Dangerous Legacy

by George Harmon Coxe

  “All right,” he wheezed. “Take it easy. I quit.”

  They moved with caution then, as if fearing some trick. Two of them now held guns on him while the third helped the fourth to his feet.

  One said, “Pumarito kavo agad!” and another added, “Come with us. You try to fight again we shoot!”

  “Don’t worry,” Rankin said. “I’ve had enough.”

  He let them move behind him, responding to their prodding. He marched past Charlie Love’s sedan at their direction, aware that one of the men climbed in, and continued to a larger sedan parked at the curb. As he got in he felt a deep and heart-warming satisfaction and had to concentrate mightily to keep from grinning.

  On the ride to town, Rankin sat in the back flanked by two who held guns, and in the front one drove while the fourth followed in Charlie Love’s sedan. Nothing was said and Rankin wondered if Silvestre was doing his stuff as they bumped over Jones Bridge and went along Rosario a few blocks before turning left and crossing a small stream or canal.

  Beyond this the street was walled by ancient wooden structures, more oriental-looking than other sections he had seen. The overhanging galleries were similar but the store windows were lettered with Chinese inscriptions and the people watching from the doorways were predominantly of that race.

  There were two blocks of such buildings and then the sedan angled in and stopped before a narrow wooden gate separating an open front market and what might have been a curio shop. The driver slid from behind the wheel and pushed a bell button in the gate and came back to the front seat. By this time the rear door was open and Rankin was being hustled out to the sidewalk by the two who guarded him with pocketed guns.

  Crowding him and keeping step, though they were shorter, they moved to the gate which opened just as they reached it. Ahead stretched a tunneled passageway ending in blackness and Rankin heard the sedan accelerate from the curb just before the gate closed behind him and the darkness became complete.

  He did not see who had opened the gate but walked along and counted his steps. There were twenty-two before they came to the end and stood in a small, square court, open to the sky but dark at this level. Here two sets of stairs mounted from opposite sides and there was another tunnel on the right which made a ninety degree angle with the one Rankin had just left.

  They went up the nearest stairs, moved through an entryway and climbed another, inside, flight. Someone knocked at the door at the top and it opened into a small hall. “In here,” someone said, pointing to a closed door on the right. Then, as he opened this, the door behind him closed and he heard the lock click.

  Spence Rankin hesitated with his hand on the knob, feeling for the first time that afternoon the small whisper of fear as doubt shadowed his thoughts. Slowly and with breath held, he turned his hand and pushed. A crack of light widened to meet him, its source a candle on a dusty rattan table.

  Then he was in the room, still clinging to the knob, hearing the creak of a chair as someone rose. In the thick shadows of the far wall he thought someone stirred on a cot but he jerked his head toward the first sound and Lynn Kane was standing there very straight and open-eyed and unafraid.

  Reaction struck swiftly then, the weakness coming as his breath rushed out. He started to say something and his throat was parched and he cleared it with difficulty. It was only a second that he struggled with his emotions, not knowing what to expect or quite what to say, and then she spoke and everything was all right.

  “Hello,” she said. “I was hoping you’d come.”

  He closed the door softly, pride welling up inside him at her courage and poise, grateful that there was no hysteria or emotional collapse. He stepped close and took her elbows in his hands so he could touch her and reassure himself that she was all right.

  She smiled up at him, her mouth soft, and there was something deep in the dark-violet of her eyes that made him want to hug her hard and dance for joy. He let his hands slide down her arms until he held her fingers; then he grinned.

  “I was hoping you’d be here,” he said. “You had us worried.”

  There were other things he wanted to say but he did not know how to start and wanted to maintain the easy level of confident matter-of-factness with which they had started. Then, as he released her hands, he heard a sound from the cot, and wheeled as a familiar voice said:

  “That you, Mr. Rankin?”

  “It’s Charlie Love,” Lynn said. “He—he’s hurt. They wouldn’t even bring me water to—”

  “Just a few bruises,” Charlie said, and then Rankin was beside him, seeing the half-closed eye and the puffy, discolored nose, and the caked blood about the mouth. “My car all right?”

  Rankin reassured him, while his mind galloped on. The beating the older man had received was mute evidence of what had happened but Rankin wanted details. He wanted to know how and when Charlie Love was taken.

  “You drove Marie from the café to the Kane garage and then took her home. Then what?”

  “That’s where they got me,” Charlie said. “I was kind of asleep at the switch. I see this car coming up in the rear-view mirror but what I don’t see is it stop beside me, two feet away, while two guys cover me from the windows. There ain’t anything I can do but get out and get in with them like they tell me. Four of ’em altogether,” he added as if this explained his helplessness.

  “Did Marie see it?”

  “Well—I don’t know.” Charlie hesitated, pondering. “You see, as we make the next turn I look back and she’s coming out of the house but I can’t tell if she saw me or not. Didn’t she say?”

  Rankin nearly told the truth, but he remembered in time that Lynn did not know about Marie and knew this was not the place to tell her. He said he forgot to ask Marie.

  “What happened then?”

  “They took him to the house,” Lynn said, “and tried to make him tell where Dad was. That’s how I happened to know the truth.”

  “She walked in on us,” Charlie said. “And after that Sanchez couldn’t let her walk out.”

  “When I left you yesterday afternoon,” Lynn continued, “I was too upset to work or even to think straight. I knew then you’d seen Dad and finally I had to go talk to Packy. I went to his office and he’d gone so I went home and his car was there, and another out back, but he wasn’t upstairs and so I went down to the basement rooms. We used to go there when they were fighting for the city and I spent a lot of time in those two rooms when I was smuggled out of Santo Tomas.”

  She sat down, the planes and angles in her tawny face strangely set. “And I walked in without knocking and Packy was there with five other men and I didn’t see Charlie at first. I started to tell Packy what you’d said—I seemed to know you were right and yet some part of my mind wouldn’t let me believe it—and then I saw Charlie and the blood on his face. Somehow I knew what was happening but I didn’t know who he was then, and I started to run.” She sighed and glanced down at her hands. “They caught me,” she said. “They brought us here when it was dark.”

  It was clear enough to Rankin then, all but one sentence, and he remembered what Howard Austin had said about this girl, and it was all true. She’s just the kind that would shoot off her mouth and never think of being scared, Austin had said, and somehow Rankin was glad now that she was this way.

  “What did you mean, you didn’t know Charlie then?” he asked.

  “He used to run the coconut oil factory for Dad,” she said. “In Mindanao.”

  “Down Zamboanga way,” Charlie offered. “A long time ago. She came there one summer when she was a little girl.”

  “And he made things for me with a knife and I thought he was wonderful but the only name I knew was Charlie. I didn’t know who he was the night we went out to dinner but he’s been helping Dad the past months and Packy couldn’t make him tell where Dad is and—”

  She choked up suddenly and began to cry. Rankin went to her as her head came down in her hands. He wanted to feel the soft blo
ndness of her hair and touched her shoulder, speaking with more confidence than he felt.

  “It’s okay, Lynn,” he said, his voice husky. “You’ve been swell and you can’t let it get you. We’ll get out of this all right.”

  “That’s not what I’m crying about,” she said through her hands. “I’m not afraid of that. It’s just that I’ve been such a complete idiot and now everyone’s in trouble….”

  She said more between sobs and Rankin let her go, understanding her anger and the sense of guilt that fed it because it was a thing he was familiar with.

  “But he was always so sweet and thoughtful,” she said. “I knew he got me out of Santo Tomas for money but after the city was free he wanted me to stay and let me do whatever I wanted. There wasn’t anyone else—until I got the job with Jerry Walsh—but Howard, and I couldn’t always talk to him. I knew what some others thought about Packy but he never tried to defend himself to me and so I defended him when I could and wouldn’t listen and—”

  She broke off and dropped her hands. She lifted her head and shook her hair back and the lamplight caught the determined smile through her tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel better now. Could I borrow your handkerchief?”

  Rankin gave her one. He watched her brush her hair back from her forehead and when her chin came up the fine warm glow in his chest expanded and he smiled. He said loyalty was a fine thing and she said yes, if one had sense enough to direct it properly.

  Somewhere in the house the sound of footsteps vibrated faintly and she heard this and stood up, her eyes inspecting his face feature by feature in some way he did not understand.

  “Do you remember the other night,” she said, “when you told me the first one was free but I’d have to ask for the next one? Well, may I have it now?”

  Charlie Love caught on quickly. A deep chuckle came from the cot as Rankin reached for her, without embarrassment, finding that he wanted this kiss more than anything he could think of. It was not a long kiss, nor hard, but sweet and moving and when he lifted his head he put his chin against her forehead and held it there before he released her.

  Then the steps were distinct upon the stairs and he heard the door at the top being unlocked. Stepping away from the girl, he glanced about, having no plan but merely taking stock. They had taken the gun away from him in the car but he still had the knife—the trick one that had been thrown at him aboard ship—and he said, wanting to know how Charlie Love felt:

  “What do you say, Charlie?”

  “I think I’d take it easy, Mr. Rankin,” Charlie said and sat up on the edge of the cot.

  “Yes,” Lynn Kane said. “Please, Spence.”

  Pascual Sanchez came in a moment later, followed by De Borja and one of the men who had brought Rankin here. They stood by the door, hands in pockets, as Sanchez advanced. He rubbed his palms and spoke with undisguised satisfaction.

  “We’re all here, I see…. Want to talk now, Charlie?”

  “Not now, Mr. Sanchez,” Charlie said, “nor any other time.”

  “Yes.” Sanchez grunted softly, but he did not sound perturbed. “I figured on that. Fortunately there is another and simpler way.” He glanced at Lynn. “I’m sorry about this,” he said.

  “Yes, you are,” Lynn said. “You were decent to me only because you thought I might find out where my father was.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Sanchez spoke without regret. “Not that I wasn’t fond of you at first. You’re good company, Lynn; you’re decorative and nice to have around. But when I learned your father was alive”—he tipped one hand in mid-air—“Well, you understand why I wanted you to stay. You see, I mean to have that mine and so this—or something like this—would have happened sooner or later. I found out about Ulio and when I knew he was coming I knew he’d tell you the truth about me, which made your awakening only a matter of time. I’m sure you understand that if there was any other way—”

  “I understand perfectly,” Lynn said evenly.

  As if considering the matter closed, Sanchez addressed Charlie Love, a new briskness coloring his voice. “I’ve got a job for you, Charlie. I’m sending you up in the hills with Sixto.” He indicated De Borja’s companion.

  “Where ’bouts in the hills?”

  “Wherever John Kane is.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ll change your mind if you think a little harder. You will drive and Sixto will have a gun on you until you have gone a certain distance. Then he will give you the gun and become your hostage.”

  Sanchez paused and the room was still except for Charlie Love’s labored breathing.

  “If you decide not to play,” Sanchez said, “you can do as you like with Sixto but I have assured him that there is little likelihood of this happening. Since you will be holding the gun and since Sixto will be your prisoner you can drive to John Kane and then it will be up to John Kane whether he wants to come back.”

  Rankin got it then, and it was such a simple idea and so clever in its conception that he felt a grudging respect for Sanchez’s evil shrewdness. Charlie Love took a little more time.

  “I take over from Sixto,” he said, “and drive him to John Kane and if John doesn’t want to play we’ll have Sixto.”

  “And I’ll have Lynn and Rankin. After that I will do what I have to do.” Sanchez put on his droop-lidded smile. “That’s why I think Kane would like you to go with Sixto. You can tell him I will give him until dawn—or say, six o’clock.”

  “Suppose Kane decides to come back?”

  “You and he will return with Sixto. We’ll fix up a proper deed for the mine and everything will be lovely.”

  Rankin thought of Esteban and Silvestre. He knew that when Charlie Love thought it over he would do as Sanchez said. He also felt there was some hidden gimmick in the scheme that would somehow wreck his well-laid plans. Presently it came.

  “Of course, we won’t be waiting here,” Sanchez said. “And it will do you no good to be nasty to Sixto because he won’t know where we’ll be either. He will direct you to a certain address and from there, if everything is as it should be, you and Kane will be taken to the proper place. Is that understood?”

  Charlie Love stood up. He would not look at Rankin or at Lynn. “I guess I’d better go,” he said. “Come on, Sixto.”

  “One minute.” Sanchez moved to the door and took out an automatic that could have been a .32 caliber. “You will make clear to John Kane what will happen to Lynn and Rankin if there is any trouble.”

  “Oh, nuts,” Lynn said contemptuously. “Tell him nothing of the kind, Charlie…. You’re a thief and a faker,” she said to Sanchez, “and I hope Dad calls your bluff.”

  Charlie did not answer; neither did Rankin. He did not share Lynn’s conclusion but he was glad she had it now because it was better that she be unafraid as long as possible. Charlie and Sixto started out and Sanchez spoke to De Borja in Spanish and De Borja followed them out.

  Sanchez remained by the door. “Sit down, Rankin,” he said. “Stay that way. You’re a very troublesome and determined young man. I admire your courage. But if you move from that chair I shall shoot.”

  Rankin, having no doubt about Sanchez, sat still. He decided it would be a good time for Silvestre and Esteban to break in but had no hope that they would. And so they waited ten minutes until De Borja came back with two others.

  They went out and down the stairs to the court. Sanchez spoke to De Borja, who was holding Lynn’s arm. Rankin waited, flanked by the other two gunmen. Then Sanchez turned and went down the tunneled entrance through which Rankin had entered.

  Instead of following, De Borja gestured toward the other tunnel which was at right angles and led, Rankin was sure, not to the street where Silvestre waited and was ready to follow, but to another where no one would see them or care.

  He wanted to cry out in protest and half turned. Then Lynn and De Borja had disappeared and the two who held his arms tightened beside
him as they sensed his indecision. And so, with the bottom dropping slowly out of his stomach, he moved after Lynn, not bothering to pace off the distance, not bothering about anything until they came out on a darkened street he did not recognize and got into the same heavy sedan that had brought him here.

  20

  IT STARTED TO RAIN as they rolled along the Escolta and jogged over to Rizal. The holes in the paving filled quickly and the dust that had covered the city became a viscous, oily mess that looked sleek and black in the car’s headlights as they drove north.

  Lynn Kane sat between the two men in front, her blond head level with theirs, her eyes straight ahead. Rankin watched the streets, trying to glance back now and then to see if they were being followed. He had no great hope of this and when the men beside him moved closer, he found it impossible to get a good look. There were too many cars and too many lights and nothing at all for him to do but wait until the sedan slowed at a corner two or three miles out.

  There was a night club here with an electric sign he could not read, a two-story, jerry-built structure with shaded second-floor windows that mirrored the lights below. There was a parking lot beside and behind the building and the car, turning at the corner, swung through the rear of this and pulled up behind a squat stucco structure that looked like a garage.

  The rain had slackened some when they got out and Rankin noticed that the building had no windows. He thought he saw a skylight but he was not sure and moved behind Lynn and De Borja to a door at the rear, hearing faintly the sound of the club’s orchestra before he stepped into the lighted interior.

  Lynn was standing in the center of the one large room, inspecting it with an expression that needed a lorgnette. “How perfectly charming,” she said. “Ugh,” she said and shivered.

  “Yeah,” Rankin said. “Porky should be able to do better than this.”