip down to the dock took me almost fifteen minutes.

  I checked the boat compass and headed the launch northeast, out into the bay. The fog misted my face, and nothing was visible more than a few feet from the bow.

  I could imagine what Farley would say when I got back.

  “Why the hell didn’t you wait for me?”

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. But I thought I heard something out in the water.”

  Farley would probably grin. “You got some imagination. Why didn’t you come back when you found he wasn’t out there?”

  I would look embarrassed. “I couldn’t find the dock, Lieutenant. The fog was too thick.”

  “And what about the radio?” Farley would demand. “Why didn’t you get in touch with us?”

  “But the radio doesn’t work, Lieutenant.”

  Now I kept the launch going until I was about half way across the bay and a few miles north. Then I cut the motor and let the boat drift.

  I wouldn’t have been able to do that if Farley were with me. We’d be cruising back and forth and there would be a chance that we might find Turpin.

  I didn’t want that.

  I disconnected a lead-in wire on the radio and sat down to wait. The current would bring me back near the island in a few hours.

  The sea was calm, with just enough swelling to let you know that it was still alive. I tried to figure how long it would take a man to swim a mile and a half. It was difficult to know how good all of Turpin’s practice had made him.

  The time passed slowly. It was silent except for the breathing of the ocean and the faint foghorn of the coast guard boat searching near the mainland.

  The cold and damp began to get into my bones after an hour. I checked my watch and decided to wait at least another half an hour before I started the motor and went back to the island.

  And then I heard the sound, muffled in the distance.

  I held my breath as it came again.

  It was the hoarse cry of a man calling for help.

  I cursed softly. Turpin had gotten himself lost in the fog. Instead of going straight, he had veered to the left. He was swimming parallel to the coast.

  His calls were closer now, desperate in the emptiness.

  I shook my head savagely. If he drowned here, the current would carry his body back to the island. It would be found in a few days, a week or two.

  I started the motor and kept the launch slow as possible while I searched. It was hard work, but I kept at it, shutting off the power now and then to listen.

  When I found Turpin he was treading water and taking deep gasps for air.

  His eyes met mine, and I saw the same thing that I’d seen in Stacey’s when we picked him up. There was defeat because his try had failed and relief because he would soon be out of the water.

  I pulled him aboard and put him in the stern.

  His face was dead white and he shivered with cold. I tossed him a blanket and watched him huddle inside it.

  Turpin’s teeth chattered. “How close did I get?”

  “Not close at all,” I said. “You were headed straight for Seattle.”

  Turpin sighed. “I was in the water a long, long time.”

  “An hour and a half,” I said.

  “I could have made it,” he said softly. “If only I’d kept going straight. You knew what I was going to do, didn’t you?”

  I grinned, but said nothing.

  “You were waiting for me to make the break. You wanted a little fun to fight the dullness of life. You knew what I was going to do, and where, and when. Maybe you even wanted to use that rifle.”

  I ignored what he’d said. I studied him for a half a minute, thinking it out. Then I searched through my pockets until I found an old letter. I carefully tore off a blank section at the bottom of one page. It would have to do.

  I handed it to Turpin and gave him my fountain pen. “I want you to write the warden a little note.”

  His mouth gaped slightly.

  “Go ahead,” I snapped. “Write what I tell you.”

  He hesitated and then shrugged.

  “Dear Warden,” I said. “It was a cold swim, but it was worth it.”

  Turpin looked up, trying to figure it out. Then he shook his head, and moved the pen across the paper.

  “Now wish him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.”

  Turpin’s mouth dropped again.

  I glared at him. “Write it and sign your name.”

  He did what he was told.

  I took the paper from him and examined it. The handwriting made it good enough, but I wanted more. “Put your fingers in some of that grease on the floorboards and let’s have ten little fingerprints under your signature.”

  When that was done, I folded the paper carefully and put it in my wallet. It was worth five thousand dollars to me.

  “Stand up, Turpin,” I said. “And turn around.”

  He got up wearily and turned.

  I brought the rifle stock down hard on the back of his head and he dropped without a sound.

  After I made sure that he was dead, I got the anchor from the bow locker and tied it to him.

  I took the launch three miles west, out to sea, and dumped Turpin’s body overboard.

  Then I lit a cigar, checked with the compass, and headed back for my chat with Farley.

  In a month or two, when I got to the city on one of my days off, I’d mail Turpin’s note in a plain, typed envelope.

  The postmark ought to make news, and it would start all the world looking for the first man to escape from the rock.

  FOURTH GEAR TO HELL

  Richard Geis

  Don’s car was the only weapon which could avenge their heinous crime . . .

  The man was short and husky with brick red hair and a furtive scared look in his eyes. He waved a revolver at us and commanded in a file-on-metal voice.

  “Stand up! Get your hands up, quick!” He looked around nervously and saw my car, a sleek three-liter Manzanni Special, parked a few yards away from our shaded picn
ic spot. “Hey, you drive that in the road race back at Pendleton?”

  I nodded. He turned to the girl with him. “Beautiful, ain’t it?” She said something short and unprintable. She was about twenty-three, short and skinny with an oily pimpled complexion and short cropped black hair.

  She came forward boldly and started pawing through the food on the spread tablecloth. She looked up at us. Her eyes were blinking quickly but her gaze was black and direct, boring into me first and then my wife, Jenny. “I want candy. You got any around here?”

  Jenny looked at her with the cool poise and disdain she reserved for drunks and boors. She turned her head toward the car and said, “There is a box of chocolates on the seat.”

  Dry ice couldn’t have been colder.

  The girl was dressed in tight levis and a once-white man’s t-shirt. Her small crab-apple breasts pouted against the thin material and hardly made an impression. She bristled and glared at Jenny. She looked at Jenny’s long legs exposed by the chic blue shorts, her slim waist and well filled matching blue blouse. The glare shifted to the long flowing naturally platinum blonde hair and clear peaches and cream skin. Jenny glared back at her from electric blue eyes.

  I could almost see the growing envy as the smaller girl made involuntary comparisons. I saw her hands curl into small claw-like fists.

  “You really think you’re something, don’t you, knockers?”

  I stepped forward angrily. “You filthy little tramp! Don’t talk to my wife like that! Take whatever you want and get away from us!”

  “Keep those hands up!” the man said. “Gloria, get his wallet and let’s get out of here.”

  “You worry too much, hon.” She looked at me speculatively, said, “You’re married to her, huh?” and went over to the car and found the chocolates. When she came back she said, “They left the keys.” She jiggled them in her palm for a minute, then threw them into the brush somewhere behind me.

  “Look, get the wallet, huh?”

  “Okay, in a minute.” She opened the box and popped an oblong chocolate into her mouth after a few seconds study. She smiled contentedly as her jaws moved. “Cream center.”

  She popped another candy into her mouth and came over behind me and lifted my wallet. “Hey,” she cried delightedly, “he was loaded! Lookit the hundreds.”

  My jaw tightened. I cursed myself for an idiot. First place in the first annual Pendleton, Oregon, road race, $2,000 prize money and I had to cash the check right away and carry the loot on me!

  The girl stuffed the bills in her packet and slowly minced around in front of Jenny. Jenny refused to look.

  “You can’t see me for nothin’, can you? You wouldn’t even spit on me, would you? You think you’re so goddamn good!” Her skinny frame shook with sudden rage. “You fell into everything without half trying, didn’t you? Just because you’re so pretty and sexy! Well, let’s see how sexy you are!”

  She reached up and ripped at Jenny’s blouse. Buttons flew and then she staggered back as Jenny’s hand flashed down and slapped her full in the face, leaving angry red blotches on her cheek.

  The girl spat obscenities and turned to her companion. “Willy, take him over to that tree. I want him tied up!”

  Willy frowned at that, but must have decided it was a good idea. He advanced with the gun and jerked his head toward the tree she had indicated. I backed up against it and watched Gloria pull the table cloth out from under our food. In a moment my hands were bound securely behind me around a thin young pine.

  “Now, give me the gun!”

  “No . . . Gloria, look, we agreed to rob them is all. Don’t—”

  “Give it to me!”

  He surrendered it to her and stood aside, looking apprehensive. Gloria hefted it in her hand, enjoying the feel of it—the weight, the power.

  Jenny watched them, no trace of fear showing except a quickening of her breath. She edged over near me. Her blouse was ripped open to the waist. The black net of her taut brassiere contrasted sharply with her white skin. “Don, what will they do?”

  I tugged at the knots and only succeeded in setting them more firmly. My heart was pounding with a sick dread. Why hadn’t that tramp tied Jenny, too? What was she planning?

  “Turn around!” Gloria ordered. Jenny obeyed and stood facing me from six feet away. I was twisting and pulling, trying to work the tough cloth loose some way, trying to find a weakness in the knots.

  Jenny moved her head slightly from side to side, telling me with her eyes that it wasn’t that important, that she didn’t mind the insults, the filthy language or the indignities. She was a magnificent woman. In that moment I loved her more than ever before. She was willing to endure whatever was coming to keep me from charging into a bullet. I think she was glad I was tied to the tree.

  Gloria, still with the gun, approached Jenny from behind and ripped the blouse from her back with one violent hate-filled movement.

  “Damn you!” I yelled. “Leave her alone! You’ve got our money, what more do you want?”

  Gloria looked at me, her whole body shaking, her voice low and intense. “I’m going to teach this hoity-toity bitch a lesson!” She reached up again and yanked viciously at Jenny’s bra. The netting and straps held for an instant, biting into the white skin, compressing her full breasts. Then the wispy nylon split in front. Like huge round pink-centered flowers her breasts leaped outward as the material came away in Gloria’s hand. Jenny winced but said nothing. “Turn around and let Willy see!” If anything, Jenny’s chin rose still higher as she turned and displayed herself to him. But she was frightened, I knew. I’d seen it in her eyes as her mouth firmed and she visibly gathered her courage.

  “Jesus . . .” Willy said, staring. Gloria’s voice was shrill and edged with impotent rage. “You like showing them off, don’t you? How about if I rip off the rest of your clothes? You want to show off that, too?” There was a silence.

  “Answer me! Look at me!”

  “Don’t touch her again!” I yelled. But I made no impression.

  Gloria sobbed with fury as she tore away the small row of buttons on Jenny’s shorts. The gun was almost forgotten in her right hand.

  Jenny turned her head and looked at me, tears starting in her eyes. She bit her lip and began to tremble. I tried again and again to do something with the knots that held my hands. I could only look back at her helplessly.

  The shorts were loose and Gloria pulled them down with a cry of triumph. Without pausing she gripped the revealed black lace and looked eagerly up into Jenny’s face, ready to rip them off.

  “You want me to? You want Willy to see?” She was waiting for Jenny to collapse into fearful shamed surrender. She wanted her to beg.

  It didn’t happen. Jenny’s answer was dripping with contempt. “Go ahead, ugly. Let him see a real woman.”

  Gloria’s face went white. Her head snapped back like she’d been hit. Her lips twisted beneath widened rage-maddened eyes.

  “No! You damned—”

  The truth she couldn’t face cracked her wide open. In a blind reflex of uncontrolled anger she brought the gun up against Jenny’s belly and pulled the trigger.

  My eyes seemed to burst from my head as I screamed, “NO!”

  Jenny jackknifed forward and fell to the ground, her hands pressed to the wound as strangled cries escaped her clenched teeth. Her neck was corded with pain.

  I raved and cursed like a madman, lunging and pulling at the knotted cloth that held me. My wrists and forearms were scraped raw against the rough bark.

  Gloria stood stock still and stared with her mouth open and her eyes glazed with shock. Willy was saying something and taking the gun from her. He looked terror stricken. He dragged Gloria away and they disappeared down the lane toward the highway.

  Jenny rolled over on her back, knees drawn up to her stomach. Sunlight drifted through the leaves above us and dappled her body with moving designs as she convulsed with excruciating pain. Her eyes searched and found me.
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br />   “Don . . .” She moaned, then she screamed.

  I was crying, sobbing. Desperately I began rubbing the knots up and down against the tough bark. My wrists hurt terribly but I knew it couldn’t be anything compared to the agonies she was suffering. Bright red blood trickled from her smeared hands and formed a widening stain on the grass. She took her hands away from the bubbling wound and clawed at the ground. She vomited horribly as she screamed.

  From the direction of the highway I heard a car start up and roar away. I felt something give behind me. Frantically I redoubled my effort, straining forward. There was a loud rip and I was free, stumbling ahead to my knees.

  I went to her feeling more helpless than ever, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how. I was afraid to touch her. I took her hand in mine and felt the grip tighten until her arm was vibrating. Her screams stopped and were replaced by shuddering high key moans. I don’t think she realized I was there beside her.

  I knew I had to get a doctor. I couldn’t take her in the car and I couldn’t leave her. I think I realized it was too late for anything. All I could do was stare at her unfocused eyes as she withdrew further and further into a world of blinding torture.

  Gradually her grip on my hand relaxed. The groaning stopped. And she died.

  I knelt in her blood, kissing her lifeless hand in a timeless agony of grief.

  When I stood up with her in my arms there was a seething volcano of red hot hate erupting in my brain. Willy and Gloria were going to die!

  I put Jenny in the seat of the car and covered her with a blanket. I raised the rear hood and unstuck a spare ignition key I kept taped there. I got into the driver’s seat next to her, turned the key, touched the starter and tramped the throttle.

  Instantly the engine exploded into life behind me and the tachometer shot up to 3300. I got into gear and took off with a spew of torn earth, grass and leaves. I shot around in a tight turn and slithered loose down the lane.

  I wasn’t thinking. I was too full of scalding tears that refused to flow. I knew I was in my element. The snarling surge of power of the three-liter Manzanni was my world. It would be my instrument of vengeance . . . my gun!

  I reached the black-topped highway and turned right instinctively, away from Pendleton. Willy had mentioned he’d seen the signs advertising the road race in Pendleton, and when their car roared away this seemed to be the direction.