Spook got the truck going and took off in a big hurry. Jon ran up the bank. Pearl’s purse lay on the ground. He opened it, found a mirror, snapped it and sawed through the rope holding her to the tree, watching as Spook’s truck topped a rise and disappeared, several hundred yards away.
Pearl had already unwound the rags. “My God,” she said. “He was going to…”
“Hurry up! Put your shoes on, grab those rags and the gasoline can and follow me.”
“He’s gone. Your hands…”
“He’s out of sight, that’s all. Pie’s got a rifle. I can’t touch him at any distance. He’ll park and try to pick us off. We’ve got to find cover.”
Holding the gun and her purse, he led her toward a big outcropping of rocks. They were about fifteen yards from it when Spook fired again.
Pearl started to cry.
“Don’t look back,” Jon yelled. “Just run…”
Spook fired three times more before they reached safety.
“Now,” Jon said, “my hands.”
She sawed at the clothesline. “What’ll we do?”
“Collect everything that’ll burn. Dead wood. Dry brush. We’ll start the biggest fire we can. If we send enough smoke, in to the sky, it might scare him off.”
“He’ll kill us first.”
“He’s no athlete. At his age, in this heat, he won’t run here, and he knows I’ve got three bullets left…
The line parted. Quickly, they gathered sticks and weeds. Jon tossed the rags over them, doused the pile with gasoline, and lit it with a match from Pearl’s purse. With a whoosh, the pile started to burn.
“Now, more fuel,” Jon said. “Build it up, fast…” When the fire was going well, Jon climbed the rocks and ventured a cautious look up the road. Nothing moved. Then, from behind the rise an engine started, and a trail of dust billowed upward, as Spook drove away.
That, Jon thought, is that. As his father had said, in life one phase follows another. He’d just routed Spook. From now on, he’d never be afraid of Spook again.
* * * *
“How much longer,” Pearl asked, “do we do this?”
Jon glanced at the sky. He’d been feeding the fire for about an hour, while Pearl sat in a splash of shade.
“My watch broke, but it must be about noon. If nobody shows up soon, we’ll have to risk walking across that open country. Spook might still be hanging around the road, waiting for us.”
“Spook?”
“It’s what I call him.” Jon walked over and sat beside her. “But if he really left just now, he could be in Chicago in six or seven hours, maybe less if he makes good jet connections. We have to find a phone and warn Schatz.”
Pearl picked up a stone. She fingered it glumly. “I wasn’t very brave, was I? It’s like when the gang inducted me. I didn’t even fight. I told him everything.”
“You didn’t have much choice. And you saved the day when you knocked him off his feet.” Jon looked hard at her and added, “Pearl, that man intended to murder both of us. He was lying, when he said he’d leave us here alive. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We’re still not out of this. But before we go further, I want to know the score. Who’s Finney? What’s the notebook, the thing with the names? And what’s the Scovill certificate, the thing Schatz traced?”
“Okay.” Pearl shrugged. “What’s the difference now anyhow? Finney was what you’d call an operator.”
“Was?”
“He died in a plane crash, but while he was alive he was a wheeler-dealer. Mail-order land, slums, vice resorts, anything for a buck. He was based in Vegas, but operated throughout the Southwest and had investors all over the country. He also had a sideline—money lending. If he knew you, he’d take anything of value as security, no questions asked. Schatz says there are a million shady reasons why some guys would rather borrow from people like Finney, instead of going to a bank.”
“And the Scovill certificate?”
“A stock certificate. A piece of paper signifying that a George Scovill owned five hundred shares in the insurance company your old man and Schatz looted once. Your father had that certificate in his attach case when he disappeared.”
“How could Schatz be sure? And who’s George Scovill?”
“It’s a fake name. Your father owned lots of stock in that company under fake names. He funneled it through a broker who got kicked out of the securities business, later on, for cooperating with him. He thought he’d sold it all, but he forgot this one certificate. He and Schatz found it in a vault. Schatz said, ‘Rudy, you might as well light a cigar with that, it’s almost worthless now.’ Your father said, ‘No, I’ll take it with my traveling money when I leave. Maybe the price will bounce back one day.’”
Idly, Pearl tossed the stone away. “When Schatz got out of prison, he pulled strings to see the insurance company’s stockholder list. George Scovill was still on it, for five hundred shares. He paid someone to tip him off if the ownership of those shares ever changed. Six months ago, that happened. The old man used his connections to trace the transaction. He learned the certificate had been sold by a broker in Las Vegas for the executor of Finney’s estate.”
“Maybe,” Jon said, “Finney was mixed up in my father’s disappearance himself.”
“No, he took the certificate as security for a loan, a few months before he died. The stock had gone back up and was worth a lot. All the people in Finney’s office knew was that he gave it to his secretary one day and told her to put it in a safe. It’s a hush-hush deal, he said. ‘One of my investors borrowed some cash on this to make an income-tax payment, but never mind which one.’”
“That’s a casual way of doing business.”
“It was Finney’s way, and at first we were stumped. Finney’d had a lot of investors over the years, many of them silent partners who kept their association with him secret Records of a lot of his deals had been destroyed, and we couldn’t get near the records the executor held. We were ready to give up, when an old employee told us she thought Finney kept a notebook with the names and addresses of anyone who’d ever invested a dime with him. If it still existed, it would be with his personal papers. Finney’s sister had those. He’d been a bachelor, and she inherited everything.”
“The sister gave it to you?”
“We bought it. She lived in Los Angeles. Schatz posed as a go-between for another promoter, someone whose name he couldn’t disclose. He said the promoter had heard of the notebook and was willing to pay a hundred bucks for it, hoping to persuade some of Finney’s investors to put money in his own schemes. She asked for a thousand. They settled for five hundred.”
“It makes sense,” Jon mused. “Spook pledged the certificate with Finney because it was too hot to raise money on in any other way. He probably intended to repay the loan and get the certificate back. But when Finney died, he didn’t dare identify himself. He had to sweat it out, to let the executor go through the legal procedures and sell the stock for the estate. When the authorities failed to descend on the executor after the sale, asking questions about Rudy Chakorian, Spook thought he was in the clear—until he heard you and Schatz had been poking around Vegas.”
“Yeah. Jon—” Pearl seemed to have reached some sort of decision. “If we get off this crummy desert, what you got in mind?”
“First, advise Schatz to seek police protection.”
“He’ll never do it. He’s so damned sure he can negotiate with anyone…”
“I know, but I’ll give him a chance. Then I’ll call Captain Novak in Chicago. He’s the police expert on the Chakorian case. Ill tell him about Finney and the notebook, too, so he’ll understand the danger the old man’s in. After today, all bets are off. You saw Spook, you know what he is. So long as he’s at large, he’s a threat to all three of us—you, me, and Sc
hatz.”
“Me?”
“You can identify him now, too. You’re as dangerous to him as I am.”
Pearl shook her head. “Not me, pal. I identify nobody. A girl can stay out of a lot of trouble that way. My mind’s made up, I’m getting out of this deal.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
“I’m not seeing any cops.” Pearl said it emphatically. “This’ll be in the papers. If I went to the cops, Spook would read the stories and know where to find me. Gardino, he’ll read them too, and I don’t want him to find me either. He’ll want to get his hands on Spook before the police do.”
It was a good point. And if Gardino couldn’t find anyone else to talk to, he’d talk to Bess.
“I,” Pearl went on, “intend to dig a hole, crawl into it and hide. To disappear, better than your father did. Those stories’ll make me look like dirt. It’ll all be there—my father, my record, the reformatory. The between-the-lines stuff about me and Schatz. Sorry, pal, I won’t face it. When we hit civilization, I’m getting on the next bus to anywhere.”
“I don’t blame you,” Jon said slowly, “for being rattled. I think you’ll change your mind about the police. But meanwhile, if you insist on disappearing…”
“I sure do.”
“I’ll arrange it. You can’t wander around the country alone. I’ll…”
Far off, on the desert, a motor buzzed. The sound neared. Finally, a jeep came over the rise, moving leisurely toward the canyon floor. Even at a distance, it was apparent the driver was short and plump, hardly Spook by any stretch of the imagination.
Jon got up, pulled Pearl to her feet, and slipped the revolver into a pocket.
“It looks safe.”
“What’ll you tell him?”
“As little as possible. Time’s the big thing now. It might take hours explaining this to a rural constabulary. Spook didn’t get around to stealing my personal effects.
I’ve got my wallet and traveler’s checks, maybe we can buy our way out of this.”
A very genuine Indian waited in the jeep, watching with dark, placid eyes, as they climbed back to the road.
“Howdy. I saw your smoke.” He studied their torn clothes, Jon’s bruised face, and the dried blood on his head. “Have some trouble?”
“A little.” Jon smiled. “And its embarrassing. We’re private detectives.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. We were tailing an oil millionaire, for his wife. He found out about it and hired some people to disable our car and take us here in a truck. They roughed us up and then left us. It was the oilman’s idea of a joke.”
“I don’t think the state troopers will think it’s so funny.”
“No, we can’t go to them. We couldn’t prove a thing, we’d just lose our jobs because of the publicity.” Jon reached for his wallet. “We’re in a spot, see. It’s worth money for us to get to a phone right away, and then to where our car is. All it needs is a new radiator hose.”
“Where’s your car?”
“About ten miles west of Encido.”
“Encido?” The Indian blinked. “That’s a hundred miles from here.”
“Tell you what. Take us to the nearest town. Scout around and buy a hose while I phone some people, and then take us to our car. I’ll pay you a hundred bucks. A buck a mile. Is it a deal?”
The Indian thought this over.
“Mac,” he concluded, “I don’t believe a word you told me. But at a buck a mile, I can’t afford to turn you down. Hop in.”
* * * *
Pearl followed Jon to a phone booth, holding a frosty can of beer. They were in a café, and the Indian was canvassing the town’s gas stations, seeking the proper hose for Jon’s Pontiac.
Jon placed a call to the Everleigh Motel in Chicago, Unit 23.
“It’s eleven o’clock there,” Pearl said, leaning against the door. “He’ll be taking his nap now. He naps every morning.”
“Well, this’ll bring him out of it with a bang.”
“If I were you, I’d just call the police. Don’t even give him a chance to run.” Thoughtfully, she added, “I can’t figure you. When this gets out, the papers will murder you. Come to think of it, Schatz is hard to figure too. He’s spent an awful lot of time and money on this. And your Aunt Elvira, the three of you with your heads together the other day. Sometimes I think there’s more…”
In Schatz’s room, the phone began to ring.
After twelve rings, Jon said, “No answer. Is he a sound sleeper?”
“No.” She frowned. “He’s a very light sleeper.”
The operator cut in, and Jon canceled the call.
“I don’t like this. He said he wouldn’t leave his room.”
“If anything happened to him,” Pearl said slowly, “it’s my fault, isn’t it? For telling all those things.”
“Nothing’s your fault Schatz knew the risks; I tried to warn him. Anyhow, we still don’t know that anything happened. Maybe he went out for air.”
“This man Spook—could he be in Chicago already?”
“Hardly. We saw him less than two hours ago. Wherever he’s going, he’s still on the road. Although…” Jon looked around the café “Pearl, why’d we decide to use this particular phone?”
“Why? Because—because the ones in gas stations on the way weren’t private enough. The mechanics could overhear.”
“Exactly. And if Spook wanted to call someone, he might pick the same phone, for the same reason.”
Across the room, a young man lounged behind a counter reading a newspaper. Jon walked to him and said, “Hey, bud. Anyone use that phone in the last hour or so? Particularly a stranger, someone just passing through?”
The youth put his paper down. “Yep. Why?”
“Never mind why.” Jon opened his wallet and held up a five-dollar bill. “I’m real interested. Tell me what you remember, and this is yours.”
“There wasn’t much.” The young man took the bill. “He was a big guy. Drove up in a hurry, in a pickup truck. I didn’t even see his face. He dropped a lot of coins into the phone. A long-distance call. I didn’t hear what he said, but I got an impression.”
“An impression?”
“Uh-huh. He had his back to me, but from the way he waved his arm around, I got the impression the party at the other end was givin’ him a hard time. Bawlin’ him out. Like it was his wife, maybe. Or his boss.”
CHAPTER 12
Fog swirled across a fork in the road. Jon braked, but left the car’s engine at idle. It was night. Tall trees loomed on all sides, and Pearl sat with her arms folded, a jacket over her dress.
“You’re sure,” Pearl said uncertainly, “you can trust these people.”
“You’ll be safe.” Jon’s head was bandaged. A doctor in Tucson had done that, not quite understanding how a fall in a tub could have caused those wounds. “And you’ll have company.”
“Where are we now?”
“The rendezvous point. Let’s see what happens next.”
He flipped the headlights on and off a few times. Two men came into view, one on each side of the car, carrying rifles.
The man on Jon’s side was Molloy.
“Hi, kid.” The ex-all-American opened the back door and climbed in. “Go right at the fork. I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“What about your friend?”
“He’ll stay here, in case anyone drives in after you. I got a couple more friends in the woods too, only you don’t see ’em.”
Jon put the car in gear and turned right. He’d done a lot of phoning from that cafe in Arizona. First, Novak. Then Train. Then Molloy, who’d been in his room at The Drake in Chicago. Would Molloy do Jon a favor? There was some risk involved, he wanted Molloy to hide two women in Wisconsin for a while, some rough character
s might be looking for them. One of the women was Bess. Yes, Molloy said, he’d be very glad to do it, provided Jon could talk Bess into going. She hadn’t been cordial the night before, at Levee Court I’ll take care of that, Jon said, you just pack and go to her apartment, she’ll be ready. He called Bess, who hadn’t liked the idea at all. Jon told her, though, that the Chakorian case was about to make news again, and Gardino’s people would be looking for her. She agreed, then. Reluctantly, angrily, she agreed…
“Who,” Jon asked, “are these friends of yours?”
“Guys from a rifle club. Including the sheriff.”
“I’m impressed.”
“You wanted protection for these women. You’re get-tin’ it”
“What’s this costing?”
“I still owe your old man some bodyguard time. Let’s say this is how I’m paying off.” Molloy seemed a lot more self-assertive, a lot less humble. So far, he hadn’t asked a single question about what Jon was up to. Jon didn’t think he would tonight either.
“How’s Bess?”
“You’ll see. The stories in the papers—she’s real sore at you.”
“Thanks for doing this, Skipper. You re sticking your neck way out. The guy who might come gunning for Pearl is a real homicidal type. And the guys looking for Bess…”
“She told me some about that.” A little, Molloy smiled. “Especially, I hope those guys come up here. This morning, Bess and I had quite a talk…” He leaned forward. “Here it is. On the left.”
Jon steered them down an unmarked lane. Branches scraped against the car’s top and sides. The forest fell away, and they pulled up in front of an old farmhouse.
“It doesn’t look so hot outside,” Molloy said, “but the interior’s all modernized. We’ll leave the girl here. Then we’ll go to a cabin where I’m staying, so you can sack in a few hours before you head for Chicago.”
Pearl asked, “You two old buddies mind telling me what’s going on? Like, who’s Bess? And how long do I stay here?”
“You stay here,” Jon said, “as long as you wish. If you want to leave, Skipper will put you on a train, plane, or bus to wherever you want to go. If you decide to cooperate with the police, he’ll call me, and I’ll arrange it. And Bess is an old friend. You’ll get along fine.”
The James Michael Ullman Crime Novel Page 52