The plane suddenly lurched sharply, then straightened out immediately and all of us collided within the narrow confines of the tail section. Harry Healey swore.
"Can't we do anything about these things?" he rasped, wagging his tied-up hands.
I shook my head. The rope was a heavy clothesline type which, when knotted, practically solidifies its secureness. The hands-to-ankles method made it impossible to use the fingertips to probe and dig. You couldn't even reach the ropes with your teeth. It was crude but effective as hell. It also forced the body into a cramped position that worked a heavy strain on all the muscles. I was stiffening up like the planks on a barn door.
There was no strut or brace or jutting cornice in the tail section that would have served as a cutting edge. We could squirm around all right but there was no place to go. As much as I could make out in the dim light, the tail section widened out in a gradual V toward the midsection of the plane. I could just make out a closed door about ten feet ahead. It looked pretty grim.
We could crawl toward it, hobble on like animals, but it wouldn't gain us a thing except possibly more elbow room.
Arvis Healey began to sniffle. Quietly, controllably. The poor kid just felt like weeping. Her slender body shuddered in the pink slip.
"Don't," Harry Healey begged in a low plea. "Please don't, Baby."
"It's all right, Dad. A girl can cry if she wants to, can't she?"
"Leave her," Serena said. "Better she gets it out of her system."
I decided it was a good time to change the subject.
"Harry, did you ever get the copy of the manuscript back from Dandy Jaxon?"
He nodded, still looking at his daughter. "Arvis went to get it after we were settled down in that apartment. Jaxon had left it in a locker at Penn Station. Arvis was holding the key."
"Could be how she was tailed to you." I tried to shake some blood back into my arms. They were falling asleep on me. "Doesn't matter. That script was xeroxed. There could be a dozen copies of it on file in Washington."
"To hell with it," he grunted. "To hell with all of it. I wish I'd never gotten the damn notion to write it up. I should have let the whole thing alone. If I had, maybe now we wouldn't be trussed up like chickens for the——"
"Don't," Serena said. "Don't blame yourself now."
He fell silent, muttering to himself. Arvis kept on sobbing softly. Serena, the green-eyed, coppery-skinned and long-haired, exchanged a glance with me. Something in the green eyes stirred.
The C-47's roar was like the distant, muted thunder of water washing up against a shoreline. It's a nice sound, generally. Now it had death knell written all over it. That and "Taps."
I tried to think of Madame Roti and Big Leo and what the score was. I had pictures of the four of us being dropped one by one into the big, mysterious ocean. There's no other way quite like it for disposing of unwanted people. And eyewitnesses and troublemakers. It was a grim scene, all the way. I shook the pictures off.
There was a sudden click of noise and the door up ahead of the tail section swung back. A man stood framed in the entranceway for just a second, then he crouched a little and came forward. I saw greasy dungarees, a Basque shirt, and a baseball cap tugged down over a forehead. As he came closer, the symbol of the New York Mets shone from the front of the cap.
He was the cynosure of all eyes.
He was young.
He was good-looking in a tanned, white-toothed way even though a light speckle of unshaven hair darkened his lean jaws.
There was something so damned familiar about him I was sure I had seen him before. But of course, I hadn't.
I'd only read about him.
He stood for a moment, looking down at the girls with wide open approval and then his attention directed itself toward Harry Healey. He had hardly given me more than a flying look.
Harry Healey stared up at him, goggle-eyed, as if he was seeing a ghost. As if the dead had come back to life.
Which of course it had.
"Hello, Senior," Artie Sothern said in a light, tight voice. "Long time no see."
SPIDER BUDDY
IT was a moment.
A moment between Harry Healey and Artie Sothern. They could have been alone as far as the rest of us were concerned. The tableau held—and Harry and Artie looked at each other. And the surprise on Healey's face evaporated, to be replaced by a growing rage, a budding suspicion that something wasn't quite kosher. That he had been crying for a dead man for almost half a year. The struggle on his rugged face was composed of two warring factors. One of which was damn glad that Artie was alive. The other still wasn't sure what Artie's being alive meant exactly.
Serena Savage's lovely face was a study in lugubriousness.
Arvis Healey was just a poor frightened kid that didn't know exactly what was going on.
And all I could think of was the one gnawing fact that had bothered me from the very beginning. How The Naked Lady had miraculously made its way back home from Skeleton Key in the treacherous darkness and docked at the pier with a dead man on board. Now, I knew. But in the knowing, I still knew nothing. Except for the simple conclusion that the joker in the deck had suddenly popped up as big as life. And twice as unbelievable. But there was nothing to say. It was all between Harry Healey and Artie Sothern, now. The buddy system had gotten a severe, incredible jolt.
"Talk," Healey murmured in a small dazed voice. "I want to hear you say it. Hear you tell me. You're dead and now you're alive and I don't know what to think. . . ."
Artie squatted down on his haunches, both hands clasped across his knees. The wholesomely good-looking face was untroubled except for a glitter of something in the eyes. The Mets baseball cap lent a grotesquely juvenile touch to his appearance that made him seem years younger. Only the steady throb of the plane motors and the smoothness of the air journey was a further counterpoint of weird improbability.
"It's a big one, Harry," Artie Sothern said in a flat voice. "Bigger than anything I ever glommed on. They wanted to kill you right off the bat. Way back there at Key Alma. I wouldn't let them. You know how I feel about us, Harry. I didn't want you dead even if I knew you never would have gone along with the scheme. So I did what I had to do. I had to fake dying to pass out of the picture. That should have taken care of it. Solved the whole problem. But you spoiled it all by suddenly making like a writer. You damn fool—why didn't you let the whole thing lie? If you had you wouldn't be flying to your graveyard right now."
"What are you talking about?" Harry suddenly roared hoarsely. "Make sense. You were dead—drowned—I saw you with my own eyes. . . ."
"You were drunk," Sothern said crisply. "Something I made sure of when I pulled away with Serena there on the Lady. I arranged with Constant Smith to load you up with lousy hootch that was doctored. I could have just disappeared—stepped out of the picture—but I knew you'd never stop looking for me. Just because I saved your life that day in Ben Suc. Okay. The drinking worked, but I understand you gave Constant some going over. But you were in no condition to tell just how dead I was. I stretched out on the deck, painted my face with purple dye so I'd look real drowned and puffy. The shape you were in you got fooled plenty. But you spoiled it all by barreling right back to the Key."
Harry Healey shook his head slowly.
"But Constant was talking against you and . . . Doc Ponto told me he buried you——''
"Harry, Harry. Listen to me. I played on Smith. He went along with the gag because I promised him we'd be partners. I told him I wanted to make you think you were off your nut. Those headaches of yours. All the wax in your ears. Constant didn't know he was marked off. The same with the Doc. Once a rummy always a rummy. I promised him I was doing it for your own good. So he went along with the gag. The main idea was to make you go off your rocker and forget about me. Naturally, the Doc and Smith had to be killed. I made a bargain with my . . . ah . . . friends. The price of sparing your neck. But I never figured on you lousing it up by turning author.
Funny thing about life. Who'd ever figure on a thing like that? You know, Harry, you got me in plenty of trouble with that stunt. But it's all worked out now. Only this time I've got to dump you. You've stirred up a whole mess. With the private cop there, the Government, the kid there ringing in outside detectives. Everything really got out of hand all because I wanted to save your life. I should have let them kill you in the very beginning, but you were my pal, Harry. I couldn't just walk out on you like that. And I know you. You treated me like I was your kid. And I also knew—and here's the kicker, Harry—you never would have gone in on this deal with me. You're so damn patriotic—a real flag waver—you'd never do anything that was against this country, would you? No, of course, you wouldn't. But, oh, Harry, what a sweet deal it is. There's millions in it. More money than I ever dreamed existed. And I've done you all the favors I can, Harry. Now it's out of my hands. Your number's on the board. And Serena's and the kid's. And this private cop's."
"Noon's the name," I said, staring back at him and wondering how anybody so wholesome and honest looking could be a grade-A fink. "Stop talking in riddles. Who are your friends and what's the million-dollar deal?"
"Serena," Harry Healey said thickly, without looking at her. "I want to know about Serena. Was she in on this, too?"
"Harry!" The cry shot out of her like a scream.
"Serena?" Artie Sothern squinted. "The real innocent bystander. She just happened along and made it easier. I took her out with me and turned her over to my friends. I knew you'd let me go out with the Lady if you thought I was out for a few laughs. And I knew you weren't feeling good. So I set it up with Constant. All he ever wanted was a slice of Healey-Sothern and he was always afraid of you. Doc Ponto thought he was doing you a favor. By scaring you into not going down anymore. A good shock he said, like what I planned, would have done it. Doc really liked you, Harry. But after you got away from us the day you went out, I was sure you would just go off your nut. I let you get away that time, too. But you spoiled it again. You looked up Serena and compared notes. You were on the loose and writing it all down. We did a knife job on Constant hoping the local cops would pin it on you. But you were too smart for them and never got picked up. We had to take care of Doc Ponto, too, but that one we made look like an accident."
"Artie," Healey pleaded in a low voice. "What the hell is all this about? What's down there off Skeleton Key that made you go crazy like this?"
The squatting man's eyes glittered almost unnaturally.
He laughed in a flat, brittle way.
"What a laugh. Diving for sponges. Picking up nickels and dimes. Well, Harry, that's the trouble. I wanted better all the time. The sand and the sun and the sea were enough for you. But I found a gold mine in that spot. There's a vein of gold down there as wide as the island. I found it all by myself, deep-sea diving, and then when I did I ran across the rest of the crowd. You've met Madame Roti. She's one of them. The Madame is the one who arranged the whole idea of swimming women and making use of a natural sea cave whose entrance is from the sea. They rigged up that deal to knock off any yachts or pleasure boats that wandered into the area and hung around too long. That's why I took Serena along. Apart from wanting to bed her down. I didn't know that she also has nine lives and can swim like a fish. When she got away, too, I could see the whole big deal going up in smoke. Our only ace card was it was such a fantastic story, who would believe her or you? And what would you really be able to tell them? It sounded like a fish story all the way down the line."
"Who are your friends?" I asked drily, trying to shake the paralysis from my hands and ankles. "The rest of the crowd?"
"Couldn't get the F.B.I. interested, eh, Noon?" He shook his head. "You'll never believe it, either. Another senor has a stake down there at Key Alma. A very big senor. Fidel Castro. Ever heard of him? Well, Havana needs money. Lots of it for the senor's big plans for his dictatorship. There's a lot of Cuban interest in the gold mine on the floor of Skeleton Key. So they provide me with the equipment and the technicians and the weapons to guard it. And we're holed up in that cave, taking one hundred thousand dollars a month out of the sea. How do you like those apples? Cuba's close enough to Florida to touch and the senor has never given up his notions about taking over Florida. He thinks it belongs to him anyway. Which is why he dealt under the table with the commies in '62 for those missile sites. I'm a rich man, boys and girls, and it's a pity you're all so damned democracy-minded. You'd be on your way to a fortune now instead of early graves. Sorry, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. Cuba needs this gold pronto because they're hatching a deal with Moscow and the time is now."
I laughed at him. "Why are you telling us all this?"
He thought about that, half-straightened out of his crouch and shrugged.
"Because you're all half dead, already. We're going to drop you from this crate into the ocean about one hundred miles off the coast of Florida. After the sharks and little fishes finally get through with you, nobody will know who the hell you are. And all those copies of Harry's yarn can baffle the experts until nobody cares anymore. I'm telling you all this because we've got time and I was bored up front. Madame Roti's not my dish of woman and Big Leo doesn't do much more than grunt and scratch her back when she wants him to. Besides which I did want to see Harry again. We had some great times together. I figured I owed him an explanation."
Harry Healey shuddered.
"You are a bastard," he gritted. "I knew you were a little wild but . . . let the girls go. What can they do to you? Come on, Artie. If we ever meant anything to each other, don't harm Arvis and Serena, for Christ's sake!"
"Sorry, Senior. It's not my deal any more. They've put up with all my soft feelings about you, already. This is the end of the line. I cross them now and they'll get themselves another boy. I'm not the only deep-sea expert in the world."
"Don't beg him," Serena murmured. "He's an animal."
"Sure I am, Green-Eyes," he agreed without being offended. "But animals live. It's you human slobs that get the short end of the stick."
"Artie," I said. "What's the latest scoop on the President?"
He flung me a baffled look. "What the hell you worrying about him for?"
"Just tell me, huh?"
"Last time I heard the radio he was still holding his own. Big deal." He ignored me and rested his eyes on Serena Savage and Arvis Healey with unhidden masculine satisfaction. I half expected him to lick his lips. Arvis shuddered and leaned against my shoulder. Artie Sothern chuckled. It was a macabre sound in the hollow tail section.
"What a waste of prime beef," he said mockingly. "Take my word for it. I can think of a helluva lot better uses for the girls than dumping them in the Atlantic. But . . . what's gotta be, gotta be."
"Artie," Harry Healey said with sudden choked emphasis. "Get out of here before I vomit."
For a moment, Artie Sothern looked surprised. Then red-hot anger flushed his unshaven cheeks. His mouth tightened in a thin line but he fought if off. With a gesture of resignation, he got to his feet, sighing almost elaborately. "Sure," he said. "See you, Senior." He drifted back toward the door that closed off the tail section. His canvas sneakers made soft squishy noises on the bared walkway. I watched him go, wondering how a man could lose his soul between a war, a buddy and a sunny life off the Florida coast. It happens, though. It happens.
"Sothern," I called out.
He paused, hand on the door. He looked back at me.
"Yeah, cop?"
"You could still make nice and save the day."
"Come again?"
"You heard me. Be a best friend, for real. Go into the cabin, slug Leo, kick the Madame in the plans and fly this crate back to New York. The Government would give you a medal. And pay you reward money, too."
"You gotta be kidding. . . ." He laughed to himself, shaking his head. The Mets cap glistened where the button on the peak caught a speck of light
"Think it over."
"Sure," he chuckled. "I'll t
hink it over, and maybe I'll go right down and measure myself for a cement overcoat. These people kill people, buddy."
"So they tell me," I agreed. "But it's a thought, isn't it? What I said?"
"That's all it is," Artie Sothern said with finality. He softly saluted by touching the bill of the cap and then pulled the door back and stepped on through. We couldn't hear his footfalls going away.
There was only the thunder and vibrations of the twin engines rumbling in their cowlings. The C-47 was plunging along on a well-charted course. We hadn't hit so much as an air pocket.
It must still have been nighttime, though.
We couldn't have been aloft more than a few hours at most.
Harry Healey was staring dumbly down at his bound hands. They were big hands. Muscular, gnarled with knuckles and toughened skin. As lashed as his wrists were, he kept opening them and closing them like he was strangling a throat.
"Geez," he muttered. "Artie. I still can't . . . it doesn't make sense . . . he's wild, but . . . I never would have figured him for this kind of play. . . ."
"Neither did the guy who threw the Last Supper," I said. "Forget him. Let's think about doing something about these ropes."
"We haven't got a prayer," Healey growled, "and you know it."
Arvis Healey stirred. With all her youth and dreams being shattered, caught as she was in the very middle of a living nightmare, she hadn't lost her grit. The same grit that had made her capable of fooling a grown tough-guy like Dandy Jaxon with a cock-and-bull story about her missing father and a possible lost treasure.
"We can try, Dad. We have to try. . . . Look, we can move around so I can get my teeth at your ropes. Or you can do the same. Maybe it's silly but we can't be counted out like this without trying something!"
Death Dives Deep Page 13