"They're waiting on us out at the fairgrounds."
"What part of the fairgrounds?"
"They'll wait at the Twirly Whip. That's a carnival ride. It goes--" and he described it with some crazy hand waving.
"Okay, okay. We'll take a cab."
We walked out and I opened the door of the first taxi in the line. I watched the fat farmer as he got in, to see if he had prepared himself for battle. I could see no bulges on top of his own bulges. I followed him in.
"Fairgrounds," I said.
The cab lurched away from the curb and gears ground. I took a look at the driver. Another woman hackie--
Chapter 11
Kay Dixon
DAD didn't know what Lieutenant Fred Campbell of the police had told me--that a Bill Brown had escaped from them in a cheap hotel downtown, or that Dad's suitcase with about one-third of the ransom had been found in his room.
I hadn't said anything about it to Dad because I didn't want him to know it looked like the money had been divided between two or three people. I thought that meant they had done away with Mary Ann, and even if my own hopes were gone, I didn't want to shatter Dad's until it was absolutely definite. Of course, it was definite now, with Mary Ann's cold little body in the guest room.
Now what? We'd handed a man who said his name was Bill Brown five hundred dollars in cash, about a hundred dollars worth of Dad's clothes, and a loaded gun. And, knowing all that Lieutenant Campbell had told me, I'd let him walk out the front door like he owned the city. I had even taken our detectives off the case. Should I set them back on his trail? After the deal I'd made with Brown? Why in heaven's name had I made it?
I wished now that I had told Dad all I knew about Brown. I don't believe Dad would have been soft--nor soft-headed, like me.
The name, Bill Brown. And knowing he'd had Dad's suitcase full of the money, or some of it. I just couldn't honestly believe Brown's story about the suitcase being left with him by someone else. But why tell us all about it?
Because he felt sure we would have heard about it?
Yes.
How could I let him just walk out the front door? Because I was so desperate for revenge, and he talked fancy about a gang and how they were going to get away? Was that the reason I lost my head?
I did know that if I let even one person who had a hand in it get away, I'd never rest. That Bill Brown must have realized it, too--the way he played his tune about letting a gang escape if we didn't hire him.
Now here I stood, like a damn fool, waiting for him to turn his friends over to me. If they all got away together now wouldn't I be proud of myself? More especially if someone got hurt or killed by the gun I'd given this Bill Brown?
Was Bill Brown just a fake name, as Fred Campbell had said? If so, why would that tramp use it here? He knew the police had it. Why didn't he just make up another name, like Joe Black? Was he that dumb, to run around Dallas using a name he knew the police were after, when it was an alias to start with? Why? It just didn't make sense. He didn't seem to be too stupid, no matter what else he was. Did he just not give a damn? I got that impression, all right. A couple of times, just when I figured I had his hide nailed to the wall.
Coming here, of all places, and saying 'I'm Bill Brown'! It would be simpler to go to the police station and borrow a sheet of note paper to write his confession on. I wonder why he brought Mary Ann home? Of course I'm glad that we found her! But why did Brown bring her? Why should he care if we never found her? Conscience? No, I didn't think that was it. To make more money because Lieutenant Campbell got his share? That might be it. But, again, he wouldn't have had to use the name Bill Brown for that.
Brown looked like a hungry wrestler with just slightly hunched shoulders. But I watched him closely, and he handled Mary Ann's little body like he wouldn't want God to think he was responsible for the slightest bruise. His face was frank enough, and almost handsome, in a rugged way; but how many crooks and murderers could you say that about? He said they had beat his head in --whoever they were--and his eyes seemed to brim with pain and trouble. But he didn't show me any cuts or bruises or complain of any pain. I was afraid maybe I'd made an awful mistake, turning him loose in Dallas. Everything seemed to say he was the kidnapper, or one of them. Oh, I admit being with him in Dad's bedroom had given me ideas I should be ashamed of, but knowing myself, and with all the excitement, that was to be expected--not surprising.
I walked tiredly back into the library and sat on the arm of Dad's chair. I smoothed his hair back with one hand and started talking.
"Would you like to see Mary Ann, Dad?"
"No--Not Yet, Kay. I couldn't yet--Do you remember what I did with that whip? The last one I made out at the ranch?"
"I can find it with no trouble, Dad. But--Right now there's something else I want to talk about. Please, Dad."
I told him the whole story; all I knew about Bill Brown. Dad was quiet when I finished. I waited, knowing he was looking at it as I had, trying to read Bill Brown from what he now knew. He stirred and took a deep breath through open lips.
"Well, Kay, there's no way to be sure. Is there?"
"I'm not sure of anything, Dad; except that if I've done wrong, I'll never forgive myself."
"Forgive yourself? There's no reason for that kind of talk. None a-tall. In a wrangle like this, you never know what's right until it's blown over, Kay."
"Dad, do you think I should put the detectives back on the job? And tell the police?"
He considered it a long moment. "No. Neither bunch could find the Magnolia Building if you turned the lights off the flying horse. We'll wait and see what happens."
"I'm glad, somehow, that you said that, Dad."
"Kay--it's hard, this--loss. I never should have moved you all to town. It's my fault. A ranch was the place for us."
"Dad! Don't ever say things like that--hush! You're not to blame. It's more my own fault."
"Kay, I--"
I interrupted him. We were both close to the breaking point, and a Dixon just wasn't supposed to break. All Texas knew that.
"Never mind--I've lots to do now, Dad. I'm going to call Lieutenant Campbell first." The lieutenant had said he was working round the clock, so I dialed police headquarters. It was a good thing I didn't need him in a hurry. Having to wait so long made me less sorry about throwing him off the track. He finally answered.
"Lieutenant, Mary Ann is home," I told him. "Yes, they did--the worst. Some man brought her in. No, he didn't give his name. I was under great shock, naturally. And I gave him a reward. Five hundred--I don't know--he left here walking, I think. I can't remember if I heard a car--Well, he said he wasn't interested in publicity--Hold him? Now, Lieutenant, how could I hold him?--I couldn't say for sure; but I don't think so. He said he wasn't one of them, anyway--No, I'm afraid I couldn't even describe him. He was here such a short time, and under the circumstances I just--Yes--Yes--Yes, of course I realize now if we had cooperated with you sooner things might be different, but--I'm sorry, that's the best I can do! Really, Lieutenant, I feel so little like talking at all. You know it's hard for me to talk about it; even to you. But I felt it was a duty that couldn't--I'm awfully sorry, but I must go-- I've so much to do now, and these next hours will be very difficult for us. So if you don't mind--Good-by, Lieutenant."
My report hadn't been all lies, at any rate. I'd have to manage alone.
When Martha Jane had phoned me from the fair that she had lost Mary Ann, I told her not to come back to the house until she heard from me. And knowing Dad's temper, I'd sent the rest of the servants home, too. Dad was wonderful to his family, always; but he was a cold, brittle sample of terror to anyone else when he was in a rage.
I couldn't understand how in the world Martha Jane had lost Mary Ann in broad daylight. Like many of her superstitious race she had been so scared, she had cried and moaned into the phone so hysterically, I couldn't get any details about what had happened. Just that Mary Ann was lost, gone.
B
ut somebody was going to pay for this rotten deal, if I had to spend every oil well and every head of cattle we owned. Whoever paid wouldn't enjoy the method of collection, either. In all my years on the range, I had never seen any man as skillful with a bull whip as Dad was. I saw him use one on a cowboy once when I was about sixteen.
The hand had let his romance turn from guitar strumming to mauling me around quite a bit before I got away from him and ran into the house crying and yelping, with my denim shirt in tatters. The rest of the boys caught him before he got to the border and brought him back a few days later. Dad had been judge and jury, and the punishment still makes me shudder. But it had been thrilling and exciting, too. When the rash cowboy was able to travel again the boys escorted him to the border he had tried to make the first time. I felt sorry for him.
But I knew I would thrill at the sight of these kidnappers getting a taste of the whip! I went to the closet off the back hall and found the whip and took it to Dad. He fondled the short heavy handle, and I could guess his thoughts. With just a suggestion of motion he flicked the long lash across the room into the corner, like a striking snake. It was uncanny, his easy command of that writhing, searching coil. Deep inside me I felt a surge of fear mixed with pleasure.
"Thank you, Kay. Feels good in my hand again--Will you take care of the funeral arrangements, and call everybody that should know?"
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll take care of things."
"I hate to ask you to shoulder these burdens."
"Never mind. We'll find those men sooner or later, and I'll get as much satisfaction out of it as you will."
He didn't answer, and I went to my room to spare him from hearing the calls I'd have to make.
The undertaker was prompt in coming, and left with Mary Ann. Except for insisting on an evening funeral, which he objected to, I left most of the details up to him. A reminder that it was my grief, my wish, and my money, stopped his objections.
I called the newspapers and gave them bare essentials. They would distort everything anyhow; so the less they had to work on the less they could sensationalize. They weren't satisfied; but I hung up when they had what I decided to give them.
At last I was through. I soon began to feel lost, with nothing else that needed doing.
I showered and changed into a tailored linen suit just to kill time. I went down to the kitchen and browsed around, trying to think of something nice to fix for Dad. I fixed a bowl of beef broth and took it to him. He didn't want it, and as I threw it out I wondered if he would remember I had offered it to him.
I perked some coffee, drank a few swallows and poured the rest of the cupful into the sink. Then I went back up to my room. The inactivity was maddening. I doubted that Dad would stir for hours. I read the first sentence in a book four times and threw it across the room. I was listening for something and I wasn't at all sure what. I thought I'd like to have a report from Bill Brown, whether or not he was on our side; but I didn't really believe I'd ever see him again until I tracked him down.
I went downstairs and Dad was just the way I had left him; but the tip of the lash was in a different corner. I tried to think of more phone calls I should make, but I couldn't think of anyone. I opened the front door and looked out into the dusk and closed the door again. The house seemed so big and empty! I walked into the den and fixed myself a drink, but I had no taste for it and left it warming on the bar.
Not a sound in the whole house. I started back up to my room, but stopped because I knew there was nothing in there I hadn't picked up and put down again.
I sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. This quiet house was terrible, with Dad so upset and Mary Ann lying dead in some cold room in the funeral parlor.
A mean feeling took hold of me, a sudden yearning for pain, physical pain. Who would hurt me? There was no one around to even talk to me. I needed to be mauled, raped--anything to stop the vicious craving I felt inside.
I leaned against the staircase and forced my right breast between two of the posts, under the top rail. The space between was a tight fit. The pressure felt nice around my flesh. I hunched forward and downward, squeezing my breast into the narrower space lower down, where the posts were bigger around. I twisted my body as much as I could and the pain was nearly brutal. I flipped my skirt up to my waist and dug my fingers deep into the soft flesh of my upper inside thighs, pinching as hard as I could grip and digging my nails in, all the while punishing my captive breast between the posts. In a few short moments I felt better. I knew as I released myself from the staircase I'd be bruised. I didn't give a damn. I'd gotten some relief for my screaming nerves.
I tried to straighten out my clothes and looked at the front door until it blurred. I felt a new kind of pain and discovered I was almost biting through my lower lip. I thought of Mother, and was so glad she wasn't alive to know our heartache over little Mary Ann. I thought of Mary Ann and the way she had looked in her little red suit and how excited and cheerful she was when she left to go to the fair. Why hadn't I gone with her? Was I too sophisticated to be seen walking up and down a Midway? I couldn't take it. I began to cry. One Dixon had broken.
Chapter 12
Donald Knowles
I DON'T know what got Junior in such a hurry when we left out of the bus station. I was half-running to keep up with his long legs. He hollered at a taxi, and when it pulled up we jumped in.
I lean't back, hoping whatever came off it would work out, so's we could get out to them fair grounds again. The taxi driver asked us for a address.
"Just you start driving," Junior said. "Straight down this here street and take the turns I tell you."
The driver's shoulders moved up and down once, and he done like Junior said. Junior told him the turns. I didn't try to watch where we was going. I didn't care, we-was riding.
After while Junior told the driver to stop at a drugstore ahead of us. He paid the man and waited till he drove off. I looked around and seen we was in a real pretty neighborhood. All the streets was curved like a race track, with houses set way back from the streets. All the grass looked smooth as a cue ball. Wasn't a weed in sight.
"Come on," Junior said.
"Walk, Junior?"
"You coming, Donald?"
"Well, sure, Junior, but we had a ride. Now we got to walk?"
"Walk."
"How far?"
"Donald. If you and old El could ask as many questions before you git into trouble as you do when I'm a-trying to straighten it out, we wouldn't be here. Walking ain't much trouble--the trouble's at the end of the walking."
So we started down the sidewalk and walked one block and about half of another one. Junior stopped quick and I bumped into him. He had a frown on his face. "You see El's old LaSalle anywheres, Donald?" I looked every whichaway but there wasn't no cars on the street.
"Naw, I cain't see it. Where's it at?
"That's just it. I left it right in front of that there big house. The one with them tall white posts."
"Well, it ain't there now, Junior. Does it matter?"
He looked mad enough to eat tenpenny nails and cussed a blue streak. I moved away from Junior. He spun around and started back towards the drugstore. I followed along behind.
"We should of kept the taxi," Junior told me. "Now we got to wait for a bus to git back downtown."
Heck, I had wanted to keep it all the time, but I was scared to say so.
We waited a few minutes at the drugstore till a bus come along, and we got on. Junior was so quiet it didn't seem like him. Worried, I reckon. I couldn't figger out why; and I felt like it was part my fault.
I wished I could tell him I was sorry for being such a danged fool with Madge and pert-nigh losing my money to her. I wasn't sure if it would make him feel better or make him mad to remind him. It ain't good to bother my brother when he's so quiet.
Me and El had got him in a lot of trouble. He must of been pretty tired of trying to keep us out of hot water. But it does look like me being his
brother he could of told me what we was going to do. He never said nothing. First thing I knew we was back in town again.
Junior signaled the bus driver that we wanted off. When we was afoot again, he got us another taxi, only this time he told the driver where to take us.
"Bus station."
"Which one, buddy?"
"The one next to that there newspaper building--and don't buddy me! I ain't got no friends in this here town."
"Awright, awright!"
At the bus station Junior paid him and give him a mean look; then we went into the station. Junior looked over where we had left El waiting on the man Junior was hunting. El wasn't there. We walked all over the station. No El nowhere.
"Come on," Junior told me.
Outside the station he took the first taxi. I was feeling good again, with him grabbing taxis every time we got near one. Sure makes a difference when you get used to having money. I snuggled my bag up closer to me. I was right glad when Junior told this driver where we was going.
"Fairgrounds--the shortest way."
It was about dark and I was thinking how pretty the fair would be all lit up. Junior was a mite more cheerful, too. Reckon he was glad he didn't find El. That meant the feller had come back to meet El, and El must of took him out to the Twirly Whip to wait on us.
When the driver got us out there, I thought we was going to have some trouble. Junior had made him go to the truck gate and the feller at the gate wasn't going to let us in the grounds with the taxi without we could show him a pass from some old association. I started to get out but Junior pushed me back.
Then he run a mighty smooth bluff on that gatekeeper. Acting real friendly, Junior swore to the man that he was the mainest part of a hillbilly band and that we was twenty minutes late right now for a important show. On top of that, Junior was holding a ten-dollar bill out to the man between his fingers. The man must of believed Junior. He took the money and waved us on in.
Junior made the driver go on in and drive around. We got away from the brightest parts, and anyhow you cain't drive close to the Midway. In a few minutes Junior seen what he was hunting. He made the driver circle back up a street we had just come down.
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