Come Back for More

by Al Fray

  It was a little after two when I awoke. The truck cab had cooled and I sat up stiffly, then worked my shoulders and my arms to get loosened up. I climbed down, went into the rest room, washed my face with cold water, and got back into the saddle once more. It was a comfortable ride and uneventful, until I slowed for the turn into the driveway at Tyler Trucking. As I came into the back area I saw that a police car was waiting, and when I stopped, Captain Domms got out and came toward my rig.

  “Where you been, McCarthy?” Domms wanted to know. Gail came out of the office and hurried toward us but Domms waved her away. “I’ve heard your version; now I want a word from McCarthy.”

  “Keep your shirt on, Captain. I’ll answer your questions; I’ve been on a long haul—a few miles south of Evansville. What seems to be your trouble?”

  “Trouble? Who said there was trouble, McCarthy?”

  “You weren’t waiting here to be sure I made it home.” I said shortly. “We’re not that friendly.”

  “No. As a matter of fact, I had a few questions. Evansville, eh? That’d be—let’s see now—”

  “Over four hundred miles,” I said, and then glancing at the speedometer, “the round trip was eight hundred and forty.”

  “And you made this trip yourself?”

  “You can check the warehouse. They unloaded me down there.”

  “When was that? When did you get there?”

  “You’re making me nervous. What’s all this about?”

  Domms gave me a bland look “That shouldn’t matter, McCarthy. You should be able to answer these simple questions without knowing why we want to ask them.”

  I looked at him slowly and stalled with my search for a smoke. He was needling me; he wanted to get under my skin.

  “All right,” I said, when I had my light, “here’s the schedule. Loaded at Kimball Manufacturing about seven to nine. That’s Saturday morning. I hit the warehouse down south around six in the evening, they unloaded me by maybe eight. Little after when I pulled away.”

  “And then?”

  “I drove north a ways, bought gas, slept in the truck right behind the station from about nine until two. Five hours, say.”

  “They’ll know you were there?”

  “Of course. I was right next to the station. You can check.”

  “And then?”

  “I started home. Been running about forty-five or so and just arrived. Next question?”

  “Not now. I’ll take the name of the warehouse where you unloaded and also that service station.”

  “Be my guest,” I said grinning, and tossed the clipboard out to him. He fumbled, caught it, scowled at me, and then began to copy the name from the bill of lading. Then he checked the name on the gasoline receipt and when he had that down Domms handed the board to Gail.

  “Anything else?” I asked, climbing out of the truck.

  “Remember Doreen Phillips, McCarthy?”

  “Yes,” I said, and hoped my face would tell him nothing. But I thought right away about her talking that pretty red head off and a cold sweat was beginning to make itself felt. What had she said? Brother, I thought, isn’t this going to be a nice kettle of herring, but I didn’t say anything and finally Domms spoke again.

  “How well do you know her?”

  “You know how well,” I said. “She was the babe who stepped off the curb and did the cakewalk in front of me the day my truck stalled in the traffic. Naturally she looked me up afterward. To say thanks, and so I know her a little.”

  “But she knew you well enough to phone you from a bar!”

  “That’s right. But it was after the near miss, after the day I almost hit her.”

  “You sure you didn’t know her before?”

  “Damn sure,” I lied. “Would a man be likely to forget?”

  “And when did you see her last?”

  “A week ago. Saturday night or early Sunday morning.”

  “Sure you haven’t seen her since?”

  “I’m sure. Has someone said I did?”

  “Why no.”

  “Well then—” I stopped there, because I was damned if I was going to ask him again what was wrong. I blew smoke and waited him out, and when he snapped his notebook shut he turned and got into his car.

  “Don’t go away, McCarthy, until we’ve had a chance to check on this. If it turns out your alibi is good you’re lucky as hell.” Then there was the scatter of gravel and the police car was gone. I turned to Gail Tyler.

  “What’s bothering Domms?” I wanted to know. “What’s Doreen Phillips doing to get him so excited?”

  “She isn’t doing anything, Mac,” Gail said. “Doreen is dead.”

  Chapter 16

  There was an odd expression in Gail’s eyes as she waited for me to ask the obvious question.

  “When? And how did she die?”

  “I don’t know when, Mac,” Gail said. “But Captain Domms came screeching into the driveway more than two hours ago and asked where you were. When I told him you were on the road and headed home most likely, he said he’d be back. He told me that the girl across the hall noticed smoke near Doreen’s door. When they broke into her apartment, she was dead—suffocated.”

  “But from what?”

  “She’d been drinking a lot. Domms said she might have come home in the wee hours pretty well plastered, lain down on the sofa for a last smoke before going to bed. and dropped off to sleep with the lighted cigarette. Apparently the upholstery just smoldered away, didn’t break out in flame, but it filled the room with smoke.”

  “But Domms was waiting for me!”

  “That’s right, Mac,” Gail said. She turned away and plucked nervously at a thread on her sleeve. “He said that Doreen’s been drunk quite a bit lately and that you—well, you took her home from a bar one night, he found out, and—”

  “That’s right. About a week ago, when she was lit up like a neon sign I eased her out of the bar, but Ed Vehon took her home and as far as last night—well, I haven’t even been in town for the last thirty hours.”

  “I know. Captain Domms said he was checking all the possibilities to be sure someone didn’t—that she wasn’t killed. But when he phones the warehouse and the service station you’ll be in the clear. You don’t really have anything to worry about.”

  Nothing to worry about!

  I went through the routine of getting the truck ready for the next morning’s run but as I checked pressure in the tires I weighed this new development. True, it could have been an accident, but if it was an accident, it couldn’t have come at a better time for the boys in the syndicate. I thought again about that night I’d fished her out of the bar. Someone better do something about her loose lip, I’d said, and practically pushed her toward Vehon.

  And maybe someone had.

  Monday’s paper carried a full account including pictures and descriptions of her apartment, details that didn’t alter the fact that Domms had definitely decided this was accidental death.

  And from where I stood I couldn’t be sure he was wrong but I damn well had a hunch and I didn’t care much for their way of doing things. I’d known Doreen for a long time and she wasn’t the bravest kid in the world. They could have scared her a little and given her a second chance. They didn’t have to go all the way. And yet I guess I knew the answer to this too, way down deep. When a game gets this big and the boys are in this deep the thing gets mighty impersonal. They weren’t going to take any unnecessary chances just to save a few moments of unpleasantness. Doreen had been a swell kid once but she’d gone a long way down that road in the last couple of years. She was a lush, a drunken bar babe who wouldn’t be widely missed and they knew that too.

  And that brought me around to McCarthy. An itinerant truck driver, a bum off the freights, and when the time came they were going to remember that no one around town would get very excited about my passing either.

  It was another three weeks before I got the summons I awaited, and when it came I went down
to the union hall for a session with the syndicate representatives. It was a four-man conference, Sam Ward laying out the general plan, and while it was obvious that Ed had been through it many times, I was sure Ken Miller was getting his first glimpse of the thing. The only source of light, the desk lamp, illuminated a white paper as Sam Ward’s big finger traced out the steps.

  “It’s a big thing, McCarthy—Ken. Real money, we’re gonna tap the resources at River City National.”

  A quick whistle escaped me and Ken’s eyes bulged out as Ward mentioned the bank. Through the smoke haze above the light I could see Ward squinting at me and then he leaned forward, his face dim above the light.

  “Now take it easy, Mac. This is big but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Not a thing.”

  I tried to ignore the empty space developing in my stomach and managed a wry grin. “I’m for it all the way,” I said slowly, “but don’t tell me there’s no risk in a bank job. That’ll be the day!”

  Ward tapped his cigar into an ash tray. “Maybe not as much as you think, McCarthy. You don’t notice people standing in line for a chance to be a witness whenever there’s a heist job or such around town, do you? There’s been some groundwork laid.”

  “Groundwork?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Ward looked at Vehon and Vehon nodded. “You see, you weren’t around but something over four years ago there was a stab at this bank.”

  A question was expected. I said, “And they scored high?”

  “No, we lost our shirt; no take home pay and we shelled out more than sixty thousand dollars in legal fees. Even then Ken’s cousin Bernie had to ride the hot seat.”

  “That’s a foundation for a successful bank job? Brother!”

  “If you’ll quit interrupting long enough, I’ll fill you in,” Ward said testily. “First off, we don’t have to worry about anybody making themselves brave in the bank. Not any more, we don’t. This guard they had then, Walters, he tried to be a hero and wound up dead right there on the cold marble floor. They’re going to remember that. In fact there’s hardly been an argument against a holdup gun around here since—liquor stores, groceries, oil stations—hell, they all see the light. We can just about depend on everyone in the bank being a nice little Indian and doing exactly what he’s told.”

  “I get the picture,” I said grimly. “It’s real clear.”

  “Uh huh. And you ain’t heard the rest. There won’t be anyone in a hurry to do any identifying, either, because—”

  It was like a performance of “This Is Your Life” on a TV screen. I sat there and listened while he recited all the details I knew so well, the way Swede Anderson testified against Bernie and how scared the Swede had been, and the attempt that the syndicate made on his life. He wound it up with a glowing picture of Paul Hunt’s death in my shattered car and how fast Swede Anderson had taken to his heels after that.

  “It all had its effect,” Ward was saying, “and we’ve just about got River City backed into a corner. You can put your mind at rest; we’re taking the big slice on this job and we’re getting out from under all the way. So pay attention now while we go over these details and make sure everybody knows where he’s supposed to be and what he’s to do. We want the timing perfect.”

  “All right, let’s get to it,” I said.

  “Good. We’re running with eight men. Besides those here, the syndicate is sending down four boys to make the actual heist. We won’t know who until they get here and even then”—Ward nodded to Ken and me—“neither of you will have occasion to see them beforehand very often; maybe one practice run. Safer all around. They’ll be in town a couple of weeks—out of circulation in the daytime and making dry runs at night until the routine is like second nature. When we get a final agreement on the time, I’ll pass the word along to you. And now to the general outline.”

  “Nothing could be more general than money,” I said quickly “How much will there be and what part of it is mine?”

  “Plenty for all. We’ll split it even eight ways; the cash is all we’ll take. That nonnegotiable stuff leads to trouble and we’re having no part of it; but I figure to see a total of close to five hundred thousand. Will that do, McCarthy?”

  “Lessee, that’d be about—man! In the neighborhood of sixty thousand,” I said, startled. “A hell of a lot of cash for—”

  “You’ll earn it, Mac,” Ward said wryly. “Your part in this is relatively safe but there are a couple of things you won’t like. Now let’s get on with it and settle any questions later. Okay?”

  We spent more than an hour going over the few simple steps that Ken Miller and I would have to make in effecting a perfect getaway. Simple and direct, these plans, or at least our part. We weren’t burdened with how the four men would make entry at the bank—our work began with the moment when, ladened with quick wealth, the four men burst out of the River City National and scrambled into the car Ed Vehon would have waiting at the curb. It was a solid plan and carefully worked out, and it didn’t try to hide the car in the early stages of the escape. Some simple make-up was to be used by Ed; nothing more. When we finished the skull session the four of us climbed into Vehon’s Lincoln for a slow cruise through the bank area.

  “You go hanging around the spot after a job,” Vehon grinned, “and you’re in trouble. But two three weeks in advance—hell, who ever remembers seeing you there?”

  He drove us over to Main Street and rolled leisurely past the bank. Ward, resting back against the seat and with hands folded in his lap, nodded toward the building. Then he pointed a heavy finger.

  “When they come out of there with the dough Ed’ll be waiting at the curb, motor turning over, ready to take off,” Sam said, and he was so casual he might have been talking about a shipment of furniture. “He’ll swing both doors because the boys will be loaded. Now drive around and show Ken and Mac the next stage, Ed.”

  The light changed and Vehon pulled away from in front of the bank, turned left, drove two blocks, and stopped just short of an alley.

  “They’re going to swing in here. No squeal of tires, no attention,” Ward said. Ken nodded soberly and Vehon nosed into the alley. A little farther on we came to an old brick building that had once been an auto repair shop and we stopped by the driveway leading into the place. Ward nodded toward the garage door, the rear entrance, really, since the building itself fronted on the street.

  “Now here’s the place we go piggy-back,” Ward said. “The building’s empty, has been for some time. We used a phony name to make inquiries and mailed ’em from Evansville. Then we sent along a check for the first three months’ rent and wrote we’d be moving in equipment for a small machine shop soon. We’ve got a key; let’s slip in for a quick look.”

  The four of us piled out of Vehon’s Lincoln and Sam Ward turned the key. There wasn’t much light but when our eyes became accustomed to the darkness it wasn’t so bad. I paced the distance my van would stick back into the building if the cab of the rig were nosed right against the front door and then laid out the two large timbers to see about how the car was going to make it up into my truck.

  “Looks good,” I said, forcing a grin, “I think we’ve got it made.”

  “It is good,” Ward said, nodding confidently, “just so long as nobody goofs. Ken here will be driving the night shift with the taxi outfit and available all day. He and I slip into this building before daylight and sit out the time. When the moment arrives for you to back your truck in the front, we open the door, then close it right away and stand by the back. As Ed comes wheeling down the alley, we’ll raise the door, and he drives right up the planking and into the van. Now I will be lowering the rear door while Ken slams the truck doors.”

  We nodded and Ward continued. “McCarthy is up front. As soon as the rear is closed, he opens the front door, then jumps into the cab. Ken jumps into the cab too, and the truck rolls out onto the street. I’ll drop the big door, ease out through the office and immediately become a passing citizen.
You’re on our way.”

  “Now wait a minute,” I said, “if someone sees the car pulling into the back and someone sees—” I stopped then as the simple beauty of this one washed over me. The buildings are solid along the street, no spaces between in the business area. Sure someone might see each part but the same person couldn’t possibly see both. There wasn’t one chance in a hundred that those two people would get together very soon.

  Afterward, yes. Later Domms could round up the person or two who had seen a rig and perhaps he might find someone who’d noticed the car going into the garage. He could work out the time and figure how it had been, but it was going to take a while. A long while, if we were lucky, and actually we didn’t need more than a short grace period.

  Because within forty minutes after the car came aboard, Ken and I would drive north, let the men and money out, and then send Gail Tyler’s eight-ton semi over an embankment and into sixty feet of cold quarry water.

  We climbed into Vehon’s car once more, drove past the solid stand of buildings, came out on a side street, and circled around to the front of our transfer point. Vehon, Ken, Sam Ward, and I traveled slowly along the path my truck would take with the car aboard. A few miles out of town we turned onto gravel, then off that and onto an abandoned dirt road lined with dense foliage. We stopped and Ward got out to unlock a gate, and I remembered from my teen-age days the old quarry that lay ahead and how cold the water was, and how deep. A little farther on we stopped and Ward pointed out the shed where we would stash the cars—the one in which the boys from the city would run for home and the car that Ed, Ken, and I would need.

  “We’re getting close to that part you said I wasn’t going to like,” I told Ward grimly. “How do we know it will work, this business of roughing me up and my claiming I was tapped on the skull and my rig taken? It’s been done a time or two before, you know.”

  “Let’s not kid each other, McCarthy,” Vehon said, his lips in a hard thin line. “To make it look for real you’ll have to take a little punishment. You’re tough and they’d expect you to put up a scrap. We’re going to have to bruise you some, but think, man—sixty thousand bucks! You can take one hell of a lot for that kind of cash.”