"And after that?"
"As soon as the dirty government see I was enjoyin' myself they had me thrown out. They said they'd let me back in again if I showed 'em the deposit. But not me. I got principles."
"Sure," said Doan.
"So I went to Heliotrope. I told Peterkin I'd maybe tell him where the stuff was, so he was lettin' me stay in the jail. Nice jail, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Peterkin was watchin' me sort of, so I sent Tonto Charlie in to deal with this Pocus party."
"Did Tonto know where the deposit is?"
"Naw. I told him where it was, but I didn't tell him the right place. I figured he might not be honest. That's probably why Tonto got killed, I been thinkin'. He probably showed Pocus this place I told him, and there wasn't any ore there. Naturally that'd get Pocus upset."
"Naturally," Doan agreed.
"Oh, well," said Dust-Mouth, taking a drink. "Tonto Charlie ain't much of a loss, is he?"
"No, no," said Doan.
"I'm glad I'm dealin' with you instead of Pocus. He was a little too sudden to suit me. Although I hear you can sort of snort when you've got a mind to. They tell me you sort of run Parsley Jack into the ground."
"He slipped."
"Sure. He's in jail now."
"What for?"
"Evadin' the draft."
"How did that happen?"
"Oh, he was supposed to be inducted a long time ago. He was payin' Doc Gravelmeyer not to have him called. Doc is the head of the draft board in Heliotrope. When Parsley Jack run out when Doc was gonna give him a free operation, that made Doc almighty mad, so he had Parsley Jack pinched. He told Parsley Jack he'd let him go again if Jack would let Doc operate, but Jack said he preferred the Army."
"What's this Parsley Jack's relation to Free-Look Jones?"
"He just used to beat up people for Free-Look."
"For fun?"
"Mostly, I guess. Sometimes Free-Look would give him a beer or something if he beat up a guy real bad."
"I see," said Doan.
"Can you go any faster than this?"
"No. Why?"
"It's gonna rain. They even bust the radio silence on the weather to say so. Afraid of flash floods in the desert, I think, maybe. We got one flat to cross that might give us a bit of trouble."
"We'll worry about that when we come to it."
Chapter 16
THE CADILLAC CRAWLED ALONG LIKE A BUG under a bucket, and the simile is all the more apt because this was no ordinary desert day. They are merely unpleasant. This one had a tinge of horror tucked around its edges. The sky was a gunmetal gray with dark, jagged streaks groping through it like a witch's fingers.
The wind was a solid, chill mass of pressure that blew without stopping, and the mesquite bush cringed under it, and even the cactus leaned queasily away. It was strong enough so that Doan had to exert constant force on the steering wheel to keep the car from hopping out of the scarred, straggling ruts to march off into the brush on a tour of its own.
"You sure you know where you are?" he asked.
"Yeah, man," said Dust-Mouth. "Just keep plugging along. Not so far now."
The road wandered up the side of a hill, switching back and forth. The springs hit bottom with a bang, and Carstairs mumbled critically in Doan's ear.
"Shut up," said Doan. "I didn't build this road, and you can be damned sure I didn't invent this desert."
He shifted into second gear. The Cadillac heaved up over the top of the hill, and the desert stretched away in front of them, barren and twisted and empty, with rocks, much too reminiscent of tombstones, pushing up through the sand at odd intervals.
The wind paused just long enough to draw a breath, and then hit them with a bushel of blown sand that scraped like fingernails on a slate.
Doan winced. "This isn't doing my paint any good."
"Nope," Dust-Mouth agreed cheerfully. "Sand will take it off neat as pie. Probably scar up all your windows so you can't see through 'em, too."
The car crawled down into a valley and twisted back around, through rocks that were cold and black and malevolently twisted. Lights flickered quickly along the horizon, and after a while the thunder bumbled sullenly to itself.
"What happens to the road when it rains?" Doan inquired.
"What road?"
"This one!"
"Oh. This ain't really a road. It's a sort of a path, you might say. When it gets washed out, you just make a new one."
"Fine stuff," Doan commented. "When is it going to rain, or was that just a rumor?"
"Storm's over behind the Crazy Legs now. When she comes around that mountain yonder she won't be drivin' six white horses, but she'll sure be comin'. Keep goin'."
The Cadillac topped another hill, and without any warning lightning flicked at them like a gigantic whip in a green, crackling glare that raised the hair on Doan's head. The thunder hit instantly, not in a roll, but in a blasting report that lifted the Cadillac and slammed it down again.
"Wow!" said Doan groggily.
"Hit back of us in the valley," Dust-Mouth reported. "Reckon there must be some iron in them rocks."
Lightning flicked again, and thunder slammed them back in their seats, and a green spitting ball of fire as big as a house went hopping with terrible daintiness down the slope ahead of them and struck a rock head on and split it neatly in two. The thin, cringing stink of brimstone floated in the wind.
"Did you--see what I saw?" Doan asked.
"Yeah, man," said Dust-Mouth soberly.
A solid gray curtain appeared ahead of them. It marched remorselessly forward over hill and dale, and hit them solidly. It resembled rain just about as much as Niagara Falls does. The Cadillac crouched down under the weight of it, and Doan could see all of a good ten feet ahead of his radiator ornament.
Dust-Mouth pounded him on the shoulder. "Go on! Drown us here!"
Doan turned on the windshield wipers, and effortlessly the wind twisted them loose and threw them aside. It blew out a section of rubber padding around the side window, and rain drops whipped in and hit him in the face like individual needles.
Dust-Mouth pounded his shoulder again. "Stop! Wait!"
Doan halted the car. It rocked ominously. Dust-Mouth was fighting with the door handle on his side.
"What are you doing?" Doan shouted.
"Out. Test road."
Dust-Mouth got the door open and fell out. The wind snatched the door out of his grasp and slammed it hard enough to rock the car even more violently. It spun Dust-Mouth around and knocked him against the front fender. The rain hit him, but it didn't soak in. It bounced.
He fought for his balance, finally got it. Bent over nearly double, he staggered ahead. He was a grotesque shadow stamping and dancing on the road edge. His arms flung and beckoned wildly.
Doan drove ahead in low. The Cadillac slewed gently. Doan fed it more gas, and it caught itself with a jerk and ground on around the edge of a knoll.
Dust-Mouth hauled the door open and fell inside. He was panting brokenly.
"Two hundred foot drop," he said. "On your side. Road edge crumbled under your rear wheel. You feel it?"
"Yes," said Doan.
"Go down now. Faster. Let her roll."
The car heaved and banged down the slope, lurching with a sort of giddy dignity. The road leveled out and straightened, water glimmering cold and metallic in the ruts.
"Faster!" Dust-Mouth yelled. "Faster!"
Doan fed it the gas, and the car rolled stubbornly forward. Brush crackled damply under the fenders. "Faster!" Dust-Mouth yelled. "Oh, God! We'll never make it!"
Water sucked and gurgled evilly under them, brown streaked with rust-red, surface whipped into a froth of scummed bubbles. It tore at the front wheels and lapped eagerly at the fenders and seeped in coldly along the floor boards. Carstairs yelped indignantly and jumped up on the rear seat, arching his back like a cat.
Doan could feel the sand sliding away under the tires. "Oh, Go
d," said Dust-Mouth numbly.
The Cadillac twitched its rear end like an irritated dowager, and began to climb straight up a cut-bank. It skidded on the top, dipped daintily, made it with a defiant roar. The wheels spun and stopped.
"Well?" said Doan, wiping the perspiration and rain moisture off his face.
"Whew," said Dust-Mouth. "That there was the flat I spoke to you about."
"What was in it?"
"A flash flood. It'll maybe rise ten feet in five minutes. We're safe here, though."
"What'll we do--camp?"
"Naw. There's a shack just beyond that hump. I think we better hole up. I don't think we better drive no further right now."
"I don't think so, either."
They got out of the car and stood against the drive of the rain. The wind rippled the fur on Carstairs' back, and he ducked his head between his shoulders, glaring at Doan in squint-eyed disgust.
"Where the hell are we from that deposit?" Doan shouted, shielding his eyes with a raised forearm.
"Here."
"What?"
"It's right here. We're standing on it. All through this flat here. That's how I spotted it. Another flood washed some out in the flat."
"Where's the shack, then? Let's go."
"Come on--"
Edmund stepped out from behind the car. He had his coat collar turned up, and his left hand grasped it tight around his throat. His hair was plastered flat and slick down over his forehead, and water ran down from it in jagged streaks. He was holding a stubby, shiny revolver in his right hand.
"Well, Edmund, my boy," said Doan. "How are you and all that?"
Edmund's lips looked white and stiff. "Put your hands up."
"Sure," said Doan amiably, raising them.
"Keep your dog close."
"Come here, stupid," Doan ordered.
Carstairs edged in reluctantly against his leg.
"I surprised you," said Edmund.
"Well, yes," Doan admitted. "You might say you did, to some extent. How'd you get here?"
"I came with you--in your luggage compartment."
"Well, well," said Doan.
Edmund lifted his upper lip. "You didn't think, did you, Mr. Doan, that during the course of your nonsensical and childish game of pretending to be an enemy agent that you might run across a real one?"
"I wouldn't want to upset you or disappoint you at this moment," Doan answered, "but yes. I had an idea I might. I must admit that I didn't think it would be you, though. It's too bad, too. I mean, you were a pretty good desk clerk. As a spy, I can't give you so much."
"What?" Dust-Mouth exclaimed suddenly. "Hey!"
Edmund's shiny revolver moved an inch. "I told you to put up your hands."
"Who are you?" Dust-Mouth bellowed.
"Meet my pal, Edmund," Doan said. "He was the desk clerk at the Orna Apartment Hotel in the good old days."
"He said he was a spy!"
"I heard that, too."
"What's he doin' here?"
"Pointing a gun at you. Haven't you noticed?"
"You'd better put up your hands," said Edmund.
"Why, you little stinker," said Dust-Mouth. "Gimme that gun before I make you eat it."
He took a step forward, lowering his head.
"Look out!" Doan yelled.
Edmund fired. The wind took the sound of the report and shredded it and whipped the remnants away. Dust-Mouth turned around and stumbled on legs that were suddenly loose and wobbly under him, and then he went down headlong, and the rain splashed and stained itself on his face.
Edmund's tongue flicked across his lips. Doan stood rigid. Edmund breathed in slowly at last, and Doan relaxed just slightly.
"That is what happens to people who don't do what I tell them," Edmund said.
"Sure," said Doan.
"Roll him over the bank. Keep your hands up."
Doan inserted his toe under Dust-Mouth's body and flopped him over, once and then again. The edge of the cut-bank crumbled, and Dust-Mouth went down the steep side of it like a ragged, molting bundle. The roiled water splashed coldly over him. It heaved his body up once, and he stared at Doan with eyes that were wide and amazed under the red hole in his forehead, and then the water flipped him over much as Doan had done and dragged him greedily down out of sight.
"All right," said Doan. "What's next?"
Edmund felt behind him and opened the rear door of the Cadillac. "Tell your dog to get in there," he said, sidling away from the car.
"Get in," Doan said, nudging Carstairs with his knee.
Carstairs climbed slowly into the car. Edmund slammed the door.
"Turn around."
Doan turned around. Edmund came closer and pushed the shiny revolver against his spine.
"Don't move."
Doan stood still. Edmund's hand slid lightly over his shoulder and retrieved the .25 automatic from the breast pocket of his coat. The hand disappeared, came back empty, and slipped the Police Positive out of Doan's waistband.
Edmund moved backward cautiously. "Open the door and let the dog out. Keep him close to you."
Doan obeyed. Carstairs sat down on the sand, his ears tucked low against the whip of the wind, and examined Edmund with a sort of speculative interest.
"Well?" said Doan, doing the same.
"We'll go to the shack," said Edmund. "There are some things I wish you to tell me. Walk that way. Walk slowly. Keep your hand on the dog's collar. I'll shoot you instantly if you don't do exactly as I say."
Doan turned around and headed into the wind with Carstairs walking beside him. The rain slashed at Doan's face in slanting flicks, and the sand packed heavily on his shoes. The faint straggle of a path led around a knoll and through scarred, knee high brush, and then the shack loomed at a little higher level across the draw in front of them.
It was small, no more than about twelve-by-twelve, made of odd-size lumber that had weathered and warped, and it had a roof shingled with flattened five-gallon tins and a stovepipe chimney that drooped disconsolately.
Doan stopped when he saw it.
"Go on," Edmund ordered.
"You've got visitors."
"What?"
"There's someone inside," Doan said. "If they're friends of yours, it's okay by me, but I wouldn't like to get caught in a crossfire."
The revolver nudged into Doan's spine again, and he could sense rather than hear Edmund's heavy breathing just back of his ear.
"How do you know there's someone inside?"
Doan pointed down. Carstairs was staring at the but with his ears pricked forward sharply, his head tilted a little. The stunted brush along the sides of the draw clashed and chittered uneasily, and rain ran curiously around among exposed roots.
Edmund moved closer against Doan's back. "Hello!" he shouted suddenly. "Hello!"
A voice came back like a flat, muffled echo. "Hello!"
Edmund sighed noisily. "It's all right. Go ahead."
Doan dug his heels in and slid down the bank. The sand at the bottom of the draw sucked mushily under his shoes, and he climbed up the other side, skidding slightly.
The braced door of the shack moved a little, uncertainly, and then opened back and revealed a square of dim, blue gloom. Rain slapped and spattered on the tin roofing and drooled messily down from the eaves.
"Inside," said Edmund.
Doan and Carstairs edged through the door.
"Why, Mr. Doan," said Harriet Hathaway.
She was sitting down on the floor against the wall at Doan's right with her feet out in front of her. Blue was sitting beside her with his feet out, too. He was studying them with gloomily absorbed interest. He looked like a man who has been suspecting the worst and has just found out that it is all too true.
MacAdoo was sitting on a nail keg against the opposite wall. His sombrero was spotted blackly with rain, and some of the colors had run from the band across its wide, tilted brim. He looked worried, but not about the rifle he was holding on
his lap. He seemed to be quite at home with that.
"Don't tell me," said Doan. "Let me guess. It's old home week."
Edmund shoved the revolver against his back. "Get out of the way."
Doan and Carstairs stepped sideways in concert.
"Hello," MacAdoo said to Edmund.
"So it's you," said Edmund. "What do you mean by coming here?"
MacAdoo moved the rifle to indicate Harriet and Blue. "They were following you. I followed them. I thought I'd best collect them and bring them along."
"What were you following me for?" Edmund asked.
"Oh, you," said Harriet. "What would anyone want to follow you for? I mean, you're just a desk clerk. I mean, we weren't following you at all. We didn't even see you. We were following Mr. Doan."
"Why?" Doan asked.
"You were acting suspiciously. Sneaking."
"Don't blame me," said Blue. "I was agin the whole idea." He had shaved, and his skin looked new and pink and polished. He still wore his black glasses.
"Well, you know it was a good idea," Harriet told him. "Just look. I mean, it's obvious that there is some kind of a subversive plot going on somewhere. Just why are you neglecting your duties in this frivolous manner, Mr. Doan?"
"Ask Edmund," Doan advised.
"Be quiet," said Edmund. "Speak when you're spoken to." He nodded coldly at MacAdoo. "How did you get here ahead of us?"
"Drove," MacAdoo answered. "I've got no governor on my car. I passed you back at the crossroads."
"Well, why did you come here?"
"I thought--"
"Tchah!" said Edmund contemptuously. "Thought! You do nothing but think. This is a time for action, not thinking. You should have killed them somewhere else."
"What?" said Harriet.
"Who?" said Blue.
"Tchah!" Edmund said. "When you meddle, you die."
"It's no act," Doan told them. "He means it."
"But why?" Harriet demanded shakily.
"Be quiet," Edmund ordered. "Perhaps I will rape you before I kill you, although I don't think it would be worth my time. You." He jabbed the revolver at Doan. "Sit down there beside them. Keep your hands folded in your lap."
Doan sat down and extended his feet. Carstairs sat down in front of him.
"Where'd you get that rifle?" Edmund asked MacAdoo.
"Bought it."
The Doan and Carstairs Mysteries Page 32