Girl on a Slay Ride

by Louis Trimble

  Thoms returned to the bench. He lit a cigarette and took one puff. He threw the cigarette away and clamped his lips together tightly.

  “Your boy Thoms is strictly a land sailor, Graef,” Mallory said gibingly.

  “Nick will make it,” Graef answered.

  “I don’t like the whole deal,” Thoms said.

  “In three hours or so it’ll be all over,” Graef said.

  “Isn’t that right, Ole?”

  “About that,” Ole said. “I drop you where I said. My man’ll be there with a car. Drive to Nanaimo and take the boat across to Vancouver—like any bunch of tourists. Get off the boat, sleep, wake up in Vancouver, get on the ship, sail out. That’s it.”

  “It’s a foreign country,” Thoms said. “They’ll spot us right off.”

  “They speak English,” Graef said with gentle amusement. “And up here there are always lots of tourists.”

  “Anyway,” Ole said acidly, “you don’t look different from half the men they got in the Vancouver jails.”

  Graef chuckled. Thoms glared but said nothing. The boat caught a series of currents and began to pitch sharply. Mallory saw Blalock’s tightly trussed body roll back and forth across the narrow space between the benches.

  Blalock stopped face up. His eyes were open. Mallory could see the milkiness in them. Blalock had been off in his other world since Mallory had seen him in the car. The shock of being caught must have sent Blalock back. Or was it the thought of losing the money? Mallory’s eyes traveled to the money box resting along with the briefcase beside Graef.

  Mallory said, “A little more of this and Thoms will be hanging over the rail.”

  “Leave him alone,” Graef said sharply. “Relax, Nick. He’s just riding you.”

  “I know what he’s doing,” Thoms said. “I got a score to settle with that schlunk, too.”

  “You can drop him over the side when we get out where Ole says is the right place.”

  Mallory lifted his head slightly and looked at Ole. “How much do you get for this kind of job, skipper?”

  Ole glanced at him briefly. “Enough.”

  Mallory said, “Graef is sitting beside a hundred and forty thousand dollars. How much of that do you get for helping to kill three people and to smuggle two men out of the country?”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Graef said. “Ole knows what kind of money this is. He knows he can’t spend any of it.”

  Mallory said softly, gibingly, “Did you tell him it’s marked, Graef? Because that’s a crock and you know it.”

  “Every bill is marked!” Graef said.

  “Ole,” Mallory said, “did you know that Graef and Thoms are wanted for killing a cop? And for kidnaping Blalock? And the F.B.I. is looking for Blalock. Did you know you were fooling with the government, Ole?”

  There was no sign he was getting anywhere. Ole’s tight, weathered features remained impassive.

  Graef said, “You’re just wasting breath, Mallory.”

  Mallory said, “Ole, there’ll be a fat reward for Blalock. Did Graef tell you that?”

  Graef said, “Nick, do something about Mallory.” He was beginning to sound edgy.

  Mallory watched Thoms stragger to his feet. Thoms braced himself against the sharpening pitch of the little boat. Then he started forward.

  Mallory drew up his knees as Thoms bent down to step between the V-shaped bunks. Thoms took another step. Mallory lashed out with his legs. He caught Thoms with both heels on the cheekbones. Thoms went backward. His shoulder hit Ole. The boat slewed momentarily as Ole’s hands were jarred from the wheel.

  Thoms lost his balance and fell half on Blalock and half on Graef’s lap. Thoms rolled onto the floor and lay face down.

  Mallory laughed.

  Graef began to curse. He stood up and kicked at Thoms. “Do something! I told you to do something!”

  Mallory said to Ole, “Graef can’t stand being touched.”

  Ole cackled. “You sure know how to put the boots to a man, mister.”

  Mallory didn’t answer. He was watching Graef. Graef stopped kicking at Thoms and he sat down again. His lips were rimmed with white. His face had begun that ticlike twitching again. Mallory felt he had gained a point. As long as he could gain even a little on Graef, he could feel hope.

  Graef said finally, “All right, Mallory, that was your round. But the rest of them will be mine.”

  Mallory laughed again. Thoms got up off the deck and dropped onto the bench. He sat with his head in his hands. His body rocked back and forth to the movement of the boat.

  Outside a foghorn bleated. Ole made no move to answer it.

  A swell caught them roughly and rolled Denise’s face sharply against Mallory’s. Her dark eyes were enormous staring into his. He could see the panic filling them.

  He whispered roughly, “This is no time to lose your head.”

  Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Their faces were very close. He could feel the feathery brush of her lips. An idea struck him.

  Mallory said softly, “Move a little closer, Denise, and kiss me.”

  She moved her head; her mouth rested on his lightly, briefly.

  He whispered, “Not like that. Like you meant it.”

  “Here? With them watching us?” she whispered back.

  “Here,” he told her. “And make it look good. When I roll off the bunk, you roll with me.” He felt her hesitation. “It’s our only chance, damn it.”

  He saw understanding spread slowly over her face. She made a half-laughing, half-gasping sound. She drove her head forward, bruising his mouth with hers.

  A foghorn bleated outside again. It sounded very close. The rhythm of the motor slacked off sharply.

  Thoms said, “We’ll get hit in this damn fog!”

  Ole said disgustedly, “Calm down, mister. That ship’s a good quarter nule away.”

  Graef said, “Be quiet, Nick. Ole knows what he’s doing.” Mallory could hear the nervous sharpness in Graef’s voice. “When do we get to the middle of the Strait, Ole?”

  “Another five minutes,” Ole said.

  “Hear that, Nick?” Graef said. “In five minutes you can get rid of Mallory.”

  Mallory pulled his lips back. “Hear that?” he demanded of Denise. “Keep kissing me. And make it look good. Very good.”

  She thrust her head forward again. Mallory’s lips parted under the sudden, wicked flick of her tongue. She pulled his lower lip between her teeth and bit down.

  He could see the change taking place in her eyes, still wide open, looking at him. The fear was draining away. The eager, wanton excitement was coming back. He felt it rising in himself.

  He strained toward her, sliding his body to the edge of the bunk. He made a final move as if to get his body closer to hers. He slid off the edge of the bunk and landed jarringly on his side. Denise rolled and landed half on top of him.

  Her eyes were squeezed shut now. He could hear the gustiness of her breathing. She ground her loins against his body. Her mouth moved excitedly over his face with little nibbling motions.

  Mallory realized with a shock that Denise had forgotten why they were doing this. She was no longer pretending at all.

  Chapter XXI

  THEY lay face to face in the narrow V-shaped space between the bunks. Their bodies pressed together, their mouths worked hungrily against each other. Mallory could feel the tautness of Denise’s muscles as she wriggled tighter and tighter against him.

  And he could feel the excitement from her actions rise in him. He had to fight to remember to do what he had started out to do.

  “I haven’t seen anything like that since the stage version of Tobacco Road,” Graef commented. “Nick, you’re missing something.”

  “Better’n burlesque,” Ole said, and cackled.

  Thoms had begun to make retching sounds in his throat. He got to his feet and walked spraddle-legged toward the afterdeck.

  Mallory felt Denise’s hard, bold breasts touch ag
ainst his chest. The sharp tips of her fingers scratched across the back of his hands.

  He pulled his mouth back slightly. “Lift your wrists just a little.”

  “I can’t,” she whimpered. “The ropes are cutting me.”

  “Come on,” he panted. “More, Denise—there.” His fingers touched the knots binding her wrists together.

  He could see the sweat on her face as she strained with her forearm muscles. He realized suddenly that they were no longer kissing and he laid his mouth back on hers.

  She thrust with her loins. He pulled back slightly, “Give me room to work!”

  “I keep forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing,” she gasped.

  Her breath was hot on his face. Her eyes opened and he saw the film covering them. He could feel the tumescent heat rising from her. She began to writhe frantically against him.

  “Man,” Ole said, “look at that.”

  “I am looking,” Graef said. He sounded amused, relaxed. He was back in form, Mallory thought.

  “Blalock,” Graef said. “Do you want to look too? Come on and see what you’re missing.”

  Blalock’s fat body continued to roll soggily back and forth. He gave no sign that he had heard.

  Mallory arched his body away from Denise’s as he felt the knots in her ropes give a little. He plucked faster with his fingers. Her wrists moved apart a fraction of an inch.

  “Just a little more,” he breathed.

  She made a shaky, laughing sound. “I want a lot more,” she said.

  Mallory pulled one knot completely loose. “Now pull. Okay?”

  He felt her wrists separate. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled his knees up a little to shield his hands from the men watching. “Now untie mine.”

  “Don’t stop kissing me. They’ll suspect,” she moaned.

  Mallory was growing tired. His neck muscles were under constant strain from holding his mouth to hers. He whispered, “Hurry,” and began to twist his lips against hers with a passion that grew harder to control.

  The ropes loosened quickly. Mallory held his arms together and flexed his fingers and wrists. Denise’s hands slipped away from his. They began to work on his shirt buttons.

  “All right,” Mallory said, “we can quit now.”

  “Not yet, Cliff,” she panted. “Just another minute like this.”

  The foghorn sounded closer off the port bow. Mallory felt the speed of the boat drop still more as Ole cut the throttle sharply. Ole swore and swung the wheel hard to port. The sudden heeling of the boat slammed Denise’s body against Mallory, pressing him against the door to the locker beneath the bunk.

  Ole straightened the wheel. Mallory made a frantic effort to keep up with Denise as her body rolled away from him. He was too late. His untied wrists would be obvious to anyone watching.

  Graef was leaning forward, both hands gripping the edge of the bench to prevent himself from being flung about. He was staring at Mallory.

  Graef said, “Well, well. Thanks for the performance, both of you. It was delightful. Now come forward, Mallory, and take your bow.”

  He lifted one hand and dropped it into his pocket. He brought out his gun and let it rest on his leg.

  Mallory got slowly to his feet. Denise rolled to a sitting position. She dropped her head in her hands. He could hear her sobbing with deep, shuddering sounds.

  Graef said, “When can we dump him, Ole?”

  Ole cocked his head. He said, “Soon as that foghorn fades a little. Then we’ll have the water all to ourselves.”

  “Very good,” Graef said. He made a motion with his gun. “Come along, Mallory.”

  Mallory stopped as he stepped alongside Ole. “Why should I? What’s the difference to me whether I go into the water dead or alive? If you want me, come and get me.”

  “I don’t want to mess up Ole’s boat,” Graef said.

  Mallory turned suddenly and leaned across Ole. He reached for the controls. His fingers plucked at the ignition key. He felt the touch of the metal against his skin. Then he felt the hard, sharp edge of Ole’s gnarled hand against the side of his neck. He swung an elbow toward Ole’s face. The old man was quick, Mallory thought. Too quick.

  The hand chopped again. Mallory felt himself sliding. A fist jolted him. He made a soggy sound as he struck the deck. He landed close to Blalock’s sluggishly rolling body. He could smell the sour sweat smell of the man. He thought he could hear Graef laughing as he reached desperately for consciousness.

  He lost the sound of water rushing alongside the hull, the feel of the current, the raucous cry of foghorns. He was barely able to distinguish movement through faint, hazy consciousness. Rough angry hands seemed to be pawing at his body. His head was lifted and then dropped, thudding to the deck. There was a sudden strange, enveloping coldness. He was being moved; the coldness increased.

  He felt the touch of wet, fog-filled air. He opened his eyes and he stared at white water foaming in the boat’s wake. He could see an outboard-powered dinghy dragging on the end of a painter. The little boat bobbed in the rough wake. Watching it made Mallory dizzy; he tried to look away.

  Slowly, he became conscious of rope biting viciously into his wrists. He twisted his head and looked over his shoulder. He discovered that he was naked. He watched groggily as Nick Thoms used one end of a length of rope to lash his ankles. The rope was about a yard long, and the other end rested loosely on a small anchor.

  Graef came on deck. He said, “Make sure your knots are good ones, Nick. We wouldn’t want Mallory to get loose from the anchor and float to the surface.”

  Thoms dropped the rope suddenly and hurried to the stern rail. He hung over it, his shoulders heaving with violent spasms of retching. He straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was drawn and covered with globules of sweat.

  Mallory saw that Graef was watching him. He let himself sag as if he’d given up fighting at last. He dropped over onto his back. His legs perked convulsively toward his stomach. He hoped that he looked like a man cramped with fear.

  Graef said, “Hurry up, Nick. Ole doesn’t want to stay out here any longer than necessary.”

  “The sooner I get Mallory over the side the better I’ll like it,” Thoms said. He moved toward Mallory.

  The boat heeled suddenly. The cabin light went out. Thoms grabbed for the railing to brace himself. Graef caught the edge of the cabin and hung on.

  Suddenly Denise screamed, a high, wailing sound of pure terror.

  Graef said, “See to Mallory, Nick.” He opened the cabin door, gun in hand, and disappeared into the darkness.

  The afterdeck was dark and fog-shrouded. Mallory could barely make out Thoms as the big man staggered spread-legged toward him.

  Mallory said, “You haven’t got what it takes to put me over the side, Thoms. You puked all your strength into the ocean.”

  Thoms swore in a thick, gagging voice. He took a step toward Mallory, and another. Mallory squeezed an expression of fright onto his face. He pulled his knees tighter to his stomach. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his body. It was colder than the fog touching his bare skin. Why didn’t Thoms come closer? Why didn’t he bend down to tie the loose rope end to the anchor?

  Thoms took another step. He grunted as he bent, reaching for the rope.

  Mallory found himself grinning. He sent his legs straight out for Thoms’ body. His bare heels caught Thoms in the stomach. It was like ramming into corrugated iron sheeting. The shock jolted up into Mallory’s thighs and wrenched his hip joints.

  Thoms half straightened up. He threw out his arms to catch his balance. The boat snapped viciously as a swell caught it. Thoms staggered backward, toward the far rail, then caught himself by grasping the handle of the anchor winch. The boat heeled back. Thoms let loose of the winch handle and pounded straight at Mallory.

  Mallory had his legs pulled up again. He thrust upward as Thoms lifted a foot to kick him in the head. He rammed his fee
t into Thoms’ crotch. He rolled his hips up from the deck as if he were bringing his knees to his head in some grotesque exercise.

  Thoms’ forward momentum lifted him from the deck. He hung in the air, balanced on the fulcrum of Mallory’s feet. His retching, gasping breath bubbled into a scream and then stopped abruptly.

  He made almost no sound as he slid over the rail and into the water.

  Mallory rolled onto his stomach. He watched the fog-brushed surface of the water for some time.

  There was no sign of Thoms at all.

  Mallory wondered where he went from here.

  Chapter XXII

  MALLORY inched himself across the deck toward the anchor winch. The boat heeled, sliding his buttocks across the wet deck. Friction burned his skin.

  He felt the winch press against his shoulder blades. He worked himself to a sitting position and bumped backward until he could feel the winch against his spine. He used his elbows, digging them into rough metal, using them to lever up his body.

  He leaned backward until he felt the teeth in the winch gears catch in the rope holding his wrists together. He set the gear tooth as carefully into the rope as he would set a fly in a trout’s lip. He began to rock gently back and forth. He shifted direction, began moving sideways.

  The icy air flowing past his body numbed him. Now and then the fog lifted a little and he could see the dark churned surface of the strait. In the distance foghorns still sounded, lonesome across the expanse of water.

  The lights were on again but he could hear no sound at all from the cabin. He had heard nothing since Denise screamed.

  Graef couldn’t stay in there much longer, he thought. Soon he would have to come out to find why Thoms hadn’t reported. Mallory fought down an impulse to rub his ropes faster against the dull rough edge of the gear tooth. If the rope should slip off now, he would lose precious minutes regaining his position.

  His leg muscles felt as taut as guitar strings. The breath worked painfully up from his chest and into his throat. He could hear it rasping out of him in a succession of ugly grunts.

  Two strands of the wet rope parted. Mallory fought to stay in position. The remainder of the rope slipped away from the gear. He fell to the deck, sobbing in frustration.