WEST ON 66

by James H. Cobb

  "It would depend on who it was who came in off the road, wouldn't it, Mr. Claster? I'm Lisette Kingman, John King­man's daughter. You can see that we aren't the police. [I stud­ied the cans in the oil rack really hard at this point in the conversation.] I've got no grudge with you, and I just want a couple of questions answered. A little truth and then we'll dis­appear. You'll never see us again. I swear it."

  Claster tilted his head down for a couple of seconds, think­ing. "Little lady," he said finally, "I'm not saying that I'm the Jubal Claster you're looking for, but maybe we could go inside and talk about it some."

  He got to his feet and led us in through the screen door of the station office. "It's not any cooler inside," he called back over his shoulder, "but at least we can all sit down and I can offer you something to drink."

  A narrow hallway led back from the office and into the living quarters half of the station. Its walls were covered with a non­descript and faded wallpaper, and there were doors on either side that must have opened into bedrooms. I walked behind Claster as we moved down the hall, my hand close to the pistol on my belt. I didn't trust this guy yet, not by a long shot. I stayed focused on him, waiting for him to make some kind of move.

  I guess I stayed too focused. As I brushed past one of the bedroom doors, it was yanked open. Something struck me on the back of the head, and white light exploded behind my eyes.

  I wish Lisette wouldn't scream. It was too late to warn me, and it made things hurt a whole lot worse on the way to the floor.

  The first thing I saw when my eyes started working again was a gun, one of the old hand-ejector .44 Specials Smith & Wesson had come out with about forty years ago. The model they call the Triple-Lock. Some of the old-timers in the sheriff's depart­ment swear that the Triple-Lock Smith was the best-made re­volver ever produced in the United States, and they still rate it as one of the top combat pieces around. A really, really cool gun.

  Too bad it was aimed at me.

  I'd been dragged back into the living room of the house half of the station. Like the rest of the place, it was a room frozen in the thirties. Overstuffed chairs and a davenport done in dusty, sun-paled chintz, stuffing pushing out through failing seams. A cheap overcarved desk and coffee table, each carrying a complex pattern of cigarette burns and cup rings. An Oriental rug, its pattern gone muddy under decades of tracked dirt.

  I'd been dumped on the davenport, and I had a little trouble pulling myself upright. My wrists had been tied in front of me. No, correction on that: my hands had been wired together in front of me. Lisette faced me across the room, sitting, stiff-spined and angry, in the desk chair. A grinning Jubal Claster stood beside her. He was the man holding the nice gun. There was somebody else there as well.

  "Hello, Ira, you son of a bitch." The sound of my own voice rang off-key in my head like a cracked bell.

  "Not such a wiseass now, are you?" the younger Claster sneered. He had a strip of surgical tape across the bridge of his nose and a few other new dings here and there as well. At the moment, though, he looked fairly pleased with himself. Lean­ing against the wall, he gestured at me with the barrel of my own automatic. "I put a lot of work into that truck, man. You owe me!"

  "Sorry about your wheels, Ira, but I have this problem with letting people blow my head off. My fault; I should have men­tioned it." I shifted my attention, bleary though it might be, to Jubal. "What's the deal here?"

  "The deal is that he's already sold us out," Lisette blurted.

  "Mace got to him first. He put a bounty on us."

  "The little lady pretty much sums it up, son," Jubal added, sinking down to sit on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs. "It seems that somebody wants his little girl back pretty bad. Oh, he wants you, too, but I don't think for the same reason."

  "I'm not his 'little girl'!" Lisette gritted.

  Jubal shrugged. "For ten thousand dollars cash, I don't much give a damn who you are."

  "Is that a going rate with you, Claster?" I asked. "Did you hit Johnny Kingman up for ten grand to help knock off his partners?" What the hell, this was what we'd come for. And just at the moment, Jubal Claster sure didn't have any call not to talk.

  Jubal nodded. "As a matter of fact, it was. And it sounded like a pretty good deal at the time." He gave a short grunting laugh. "I didn't find out till later that there was a quarter-million dollars involved. If I'd have known that, I might have held out for a little more. Thing is, I know about it now."

  Claster reached over and gently brushed back a lock of Lis-ette's hair with the muzzle of the .44. "In fact, the little lady and I were about to have a talk about all that money when you started to groan and come around. I figured it was only polite to wait till you could join in, too."

  "Thanks." God, but my head was exploding! "How the hell did you ever find out about the war chest anyway? Johnny 32 couldn't have been dumb enough to say anything about that amount of dough in front of you."

  The older Claster brother frowned. "He didn't, but a lot of other folks did later. The state police and the G-men were all over around home after those bodies were found, asking ques­tions, watching for anybody spending a dollar that they shouldn't have. And that Spanno man, he came around, too, asking his own questions."

  "You should have buried Kingman's partners deeper. Your relations on your mother's side have a nose for blood and a knack for digging things up."

  Ira came off the wall spitting an obscenity. He took a fast step across the room with the Commander upraised in his fist.

  "Ira!" Jubal reined his brother in. "Leave it be! When the man's right, the man's right."

  The younger Claster subsided, returning to his lean. Jubal gave that grunting laugh again, this time tinged with bitterness. "I did indeed make a mess out of that. But I was like Ira here back then, always impatient, always trying to do it the fast and easy way."

  Jubal slid fully down into the battered armchair. "I made all sorts of mistakes, and I pulled all sorts of trouble down on myself. The law was bad enough, but that Spanno, now he can make you real nervous."

  "So I've noticed," I said. "So that's how come you're out here. It got too hot around the old homestead. You lit out and hid."

  "Pretty much. I always wanted my own garage, so I came out here where nobody knew me and I sunk my whole roll into this place. Things were real good at the time; this place was making money hand over fist." Claster shook his shaggy head. "Then I barely get settled in and the whole town goes belly-up. Ain't that just the shits?"

  "My heart bleeds for you, man."

  Jubal grinned without humor. "And you know what was worse, son? It was sitting out here in this forsaken pit all this time and thinking about all that money that just passed me by. I never imagined in a million years that I'd ever get another shot at a piece of it."

  "Keep imagining," Lisette said in a low voice. "You don't have any of it yet."

  "Maybe not, little lady. But let's say it's in reach again."

  Claster sank back into his chair. "Here's how it sets. Last night, I just get back from picking up Ira over in Texas when a man I didn't particularly want to ever see again shows up here at my station. But then Mr. Spanno explains how he's not looking for trouble, just his stepdaughter. He tells me that you two are out here looking into how this girl's blood daddy was killed and such, and he figures that you might be passing by to talk to me. He offers me this deal. He'll pay me ten thousand dollars if I let him know when you show up and if I hold you here till he can come collect you."

  Claster kept that cold grin on his face. "Ten thousand sure sounds like a ticket out to me. I could get me another start someplace where there's more people than there are coyotes."

  "So, have you made that phone call yet?" I asked, pulling myself up straighter. I was really interested in this answer.

  "No, I haven't. Not yet, anyway. You see, I've been thinking about things." Claster leaned forward again, shifting a sly look between Lisette and me. "This is about a whole lot mor
e than some questions about a couple of hoods getting killed. Am I right?"

  Lisette didn't respond, so I didn't, either.

  "Look," Claster went on. "I know that the money this girl's daddy stole was never found. And it occurs to me that maybe somebody's figured out where it's hid. And since Spanno is real anxious to lay hands on you two, I figure that maybe you're the ones. Now if somebody might want to bid against Spanno's ten-thousand-dollar deal, say by offering Ira and me a half-share of that loot, then maybe that telephone call wouldn't have to be made."

  Yeah, uh-huh, and if I leave the henhouse door unlocked, you'll make sure I'm the chicken that doesn't gets eaten. I shrugged my shoulders. "Don't look at me, man. I don't know what you're talking about."

  Lisette just stared at the wall. "I told you why I was here."

  "And that's all you have to say, little lady?"

  The girl turned and looked defiantly into Jubal's face. "I suppose I could add, 'Go to hell.' "

  Ira Claster reached out and grabbed a handful of Lisette's hair, yanking it back and tearing a cry of pain out of her. "You watch your mouth, girl," he hissed, "or you're the one ending up in hell. I ain't forgot about you and that radiator fan. You better believe I ain't forgot."

  "Lay off her!" Tied hands or no, I was coming off that couch in about two seconds.

  Jubal's Triple-Lock came in line with my chest. "Ira, you listen to this fella. Let the girl be!"

  "Shit, Jubal, if she knows where all this money is, then let's get it out of her! I can make her talk, you bet—"

  "Ira, I said leave off! There are ways to do things and there are ways to do things. Now shut up and let me show you how we're doing this!"

  Ira released Lisette and fell back, glaring at the two of us. Jubal lifted the sights of his revolver until its muzzle was a cold eye looking into mine. "And as for you, son, don't get funny. Nobody can be for certain-sure about how much more time they have left in this world, so don't go throwing away any of what you know you got."

  He lowered the gun. "Now, is this the last word you folks have on the subject? With you two, I've got ten thousand dol­lars cash money in my pocket. I wouldn't mind having some more, but that'll be your choice. I think you folks'11 be a lot happier dealing with me than with Mace Spanno."

  From where I sat, Claster's offer was like a choice between the gallows and the gas chamber. Lisette apparently felt the same. We answered him with two minutes of profound silence.

  "Okay, folks, have it your way. Ira, you watch 'em. I have to go make a phone call."

  Jubal levered himself out of his chair and started for the station office. As he did, Lisette spoke up suddenly. "Since it doesn't really matter now, will you please tell me about what my father paid you to do that night?"

  Claster hesitated a second, then shrugged. "Why not? Wasn't all that big of a show, little lady. Your daddy set it all up with me over the phone. His kike boss had an extra body­guard along on this trip, and he wanted a spare gun on his side to make sure of things. He also wanted a local boy to help hide the bodies. He was going to be moving fast, and he didn't want to be slowed down by having to get rid of the dead meat.

  "Your daddy had it all planned out, the place where he was going to fake the car trouble and everything. He turned them off on a little dead-end side road north of Quapaw, and I came driving up a few minutes later, just a good old country boy anxious to help.

  "Your daddy pretended to get out and help me under the hood while the kike just sat in the car. The other bodyguard, though, the little wop, he paced around on the road like being out there in the night made him itchy. Your daddy whispered to me that he'd kill the wop.

  "After a while, the wop goes off into the bushes to take a leak, and your daddy goes after him real quiet, pulling that little pocket gun of his out from under his coat. Me, I'm still pretending to work on the engine, and I call to the kike to come out and get me a tool out of my toolbox. He does, and when he bends over the toolbox I pull my gun, put the muzzle behind his ear, and pull the trigger."

  Claster smiled and flashed the worn Triple-Lock. "It was this same old revolver, in fact. A second later, there's another shot back in the bushes and your daddy comes out grinning. He still had that little gun in his hand, and he keeps it there even while he passes me the roll for doing my part of the job. He just says that he's dissolving a partnership, and then he drives off in that big car.

  "I buried the bodies in the side of a chat heap, and that was just about all there was to it," Claster concluded, turning back for the hallway. "If that's what you came here for, little lady, I hope it was worth it."

  It might have been what Lisette had come here for, but it wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. I watched the bleakness pass over her face as she listened to Jubal's casual story of cold­blooded murder. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, or a glimmer of hope, she knew what her father was now.

  For me, I was busy taking inventory of our chances of get­ting out of this mess. We were far from Fatsville here. On the other hand, we still had a couple of things going for us. The Clasters had made an elementary mistake when they'd tied me up: they'd bound my wrists in front of me instead of behind my back. They'd made an even bigger mistake in not tying Lisette up at all. They must have rated her as no threat, and she was still free, kept in her chair only by the negligently held automatic in Ira's hand.

  And finally, while they'd taken my gun, they'd missed some­thing else. When I pressed my ankles together I could still feel that narrow strip of steel under the leather of my boot. I still had the paratrooper's knife.

  "Not such a Miss Wiseass now, are you, girl?" Ira verbally prodded at Lisette. "Your boyfriend over there with all the fancy moves isn't so shit-hot either, now is he?"

  I cut him off tiredly. "Yeah, we admit it. We're quivering piles of dog crap, and you're God third class. Just get past it, man. It's getting old."

  Ira waved the Commander's muzzle in my direction and grinned. "Not like you, man. You ain't going to be getting old at all."

  I bet he was really proud of that line.

  Jubal wasn't gone long. Returning, he dropped into his chair again. "Well, I just talked to your stepdaddy, little lady. He's right up the road in Flagstaff, and he's real anxious to see you. He's on his way here right now. So, I guess we can start the negotiating again."

  "About what?" Lisette asked dully.

  Claster's grin came back. "Why, about whether or not you escape before he gets here of course. You see, Ira, there's no sense in us working up a sweat slapping these good folks around. You can bet that if they do know where that quarter -million dollars is, they're bound to come to Jesus before this gal's daddy shows up. We just have to sit here and wait. Only now, of course, I'm going to be asking for a full third share for each of us."

  I lifted my head, "Jubal, can I ask you one question?"

  "Why, sure, son."

  "Why in thee hell should Spanno pay you ten thousand dol­lars when a bullet only costs a nickel?"

  Jubal's brows lowered. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about all of us being coyote meat when Spanno gets here! That's what I'm talking about! Don't you get it? Sure, he's using you to get us. But he's also using us to get you. He's using the girl and me to hold you here so he can take us all out in one shot."

  Both Clasters scowled. "Why would he be wanting to do something like that?" Jubal demanded.

  "Because ten years ago you killed one of his partners and helped to steal a quarter of a million bucks from him, you moron!" I roared.

  "But we have a deal!"

  "Yeah, so? What makes you think Spanno is such a pillar of virtue that he's going to keep his word? Hell, two minutes ago you were sitting here with us trying to stab him in the back!"

  "We can take care of ourselves if he tries anything," Ira said belligerently.

  "Yeah, sure. You two hillbillies are going to take on three pro Chicago hit men and come out of it alive." It was stretching a point to call Spanno
's driver a hit man, but hell, when you're stacking it, stack it high. "That is a panic and a half, Ira. In fact, that is so damn funny you ought to wear a dress and go on TV with Uncle Miltie."

  The Clasters were looking a little uneasy. Why not? It sounded good the way I was laying it out. I had no idea exactly what Spanno had in mind, but any distrust I could stir up in the enemy ranks had to work in our favor. Undercover cops have a saying: "When they've got you backed into a corner, spray the bullshit and pray."

  "We're talking about Mace Spanno here, Jubal," I pushed. "Remember how he came around after the killings ten years ago? Remember how just having him in the neighborhood scared you across three state lines? If you were sweating about him then, you should be shitting your pants about him now."

  "He wasn't sure," the older brother murmured. "He didn't

  know."

  "He does now. Remember Calvin Reece? Remember us tell­ing you how Reece gave us your name?"

  "Yeah. What about him?"

  "He's dead." Lisette's head even came up on that one. "Four days ago he was shot to death in East Saint Louis. Spanno got to him right after we did. If you don't believe me, call the newspapers or somebody back there and find out. All Reece did was give Lisette's father your name. What do you think Spanno's going to do when he gets you in his sights, kiss you on the cheek? He's cleaning up old debts, man!"

  "What do you think, Jubal? Is he bullshitting us?" Ira asked, uneasily fingering the Commander's grips.

  The older man swiped a handful of sweat off his brow. "I don't know."

  "Just hang around, guys. You're going to find out real soon," I said, tossing in my last two cents.

  Jubal stood up abruptly. "This kid might just be trying to set us up," he commented, frowning. "But we're not going to take any chances. I'll gas up the truck in case we have to get out of here in a hurry. Then I'm going to get my rifle. Watch