The Whip Hand

by Whip Hand (epub)

  "We'll git out by that there opera house."

  "I think that one's closed, Mister. The open air show is--"

  "Feller, if you want to git paid, stop this here taxi where I tell you!"

  The driver wanted to git paid, and he let us out right where Junior said. I'd rather of got out where I could get me a hot dog and maybe ride the Twirly Whip, but I wasn't doing none of my wishing out loud. Junior paid the driver and the taxi drove off. We stood there holding onto our bags of money while Junior looked around.

  "Donald. This here's a opera house and it's all closed up. Nobody here a-tall. Right over yonder is some trees. See? It's good and dark in them trees. That's the place I want to talk to that there feller what stole El's money, if we find him. Don't forgit this here spot. I got to figger out some way to git him down here."

  "Well, Junior, cain't we go on over to the Midway? We can git us something to eat first; then we can go see if El's got the feller where he's supposed to meet us."

  "Ain't no time for no eatin I We're going straight to the Twirly Whip."

  But Junior didn't cut over to the Midway from where we was. He just went right up the street we was on. We went past a place that was just a big high fence all around except where the ticket window and entrance was. I could hear music coming over the sides, and singing, and it sure sounded pretty floating out in the hot night air. Wasn't no hillbilly music. I wished I could go in.

  "This must be that open air place," I told junior.

  The big signs out front said SHOWBOAT--finest operetta of the season. Junior just grunted and turned off to cut across the grass towards the Midway. We kept out of sight and moved up behind a hot dog stand where we could see across to the Twirly Whip. I was so hungry the smell of them hot dogs was about driving me wild. But just then I seen what Junior had already saw.

  El was standing over there with a big man in a white shirt holding a coat over his arm. Lots of people was walking up and down the Midway between us and them, hollering and laughing. The man with El was rubbing the sides of his head with his fingers. Every little bit he'd say something to El. I don't know what he was saying, but each time he talked I thought El was going to run for the gates.

  I wasn't scared none. The feller wasn't much bigger than Junior and the way my brother was feeling, I sort of felt sorry for that thief. That feller with El would have to go some to be as mean as Junior when he was mad, and he was awful mad right now.

  "Come back here, Donald!"

  That was the first I knew my nose had been pulling me around towards the hot dog counter. Junior yanked me back of the building out of sight.

  "Listen to me now, and forgit them dang hot dogs till we git this here mess straightened out!"

  "All right, Junior. What'll I do?"

  "Just what I tell you. Listen. I'm going back down the street to them trees I showed you. You got to give me five-six minutes to git set. Then you git on over to El and that stranger and say I'm ready to talk, but I don't want to git out in the lights."

  "Okay, Junior. Go on down to the trees."

  "That ain't all--keep listening. You lead them down to where I'm at. When y'all git there we'll start talking. When I scratch my head we'll all pile on that feller and git him down. When he's down I'll fix his clock--with my blackjack, so's it won't make no noise. After we git it out of him where he's hid El's money, that is. Now, you got it straight?"

  I nodded my head.

  "How straight you got it? Tell it back to me."

  I did, just like he told it to me. He told me that was pretty good and he lit a shuck down towards them trees.

  Six minutes, Junior said, so I had plenty time to get a hot dog. I put a lot of mustard on it to make it twice't as good. Then I started across to where El was standing, eating my hot dog and watching that big feller. He even looked bigger when I come close.

  "Hi, El," I said.

  I didn't like the way that other feller looked at me. Guess he never liked me too much. Nor nobody.

  "You're not Junior, the brain, are you?" he asked me.

  "Me? Shucks no, mister--I'm just Donald."

  El looked mighty worried. The big guy swung around towards him and El throwed his hands up between them.

  "Hold your horses, now, mister," El said, "till I find out where Junior's went."

  "Thirty seconds. After that you won't be able to hear about Junior. You'll be wondering what else can happen to you."

  "Donald, where's Junior?" El was whining like a old hound caught chasing the chickens. "Tell him, Donald, quick--where's Junior? This here feller ain't got no pity on nobody. Tell him. Hurry up and tell him!"

  "Sure, El." I looked at the stranger and laughed. "You may not be so awful glad to find him, mister."

  Next thing I knew my hot dog was mashed all over my face. Mustard squirted everywheres. In my eyes and hair and on my new clothes, and it stung my eyes as bad as onion juice will. I wiped at it with tears running out of my eyes, and backed away from him. El caught me and helped me. He taken my handkerchief out of my hip pocket and wiped me off. When I could see again, I seen some of the mustard on my money bag and started to clean it off. El even done that for me, talking all the time.

  "Donald, for gawd's sake tell the man what he wants to know, boy! He's the meanest one man I ever seen. Don't rub him the wrong way, son--no telling what he'll do to both of us."

  I figgered maybe El was right.

  "Junior's waiting on us, Mister. He told me to tell you he'll listen to what you got to say. He sent me after you and El."

  "That's better. Where?"

  He was blinking at me like a owl in the sunshine, like his eyes was burning as bad as mine. I thought maybe he was going crazy. Must of been, if he was planning to take Junior's money. I stayed away from him.

  "I'll show you where, Mister. You got to go with me."

  "We're wasting time, Donald, my boy. You two go in front. I'll just tag along behind."

  So with him follering I started off, walking in behind the hog dog stand. Them hot dogs didn't smell so good no more. I cut across the grass, with El walking beside me.

  "Where's Junior at?" he asked me.

  I looked over my shoulder but the big guy was about fifteen yards back.

  "He's down yonder in some trees by a opera house."

  I hadn't no more than got them words out of my mouth when my bag of money tore right out of my hand!

  I hollered, and I seen the stranger hotfooting it across the street and toward that open air show place with the big fence around it. He stopped at the ticket window and was buying a ticket just as cool as you please. After stealing my bag with all my money! I hollered at him again and run towards him, with El right behind me. The feller had his ticket and was going up them steps about four at a time. I had to get me a ticket, too, or I wouldn't get in to catch him. I shoved El to one side and went towards the ticket window.' El started fumbling in his pockets.

  "Don't foller me, El, you crazy fool! Go down yonder and fetch Junior!"

  El turned and started running to them trees after Junior.

  "I want a seat right alongside of the man that just went in," I said. "He's a uncle of mine."

  She give me a ticket and I had to pay full price for it. I knew the show had been going on quite a spell, but there wasn't no time to argue.

  I went on in and never seen the feller with my bag nowheres. I was still looking for him when a girl come up and taken my ticket. She led me with a little old flashlight to where my seat was and pointed at it. Sure enough, I set right down next to the feller.

  He didn't seem a-tall surprised. Just kept watching the show, like he was a honest man and had been there all the time! I reached for my bag and he slapped my hand. He moved the bag on the other side of his feet and went on watching the stage.

  "You give me that bag!" I told him.

  He never answered me, but a old biddy setting in back of me shushed me, right in the ear, "Sh-h-h!"

  I shushed for a little; b
ut I wanted that there bag, same as anybody else would have. I was going crazy wanting to get my hands on my money again.

  "Mister, that's my bag you got there," I whispered.

  He turned his head just a little bit and said "Sh-h-h-sh!" so loud I jumped. And the man in front of me turned around and give me a terrible disgusted look. I felt like crying, it all made me so mad.

  They all turned back to watch the show and I could see there wasn't no use trying. He wasn't going to give it back just on account of me asking for it. And if I didn't stay quiet, them other people would have me throwed out. That was what he was after, I figgered. A few of the people's heads kept turning to me like they just wanted one more peep out of me, so what could I do? Well, he wasn't going to outsmart me!

  I just lean't back and watched the stage myself. After all I'd paid for the show; and I could count on Junior to rake care of the man with my bag just as soon as El brung him All I had to do was set tight and watch him and wait for my brother to come. He'd make this big bully sorry he ever seen Dallas!

  Chapter 13

  Bill Brown

  IT was gay on the Midway.

  A poor man's Santa Monica--everything except ocean and cool breezes. The roar of the damned Twirly Whip magnified the pain in my head while I watched the stupid people passing by.

  These Dallasites worked at being a cosmopolitan clan. The women were all fully dressed, lots of them with hats and gloves. I thought of the sensible shorts and halter of the California female bent on recreation.

  Sweat. Running down my face, down my back. Gradually saturating the twigs in the tweed of my pants. Under my shirt the gun was sticky against my stomach. The tweed jacket lolled heavily across my arm like a passed-out drunk. I was sick of waiting, but I couldn't think what I'd do if the other kidnappers did show. This wasn't the best place to start fireworks.

  I gave the fat man beside me a hard time.

  "Pop, what makes your nose so big and ugly?"

  "You hadn't ought to josh me about my nose, Mister. Not after what you done to it. It's hurting me, something awful."

  "If your partners don't show in about five minutes, it'll hurt you a lot more."

  "Now wait a minute, mister. It ain't my fault if they ain't here in five minutes! Junior said he'd come and he will, all right. But he never said what time."

  "I said. Five minutes--then nose, look out."

  It worried him. Well, I felt like passing some of it along. Brown, you're a mean man. I tried to shift the pain around, rubbing hard on my temples.

  Then a kid coming toward us was giving me a close inspection. In one hand he carried an expensive hand-tooled bag, and in the other a foot-long hot dog was dripping mustard into his sleeve. From his interest in me and the way Fatso stiffened beside me, I pegged him for one of the pair I was gunning down.

  If my guess was right I could go farther and picture his leather bag being lined with folding stuff. Except that his eyes were shifty, he looked like anything but a criminal. He seemed a bit under the weather. His face was pasty white with sprinkled paprika cheeks, and his eyes were two blood-covered lemon drops. Perhaps his financial success had led to a recent celebration.

  A couple of witty questions on my part established he wasn't Junior, the ringleader. So this was Donald. The sore-nosed farmer tried to get Donald to rat on his brother. The kid cracked wise and I mashed the hot dog into his face. It made a bit of a mess. It also loosened his tongue and he offered to lead me to Junior. I made them go in front and I followed at what I hoped was a safe distance.

  They crossed the Midway, and a strip of lawn to the next street, and turned left. There was only one lighted area in the direction they were leading me. I had little or no intention of being decoyed beyond that light and silhouetting my bulk against it to furnish Junior with target practice. My scrambled brain began to grind out a glimmer of a plan. We were nearing an amphitheater, which was the source of the light. The plan crystallized.

  I swooped to the side of young Donald, gathered his bag into my arm, and double-timed it across the street. At the ticket cage I slapped down a five-dollar bill.

  "One, please."

  The caged angel slid a ticket out to me. I bounded up the steps and into the darkness around the audience, regretting that I had to transact all my business with the home-grown beauties under such adverse circumstances. They were all so friendly, too. Except Miss Dixon.

  An usherette took me to my seat and left me with the rumbling bass notes of Old Man River to vie with the rest of my aches and pains. I sat quietly a moment, watching the aisles in hope of seeing Donald and his red-nosed friend follow me into the audience. I would lead them back to the foyer for a conference on Junior's whereabouts and his plans for my immediate future. It did occur to me that this brilliant idea could fizzle into the biggest mistake of my life if they went for Junior instead and sealed the exits of my little hideaway tighter than an Egyptian tomb. Then they could simply wait for me to walk into their-loving arms.

  I wasn't even sure I had guessed right about Donald's bag being loaded with loot. I started to check it, but it wasn't necessary.

  Less than a minute after I sat down, the usherette brought Donald down the aisle and put him in the seat next to mine. I knew nothing would persuade him to be that reckless except a wild desire to regain his part of those ill-gotten greenbacks. I ignored him and waited a brief instant to see if the hick had been sucked into the trap with him. He hadn't, which rather upset me. He probably went to get Junior. Donald was upset too, and he reached for the bag between my feet. I rapped his hand and moved the bag a little further out of his reach. "Sh-h-h-sh!"

  He gave up quickly, got quiet, and just sat waiting and watching me. The old man playing the blustering showboat captain on the stage was having himself a time. I had a fleeting wish that I was on a showboat myself, pulling into New Orleans--maybe with a plane waiting. But that wouldn't get me anywhere. I had to get out of here before Junior arrived or I might never leave the fairgrounds under my own power.

  I got up and squeezed past Donald, holding the bag well out of his reach. "Excuse me." Maybe there was time, if Junior delayed long enough to worm the whole story out of old red-nose before taking steps to close the trap. It seemed longer, but from the brief progress of the scene on stage I knew Donald couldn't have been with me more than two or three minutes at the most.

  Donald got up and followed me out to the lobby. I paused at the water fountain, quickly washed down a couple of pain powders, and wondered how long it had been since that gorgeous cashier had told me to hurry back. I hadn't lost Donald, but he was hanging back, not getting too close.

  I dodged through a side exit and out into the street. Donald's shadow followed along, not close enough for me to grab. I went toward the lighted Midway in a hurry, expecting something unpleasant every step, like a bullet in the back or a flying tackle. Where was Junior? Nothing happened.

  Outside the nearest exit from the grounds I found traffic, and in the traffic I found a cab. It backed up when I whistled.

  "Where to?"

  "Wait just one minute. I'll have company, I think. Keep the engine running."

  I left the door open and didn't even look out the window. It was less than a minute. Donald stuck his head in the door.

  "Where you going with my suitcase?"

  "Want to find out?"

  He hesitated. I could read the struggle in his face, as if it had been printed: what would happen to him if his brother found out that I had escaped from him? If I did get away, how would he ever see his precious bag again?

  It turned out he was less afraid of me than of Junior, or else the money was a most powerful magnet. He got in the cab unassisted, scrambling to the far corner of the seat. His eyes were as wide as double doors.

  "Highland Park," I said to the driver.

  I relaxed as he moved smoothly out into the traffic, professionally, like a good male cabbie anywhere.

  Chapter 14

  Kay Dixonr />
  FINALLY I had cried myself out. No more tears would come, and it seemed that only made the aching worse inside me. My lungs felt so dry and stuffy, and the tightness in my throat just stuck there and could no longer release itself in crying.

  I thought it might help a little to bathe my face and throat in cold water; but I guess I just didn't care enough to move. Thoughts of Mary Ann and Mother and Dad crowded everything else out of my mind. Everything else except the terrible thing I had let happen to my little sister. I tried concentrating on the wrinkles setting in the sleeves and skirt of my suit, trying to guess how long it had taken, sitting here bawling like a motherless calf, for my clothes to wrinkle up so much. I tugged my skirt down where it belonged and tried to smooth out part of the wrong-way creases.

  When the chimes rang softly, I felt a surge of hope and relief. With someone at the door, I'd have to move. Dad wouldn't pay any attention; he probably wouldn't even hear the chimes. Maybe it would be Brown, but I doubted that. More likely Fred Campbell, I thought.

  The ringing continued while I made myself get up. I wiped damp strands of hair away from my face and eyes as I made my way to the door, gave my suit a final smoothing down and opened the door.

  It was Brown, after all; and he had someone else with him. I moved my eyes away from Brown's haggard-looking face and glanced at the other man. It wasn't a man, at all, just a boy. I waited for Brown to explain the scared kid in the stained suit.

  "The gang got scattered," he said.

  I tried to connect his words. This kid, and the tough gang I had hired him to bring in; but I couldn't make any sense out of it.

  "Oh," I said, "they did?"

  He went on talking like it was all very easy to understand. "So I decided to bring one at a time, Miss Dixon. Donald here was handy, and cooperative, so I brought him first."

  It finally dawned on me what Brown was trying to say. He wanted to sell this poor kid off as one of the kidnappers!

  You're trying to tell me that boy is one of the gang of murderers I hired you to catch?" I laughed in his race.