Rick Brant 9 Stairway to Danger

by John Blaine

  Scotty jogged along at a ground-eating pace that made good time but still conserved his strength. He didn’t move onto the highway itself until he was far enough away so his footsteps wouldn’t be heard.

  He suddenly realized that he hadn’t even thought about the guard’s gun. Rick would think of it, though.

  That made Scotty feel better. Rick was more at home with a rifle than a pistol, but he would be able to take care of himself.

  He kept turning his head to look back, hoping to see the lights of a car. At any other time, he told himself, there would be at least an occasional car on the highway. But tonight when he needed one desperately, no lights showed.

  He had never noticed the exact distance from the project building to the nearest houses, but he estimated it was a little over a half mile. The houses were really nothing but shacks, mostly unpainted and ill-kept.

  They formed a small settlement for a handful of laborers who made a poor living with occasional work on the railroad, Rick had said.

  About half the distance had been covered when he thought he heard something, like a faint yell, from the direction of the amusement park.He stopped short, waiting for more sound. There was none.

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  Scotty began to worry. Had that been Rick?

  For a moment he almost turned back,then he realized he could do nothing against Strade’s gun. The best way to help Rick would be to bring the police in a hurry. He started off again, at a full run.

  He was in good condition, and he kept running until the first house loomed ahead. He ran up a flight of rickety stairs and hammered at the door.

  He paused for a moment, heard nothing,then began hammering again.

  The door opened a crack.

  “ Whatchawant?” a man’s voice demanded.“Don’t try nothin ’ because I got a shotgun pointed smack at yer belly.”

  “I need a phone,” Scotty said breathlessly.“ Gottacall the police! Please, let me use your phone.”

  “Ain’t gotnone . And don’t wantno part of the police, neither. Get goin ’ and let me alone.”

  “Where can I find a phone?” Scotty begged. “There must be one around here somewhere.”

  “None of these houses got one. Yer outta luck unless you get to the store about a mile down. They got one. Sometimes Old Man Yager sleeps in the back.”

  Scotty jumped from the porch and started running. Now that the man had reminded him, he recalled the store. It was a ramshackle place that dealt in staple groceries. It was plastered with chewing tobacco and snuff signs as weathered as the building itself.

  He slowed his pace a little because he didn’t want to wear himself out completely before the store even was in sight. He settled down to a long, loping pace that conserved energy but covered ground rapidly.

  What had happened to all the police cruisers that were supposed to be in the area?

  Then he realized he was being a little unreasonable. Only a short time had elapsed since leaving the project. A police car couldn’t go by every moment or two. It was a long road and there just weren’t that many cruisers.

  He tried to assure himself that it hadn’t been Rick who yelled, but the distance had been too great to identify the voice. He had to admit that it might have been Rick. He increased his stride a little.

  If only a car would come! Any car!

  It was harder to breathe now. His chest hurt. He kept on running, knowing that in a short time he would get his second wind.

  He passed a clump of trees and realized that he was almost at the store. It was just beyond. In a few moments he saw it, a shabby, lonely place,several hundred feet from the nearest houses.

  He reached the low stoop that served as an entrance and looked in through a fly-specked glass panel in the door. There was no light inside, nor did he hear any sound. He hammered on the door,then kicked it violently. The glass panel rattled and he desisted for fear of breaking it.

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  There must be a back door. He hurried around the building and found it. There was no glass. He pounded it until his hand hurt.

  Old Man Yager wasn’t sleeping in the storetonight, that was sure.Unless he was stone deaf. Scotty ran back to the front, desperate now. He looked up and down the road, but there was no sign of car headlights.

  He made up his mind. There was only one thing he could do. “This is where I become a criminal,” he muttered.

  A stone made a handy implement. He threw it, and listened to the sound of shattering glass. Then he broke the jagged pieces from the bottom of the door panel and stepped inside.

  There were electric lights. He found a switch and turned them on, blinking in the sudden glare. The telephone was in the back of the store, and it was a pay phone!

  He felt in his pockets, heart sinking. He knew what the answer would be. He had no change at all.

  The cash register stood on the counter. He jumped over the worn top and punched the no sale key. The drawer flew open. It was empty.

  Frantically he ransacked drawers, felt in the pocket of a greasy apron that hung from a nail. He looked in every possible place and a few unlikely ones.

  At last he stood helpless. The phone was there, but without a nickel it was no good to him at all!

  He had to do something-and quick! He had to get a nickel, or he had to find another phone. Either way, he had to get out of the store. He stepped through the broken door panel and looked around.

  The nearest houses were in sight. He started running again, praying that he would find a reception with no shotgun.

  Somewhere down the road a dog began to bark excitedly. Scotty stooped and found a rock, just in case,then he hurried on again. These houses were no better than the ones farther back. Would any of them have phones? He looked overhead at the phone wires and decided to follow them until he came to a house lead-in. That way, he was sure of finding a phone.

  The fourth house had a lead-in. That was the house with the dog. Scotty listened to the wild yapping and decided the dog was chained behind the house. That was good. He went up the front steps in one leap and hammered at the door.

  The barking had already awakened the occupant, or perhaps he was an early riser. He pulled back a curtain from the porch window and called, “What do you want?”

  Scotty yelled back, “I need the police! Open up, mister, please!”

  The man responded by raising the window. “Police, you say?”

  “Yes. I have to use your phone, mister. Honestly, I’m not a burglar or anything. I’ve got to call the state troopers.”

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  “Haven’t got a phone,” the man said. “Had it takenout. Don’t know where you’ll find one.”

  “Then have you got a nickel? The store has a phone. But I don’t have change.”

  “The store’s closed,” the man said suspiciously.

  “I know it,” Scotty said desperately. “I broke in. But it’s a pay phone, and I haven’t got a nickel.”

  “Wait there.” The window slammed shut.

  Scotty danced on one foot and then the other, burning with impatience. But he could do nothing to hurry the man.

  Fortunately, he didn’t take long. In a very few moments the barking of the dog grew nearer, and the man’s voice snapped, “Shut up, Hortense. Keep still.”

  He came around the corner, holding tightly to a leash. On the other end of the leash was a big dog of uncertain ancestry. She was part collie, part hound, and, to Scotty’s nervous glance, part wolf.

  “Don’t know who or what you are,” the man said shortly, “but don’t try anything. Hortense is pretty fast on her feet and she’ll get you if I say so.”

  “I won’t tryanything, Scotty said pleadingly, “I just want to get the police. Have you got a nickel?”

  “Got one,” the man agreed. “And I’m going to be right with you when you use it. Old Man Yager is a friend of mine. You better have a good reason for busting into his store.”

  “Come on,” Scotty said impatiently. “Honestly,
this is urgent.” He started off at a trot, the man and dog behind him.

  At the store the man motioned to the broken glass in the door. “Get inside.”

  Scotty did so, and waited.

  Hortense was handed through the broken panel but the man kept a hold on her leash. Hortense was not a pretty dog and she looked at Scotty with the same hopeful expression with which she would have regarded a rare steak.

  The man came through the panel. He was about sixty, with a pleasant but weather-beaten face. He handed Scotty a nickel.

  Scotty almost choked with relief. He lifted the receiver and dropped in the nickel. There was a clang and the operator’s voice answered sleepily.

  “Number pi . . .”

  Scotty couldn’t wait. “Emergency,” he yelled. “Get me the police barracks at Whiteside.State Police.

  Hurry, please!”

  The operator’s voice was no longer sleepy.“Yes, sir!”

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  There was a long ring on the line and a male voice answered.“State Police.”

  “Captain Douglas,” Scotty said urgently. “I’ve got to talk with him.”

  “He’s asleep,” the voice growled. “What do you want?”

  “This is Don Scott,” he said urgently, “from Spindrift. You’ve got to call him! It’s about Soapy Strade!”

  There was a gasp from the man with the dog.

  “Hold the line!” The receiver clattered on the police desk at Whiteside. Within ten seconds Captain Douglas was barking into the phone. “Talk, Scotty!”

  “Soapy Strade is at the amusement park,” Scotty said quickly. “He put a guard on the project building.

  Rick and I slugged the guard and tied him up.”

  “How long ago?”

  Scotty couldn’t be sure.“Maybe ten minutes.Maybe fifteen.”

  “Where’s Rick?”

  “I don’t know. Captain, I heard someone yell while I was running down the road. If it was Rick . . .”

  “Quick! Where are you?”

  “ Yager’sstore.It’s below the amusement park on theShore Road .”

  “Stay there. Scotty, didn’t you see one of my cruisers?”

  “No, sir!”

  “There was one guarding the amusement park. Something’s very wrong. Stay put and I’ll have a car there in minutes.”

  The connection was broken. Scotty turned to the man who had helped him. “Thank you, sir. The police will be here in a few minutes.”

  “It’s all right, boy. Soapy Strade you said?He the one who escaped a few days ago?”

  “That’s the joker.”

  “I’m staying right with you.” The man added hastily,

  “I believe your story, all right. But I want to see what happens when the troopers try to get this man.

  Killer, from what I hear.”

  “He’s that, all right.” Scotty’s mind wasn’t on the conversation. He was worried sick about Rick. And he wondered-if a cruiser had been guarding the amusement park, where was it? He and Rick hadn’t known about a cruiser. He walked to the door and saw that the eastern sky was growing pink. It was almost dawn.

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  And from far down the road came the welcome sound of a police siren.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Trap in the Sky

  Rick went up. He had no choice. He leaped for a cross brace and pulledhimself up on it just as Soapy Strade burst through the door to the roof.

  Rick didn’t even think about watching for handholds. Pushed by sudden fear, he went up the upright to the next brace as though jet propelled. His skin crawled, expecting the shock of a bullet.

  The track was right above him. He swung himself up and then took time for a look downward.

  Strade was staring up at him. Rick saw the pale blur of his face.

  “Come down,” Strade grated.

  Rick’s voice shook slightly, but it was loud enough. He said politely, “No, thank you.”

  “Don’t make me come after you,” Strade said. His voice was surprisingly calm. “Don’t make me, kid.”

  Rick didn’t answer. Why didn’t Strade shoot? Then he thought he knew. A pistol shot would be very loud- loud enough to be heard for some distance. There was every chance that someone would hear it and phone for the police.

  Strade waited a moment while Rick inched upward, then he walked to the edge of the roof, reached upward for a handhold and came upward with astonishing speed.

  Rick stifled a groan. In his terrified haste to climb to safety he had completely forgotten that one upright had cleats nailed to it to make a ladder. He increased his speed as best he could.

  Climbing the track was much more difficult than working up the frame. His body was parallel with the track, because of its steep angle. This was where the roller coaster had gained speed in its downward plunge, passing a short distance above the fun house roof before dipping to the ground.

  He had to move on hands and knees, holding fast to every handhold. It was hard going because there were open spaces between the crosspieces that served as ties. His leg made it even worse. It constantly bumped as he moved, and it hurt.

  Soapy Strade, however, was having equal trouble. He was perhaps twenty feet behind Rick, and when the boy looked back he couldn’t see that the gangster had gained after the first rush up the ladder.

  Rick reached a space where a tie was missing. He had to cross about four feet of open air, a foot sliding precariously on each track, his hands gripping the rails until his fingers hurt. The crossing made him Page 83

  conscious of his height aboveground, because he was beyond the fun house roof now. He looked down, and down, and down, his eye following an upright, and had to grit his teeth to keep from getting dizzy. He turned his eyes away resolutely and kept going. One foot slipped, and for an awful moment he thought the other would be pulled from the track, too, but he kept his balance and inched ahead to comparative safety.

  The highest point in the track was only a dozen feet ahead. He took a quick look behind and saw the gangster, still coming.

  The silence was more ominous than yells of rage 01 threats would have been. It was as though the gangster was telegraphing a mental message. “Don’t worry kid. Keep climbing. I’ll get you when I’m ready. Nothing you can do about it.”

  Rick stood it as long as he could, then he asked,just to hear his own voice, “Where’s Lefty?”

  Strade’s reply seemed cordial enough. “I sent him to the road gate to keep an eye open for cops. How did you know his name?”

  So Lefty was with Strade, There was no point in concealing the answer. “Saw it on a police file card, along with his picture.”

  Strade was silent for a moment,then he said pleasantly, “So you put the finger on Lefty for the cops, huh? For that, maybe I won’t cut your throat before I push you off. Maybe I’ll just stick you lightly a couple of times before I shove.Just enough so you won’t hang on.”

  Rick’s mouth dried up and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed hard.

  When he tried to speak again his voice wouldn’t work properly. He had to clear his throat. “No sticking until youcatch me. And you can’t go any faster than I can.”

  He was talking just to hear himself, and he knew it. He tried to speed up his slow progress, grabbing for handholds, trying to keep his feet from slipping. The ties were just too far apart to be used as long ladder rungs.

  Strade was cheerful about it. He chuckled. “That’s right, kid. I can’t go any faster than you. But I don’t need to. I been up here before, and I know what’s on the other side of the hump. Do you?”

  Rick started to reply that he didn’t,then changed his mind. He had better save his breath.

  Strade continued, “I’ll tell you.Seems that a short time before they closed the park, a coaster car jumped the track. Ever hear about it?”

  The gangster was trying to bluff. “I didn’t,” Rick replied, “because it never happened. I live around here and I would have read about it.�
��

  “Not this accident,” Strade said. “It wasn’t in the papers.Because it happened during the day when the coaster was being tested. Matter of fact, that’swhat really killed the park. The coaster was the big attraction, and the frame was so rotten it had to be replaced. There wasn’t enough money to replace it.”

  He fell silent, and Rick looked back. The gangster was making his way over the break in the ties.

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  Once across the gap, Strade continued, “So the park closed, and the track where the car jumped was never fixed. It tore the tracks loose and broke the ties. You can’t tell it from the ground, but there are eight feet of broken track that won’t hold a man’s weight.”

  Rick had a horrible feeling that the gangster was telling the truth. He was almost at the top now, and he would soon know. He realized suddenly that he could see an end of broken track against the sky. He swiveled his head around to the east and saw that the sky was definitely lighter. Clouds near the horizon were taking on a pinkish look. It was almost dawn.

  He planned what he would do if Soapy had told the truth. If the track wouldn’t hold him, the uprights would. He would swing down, then slide for his life.

  It wasn’t as easy as that, though. The track was slightly wider than the frame, and there was a little overhang. If he hung by his hands, he could wrap his legs around the upright. Then would come the bad moment when he had to let go and grab for a handhold on the heavy beam.

  During that moment his legs would have to hold him. Normally, that would be no problem. But with his injured leg, there were bad possibilities. The strain of gripping the upright would pop the wound open again, and if the pain were too great, he might lose co-ordination for a fatal second. One second or less would be enough.

  The ground was a long way below.

  His hands were damp as he inched his way to the very top of the coaster. It was level for a few feet and he moved quickly. The sky was lighter now, light enough to see that the gang leader had told him the exact truth.

  The ties were in place. So were the rails that supported the tracks.But the tracks themselves were lying slightly askew, and the ties and supports were held together only by rusty nails. He couldn’t see the nails, but he could see the breaks at the places where the frame had been joined.