Deadly Edge p-14

by Richard Stark

  “One of them is named Manny Berridge.

  He’

  “Berridge?”

  “You didn’t tell me about the man who was killed. He was supposed to do the robbery with you, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Manny’s his son?” That was the one Parker had wounded, the one called Manny.

  “Grandson.” She went on to tell him what Morris had said, and he sat and listened to it, frowning at the rifle in front of him on the table.

  When she was done, he said, “What about the other one? Jessup, you say? What’s his connection?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose he’s just Manny’s friend. He’s the brains of the two, but Manny can be much meaner. He’s like an insane little child.”

  “All right.” He got to his feet, pushing the chair back from the table.

  She looked at him, her expression apprehensive. “You’re going after them? But they won’t bother us any more, will they?”

  “Yes. They strike me as the kind to hold grudges. In the meantime, I want you to do something for me.”

  She had finished with the mop, had emptied the bucket into the sink and put mop and bucket both away in the narrow closet in the corner. Now she’d started cleaning the sink. Holding the cleanser in her hand, she said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take Morris’ Plymouth to New York and lose it.”

  “No.” She turned her back and sprinkled cleanser into the sink.

  “It’s not to get you away from here.”

  “It is.” She started scrubbing the sink.

  “Partly. The rest is, we can’t have the car found around here. In New York it won’t raise any questions, but here it would.”

  “I’ll take it tomorrow.”

  “It would be best to do it now, at night.”

  She faced him again, leaning against the sink. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, “but I’m not going to do it. I have something else I have to do first. When I’m finished I’ll take the car in, if I’m not too tired.”

  “What do you have to do?”

  “Get my house back. When I finish here, I have some things to do in the bedroom and the bathroom, and then the porch floor has to be mopped. And then I want to make a list of the people I have to call tomorrow. Someone to fix the glass in the door. Someone to fix the bathroom door.”

  He looked at her, and understood vaguely that there was something in her head about the idea of borne that wasn’t in his head and never would be. The world could go to hell if it wanted, but she would put her home in order again before thinking about anything else.

  He tried to find something in his own mind to relate that to, so he could understand it better, and the only thing he came up with was betrayal. If someone double-crossed him in a job, tried to take Parker’s share of the split or betray him to the law, everything else became unimportant until he had evened the score. And like the two tonight, Manny and Jessup; there was no way that Parker was not going to settle with them for the insult of their attack. In some way, what Claire was into now had to be something like that, with a sense of home instead of a sense of identity.

  “All right,” he said. “Just keep the rifle in the same room with you.”

  “I will. And this time I won’t shoot until I know what I’m shooting at.”

  “Good. When I come back, I’ll knock twice before I come in. If anybody else walks in without knocking don’t think about it. Just shoot his head off.”

  “I will,” she said.

  The Corvette was parked on a gravel strip beside a small white clapboard house across the road from the lake, less than half a mile from Claire’s place. Damp blood was on the seat-back on the passenger side.

  Parker was on foot, the automatic in his right hand. He was traveling without any kind of light. He circled the house beside the Corvette and found it locked up tight, no sign of entry.

  A wooded area stretched away uphill behind the house. Parker considered it, and rejected it, for three reasons: Manny was wounded. Manny and Jessup were both city boys. Jessup would want another car, so he would prefer to stay near houses.

  Claire had suggested earlier that Manny and Jessup wouldn’t be coming back because they were cowards, and Parker had seen no reason at that point to disagree with her. But cowardice was irrelevant. Whether they were cowards or not, they wouldn’t make another attack on the house tonight with an armed man inside and a wounded man outside. And whether they were cowards or not, they would eventually come back to repay Parker for routing them; cowardice would simply at that point make them more difficult to deal with.

  Parker didn’t know Jessup, had seen him only once and then for only a few seconds of sudden activity, but he felt he understood the man. Jessup was the planner and organizer in his partnership with Manny, just as Parker was the planner and organizer in his own partnerships. So he put himself in Jessup’s place now, and decided that Jessup wanted to do and how he’d go about it.

  Jessup wanted to get away from here. For that he would need a car. It was now not yet ten o’clock in the evening, and there was nowhere around here that cars were left parked at the curb; there were no curbs here, just the country roads and the houses. The weekenders would be taking their cars away from here tonight, and the full-time residents wouldn’t start settling down for the night for another hour or two. Jessup, when he stole a car, would have to take one from a garage, or at the best, a driveway. In either case, the car would be very close to the owner’s home, there might be a dog in the house—people out here tended to have dogs—and the only safe thing to do was wait until very late before making the move.

  In the meantime, Jessup had Manny to contend with and Parker to watch out for. So his first move would be to abandon the Corvette just far enough away from Claire’s house so that Parker wouldn’t be able to see him do it, assuming Parker to have gone down the driveway to watch the Corvette drive away; that much he had done because here was the Corvette, one road curve away front; Claire’s house.

  Next? Next Jessup would want an empty house to hole up in. He would leave Manny here in the car while he scouted around and found a suitable house, and then he would come back and get Manny and the two of them would go to the house he’d found. And that much he’d done, too, as was evidenced by how much bleeding Manny had done into the Corvette seat-back. All of that hadn’t happened in half a mile of driving: one minute, two minutes.

  Which meant the empty house had to be nearby. Near enough for Jessup to have gone to it, and come back for Manny, taken Manny to it.

  Parker stood beside the Corvette, frowning past the houses across the road at the vaguely seen lake. He was putting himself in Jessup’s place, running Jessup’s race for him.

  Which direction? From here, in which direction would Jessup first look for an empty house in which to hole up?

  Back. That was what Parker would do, and he was assuming Jessup would do the same. When being chased, having established the direction you’re running in, always double back when you’re going to hole up for a while.

  Which side of the road? Having put the Corvette over here, would Jessup now choose one of the houses on the lake side of the road? Parker didn’t think so, both because of the psychological pressure of Claire’s house being on that side and also because Jessup would shy away from resting in a spot where he’d have blocked his own retreat in case of trouble. In this situation Parker would want dry land on all four sides of the place where he was hiding, and he anticipated Jessup would want the same.

  It was true that circumstances might have forced Jessup to choose a house somewhere else, but it seemed to Parker that Jessup’s first preference would be back in the direction he had come from, on this side of the road.

  Parker nodded. He turned away from the Corvette and walked on up behind the white clapboard house and headed back the way he’d come.

  He knew it was the right house the instant he saw it. It was set farther back from the road than most of the other house
s along here, which meant it was built higher on the hillside that sloped up from the lake, and it was a large house, with a second floor and a full attic, which meant that it commanded the best view available of the surrounding area. Sheets of clear plastic had been tacked around all the windows and doors, to protect them from the winter, and the fact they were still in place meant the owners hadn’t yet come up to open the house for the summer.

  Parker had come along behind the houses, through lawns or gardens or scrub, depending on the ideas of the owner, checking each building out as he had come to it, and this large sprawling stone house was the fifth one from the Corvette, back toward Claire’s place. Parker saw it, and knew it was the right one, and cautiously approached it, making a wide circle so as to come down at it from behind, knowing he would be less visible against the woods than with the road or other houses for a backdrop.

  And saw light. He stopped when he saw it, because it didn’t belong; Jessup wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn on lights.

  But the other one would. Manny, he would.

  The light could very faintly be seen, through a window with plastic sheeting on the outside and a shade pulled all the way down on the inside. Thin lines of yellowish light were revealed where the shade was warped inward away from the window frame.

  A very dim light. Parker frowned downslope at it, and then saw that it was flickering, and realized it was a candle. The electricity wouldn’t be on in that house, in any case. There wouldn’t be water, either; people around here drained the water from the pipes when they closed their houses for the winter.

  Manny must have wanted light, so he could see what damage had been done to his shoulder or arm by Parker’s bullet. Jessup had given in to him, taking a chance on the very small light of a candle, in a room at the rear of the house.

  But if Jessup were really smart, he wouldn’t travel with Manny at all.

  Parker moved again, slowly. There was always the chance that the candle was a stunt, that Jessup realized Parker would hunt him down, and had left the candle burning so Parker would move into a position where Jessup could ambush him. It was unlikely, but it was a chance.

  A small shedlike addition had been built on at the right rear corner of the house, and that was where Jessup and Manny had gained admission. They had probably tried to neaten up in their wake, to make it impossible to trail them, but there’d been no way for them to reattach the plastic sheeting from the inside, and it sagged crookedly now, open practically all the way up the one side.

  Jessup had been more careful with the door; however he had gotten in, he’d left the door unscarred and managed to lock it again behind him.

  Which probably meant the kind of bolt lock that can be opened with a knife blade slipped between door and jamb. Parker took out his own knife, opened it, slid it through, found the bolt, and forced it slowly out of the way, at the same time turning the knob and leaning part of his weight against the door.

  It popped open, without a sound.

  Parker waited half a minute, then eased the door farther inward, until it bumped against something and there was a faint clinking sound. There was about a four-inch opening now. Parker crouched, put his left hand carefully through the opening, and felt around on the other side of the door for what he’d hit. His fingers brushed cardboard; the clinking sounded again, small and close.

  Soda bottles. Two six-pack cartons of empty soda bottles. Jessup, after coming in here, had rooted around and come up with these cartons of empty bottles, which he’d stood one atop the other just inside the door he’d breached. So that if Parker did get this far, he would knock the cartons over when he opened the door: burglar alarm.

  Moving carefully in the darkness, with just the one arm reaching around the door, Parker removed the top carton and set it to one side, and then slid the lower carton out of the way.

  Was that all? He felt around some more, but as far as he could reach, there was nothing else in the way. He straightened, and cautiously pushed the door open, and there were no other obstructions.

  But there was another door. This one, which led from the shed-type annex in to the main part of the house, had apparently given Jessup more trouble; it was obviously breached, with gouged wood protruding from the jamb around the area of the lock.

  Because of the empty bottles at the first door, Parker was very slow and careful now, but this door hadn’t been booby-trapped at all. Apparently Jessup had placed all his faith in the soda bottles. Or else he’d assumed that a man who would get past them would get past whatever else he might be able to set up at the inner door.

  It was two steps up through that inner door, and inside there was unrelieved blackness. Parker moved forward by touch, and could tell he was in a kitchen. Alert for booby traps, planned or inadvertent, he felt his way around the walls till he came to a doorway across from he back entrance, and stepped carefully through there.

  Light. Very little, so faint as to be almost nothing at all, and half the time flickering down to be nothing at all. But the faintest light is a beacon against complete darkness, and Parker had no trouble seeing it, or moving toward it.

  He was in a hall now, a central corridor that ran from the kitchen to the living room at the front of the house, with other rooms opening off on both sides along the way. It was a doorway on the left that showed the flicker of light. Parker moved forward, and when he reached that doorway the light wasn’t coming from that room, but from another room beyond it, this being lightspill from lightspill. Diagonally across this room—a kind of library-parlor—was a doorway leading to a room that would be next to the kitchen at the rear of the house; the right spot for the window where he’d first seen the light wobbling.

  This library-parlor was carpeted, and the reflected candle-glow made it possible to see the bulks of furniture. Parker moved more quickly across this room, and looked through the doorway into the room with the light.

  A small bedroom. A single bed against the rear wall, under the window. A dresser to the right, a wooden chair and a portable television set on a stand to the left.

  The candle was stuck in a Chianti bottle on the floor, the bottle covered with the drippings of dozens of previous candles of different colors. This one was red, it was about three inches long, and its light was yellow.

  Manny was lying on his back on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. He was stripped to the waist. His left side was to Parker, and his right shoulder, the one that had been hit, was swathed in ripped sections of sheet, a bulky and awkward bandage, but apparently the best Jessup could do under the circumstances. Manny didn’t seem to be in any pain; his expression as he gazed at the ceiling was bland, quiet, pleasant, contented, tentatively interested.

  On the floor near the candle in the bottle lay a small crumpled piece of paper. It looked like the piece of paper Parker had found in the empty farmhouse where Briley had been lured.

  Jessup wasn’t in the room.

  Parker squatted on his heels beside the doorway, looking through at Manny, his head just slightly above the level of Manny’s head. Jessup wasn’t here. Out getting a car? This early? Wait for him here?

  Something made a noise upstairs. Whatever had caused it, it became an anonymous thump by the time it reached this corner of the house.

  Parker frowned. Which one did he want behind him? It all depended how long Manny would be away on his trip. Jessup was more dangerous in the long run, because he was rational, but Manny could have moments when he would be very bad to be around.

  What was Jessup doing up there? Parker concentrated on that question, and had trouble with it because he would have known better himself than to trap himself away on the second floor. Just as he would have known better than to split his forces. Just as he would have known better than to let Manny trip out now, no matter how much pain Manny might be in.

  But he would have known better than to be with Manny anyway.

  There was always the tactic of finishing Manny off now, and then going after Jessup. The arguments
in favor of it were strong, but two things stopped him. In the first place, he couldn’t be sure it could be done quietly enough to keep from alerting Jessup. And in the second place, moving into a lighted room with Jessup on the loose somewhere around didn’t appeal to him.

  Finally he simply turned away from the lit room and made his way back to the corridor, and then moved cautiously down it looking for the stairs. He was very sensitive to the fact that there was light behind him and none ahead of him; he was outlined for Jessup, if Jessup was in front of him. He stayed as close to the wall as he could get, and moved slowly and silently, straining his eyes to see into the dark. And at the same time, he could feel in his shoulder blades the presence of the man lying on his back in the room with the candle.

  The stairs, too, were carpeted. He went up them close to the wall, and on all fours, to distribute his weight and lessen the chance of creaking. There was still a small hint of light from the candle when he started, but halfway to the top he was in total darkness again.

  At the top he halted and listened; Jessup had made one noise, he might make another. But there was no sound, and finally it was time to move.

  In total darkness, it was impossible to work out the design of rooms and hallways and doors. Parker simply moved left along the first wall he came to, until he reached a door. He turned the knob, inchingly, and pushed the door open, and saw a vague dim rectangle of slightly paler black: a window. Would this be a bedroom? Would he be standing in a hallway of some kind?

  He held his breath, and leaned forward into the room, listening. Men breathe, and in total silence their breathing can be heard. Parker remained leaning forward, with his head and shoulders past the doorway, doing no breathing of his own, until he was sure the room was empty. Then he straightened again, and left the door slightly ajar, and moved past it to continue along the same wall as before.

  He checked a second room the same way. The third door he came to opened toward him, and showed no window-rectangle inside. He felt the black air in front of himself and touched shelves, sheets, towels: the linen closet. He pushed the door to without shutting it entirely, and moved on.