The Snatchers

by Lionel White

  Red groaned softly and slumped to the floor.

  Fats yelled into Dent’s ear as the engine wound up and Dent headed

  west through the village.

  “What happened? Did Wilton tip—”

  Dent kept his eyes on the road. “No,” he said. “It couldn’t have been Wilton. If he’d double-crossed us this town would have been loaded with FBI. It must have been a bum break.”

  “That was a state trooper’s car outside,” Fats said.

  “Probably on their way to the fire when they heard the shooting,” Dent said.

  Pearl reached over and grabbed Dent by the shoulder.

  “My God,” she cried, “they got Red!”

  Fats turned and pushed her away.

  “Cal,” he said, leaning close to Dent’s ear, his voice pitched high in excitement, “turn and go the other way! We don’t want to pass the fire now.”

  “Can’t.” Dent’s words came between closely gritted teeth. “I’m going back to the hideout. They won’t have the kidnaping figured yet. It’s still only a stickup.”

  Fats fell back in the seat and looked at him wildly.

  “You damn fool!” he yelled. “We got the money. For God’s sake, let’s get out of here while we can. The hell with the hideout.”

  Dent pushed Fats’ arm away. His knuckles were white and bloodless as he gripped the steering wheel. And in his seething mind the thought kept repeating itself: I’m a fool. I’m a fool. I should run for it while I can. The hell with the plan, now.

  He thought of Gino and he knew that it wasn’t the sadistic little gangster that was pulling him back to the hideout. No, it wasn’t Gino. Dent was as willing as Fats to desert Gino.

  Ahead lay freedom. They had the money now and they had the few precious moments they would need to make an escape.

  The crossroad sign loomed up ahead, and to the left were the tracks leading across the dunes to the cottage in which Gino guarded Terry and Janie Wilton. Directly ahead and straight in the west lay his destiny. There lay safety.

  His hands tensed on the steering wheel and he pulled it sharply and the car screeched as it made the turn into the dune road. He was sticking to his blueprint.

  In the back of his mind, he realized only too well that if he deserted Gino, Terry’s life and Janie’s would be the price paid for that desertion. That much was crystal clear. But it wasn’t Terry and the child, either. He had made a plan and he wanted to stick to it.

  Dunleavy would be landing the plane on that long stretch of beach by the cabin at around four o’clock in the morning. By then the tide would be out, according to his earlier calculations, and the sand would be hard. He alone knew of that plan. And by the time the flyer arrived, he would have decided whom to take with him —if anyone at all.

  And still, somewhere in the back of his mind, was the thought of Janie and Terry. He must try at any cost to preserve the child’s life. It was his biggest guarantee of a safe getaway. He swore under his breath as he asked himself again and again the same question: Was the idea of their safety influencing his decision? That spoiled little rich child and the girl with the flaming hair who had come out of a world that could never be his own... what were they to him?

  Terry would have to die anyway; what did it matter if Gino were the one to do it?

  Perversely, even as he asked himself the questions, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator and he held the wheel with a deadly persistency as he headed for the hideout.

  “We have time,” he yelled at Fats. “We still have time.”

  “No,” Fats said. “Turn, Dent. Let’s run for it.”

  Dent slowed down for a second as he spoke. “We got the bartender and we got the cop,” he said. “They were the only two who could have recognized Pearl and Red or any of us. No, our best chance is to get back. They won’t suspect the hideout yet. We gotta see if the money’s right while we still got the kid. And then there’s the girl.”

  He fought the car through the dun road and was aware of Pearl talking in the back, but didn’t understand what she was saying.

  The flames from the warehouse fire reached high into the sky and the red reflection fell across the sands of the dunes. Soon, above the roar of the Packard’s engine, Dent heard the wail of a siren. His foot pressed to the floor board and the car swerved and then drew swiftly ahead.

  The hideout cottage loomed up ahead and Dent saw that the lights had been turned off. For some reason, it gave him an odd sense of foreboding. And then, as his own headlights cut across the front of the cottage, he saw the figure of Gino standing in the open doorway. He swung the car in a short arc and jammed on the brakes. Gino ran toward him.

  With a strange perverseness he was later unable to understand, Dent twisted the key from the ignition and jammed it into his trousers’ pocket. Gino was yelling as he came to the car.

  “What happened? I heard the shots.”

  Dent didn’t answer but started for the cottage. Fats leaped out and grabbed his arm.

  “Cal,” he said, “Cal, are you nuts? We got Gino. For God’s sake, let’s

  go. Let’s go now!”

  Dent pushed him to one side and kept heading for the cottage.

  Pearl jumped from the car and followed Dent.

  She spoke in an undertone, almost as though she were talking to herself.

  “He’s bleeding all over me,” she said.

  Fats looked after Dent for a moment and then went back to the car. He climbed into the front seat and reached for the ignition switch. A moment later he cursed. He pulled the automatic from his shoulder holster and started after Dent. Gino was yelling at him, wanting to know what they were waiting for. Red lay in the back of the car, half on the floor. A groan came from his half-opened lips.

  Dent snapped on the switch at the side of the door and the overhead light flooded the room. After one quick look, he strode rapidly to the door leading into Terry and Janie’s room. He swung it open, and in the dim light from the outside room he saw Terry’s crumpled form lying on the floor. Janie sat on the edge of the cot, dry-eyed and staring at him.

  Quickly he reached Terry’s side and his eyes took in the vicious bruise over her right eye where Gino had pistol-whipped her.

  Janie began to cry.

  Reaching down, Dent felt Terry’s pulse.

  He experienced an odd sense of relief as he turned and started back for the front of the house.

  Pearl came through the front door. “Red’s bleeding,” she said.

  “Grab up some rags, a sheet, anything,” Dent said.

  Dent was halfway back through the front door when he saw Fats. Fats had his gun raised.

  “Are you coming?” Fats said. His voice was cold and deadly.

  Dent was dimly aware of Gino as he walked toward Fats. Gino had found the suitcases on the floor of the Packard and was lugging them to the house.

  Walking quickly to the fat man’s side, Dent spoke in a whisper. “Don’t be a damn fool,” he said. “They’ll have roadblocks out after all that shooting. This is the safest place we can be. And keep it quiet, but I made plans for the plane to land on the beach at four-thirty this morning.”

  Fats looked at Dent, surprise big on his round face.

  “The plane?” he said. “You mean Dunleavy’s coming in in the dark?”

  Dent nodded. “Yeah, Dunleavy,” he said.

  Fats turned and started for the cottage and Dent was about to follow when he heard Red groan. He turned back to see the big man’s figure stagger in the mist and fall next to the Packard’s front fender. Grabbing

  him under the arms, Dent dragged him toward the front porch.

  Fats waited at the door, and as Dent pulled Red toward him, he came out and helped.

  “I got him,” Dent snapped. “Dim that light inside while I get him in.”

  Fats turned back to the doorway, and as he did so, Gino clicked off the switch. He was swearing steadily under his breath.

  “We should blow,” Fats s
aid. “Damnit, we shouldn’t have come back here. We coulda—”

  “You were going to leave me?” Gino’s voice was almost a whisper from across the room.

  Quickly Dent spoke. “We’re here, aren’t we? We’re here and we’re safe, for the time being. The only ones who could have identified us are dead. Let’s get that dough out where we can see it.”

  Red moaned and began to move on the floor where he had been dropped. Pearl sat on the couch, staring at him with unseeing eyes. Dent slammed and locked the front door. He took a newspaper and shaded the light bulb before turning it back on.

  Gino already had the suitcases on the table and had opened one of them.

  Packs of bills, neatly wrapped in bank bands; spilled out on the table and fell to the floor.

  As Cal Dent moved toward the table, Fats’ voice cut him short.

  “All right,” Fats said. “All right. Now let’s hear about that plane.”

  Dent turned to see the automatic in Fats’ hand. Gino stopped handling the money and looked up, surprise heavy on his face.

  Dent shrugged his shoulders. “O.K.,” he said. “It’s simply this: I arranged with Dunleavy to land his plane in front of the cabin at four-thirty this morning, when the tide’s out. I did it as an extra precaution in case of any trouble in making a getaway. You guys are damned lucky I thought to do it, after that gunplay tonight. If I hadn’t, we’d be trapped right now.”

  Fats still held the muzzle of the gun pointed at Dent’s stomach.

  “So why weren’t we in on the deal?” he asked.

  “Listen,” Dent said. “We agreed that once we got the dough, we’d split. Right? Well, I was going to take the plane. So what?”

  Fats stared at him for several seconds, and then slowly lowered the gun.

  “All right,” he said. “But we better turn the radio on after that rumpus in town. Maybe we got a couple of hours or so. We can divvy up the money. Also, we gotta take care of that girl. I’m not leaving her to hang around and blat.”

  “The kid, too,” Gino said. “The kid can talk, too.”

  “The kid don’t get touched,” Dent said. “My God, anything happens to the kid now and they’d tear us to pieces. We’d never get as far as a jail if they caught us. And the kid’s testimony won’t stand up in a court, anyway. Leave the kid out of it.”

  “All right, the girl, then,” Gino said. He started toward the back room.

  “The money comes first,” Dent said. “Let’s start there.”

  Gino hesitated a moment and then went back to the table. Fats turned the radio dials.

  “Get WNEW,” Dent said. “That’s the News station, and they’d be the first to have it if there’s anything.”

  A moment later a jazz band came on the air as Dent began arranging stacks of money.

  Gino sat with the submachine gun cradled in his arms as Dent counted the bills. Red lay on the couch, and Pearl had swathed his side in twists of torn sheets. He was conscious and his eyes watched the others. Color had come back into his face.

  Fats stood to one side. He didn’t watch Dent; he watched Gino.

  Dent dipped his hands deep in one of the suitcases. He lifted up neatly wrapped bundles of bills, and let them slowly fall back.

  Pearl’s eyes suddenly glittered. “My Gawd,” she said. “Just look at it!” Her face was flushed and for the moment she forgot the hideout, the violence of the last hour, and the fear that had come over her. She was seeing the beauty parlors, the Fifth Avenue shops, the furs and the jewels that the money represented to her. Her breath came fast and she reached over and took out a bundle of fifties.

  “Put it back,” Gino snapped. “Put it back.”

  There was a greedy look on his face. Gino was having his own dreams—dreams of the secret, vicious delights that the money represented to him.

  Fats looked at the money with his tiny eyes, and he too was thinking of what it would buy. He began to laugh, and the high, thin sound was inane and without meaning.

  “We’ve done it,” Dent said. “We’ve done it at last. The big kill. God, there’s enough here for...”

  Red was up on his elbow and he stared at the piles of money.

  “Now,” he said. “Now! Divide it now. Gimme mine. Cut it up, Cal, cut it up!”

  “Baby,” Pearl said, “talk about your slow boat to China. Make mine a hot plane to Miami. My troubles are over.”

  “All of our troubles are over,” Dent said. “This is it, by God!” He turned and looked at the others, an expression almost of defiance on his

  face.

  I “Well,” he said, “was it worth it?”

  Fats continued his inane laughter. Red nodded rapidly. Pearl herself reached into the suitcase and caressed the money. Gino seemed lost in a trance.

  “I’ll start divvying it up,” Dent said. “We’ll just about have time before Dunleavy sets the plane down.”

  He began piling the money in stacks according to denomination. His hands were shaking.

  Sweat poured down into his eyes as he worked. Fats picked up a bill and carried it over under the light. He looked at it closely for a long time and the only sound he made was that odd little laugh. Finally he walked back and handed the bill to Red.

  “Lettuce,” he said. “Beautiful green lettuce! Brother, what I’m gonna do’ when we get outa here!”

  “What I’m gonna do,” Pearl said, and she danced around the table as she spoke, “won’t be anybody’s business. Who could have believed one little kid would be worth this much to anybody?”

  Dent was busy with his own private thoughts. What he was going to do—the thought kept running through his mind—was get just as far away from the rest of them as he could. The tenseness was deep in him, but aside from the heavy perspiration that ran from his body, he showed no outward signs of the tremendous emotional reaction that the sight of this actual money brought to him.

  For the next few minutes, as the strange tableau took place in that dramatically lighted room, the suppressed excitement seemed to reach an hysterical pitch; there was something unreal and surrealistic about the five of them as they half crouched over the table, watching the money being stacked and counted.

  And then it happened.

  At exactly two-fifteen the first news flash came over the air. Those in the room were so preoccupied with the ransom money that the first words were lost. It was Dent who suddenly stiffened and waved the others to silence.

  "... and Patrolman Fanwell, badly wounded in the holdup of Land’s End Tavern, recovered consciousness long enough to definitely identify two of the mobsters. Gregory Wilton is still in a coma at...”

  The machine gun fell from Gino’s hands and clattered to the floor. Fats reached the table in one leap and began to toss packages of money back into the suitcases. Red started to his feet.

  Dent was the first to recover fully from the shock.

  “No time now for anything,” he yelled. “We gotta blow. They’re probably on their way out here this minute.”

  He swung toward the door, and even as he opened it, he saw a headlight cutting across the dunes. Gino was at his side and he raised the gun in his hands. He cut loose with a burst of shot and the car skidded to a halt several hundred yards away. As its lights were cut off, they saw the headlights of half a dozen other cars in the distance.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dent slammed the door closed as he backed into the room.

  “Pearl, snap out of it and see how bad Red is. Fats, you and Gino get at those windows. I’ll be right back.”

  Running into the other room, he saw that Terry had regained consciousness and was sitting on the edge of one of the cots, holding her head in both hands.

  “Take care of the kid,” he said. “And you better both lie on the floor. There may be shooting.” He left the door to the room open as he returned to the others.

  Red was sitting up and shaking his head and Pearl had torn his jacket and bloody shirt off. She was wiping his side with
a wet towel. Red looked up at him and half-smiled.

  “I’ll be all right,” he said.

  Dent nodded curtly. “Can you move?”

  Red started to get to his feet and Pearl pushed him back.

  “I’m all right,” Red said again. “Guess I lost a little blood. I’ll be all right, though.” He jerked suddenly as Pearl pressed the rag too hard against the open wound.

  Fats turned from the window. “They’re staying well out of gunshot,” he said.

  “O.K.” Dent said. “This will be our only chance. We’ll have to make a run for it. They know about the kid, and that’ll stop them for a few minutes. Right now they’re not sure what to do. Get yourselves set.”

  Pearl looked up, fright deep in her eyes.

  “They’ll kill us,” she said. “They’ll kill us sure.”

  Red pushed her away. “Shut up,” he said. “We got only one chance— we gotta take it.”

  Dent walked to the window and pulled the curtain to one side. Several hundred yards away he saw a line of cars, their headlights trained on the house. He motioned to Gino.

  “This is the way we’ll do it,” he said. “Get loaded up and set. I’ll start picking off the headlights. That’ll make them turn them off. The minute they do, we open the door and run for the car. They won’t know whether we got the kid with us or not and won’t dare shoot in the dark.”

  “So we’ll take the kid,” Gino said.

  “No,” Dent said. “We don’t take the kid. There’s five of us and we’ll have enough trouble getting out without the kid along. They won’t know in any case. Our only hope is to try to make it to the main road while they’re still confused and don’t know what the score is.”

  “They’ll have the road blocked off,” Fats said.

  “If they do,” Dent said, “we have to take our chances across the dunes. It’s the only out.”

  “I still say take the kid,” Fats said. “They put a spotlight on the car and we can always show them the kid.”

  Dent looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “All right,” he said, “get the kid.”

  “What about the girl?” Gino said.

  “Get her too.”

  Gino carried the submachine gun, and Cal Dent had the rifle with the telescopic sight. Fats had a sawed-off shotgun under one arm. His pockets bulged with shells. Red had pulled a sweat shirt over the bandages that bound his side. His face was pale but he seemed to have regained some of his strength. He also carried a shotgun.