He turned toward the bar. “Sliver, show the Jollys your favorite plaything.”
The gaunt, emaciated Sliver dipped a hand into his coat pocket and brought it out again. There was a click and a thin razor-edged blade seven inches long sprang into view.
“Get the point?” the stocky Mark asked.
Mary’s gaze was fixed on the blade in fascination. Ed gulped.
“I get it,” he said.
“Fine. Now if you cooperate, nobody will get hurt. We’ll be here a few days, then take off. Of course we’ll have to cut your phone line and take along the distributor cap of your pickup truck so that we can get a reasonable head start before you run to the cops. But we’ll pay you generously for your trouble.”
Ed felt a sense of relief. At least the men planned no physical harm unless he and Mary attempted to cross them. He decided the safest course was to do as the man called Mark said.
The sound of a car engine came from the west.
Mark said crisply, “Sliver, take Mrs. Jolly in back. Joey, you and Puffy get out of sight too. I’ll keep watch from the window to see how the old man behaves.”
The three men herded Mary before them into the rear hallway. The stocky man drew a black automatic from beneath his arm and let his eyes glitter at Ed.
“I’ll have my eye on you when you go out there, Mr. Jolly. If whoever that is wants to come in, and it’s somebody who might get suspicious if you said the store was closed, okay. But I’ll be in that back hall, right alongside the door, listening. Just keep thinking of Sliver’s little plaything.”
“I will,” Ed assured him.
He went outside just as the approaching car pulled into the gas station. His heart began to thump when he saw it was a State Trooper’s car.
There were two uniformed men in the car, and Ed knew them both.
They were from the barracks just outside of Hooker’s Gap. The driver, a young man named Ross Miller, was a sergeant. His companion, a muscular man named Harry Forbes, was a lieutenant.
The car pulled clear of the pumps, parking near the store entrance. Both officers got out.
“Hello, Ross,” Ed said. “Hi Lieutenant.”
Both men gave him friendly greetings. The Lieutenant said, “Seen anything of a car with four men in it Mr. Jolly?”
“Today?” Ed asked.
“Uh-huh. They’d have been coming from the direction of Hooker’s Gap.”
Ed shook his head. “Only been four cars from that direction so far today, Lieutenant. Two was couples with kids, one had two women together, and the other was Burt Lacey from the Double-Bar ranch.”
“Any cars go by without stopping?”
Ed shook his head again. “Seldom happens way out here. I’d have known even if I was inside. You can hear them miles away.”
Lieutenant Forbes reached into the front seat to lift out the dashboard mike and briefly reported in that the suspects hadn’t gone by way of the road past the Jollys’ store. After hanging up the mike, he suggested to his partner that they have a cup of coffee before heading back to Hooker’s Gap.
Ed’s heart was in his throat as he led them inside. The store was empty, but the door to the rear hall was open a crack. Silently he went behind the snack counter and poured two cups of coffee.
As he set them before the State Troopers, Ross Miller asked, “Where’s Mrs. Jolly?”
“Taking a little nap,” Ed said. “What you looking for these fellows for?”
“They knocked over the bank at Hooker’s Gap just at closing time, couple of hours ago. Killed a teller and got away with forty-two thousand dollars. There was so much on hand because Friday is the day the bank makes up the payroll for the Bishop mine. We don’t know what they’re driving, because they stole a local car for the job. We found it abandoned on the north road out of town, where they apparently switched cars. Probably they headed north. It would have been dumb to head this way, because there’s no place to turn off for two hundred miles and we’ve got a roadblock set up at the far end. But we had to check it out.”
The bank robbers had been clever, Ed realized. They had deliberately taken an apparently suicidal escape route because they knew the police would pay little attention to it other than bottling up its far end. And now that the police were convinced the men had not come this way, probably the roadblock at Ripple City would be lifted and the robbers could drive on through in perfect safety.
“What these fellows look like, in case they come by here?” Ed asked.
The Lieutenant shrugged. “Just four men of assorted shapes and sizes in dark suits. Two were heavy-set, two skinny. Nobody saw their faces because they wore nylon stockings over their heads. The taller of the heavy-set men shot the teller. No reason for it either. Just because he didn’t move as fast as he was ordered to. Cut him down in cold blood. Young fellow who’d only been married three weeks.”
Ed felt a chill climb along his spine. The description of the killer fitted the leader of the gang, Mark. And if he was that callous a killer, his reassuring words about merely cutting the phone line and taking along the pickup’s distributor cap had been designed only to lull Ed and Mary into more willing cooperation.
Ed suddenly thought of something which he reproached himself for not having thought of before. Disabling the pickup and cutting the phone line wouldn’t assure the bandits any head start. A customer might appear within minutes of the fugitives’ departure, and while the nearest town was sixty-five miles away, there was a ranch house with a phone less than ten miles from the General Store.
Mark certainly would have thought of this. Ed became certain that the stocky man had no intention of leaving two live witnesses behind when the gang departed.
He was frantically searching his mind for some way to tip off the State Troopers that the fugitives were in the building without getting both police officers shot down when they simultaneously drained their cups and tossed dimes on the counter.
“They won’t be coming this way now,” the Lieutenant said as he headed for the door. “So you don’t have to worry. See you, Mr. Jolly.”
Ross Miller, following the Lieutenant, called over his shoulder, “Give Mrs. Jolly my regards.”
Then they were gone and so was Ed’s opportunity to signal that something was wrong.
As the State Troopers’ car drove away, Mark came from the back hall, putting away his gun.
“You did fine, old man,” he said. “Just keep up the good work with any other customers.”
Ed silently resolved to use the first gas customer who came along as a means of getting word of the Jollys’ danger to the police. Mentally he rehearsed how he would stand with his back to the store, so that the watching Mark couldn’t see his lips moving, and what he would say.
“Please don’t glance toward the store,” he would say. “There’s a man with a gun covering us through the window. Don’t try to answer me. Just listen. Get to the nearest phone and call the police.” (Here he would give directions to the nearest ranch, depending on which way the car was headed.) “Tell them the four men who robbed the bank in Hooker’s Gap are hiding out here. They’ve threatened to kill my wife if I don’t cooperate, so warn them to move in cautiously.”
That should do it, he thought. There was the risk that Mark would realize that Ed had violated orders and would kill him and Mary in revenge, but he was convinced the man intended to kill them anyway. This way they would at least have a fighting chance.
Ed never had an opportunity to put his plan in operation, because no other cars came along. By dark he had lost hope. They sometimes had customers after nightfall, and even occasionally were awakened to serve someone in the middle of the night, but it was a rare occurrence. Few people cared to travel the isolated desert road at night, for fear of becoming stranded in darkness miles from any possibl
e help.
Nightfall was early at this time of year. It was already dark when Mary served dinner for everyone at 6:30. After dinner, as Mary washed dishes behind the snack counter, the four men sat at the liquor bar.
“You can serve us one drink each, Mr. Jolly,” Mark said. “That’s going to be the limit, boys, because we’re moving on at midnight.”
As he walked behind the bar, Ed again felt a chill climb his spine.
That meant he and Mary had only five hours to live. And he hadn’t even had a chance to warn her of what was coming, because they had never been allowed to be alone.
The red-faced Puffy said, “I thought we was gonna hole up here for a couple of days.”
“We were, until those state cops radioed in that we hadn’t come this way. The roadblock at Ripple City’s probably been lifted by now. It’s a cinch to be lifted by the time we hit there.”
Ed said huskily, “What do you want to drink?”
They all ordered bourbon straight, with water chasers. Ed poured the drinks and waited. No one made any effort to pay. Apparently now that his cooperation was no longer essential, the pretense of being paying customers was over.
Probably they would take back the $200 and clean out the till when they left, Ed thought. Not that it would make any difference.
Mary came from behind the snack counter and went over to the grocery department, where she began scanning the shelves.
“We’re most out of pork and beans, Ed,” she called. “Better bring out about six cans.”
Restocking the canned goods shelves was a nightly game they played, but tonight Ed wasn’t in much of a mood for games. Dispiritedly he went into the store.
When he emerged, he was juggling six cans of pork and beans. The four men at the bar watched in astonishment as the cans made a blurred circle in the air from one hand to the other.
When he had walked to within twelve feet of the waiting Mary, juggling the cans on the way, she chanted, “A-one and a-two and away and go!”
The cans suddenly took a horizontal motion, forming a continuous streak toward her. Rhythmically she plucked each from the air as it arrived, flipped it into her other hand, and plunked it onto the shelf.
The men at the bar were staring open-mouthed. All four had swung around on their stools with their backs to the bar.
Mark said, “That’s the damnedest thing I ever saw. Where’d you old codgers learn a trick like that?”
“You’re all too young to remember The Jolly Jugglers,” Ed said with an air of dignity. “We were vaudeville headliners before you were born.”
“With that act you still could be,” Mark said. “What happened?”
Ed made a wry face. Mary said, “A thing called talking pictures. Our last good year was 1929. Our last theater booking was in 1932. We played carny for a few years after that, but it was really all over.”
“What the devil is carny?” Sliver asked.
“Carnivals,” Ed said.
Mark said, “We’ve got several hours to fool away. We might as well have some amusement. How about you folks putting on your whole act for us?”
The two old people looked at each other. Mary smiled.
“Why not?” she said. “We haven’t performed before an audience in years.”
Ed had a sudden wild thought. If only he could get Mary alone long enough to explain what he had in mind, it just possibly might work.
“All right,” he said to her. “Come help me carry in the props.”
“Sliver can help you,” Mark said. “She stays here.”
That quashed that. As he preceded the gaunt Sliver back to the bedroom that he and Mary shared, Ed decided to go ahead with his plan anyway, and hope that somehow he could get across to Mary what he had in mind.
In the bedroom Ed opened the closet door and dragged out the box containing the Indian clubs. It was pretty heavy, because it contained a dozen of the tapered, round-ended wooden clubs. Sliver helped him carry the box back into the store, then resumed his seat at the bar.
Mary looked puzzled when Ed drew four of the brightly painted clubs from the box and handed them to her. The Indian clubs had always been the finale of their act, but he had left the juggling balls, dishes, and rods in the closet.
Ed gazed at her steadily, hoping she wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t brought the other paraphernalia out first. Her near ability to read his mind worked. Obviously she didn’t understand it, but he sensed that she understood he didn’t want her to question him.
Removing four more clubs from the box, he positioned himself at one end of the bar and about six feet away from it. Mary positioned herself at the other end.
“We used to juggle all twelve,” Ed said in an apologetic tone. “But we’re getting a little old. Eight still isn’t bad. A lot of juggling teams never got over six.”
“Get on with the show,” Mark said impatiently.
Ed held three clubs in his left hand, one in his right. He flipped the single one end-over-end into the air, quickly transferred another to his right hand, and flipped it. The third and fourth followed these into the air also, the last one leaving his right hand just as gravity brought the first one down into his left hand.
The spinning clubs formed a colorful pinwheel which Mary watched until its rhythm was established in her mind. Then she began to juggle her four clubs in similar rhythm so that her right hand was tossing a club into the air at exactly the same instant one left Ed’s right hand, her left hand catching one at the same instant his did.
“A-one and a-two and away and go!” she chanted.
At the word go the clubs took on a horizontal motion, shooting in a tumbling stream from her right hand to Ed’s left, while a stream from his right hand shot toward her. Back and forth the eight clubs spun, forming a glittering pattern in the air.
“Hey rube at the count of go!” Ed chanted.
He could see Mary’s eyes widen at the carny expression, “Hey rube”—the traditional call for help when the carnival was threatened. Her eyes sought his, read his mind, and she nodded.
“A-one and a-two and away and go!” Ed intoned.
Both shifted their feet to half face the bar and the twin streams of spinning clubs suddenly spurted in that direction. Mark, seated nearest to Ed, took the heavy butt of the first one squarely in the center of his forehead and tumbled to the floor like a poled ox. Sliver, next in line, slid from his stool with incredible swiftness, ducked the second club, and darted a hand beneath his coat. The third club smashed between his eyes.
With the fourth club poised for throwing, Ed looked to see how Mary was doing. Joey the driver was unconscious on the floor. The red-faced Puffy was on his knees wearing a groggy expression, but still conscious enough to claw for the gun beneath his arm.
Ed’s fourth club went spinning end-over-end and thunked solidly against Puffy’s temple. Puffy pitched forward on his face.
Ed and Mary nodded sadly.
“I’m getting old,” she said. “I didn’t connect solidly with any but the first throw. I hit him with the other three, but they were all glancing blows.”
“We’re both a little rusty,” he agreed. “Go call the Sheriff. I’ll collect their guns.”
He stooped over each unconscious man, relieved him of his gun, and carried them all behind the bar. The Indian club which Sliver had ducked had sailed into the backbar, smashing a couple of bottles of whiskey, and now lay on the floor behind the bar.
Ed picked it up, came from behind the bar, and gathered up the other seven clubs. He lay four on the end of the bar and held the other four, three in his left hand, the fourth in his right.
He had never trusted guns. He felt safer with the Indian clubs.
When Mary returned from the phone, she picked up the four clubs from the bar and al
igned herself next to him. They were still standing there when Sheriff’s Deputies arrived.
All four of the bank robbers had regained consciousness by then, but they still lay on the floor. As each had awakened he had decided against moving as soon as Ed and Mary began juggling their clubs.
AN ELEMENT OF RISK
Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, September 1972.
When I learned my brother-in-law was going to be out of town for a whole week, I got pretty upset about my sister being alone for seven nights when a psychotic killer was running around loose. I was having Sunday dinner with them at their place when Lyle casually mentioned he was flying to Chicago the next morning.
“For how long?” I asked.
“I’ll be back the following Monday.”
“Seven days!” I said so loudly that I startled young Tod into dropping a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy onto his high-chair tray. “You’re going to leave Martha alone in the house for seven days!”
The moment the words were out, I wished I hadn’t raised my voice. I liked Lyle, but he was so touchy you had to be careful how you talked to him. I had seen him abruptly withdraw from conversation at some imagined slight and sit without uttering a word for hours.
Martha was having the same thoughts, because she threw him a concerned glance, but this time he seemed undisturbed.
Relieved, she said lightly, “I’ll have Tod to protect me.”
Big deal. My namesake nephew was two-and-a-half-years old.
The boy, whose high chair was between me and my sister, looked from me to his mother and inquired, “Why Unkie Tod talk so loud?”
“Because he has a vivid imagination,” she told him. “Eat your mashed potatoes.”
My fears were hardly imaginary, though. The wraith known as the Stocking Killer had so far strangled six local women with their own stockings, and incidentally had inspired a couple of other nuts in Kansas City and Chicago to imitate him by each killing one victim. All six St. Louis women had been young, attractive married women, alone in their homes when murdered. In two cases their husbands had been out of town, but in the other four they had merely been out for the evening.
The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK® Page 39