The Empty Trap

by John D. MacDonald

  “There is some money.”

  “How much?”

  Lloyd smiled. “Isn’t that the question I should be asking? Assume there is enough. What can you provide?”

  “This is not a promise. I do not commit myself or my … associates, Meester Wescott. But if there was enough, this thing could be done. By personal examination and approval I could make of you a citizen of our nation, and I could issue you a passport here. Then air transportation could be most easily arranged. However, this is no guarantee against extradition. We do not offend our very powerful neighbor.”

  “No one will want to extradite me.”

  “I can name a figure. You must understand that I must make gifts to very many people. Our small country has a great number of officials. Many of them are men of great probity. For them the gifts must be ample. I would say, for you, it could be done for … in American dollars … twenty thousand.”

  “That is too much!”

  Rillardo smiled sadly. “Safety is always expensive. Security is a rare commodity in a troubled world, my friend.”

  Lloyd thought for a moment. “Perhaps, if I were to make you a personal gift, Señor, completely aside from our transaction, it might be that you could talk your friends into a lower figure.”

  “A gift?”

  Lloyd took out the automobile permit issued him when he had crossed the border and handed it to Rillardo. Rillardo pursed his lips. “Such things are difficult. There are Mexican customs to consider. It is not easy.”

  “Certainly you have friends in the Mexican customs department.”

  “Acquaintances, only. What is the color of this vehicle?”

  “Red and white. A red like the border of that magazine on your desk. As you can see it’s a recent model. It has fifteen thousand miles on it. It is a handsome car. I will have no further use for it … if we should have a meeting of the minds.”

  Rillardo laid the permit on his desk. “And what do you think would be a fair figure, Meester Wescott, for what you wish me to do for you?”

  “May I first ask a question? If one lives quietly in your country, how much does it cost to five there, in American dollars?”

  “Quietly? I must have more information.”

  “A small rented house not too far from a city. A full time maid and gardener. Good food. Perhaps a small swimming pool. Very little entertaining. Reasonably modern utilities.”

  “For that … for a man alone, I should say it could be done adequately, even with a certain style, for twenty-five hundred dollars a year.”

  Lloyd did a rapid computation. Say three thousand a year for two. Twenty from a hundred and ten would leave ninety. Thirty years.

  “This is my offer, Señor Rillardo. I will pay the twenty thousand you ask. In cash.”

  The black eyebrows went up. “I do not understand?”

  “For both of us. There are two of us. Here is her tourista card.”

  Rillardo took it and read the name aloud. “Miss Sylvia Kennedy. This is difficult. You make it difficult for me. Can you not be husband and wife?”

  “Not legally. You can call us that, if you wish.”

  “I see. She was the woman of the man you speak of?”

  “His wife. She used her birth certificate to get her card. She walked across the bridge.”

  “Perhaps you took the money of this man too?”

  “That should not concern you, Señor.”

  “You are correct. I must apologize.”

  “Can it be done?”

  Rillardo thought for a long time, frowning, fingering the corner of the auto permit. He smiled. “I can do it. But she must be called your wife.”

  “All right. What’s the next step?”

  “I must have ten thousand American dollars. I can issue the passport in two weeks time. There are certain things that must be checked first.”

  “Can you give me a receipt?”

  “Of course not! That is absurd!”

  “I will give you five thousand. I will give you the final amount when we board the plane.”

  “You make it more difficult.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Rillardo sighed heavily. “Then I shall arrange it your way. Have you the money here?”

  “I will bring it to you.”

  “Today, please.”

  He took the five thousand back to Rillardo. The man counted it carefully, licking his white thumb. He folded it casually and put it in his inside jacket pocket.

  “Two weeks from this day,” he said. “That will be the seventeenth of May. A Friday. Reservations will be arranged for you and I will have the tickets here.”

  After he was standing again, Lloyd said, “We do not want to stay here in the city. We may be taking a chance to stay here. Can you suggest where we could go?”

  Rillardo suggested they drive north on the Inter-American Highway to Zimapan and there turn west on the new road into the mountainous province of Queretaro. He was certain they could find a quiet place to stay.

  On the way back to the hotel Lloyd felt entirely unreal. He felt as though he were taking a part in a half-forgotten movie. This was certainly not what his life had prepared him for—flight into a foreign land with another man’s wife and money, dickering in a shabby office for illegal passports. He and Sylvia were to appear with pictures to be pasted on those purchased documents, sealed with the great seal of the nation of exile.

  He was not so naive as to think it could go off without a hitch. There was the possibility that Rillardo would find the task too difficult. Then he would deny ever having seen Lloyd or having taken the five thousand. And there would be no way to prove it.

  Or, it might be a private plane, and after the balance of the money had been taken from them, they might be dropped into the sea. Rillardo knew Lloyd had money, and knew Lloyd could not turn to his own government for help. Many risks could be taken to acquire the money of a helpless man. And Rillardo had an unsavory look about him.

  Yet Lloyd was determined to make Sylvia feel that it was working out perfectly. That evening she had made him tell her over and over again how it would be for them, how they would be safe. She clung to him as though he was her last chance in all the world.

  That night they left the city after dark and stayed in a hotel cottage in Zimapan. He had purchased Scotch. Sylvia drank until she was incoherent, until she passed out. He had never seen her drink so heavily. He was more than a little drunk himself. Her fear was infectious. He stood over the bed and looked down at the spill of dark hair, heard her thick breathing. This was not like the magic in the beginning. This had become furtive and sordid. He even thought of leaving her with half the money and driving hard for the border, crossing at, say, Matamoros into Brownsville, and trying to lose himself in the states. But he knew he could never leave her. It was a curious twisted love, but it was strong, and he could not leave her.

  He sat and brooded for a long time. He became very depressed. He was certain that, somehow, they were going to be robbed and left penniless in Mexico. Rillardo would arrange it somehow. He was a fool to carry it all around in one chunk. It should be spread out. That would provide a reserve. He gave it intent alcoholic consideration. He remembered the jar in the car, a wide-mouthed glass jar with a screw lid. It contained what was left of the peanut brittle Sylvia had bought at the gas station in Las Cruces. The car was beside the cottage. He got the jar and dumped the candy out. He took the money from the trunk compartment into the cottage. It was in a blue canvas gym bag. He had owned the zipper bag for a long time. Once upon a time he had used it to carry basketball gear in.

  By wadding the bigger bills tightly, he was able to get forty thousand into the jar. That left about sixty-five in cash. If everything worked out, he would be able to come back one day and get the forty thousand. And if it didn’t work out at all, the forty thousand would be a reserve for them. He felt very clever. He wanted to wake Sylvia up and explain to her how cleverly he was handling everything. He had thought of bu
rying it in the ground. He looked around the cottage. The walls were paneled. He went out and got the tire iron. He chose a spot where the bathroom door opened against a wall of the bedroom. There were no light outlets there. He carefully pried off the quarter round, then pried one panel board loose at the floor level and pulled it back, yet not so far back it would pull the top molding free. The jar sat neatly on one of the cross joists, and seeing that it was exactly the right size made him feel his plan was more valid. He nailed the board and the molding back, using a towel to keep from marring the wood. The cottages were quite new. There was no reason why it should be disturbed for years. He put everything away and went to bed.

  He did not remember hiding the money until he was thirty miles west of Zimapan, on the new road. Sylvia was surly and sullen with the pangs of hangover. When he told her about it, she reacted violently and they had a bitter quarrel, the worst quarrel yet. Finally he got her to admit the wisdom of what he had done.

  The new road dipped close to the village of Talascatan and then climbed gently up the heart of a valley for a mile and a half, to the Montañas Motel, a new place on a hill overlooking the highway. It was secluded. Cars beside the units could not be seen from the road. The units were set very far apart. The sign said in Spanish and English that there were cooking facilities.

  They stopped and the quarrel was forgotten. Their unit was at the end the farthest from the others. The owners were Swiss, a gentle couple who had lived in Mexico for many years, and who had managed a hotel at Acapulco until it was torn down to make room for a more flamboyant structure. They had saved their money, had speculated in oceanfront land, and had made enough to build this motel. They said business was slow because the road was new. Next year the new road would join the secondary road that ran from Rio Verde to San Luis Potosi, and there would then be a great deal of through traffic.

  Lloyd registered as Mr. and Mrs. Wesley Floyd. Their unit was clean and new. There were two large double beds in the bedroom, a cot in the small living room. That night, in the barranca behind the motel, the insects made a night-long shrilling. She lay in his arms and whispered, “I think it’s going to be all right, Lloyd darling. Tonight for the first time, I think we will … be safe.”

  During the days they toasted in the sun behind the motel. In the evenings they walked down to Talascatan and sat at one of the tables in front of a small restaurant and cantina facing the square and watched the young people walk around and around the square with the stained fountain and grubby bandstand. They drank the dark strong beer called Dos Equis, and they ate great bowls of rich caldo gallego, and later walked hand in hand through the night, walked back to the Montañas Motel, slightly drunk on the beer, hand in hand and singing softly in the night. On those few nights it seemed to him that what they had done was both good and necessary. A marriage to Harry Danton could not be called a marriage. This woman was his now, and would be forever his.

  They walked back on the night of the ninth and the stars were very clear and high. They walked by all the other units to their own place where there was a starlight gleam on the bumper of the Pontiac parked behind it, under their bedroom windows.

  He unlocked the door and she went in first and the lights went on. Sylvia screamed once. Perhaps she screamed again, but by that time the portable radio was on at full volume, Lloyd had tried to fight Tulsa with his fists. Tulsa, grinning and clowning, had worked him back into a corner, wedged him there, big shoulder under Lloyd’s chin holding him upright, while he ripped his big hands into Lloyd’s middle, working him the way a fighter in training works the heavy bag. He worked him until Lloyd’s arms flapped loose as empty sleeves, until his chin bounced idiotically on Tulsa’s shoulder, teeth clicking, room bouncing in his dazed vision. Then Tulsa backed off, held his left palm flat against Lloyd’s chest, chopped him three times in the face with an overhand right. With the last blow the room bulged, turned red, and collapsed around him like a tent.

  When he came to, he was in a cane arm chair, hands tied together behind the chair, mouth wedged full of cloth. The door was ajar and he could hear voices out there, hear the Swiss talking to a stranger in Spanish. His chair was shoved over into a corner. Tulsa stood listening. Benny stood behind Sylvia, holding her close to him with one thick arm around her slim waist, a grimy hand flat across her mouth. Sylvia’s black hair was tangled, her eyes wide and hot and furious.

  The voices stopped and Valerez came into the room and shut the door. “He go now,” Valerez said in clumsy English.

  “What did he want?” Tulsa asked.

  “Too many peoples he said for one place so it is more. I give him eight pesos.”

  Tulsa shrugged. He went to each of the three windows, checked to make certain the blinds were completely closed. He paused in front of Lloyd, lifted his chin up, looked down at him. “Good morning, baby! Had a nice little vacation? Had a nice honeymoon? Wait a minute! Hell, she’s still married to Harry, so what do you call it? Couldn’t be a honeymoon, now could it? You’re a bright one, baby. If you wanted action, you should have done something not so risky. Like maybe jumping off the hotel roof.”

  Sylvia began to kick and writhe. Benny cursed her. Tulsa said, “Quiet the bitch down, Benny.”

  Benny spun her violently, hit her with one quick clean motion, and the noise of the blow was small and brutal. He caught her as she fell forward and grinned at Tulsa, evil and meaningful grin on the clown face. “Where at you want her, Tuls?”

  “In the bedroom. Then we hunt the money.”

  They found it easily. Tulsa brought it in, pulled the table over under a light, dumped it out. Benny sat down and counted it with the professional skill of a bank teller, jotting down totals for each stack, packing the stacks neatly in the zipper bag. He totaled his figures and said, “Sixty-four thousand eight hundred and ten, Tulsa. It’s supposed to be more than that, isn’t it?”

  “Harry couldn’t tell for sure. You know how it is. They’d claim more anyhow, wouldn’t they? Giz, keep an eye on the dish.”

  “Dish?” Valerez said, looking around helplessly.

  “Watch the girl, stupid! And just watch her, nothing else.”

  Then they turned the radio up again. Tulsa took off his shirt. They took the gag out of Lloyd’s mouth. He had felt pain before. Not this kind of pain. This was a white light that kept exploding in his head. When he bucked in the chair and tried to scream, Benny would clap the towel over his mouth. Lloyd knew he fainted, but he did not know how many times. He would have told a dozen times had the pain been smaller. But the pain came in bursts that prevented his speaking. And when the pain faded, a dull stubborn anger closed his mouth. “That’s all there was,” he would bellow. He shouted it a dozen times.

  Tulsa finally straightened up, dropped the cigar, turned his foot on it. “I’ll buy it, Benny. Stuff his mouth again. And go get that tequila.”

  “Aren’t we going soon?”

  Tulsa looked at his watch. Benny tied the gag roughly in place. Tulsa said, “We kill time. Valerez says we can find a good place not too far, but not in the dark. So we leave about four. It’s after ten now.”

  Lloyd sat with his chin on his chest, the tears running out of his eyes, breathing hard, sobbing against the gag. He could smell the rich stink of his burned chest and belly, his burned feet. He knew he could never be the same person again. He knew he could not go back to what he had been before. He had learned, abruptly, a special kind of hatred. He thought he could not hate any more violently than he did in those moments. Yet an hour later the hatred was stronger. The next hour tempered it, like a cherry red blade thrust into the quenching oil.

  “She wants come out!” Valerez called in a nervous tone.

  “So let her come,” Tulsa said.

  Sylvia appeared in the doorway. Her jaw was bruised. But she stood proudly, her head up, her eyes furious. She looked beyond Tulsa and Benny at Lloyd and her face changed. She tried to come to him, and Benny thrust her back roughly. “Lloyd, darling!” sh
e said. “What did you two do to him?”

  Benny burlesqued shyness, rubbing the side of his foot on the floor. “Well, we had a sort of like a cook out.”

  “You filthy monsters,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at Tulsa. “Are you taking me back to Harry?”

  “Harry don’t want to have to look at you, Mrs. Danton. Harry all of a sudden got tired of you, like.”

  Lloyd saw her bite her lip, glance toward the blue bag. “You’ve got the money. Why don’t you go and leave us alone now. You’ve done enough to Lloyd.”

  Tulsa spoke patiently to her, an explanatory tone. “Harry wouldn’t much like that. He said you should have a real hard time. Most of all you, Mrs. Danton. A worse time than Lloyd darling here on account of he didn’t know the score as good as you know it.”

  She looked at him with spirit and with bravery. “All right, Tulsa. Beat me up. Or should Benny hold me?”

  She wore the pale blue linen dress he had bought her in Mexico City, at the shop on Juarez when her terror was so great she would not leave the hotel. Tulsa reached out with one hand. She tried to move back, but he caught the square neck of the dress and ripped down. He tore out the entire front of it. What was left of the dress hung from one shoulder. He plucked it off and tore away the wisps of nylon. She tried to cover herself and then let her hands drop slowly to her sides. Some of the courage was gone, some of the spirit. She kept her chin up, her eyes fixed on Tulsa, but her mouth trembled.

  Benny made a grunt of appreciation. Tulsa said, “You look maybe a little better than I guessed, Mrs. Danton. Scared?”

  “What … what are you going to do?”

  “Right now? Get a drink. You stand right there, Mrs. Danton. Hell, you’re a lot better than a pinup. More real. You want a drink?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously, Mrs. Danton, that’s the only break I’m giving you. Harry wouldn’t like me doing this, giving you a drink. You want to know how it goes? You got yourself killed. When you and Lloyd darling were twenty miles outside of Oasis Springs, you were a dead girl. Didn’t you know?”