The James Michael Ullman Crime Novel

by James Michael Ullman

  Elvira went to her bank and returned with the ten thousand, which Schatz put in his money belt with the rest of the kitty. No doubt she’d had second thoughts when she sobered up, but by then she wouldn’t have known where to find Schatz either. She was, Train said, an utterly unpredictable unknown, likely to blow everything at any moment by spilling the story to drinking buddies, or even going to the police and charging Schatz and Jon with a confidence game.

  True, Jon said. But we’re stuck with her now, so keep your fingers crossed.

  * * * *

  The first fifty miles out of Tucson, Pearl dozed while Jon drove them down a rough, blacktopped road. Desert stretched on both sides, and odd-shaped mountains shimmered in the distance. Then Pearl yawned and rubbed her eyes. Her traveling costume was a simple blue shift. Adjusting her sunglasses, she peered out the window and said, “Jeez, look at it. Like the moon.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Not a bit. I like seeing houses. And cars. And lots of people.”

  The time had come, Jon decided, to start working on Pearl in earnest.

  “You mind,” he asked, “if I make an observation? A personal one?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Even if you trusted me, and you liked me a little, I don’t think you’d do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Go to bed with me, the way I asked a few times. The main reason I asked was you’d be insulted if I didn’t.” Pearl thought this over. “You mean you don’t wanna shack up?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just said you wouldn’t, not on so casual a basis, no matter what they say.”

  “What who says?”

  “I did some checking,” Jon replied vaguely. “Before I gave Schatz twenty thousand dollars, I had to be sure he really owned a business, as he claimed. I got a report on him. And on you.”

  They rode a few more miles.

  “Thanks,” Pearl said. “I know I’m not your type, but you’re right. If you hadn’t asked, I would have been insulted.”

  “We understand each other a little better?”

  “I guess so.” With the dashboard lighter, Pearl lit a cigarette. She drew on it, then looked at him. “But in a way, I wish we didn’t. I might start liking you after all.”

  “I’ll chance it. And I’ll make another observation. I don’t think you like what we’re doing one bit. I think you wish you were out of it. You were pretty sure of yourself, the night you picked me up at my apartment and took me to see Schatz, but you’re not sure of yourself any more. Forgive me, but I’ve seen frightened people. And you’re afraid.”

  She started to reply, then thought better of it. Settling back, she eyed him closely. “Okay, I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life, but I can’t run out on the old man. He depends on me.”

  “You owe him that much loyalty?”

  “Damn right.” She hesitated. “That report on me. It was a sizzler, wasn’t it?”

  “You,” Jon conceded, “compiled an imposing record.”

  “Yeah. The cop-killer’s daughter, growing up in a slum. My father—I don’t even remember what he was like, before he killed that cop. I was four years old when he did it. He was a lookout man for some burglars. A cop came along, he shot him. He got life. And me—all the neighbors knew. Everyone knew. They watched me grow up, to see how rotten I’d turn out. And growing up with a body like mine—you wanna hear about it?”

  “If you don’t mind telling.”

  “I got inducted.” She spoke matter-of-factly, almost casually. “By the block gang, the punks who ran things. They dragged me down to a basement. I was thirteen, I didn’t want to get hurt, so I did what they asked. You can imagine what that was. They were older boys, some almost twenty. From then on, they treated me like community property. I went along, it was the easy way. One thing led to another, and I wound up in a reformatory, which was pure hell. I decided then, I’d never go back to a place like that.”

  “And Schatz?”

  “My father told us about him, his new cellmate, when we visited him. We’d moved to a new neighborhood, where I didn’t mix with anyone. When my father died, we went to see Schatz to learn how it happened. He died at night, in his cell. Heart seizure. The old man was lonely, he asked us to come again, and we did. Finally he said he’d start a business when he got out. He’d need someone to care for him, until his legs were stronger. Would my mother do it? If she would, he’d send me to business school and then teach me his business. He did all that for me, and when my mother died, I stayed with him.” Pearl flicked ashes from her cigarette and smiled. “I suppose the stories were in the report, too. What people say about us.”

  “They were in it, yes.”

  “It’s all wrong. I’ve heard tales, the young girls he had before he went to prison, but he always treats me with respect. Never a dirty word even, or any mention of the trouble I was in once. That’s another reason I owe him something.”

  “I can understand that. But he’s old, Pearl. You can’t remain under his protection, hiding from the world forever. And if you want to keep out of trouble, you should never have helped him look for my father’s remains.”

  “That? I never took it seriously. Every man has peculiarities.”

  “It’s a little more than a peculiarity. Did he tell you we intend to blackmail the man, if we can’t recover the remains?”

  “Okay,” Pearl admitted, “it’s a nasty scheme. But so far, I’ve never seen him do anything dishonest. He’s afraid. He doesn’t want to go back to prison and die there. As for your father—I helped Schatz ask around, but I never thought anything would come of it. It was just something he wanted to do in his spare time. That changed when we got the list. He spent all his time stewing about your father then, but I still didn’t think there was a chance we’d actually find the right guy.”

  “You do now?”

  “Yeah. It hit me, when you saw him in Florida. I’m not just humoring an old man’s whim. This is for real, and if that guy killed your father, he might try to hurt us too. That’s why I’m scared.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Ahead, a wisp of smoke snaked toward the sky. They were nearing a settlement of some kind. “Frankly, I’m scared too.”

  “If we find him,” Pearl asked, “do you think he’ll really negotiate, the way Schatz hopes?”

  Jon said, “I thought he might, when I let Schatz talk me into this. But I don’t think so any more.”

  Let her ponder that a while. It was too soon to ask about Schatz’s list again. In a day or so, though, she might be more willing to discuss it.

  The town consisted of a few tumble-down buildings, a filling station and a cafe. They gassed up and ate breakfast. Pearl ordered orange juice, coffee, milk, four slices of toast, a fried egg, a breakfast steak and fried potatoes. On the way out, she bought a candy bar.

  Forty more miles of desert lay ahead before they’d reach the county where Cobb had his ranch. Pearl settled back, half-dozing again. Ten miles or so from the cafe, she said, “The little red light. What’s it mean?”

  Jon looked down at the dash, where a goof-light indicated that the engine was overheated.

  “Damn…”

  He parked on the shoulder and opened the hood. Clouds of steam poured up. The radiator hose was leaking, and water had sprayed the whole engine compartment.

  He walked back to Pearl. “A hose broke. We’re out of water. You game to do a little hiking?”

  “Are you nuts? After all those snakes we saw?”

  “Okay, we’ll wait. But I warn you—in a while the car will be like a furnace.”

  They waited a minute or two, hearing nothing but the buzz of insects. Then, from far behind them, the cheering sound of a motor reached their ears. Finally a green pickup truck came into view, scooting down a small rise and bounding along on the desert floor.
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  “You think,” Pearl asked, “he’ll stop?”

  “In this country, he’d be pretty callous not to.”

  As the truck neared, Jon stepped into the road and waved. The man at the wheel wore a broad-brimmed hat, pulled low. His skin was very dark. He could have been an Indian.

  The truck veered to the shoulder, stopping a few yards from Jon’s car. The driver swung out of the cab. He was a big guy, in work shoes, jeans, and a dirty T shirt. He held something in his hands—a lever-action rifle, which he pointed at Jon.

  It was Spook. No doubt he’d darkened his skin so he could get this close before Jon recognized him.

  “It’s time,” Spook drawled “we have a talk.”

  Jon stared. The old fear was back, but he was more angry than afraid, thinking with impotent rage of the carbine locked in his trunk, only a few feet away. He’d been neatly suckered. Spook must have tampered with the radiator hose while they were eating, gambling that they’d conk out on a stretch where they’d be unobserved. On this road, that hadn’t been too big a gamble.

  Wide-eyed, her mouth open, Pearl watched from the car.

  Spook came closer. “Turn around. Put your hands up.”

  “Sure.” Jon managed to keep his voice steady. “That’s all we want anyhow. A talk. There’s no need for the gun, but if it makes you feel better, keep it. We…”

  The rifle butt slammed into Jon’s head, sending him spinning into a black void.

  * * * *

  He became aware of sound and motion first—an engine roar, a rattling and rumbling, as be pitched and rolled. Then came pain, welling from the back of his head, and after pain, discomfort. He lay on his left side, rolled up like a ball, knees drawn to his chin and wrists pulled over his ankles.

  He opened his eyes.

  He was in the back of the truck, trussed with clothesline and gagged with a foul rag. They were going someplace on a rough road in an awful hurry, and it was very, very hot. Pearl sat upright, leaning against the truck’s side, her hands tied behind her. She’d drawn her legs up, but her ankles had been tied and she’d been gagged, too. She wasn’t taking this very well. Already, she was weeping.

  Jon looked around. Not two feet from Pearl was a treasure chest of potential escape tools—her purse. With great effort, Jon rolled upon his left shoulder and brought his feet down on the truck’s floor. Simultaneously, he grunted.

  Pearl looked at him.

  He looked at her, at the purse, then back at her.

  In a bovine way, she stared. Hell, all she had to do was swing her big feet and kick the purse in his direction.

  He went through the procedure again. Still, she just stared.

  It dawned on him then. She’d be no help. To hell with Pearl. He found he could move a few inches at a time, heaving his body and shoving against the floor with his left foot.

  He was halfway to the purse when the truck stopped. The cab door slammed. Boots crunched on dirt, a key turned, the rear door swung back, and Spook gazed in at them.

  “Hi, kids.”

  Behind Spook, the terrain was rocky and bare. He hauled Pearl out like a sack of potatoes. She hit hard, grunting.

  Spook climbed into the truck. There was, Jon noted, a revolver in his belt.

  “You,” Spook said, “made a mistake. You shoulda remembered what I told you.”

  Spook kneeled, grabbed Jon’s hair, and slammed his head against the floor.

  * * * *

  Jon forced himself to open his eyes again.

  The look Spook had given him, just before the blow, had told the whole story. There’d be no palaver, no negotiations. He hadn’t even removed Jon’s gag. He’d tackle the weak link, Pearl. When he got what he wanted from her, it would be the end for both of them.

  Outside, Pearl was talking, much too fast and much too much. See Schatzmueller, Pearl said. He has money, he wants to give you some. Just see Schatzmueller…

  The purse was gone, but in a corner something glittered. Pearl’s sunglasses. Inch by inch, Jon maneuvered toward them.

  Pearl yelled, “Don’t do that!” She wailed.

  Exerting a slow, gradual pressure, Jon brought his feet down on the lenses. They cracked. He groped with his fingers and finally clutched a slice of glass, twisted his wrists and brought it into contact with a strand of rope. Gently, he began to saw. If he pressed too hard, the glass would break into useless little pieces. And he had to do it blind. He couldn’t see what he was cutting. For all he knew, when the strand severed, he’d be as securely bound as before.

  A sharp slap sounded. Pearl stopped wailing.

  “Now listen,” Spook said. “You can both get out of this alive. Tell the truth, and I’ll leave you here to find your way back. I’m no kook, I won’t hurt you for kicks, but I got a strong stomach. Where we are now, you could scream your lungs out and nobody’d hear. I’ll ask questions. If you don’t answer, or gimme an answer I don’t like, you’ll burn like a candle. After you burn, you’ll gimme the right answers anyhow. How’d the old man get onto me?”

  “H-he traced it. The Scovill certificate.”

  Jon tensed his ankles. Something gave. He dropped the glass and began tugging at a loose strand with his fingers.”

  “The names. Where’d the old man get ’em?”

  “Finney’s sister. His investors, all of them, she had a book.”

  “Who else knows?”

  Jon found he could straighten his back. He stretched and raised his arms. His wrists were still tied. He sat up, and pulled at the severed rope around his ankles.

  “N-nobody. Me and Schatz. Even Chakorian doesn’t know.”

  “The book—how many copies? Where are they?”

  “Only one. Schatz has it. A c-compartment, in his wheel chair. On the bottom of the seat.”

  The rope around Jon’s ankles came free. He lay back again, raising and lowering his legs, moving his arms, to stimulate the circulation. This is how it would have to be, legs free, hands tied. There was no time, no way to free his hands.

  “Where’s the old man now?”

  Jon crawled to the door and peered out. The truck was in a canyon. A dry river bed coursed through it. About ten yards away Spook kneeled, his back to the truck. Pearl sat in front of him, tied to a dead, gnarled tree by a single rope around her middle. Her hands were at her sides.

  At first glance, she seemed fairly comfortable, but from the knees down she looked like a mummy. Spook had removed her shoes and stockings and wrapped rags around her feet and calves. His intention was obvious. A gasoline can rested a few feet behind him.

  Spook said, “Okay, doll. If you won’t answer…”

  He reached for the can of gasoline.

  “Jesus, don’t! A motel! The Everleigh, under the name Schultz…

  Pulling the gag from his mouth, Jon eased his feet to the ground, leaned down and picked up a rock. He took a few steps toward them.

  Over Spook’s shoulder, Pearl saw him.

  Her eyes went wide.

  Spook straightened, turned, and tugged at the gun in his belt.

  Jon broke into a sprint.

  CHAPTER 11

  Spook had plenty of time to get off a shot. He was no amateur, either. He didn’t panic, didn’t fire wildly from the hip. He raised his arm and sighted down the barrel.

  Pearl swung her feet, catching Spook at the ankles. He tumbled, and the gun discharged into the air. Then Jon was on him, landing hard, bringing the rock down on Spook’s gun hand. He struck a glancing blow, but that was enough. Spook hollered, and the gun fell free.

  Jon lunged for it. Spook pulled him back. They rolled over a few times and Spook wound up on top. He pummeled Jon’s face and head. Jon arched his back, brought his hands up and caught Spook in the throat.

  Spook rolled off.

  They both scrambl
ed for the gun. Spook was nearer, but Jon took three running steps, kicked the weapon as Spook reached for it, and kept on running.

  It was a good kick. The gun flew over a ledge and into the river bed. Jon scrambled down the bank, tripped, and sprawled. He got up and ran on, frantically seeking the gun. In taking the fall, he’d lost sight of it.

  He stopped. For an agonizing moment, he looked around. There it was, to his left. He ran to the gun, picked it up and turned.

  Spook hadn’t come after him; he’d gone back to the truck. Now he stepped from the cab, hoisting his rifle.

  It would be no contest. Even if Jon’s hands weren’t tied, it was unlikely he could hit Spook at sixty yards. The revolver was a Smith and Wesson .38 with a two-inch barrel, an arm designed for very close ranges. On the other hand, to a man with a rifle Jon would be an easy target.

  Jon raced for a big rock. Just in time, he dived behind it as Spook’s first shot whined overhead.

  Tactically, the situation was very bad. He was pinned down. Spook would just work around, get a good view of Jon, and end it.

  Crouching, Jon peeked around the side of the rock. A bullet landed a foot in front of him.

  He pulled back. Spook had taken cover behind another rock, nothing but his head and shoulders showing. Jon’s chances of hitting him without exposing himself and taking slow, deliberate aim were nil, but a much bigger target was available, one he could aim at from an angle that would still keep him hidden from Spook. The truck.

  It would be a gamble, expending one of his five remaining cartridges on the truck, but it would give Spook something to think about. If Jon disabled the vehicle, puncturing a gas tank maybe, Spook would be stuck out here.

  Resting his elbows on the ground, Jon aimed at the truck and squeezed off a shot. The bullet whanged into metal.

  Spook caught on fast. He ran toward the truck. Jon fired at him once and missed. It was a temptation to fire again, but Jon resisted. Spook could count, he’d know when Jon was out of ammunition, and Jon had only three cartridges left.