Girl on a Slay Ride

by Louis Trimble

  Chapter VII

  MALLORY’S stomach muscles knotted with anxiety. Denise’s leg came back against his, bumping sharply.

  Graef observed, “I wouldn’t have thought Mallory was that type.” Mallory watched him from the corner of his eyes. He could hear Thoms turning and saw him shove the briefcase into Graef’s hands.

  “People’s possessions tell a lot about them,” Graef said. His voice took on a thoughtful note. “I see that this is locked.”

  Mallory said nothing. He wondered if Graef had known about the securities all along and was playing with him, or if this interest in the briefcase was just another example of the usual Mallory luck.

  Graef said, “Give me the key, Mallory.”

  “No,” Mallory said.

  The wagon was at the beginning of a sharp curve. Mallory kept the wagon at fifty, slewing it into the curve. He let the wheel loosen under his fingers. The back end whipped toward the inside of the road. There was a shallow ditch on the far side of the shoulder. Mallory didn’t consider what he would do after the wagon slid into the ditch.

  Thoms pushed his arm over Mallory’s shoulder and grasped the wheel. He twisted it sharply in the direction of the skid. The wagon straightened cumbersomely. Thoms dropped the wheel and reached past Denise. His fingers flipped off the ignition. The wagon bucked as its speed dropped sharply.

  Mallory shrugged.

  “That was foolish,” Graef said. “You can’t hurt us without hurting yourself.” He sounded thoughtful. “You had better chances before this. But you waited until I became curious about your briefcase. I find that interesting.”

  “Do we just sit here or do we go on?” Mallory demanded.

  “We go on, but more slowly—and carefully. There’s a town not far ahead, I believe.”

  Mallory started the car. Graef said, “Now give me the key to this case.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll cut it open. I’d be sorry to do that. It’s made of very fine leather.”

  “For heaven’s sake, give him the key,” Denise said.

  Mallory took his key case from his pocket and tossed it to Graef; then he kept his eyes on the road. The town Graef had mentioned was just around the next curve. Already the trees were beginning to thin out. Signs advertising a café and a sporting goods headquarters appeared at the roadside. An ancient truck made the curve and came lumbering toward them.

  Mallory could hear the lock snap open as Graef found the right key. He didn’t turn his head but watched the road doggedly with his jaws clamped together tightly. Ahead was a town with people. Once they were among them, he couldn’t see how Graef could continue to hold them prisoner. He thought about the gas station and the café, the two businesses in the settlement. And there were telephones from which to call the State Patrol.

  He glanced toward Denise. She was watching him intently; she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Her lips framed the word “no.” He could see a stirring of the old fear in her eyes, and it puzzled him.

  Graef said musingly, “Well, well, negotiable securities. How much do you have here, Mallory?”

  “Forty thousand dollars worth,” Mallory said.

  “An interesting item to take on a fishing trip,” Graef said. “Or were you going to cash them before you went into the mountains?”

  Mallory said, “No.”

  Graef shrugged. “Let me see your purse, Mrs. Mallory.”

  “Go to the devil,” Denise said.

  Graef said, “Nick, get me her purse.”

  “Give it to him,” Mallory said quickly.

  Denise said, “The name is Lawton. Mrs. Denise Lawton.”

  “That’s better,” Graef said. His voice was musing. “Lawton. Lawton. That name should mean something to me. I’ll have to see your purse after all, Mrs. Lawton.”

  Denise handed it to him. Mallory heard the click of the catch. He heard Graef rustling through the contents of the purse.

  “Ah,” Graef said. He chuckled suddenly. “Mrs. Rick Lawton. What do you think of that, Nick?”

  Nick Thoms said, “Ain’t that something!”

  Graef chuckled again. “You’ve got more nerve than I thought, Mallory. You not only steal forty thousand dollars from your employer, but you help yourself to a man’s wife. And a very tough man at that.”

  The chuckle left his voice. “I’m beginning to understand Mrs. Lawton’s earlier remark now. You thought we were sent by your husband, didn’t you?”

  Denise said, “What difference does it make now?”

  “I told you I like to know about the people I deal with,” Graef said. “Why were you afraid Rick Lawton would send someone after you?”

  Denise didn’t answer. Graef, Mallory thought, was smart enough to know that there was more here than appeared on the surface. And he was enjoying watching Denise’s apprehension as he probed into her past.

  Graef said, “Shall I guess? Lawton is a society gambler. But the word lately is that he’s trying to branch out. Isn’t that right?” He seemed to be addressing Denise.

  “I didn’t concern myself with his business,” she said tartly.

  Graef laughed at her. “What did you do, Mrs. Lawton—steal some of his money and run off with Mallory? Or did you take some of his business records with you when you left with an eye toward blackmailing Mr. Lawton?”

  “We didn’t get along,” she said. “I left him.”

  “But not with his consent—or knowledge,” Graef said. “Or you wouldn’t have thought I was sent by him to find you. This is really very interesting, Mrs. Lawton.”

  Mallory slowed the wagon as a speed-zone sign appeared at the side of the road.

  Graef said, “Ah, the town I remembered. Pull into that gas station, Mallory. Go between the station house and the side of that café.”

  Mallory did as he was ordered. He cut the motor and sat with his hand resting on the steering wheel. He began to feel his nervous tension draining away. He could see a piece of a state patrol car parked almost out of sight at the rear of the café. He couldn’t understand how Graef planned to continue this farce now that the law was so close.

  Graef said pleasantly, “Mallory, you have the look of a man who holds the high cards.”

  Mallory said, “That’s right. You can’t do anything here. So take your friends and get out.”

  Graef laughed at him. “Do you agree with Mallory, Mrs. Lawton?”

  Denise was staring at Mallory. She whispered, “We can’t do anything. We don’t dare take the chance!”

  Mallory stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What chance are we taking?” he demanded. “There’s a police car behind the café. Do you think Graef would use his gun here? And if he thinks I’m afraid to yell for help because I’m carrying company securities, he’s crazy. You know that.”

  He looked past Denise to Graef. “A call to my boss will prove I didn’t steal those bonds, Graef.”

  Graef said, “I wonder what a call to Rick Lawton would prove, Mallory. A call telling him where his wife is and who she’s with.”

  Denise whispered tensely, “Don’t you see, Cliff?” Her voice rose in a burst of anguish. “I can’t call attention to myself! I can’t take a chance on Rick learning where I am. I can’t! I can’t!”

  Graef said, “I thought as much.” He sounded pleased with himself. “You see, Mallory, I wasn’t running a bluff to win the pot. I’m the one who holds the high cards.”

  His cold, muddy eyes probed Mallory’s expression. “You’re still thinking of taking a chance, aren’t you? Because you’re an ethical man, I suppose. Isn’t there a quotation, Mallory: ‘Better a dead hero than a live something-or-other’?”

  He lifted the gun and let it drop softly back to his leg. “Don’t force me to make a dead hero of you.” He paused and added quietly, “Or force me to take action against Mrs. Lawton to make my point with you.”

  Mallory felt empty. To have success so close—and then to lose it so easily!

  A gas-sta
tion attendant came around the side of the building. He started toward the wagon.

  Graef said, “Here’s your chance, Mallory. You can shout for help and let the world know where Mrs. Lawton is, or you can steer him away.”

  Mallory opened the door and stepped out of the wagon. Graef was right, he thought dully. He held the winning cards. Mallory knew that as long as he had this responsibility to Denise and for the securities entrusted to him, he would do nothing to risk either of them.

  He moved forward, blocking the attendant’s view of the wagon. He said, “We just want to eat. Mind if we park back here?”

  “Help yourself,” the man said. He showed no curiosity.

  Mallory could feel Graef and his gun waiting. The attendant turned and went back inside the small station building. Mallory realized that he was standing stiffly; he let his muscles loosen.

  He returned to the wagon. Graef was smiling his meaningless smile. “That’s a much better attitude to have, Mallory.”

  Denise said, “I’m sorry, Cliff.”

  He just nodded. Graef said, “Nick, keep our guests amused. Mallory and I will go in and eat and buy what we need. We’ll bring you out some food.”

  “Sure,” Thoms said.

  “And you know what to do if you hear any trouble.”

  “I know,” Thoms said.

  “I don’t think Mallory will be foolish enough now to risk exposing Mrs. Lawton. But I don’t take risks. Not even small ones.”

  He nodded at Mallory and started toward the café. Mallory followed him toward the entrance.

  Graef said, “I’ve seen your type before, Mallory. You’re quixotic. Try to remember that you’ll be tilting at more than windmills if you attempt an attack now.”

  “I’ll remember,” Mallory said wearily.

  He followed Graef into the café. A horseshoe shaped counter occupied the middle of a large room. Booths lined one wall. The other had a counter displaying fishing and hunting gear. At the rear was a selection of groceries. A single waitress seemed to be working the horseshoe and the booths. There were only two customers. One looked like a truckdriver. The other wore a state patrolman’s uniform. The face under the billed cap struck a chord of recognition in Mallory’s mind. Both customers were at the counter.

  “We’ll take the first booth,” Graef said. He gave no sign that the patrolman’s presence concerned him. He picked a newspaper off a rack as he passed it.

  Mallory sat facing the front door. Graef placed himself opposite, so that he could watch the café and the store. He slipped out the inside section of the paper and passed the remainder to Mallory.

  “Go ahead and read about it,” Graef said.

  Mallory let the paper lie folded by his elbow. He said, “Just what do you want with Mrs. Lawton and me, Graef?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Graef said with soft mockery. “We’re going camping—all five of us. But Nick and I are city boys out of the Middle West. We don’t know anything about your kind of country. So we need a guide. If you want to know why, read that newspaper I gave you.”

  Mallory opened the paper. He started to glance down and stopped. He was suddenly aware of the patrolman’s interest in them. The man had swiveled on his stool and was staring at their booth.

  “Know him?” Graef asked.

  Mallory looked back at the patrolman and remembered. He said, “We met last fall, hunting season.”

  “Then act like it.” Graef rustled his paper. “I have the gun at my side, Mallory. If there’s any trouble, I’ll shoot the cop first. You wouldn’t want an innocent man shot, would you?”

  Mallory made his mouth twist in a smile as he looked at the patrolman. To Graef, he said quietly, “Forget the dramatics. I told you I wouldn’t cut up.”

  “Just keep remembering that you told me,” Graef said.

  The patrolman slid off his stool. He came toward the booth. He stopped about a foot away. Mallory felt as if his smile had frozen on his face.

  The patrolman said, “Aren’t you Mallory?”

  “That’s right,” Mallory agreed. “You’re Griffin?”

  The patrolman’s expression eased. Mallory said, “Join us?”

  “I’ve got to get back on the road.” He was looking inquiringly at Graef, but he spoke to Mallory, “You must like it up here.”

  “Well enough to bring my friends,” Mallory said. He glanced at Graef. “This is the officer who saved me a twenty-mile hike last fall. The one who helped me pack the buck deer out when my wagon broke down.”

  “I remember your telling me about that,” Graef said. “I hope the wagon’s in better shape now. I’m not up to a twenty-mile hike.”

  The patrolman said, “It better be. I haven’t time to haul him out this year.” He dropped a thick finger onto the paper lying face up in front of Mallory. “We’re all alerted on that. Something isn’t is?”

  It was like a well rehearsed play, Mallory thought. Everyone delivered his lines without a bobble. He felt the dryness in the back of his mouth and throat. He hoped he didn’t forget his part. There was no prompter standing in the wings; there was only Graef—and his gun.

  Mallory let his eyes drop to the paper. He took in the red-inked headline:

  KIDNAPER-RAPIST ESCAPES

  • • •

  Beneath that, a large type head announced: BLALOCK ESCAPES WITH HELP OF CONFEDERATES. THREE-STATE MANHUNT UNDER WAY. OREGON UNDERSHERIFF KILLED.

  • • •

  And beside the headline was a full face cut of the fat man now sitting in the rear seat of Mallory’s station wagon.

  Chapter VIII

  MALLORY could feel the silence. He didn’t need to look at Graef to know that he was being watched. He didn’t need to look at the patrolman to know that he was expected to comment.

  “Something, all right,” he said. His voice sounded thick to his ears. He glanced at the patrolman and shook his head.

  The patrolman leaned farther over Mallory and stared down at the photograph. “Bastards,” he said. “Anybody’d who’d help a guy like that Blalock is a real bastard in my book.”

  Mallory wished the patrolman would go away. He could feel himself sweating. He could smell the sour, fear odor of that sweat. He was afraid the patrolman would smell it too.

  The waitress came up to the booth. “Coffee right away?”

  “Fine,” Graef said.

  The patrolman straightened up. Mallory let his breath run softly out of his chest. It had been tight, hurting. The waitress put down two glasses of water and laid typewritten menus in front of Mallory and Graef.

  The patrolman said, “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Graef. I’m a business acquaintance of Mallory’s. He’s been telling me about the fishing up here. It’s not my game, but he talked me into giving the country a try.” He spoke easily, naturally.

  The patrolman said, “It’s a great place for a vacation. No excitement, maybe, but the best hunting and fishing in the country.”

  Mallory gulped some water to ease the dryness in his mouth and throat. “The best,” he agreed.

  The patrolman nodded and started out. “I’m late on the highway now,” he said. “See you around.”

  “You bet,” Mallory said.

  “Glad to have met you,” Graef called.

  The patrolman’s boots made heavy sounds as he went toward the door. Mallory suddenly realized that he had one leg drawn up under the seat of the booth, in a position where he could swing it out at Graef. The muscles of the leg were knotted from strain. He let it relax, wondering what he actually thought he could do with a swing of his leg against a gun.

  “That’s right, Mallory,” Graef said, “Relax easy.”

  Mallory sat silently as the waitress set their coffee in front of them. He didn’t want anything to eat, not even coffee.

  Graef sounded cheerful as he ordered toast and coffee for both of them, and ham-and-egg sandwiches and coffee to go.

  The waitress left, and Graef said, “We c
an have a real meal after we set up camp.”

  Mallory shrugged and began to read the newspaper story carefully. A subhead in the story caught his eye. The words were cold and brutal in their simplicity: “Deputy Sheriff Murdered.”

  Mallory looked up to find Graef watching him. Graef’s eyes were cold and muddy. He said softly, “You see, another killing won’t make any difference now. Do you understand that, Mallory?”

  Mallory said, “Yes.” He looked down at the paper again.

  Mallory remembered the kidnaping of Mary Thompson, now. She was the daughter of a prominent Oregon lumber executive. Marvin Blalock’s plan to kidnap her and collect a hundred thousand dollars in ransom was so wild that few had ever doubted he would be ruled insane.

  Blalock had kidnaped the girl from her college campus by simply driving up behind the library at night and waiting until she appeared. He forced her into his car. He then drove to a long, straight stretch of beach on a deserted section of the Oregon coast. He was a war pilot who had psychoed out but he was a superb flier. He had a stolen plane at the beach. The tracks he left in the sand puzzled the authorities. They indicated he had the plane equipped with skis.

  The ransom note arrived in the next morning’s mail. It demanded a hundred thousand dollars in small, well used, and unmarked bills. The F.B.I. asked Thompson not to pay. But three days after the girl’s disappearance her parents received her dress in the mail. The next day her shoes and stockings arrived. The day after that her slip came. When her brassière reached Thompson, he ignored the authorities and went ahead on his own.

  He was instructed to leave the “money” in a Portland bus-depot public locker and to let the F.B.I. know what he was doing. But this was to be a dummy package. The real package of money he was to put in a metal card-file box and mailed to General Delivery, also in Portland. He was warned that if he admitted this to the authorities for forty-eight hours, he would never see his daughter. He followed instructions and kept silent.

  A later check by the F.B.I. showed that the money was left in the Post Office for a full day after it was received there. Then it was taken away by a man answering Blalock’s description. Two days later, the girl was returned. Blalock landed the plane on the same beach from which he had taken off. Only this time his undercarriage struck one of the numerous obstacles buried in the sand by the police. The plane nosed over.