Game Bet

by Forrest, Richard;

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Damn it all! I am using you! I am using you for my own selfish ends. It’s just like your ex. He used you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a tool. I’ll screw you. I’ll have you run my errands, and when push comes to shove, I’ll bug out on you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I always have before. That’s me, kiddo. The original bugger-outer. As our former leader used to say, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.” Well, that’s me. When it’s tough, I get going.”

  She slid from the ottoman onto his lap. Her finger passed over his lips. “Shush.” She nuzzled against his neck and shoulder, bit the corner of his ear, and then whispered, “Let’s make love.”

  “Jesus! Can’t you leave me alone for a goddamn minute?” He stood up so quickly, she fell off his lap and bumped to the floor. He saw her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Christ, Ginny!” He turned away and walked to the window and looked out over the sea. “Make another drink, will you?”

  He heard her behind him. A sniffle and then a clink of ice. Her arm reached around him with a glass, and he took it. “Here,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He looked unseeingly out the window. “I’ve fucked up this time, Gin. I mean, really fucked up. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s you-know-what couldn’t put him back together again. There’s no way to get this act back together. You’re crazy as hell to stay around a sinking ship.” He finished the drink in three quick gulps. “I guess I’m really feeling sorry for myself, huh?”

  No answer. He realized with a shock that he had wanted her to come up behind him and put her arms around his waist. He wanted to feel the firm warmth of her weight against him. He turned. She wasn’t there.

  “Gin. Where are you, Gin?”

  He took two steps across the room and fell unconscious.

  CHAPTER 13

  His fingers were balled into fists and his body was rigid. He was nude between clean starched sheets. His orientation returned as he looked slowly around the sun-drenched bedroom in the beach cottage. He groaned and sat up.

  The door opened and she came in, carrying a tray. “I thought you’d be awake. I saved your steak from last night and fried up a couple of eggs to go with it. How does that sound?”

  He was about to say, “lousy,” and then realized how hungry he was. He took the tray gratefully and began to cut into the steak. “How’d you know I like it rare?” he said through a mouthful of food.

  “You just look like a rare person to me.” She stood at the foot of the bed with a tentative smile on her face. “I’m going to get myself a second cup of coffee.” She fled from the room.

  He finished the steak and eggs and lay back on the pillow in contentment until she returned with two coffees. She gave him a cup and sat on the edge of the bed near him. “I passed out last night, huh?” he said.

  “Yep. Middle of the floor.”

  “How in hell did you haul me in here and get my clothes off?”

  “Compelled by my erotic nature. But it didn’t do me much good. You weren’t exactly with it.”

  He laughed. “I remember now. I thought you had taken my advice and run off.”

  “You couldn’t drive me away with a stick.”

  “Nutty broad.” He took her hand and squeezed it. Bright morning sun flowed through the window over her shoulder and seemed to surround her with an iridescent glow. An inner part of him, without actual physical movement, reached out to envelop her.

  Cory put the coffee cup down on the floor next to the bed. He was confused with new feeling, Good God! I’m in love with her. Their eyes met, and she smiled shyly. He reached for her, and she came to him slowly until they were together.

  He still loved her an hour later when he sat on the small beach in front of the cottage and watched her swim. She swam with strong strokes toward shore and stood up with the sea at her waist and hugged her breasts. “It’s cold,” she yelled at him.

  He nodded and watched her run toward him. She hadn’t found a bathing suit that fit, and wore bikini panties and no bra. Her hips swayed lasciviously as she ran to him and threw herself down on the towel by his side. She began to towel briskly. “It’s cold. Or did I say that?”

  “You did. I could have told you it would be.” He kissed her, and she laughed with a lilting catch in her throat as she ran her hand over the back of his neck. “I think I love you,” he said.

  “I’m the only girl you’ve got right now, and you aren’t a very marketable commodity.”

  “True. But it is nice.”

  She became serious. “What now?”

  “Back to the bedroom.”

  “No. I mean, what plans, and stuff, are we going to make?”

  “How much money do we have left from your funds?”

  “Twenty dollars.”

  He leaned back in the sand and crossed his arms under his head. A single white cloud directly overhead scudded before a stiff breeze. “Well, we need money first in order to keep life and limb together. Clothes. I think the better the clothes, the better chance we have not to be stopped and interrogated. I have the feeling that cops are less apt to stop an affluent-appearing couple than they are some scruffy-looking bunch. We should get your hair dyed and restyled.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Love it. But they must have pictures of you in circulation by now. I’m going to use corn starch in my hair to give me that older look.”

  “Distinguished.”

  “Of course. I’d also like a weapon of some sort. A handgun would be difficult to buy, but not a rifle. We really should have some sort of transportation besides a hot pickup.”

  “Sounds like we need a lot of money. I don’t think our twenty dollars is going to go quite that far. I could get a job around here somewhere. They always need waitresses.”

  “Too risky.”

  “Where do we get the money, then?”

  “I’m thinking about it. I wonder how my brother will react?”

  “That’s too risky. Why don’t we hang some paper?”

  “Hang paper?”

  “Bad checks. My ex used to do it all the time.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” He laughed. “Did you help your ex hang it?”

  “Of course not. Come on, Cory. We’re being chased by half the people in this country and we have total assets of twenty bucks. You either hang paper or hold up a liquor store.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Which?”

  “Hold up a liquor store.”

  “Then?”

  He laughed again. “I guess we hang paper. When do we start?”

  She stood and stretched. Cory considered a return bout in the bedroom. She ran for the house and called back over her shoulder, “Soon as I shower and put on some clothes, we’ll make plans.”

  The phone booth was hot and stuffy. His palms were damp, and a thin trickle of perspiration ran down his armpit. It was as much from nerves as from the humid interior of the confined space. He dialed, heard the operator intercept for the proper amount of money, and dropped the coins in the slot.

  A harried feminine voice answered. A TV set blared in the background and a small child cried. “Hello.”

  “Is Mr. Atkins home?”

  “Just a moment.”

  The phone clattered onto some surface, and Cory heard the woman yell out, “Phone!” The domestic sounds emanating from the house in Deerford were a contrast to his remembrance of the debonair special agent at FBI headquarters.

  “Atkins here.”

  “Cory Williams.” The domestic background of noise faded.

  “I want you to come in, Cory. I promise you complete protection. As a federal prisoner I can have you transferred out of state if necessary.”

  “Complete with nocturnal visitors?”

  “There was no way for me to know that would happen.”
>
  “But you do now?”

  “I have my sources. Yes, I do know, but without you to testify, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Has anything turned up?”

  “I need you to work with me.”

  “I’d never live to do that. I’m convinced of it.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I want to show you my good faith. I’ve come around, Cory. I think there might be something in what you were trying to tell me.”

  “What caused the change of feeling?”

  “Two things: the men going into your cell at night and the camera.”

  Cory’s hope surged. “You found it!”

  “No. I don’t think we ever will, but I know what might have happened to it.”

  “For God’s sake, what?”

  “Those vacant offices in the high rise that you used the day of the presidential motorcade … you say you had a rifle with a camera attached?”

  “Of course!”

  “We found the rifle but not the camera.”

  “Somebody took it.”

  “Right. Sergeant Pierce and Wilton James were the first two officers to get to those rooms. They were in there at least three minutes, with the door closed, before they admitted anyone else. They had ample time to remove the camera and dispose of it. It’s not much to go on, not even enough for a memo to file, but it is a start.”

  “It proves my story.”

  “’Fraid not. But it does prove they had opportunity. You’ve got to come in. I’ll arrange a safe house where we can meet.”

  Cory hung up and walked from the booth.

  They had waited four days before leaving the beach cottage. Cory’s beard was half grown, and with the addition of avaitor-type sunglasses and a brimmed fishing hat, his face was unrecognizable. Ginny had dyed her hair brown, restyled it herself, and also wore sunglasses.

  “Where do we start our life of crime?” he asked.

  “We don’t soil our own nest.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We don’t pass paper in this town. Now, what’s the nearest affluent town? I want a place with specialty shops, expensive boutiques, and fine jewelers. A snazzy gift store would also be nice.”

  “Essex, Connecticut.”

  “Drive on, sir, to Essex. Just make sure you park this heap in some lot far from where I’m operating, or you’ll destroy my matron’s image.”

  He parked in the rear of a bar down the street from a bank. He watched as she walked resolutely into the bank. She would establish an account with their remaining twenty dollars and then begin to work the nearby stores.

  She had changed. In subtle ways she had begun to resemble the upper-middle-class woman she meant to portray.

  She had told him what her modus operandi would be. No discount, liquor or cheap shops. It was imperative to patronize the most fashionable stores in town and purchase chic and expensive items. The check would be made out for the exact amount of the purchase.

  “Seems to me,” he had said, “you’re going to end up with a terrific wardrobe, but we still won’t have any money.”

  “Ah ha,” she exclaimed. “That’s not the way it works. I buy two dresses or two rings, say for a hundred apiece … it can’t be too much. Just little everyday items.” She laughed. “The next day, before the check has time to clear, I return one of the items. For cash.”

  “Suppose they only give you a credit?”

  “They have to post a sign to that effect. I only go to the better places who don’t ask questions of their very, very exclusive clientele. It’ll be easier tomorrow, when I got the good stuff to wear.”

  “Fine. Just don’t say got.”

  She laughed again. “Those of us who didn’t go to Miss Porter’s often say got.”

  Even with the side-windows down, the cab of the pickup was humid. He left the truck and paced the parking lot until he saw her return. She was laden down with half a dozen large packages and boxes. She dumped the loot into the bed of the truck.

  “Home, James. I will model for you over cocktails. Wait until you see some of the underwear, wow!”

  “Lingerie,” he said as he drove back to the cottage and anticipated the viewing.

  For the next several days they worked a dozen expensive towns. Purchases were made one day, and half returned the next. Their hoard of cash kept increasing with each returned item.

  “This better be the last day,” she said.

  “We’ve got nearly three thousand. If we use a thousand for a second-hand car, we still have working capital. Why stop now?”

  “The checks are going to start bouncing. I’m also worried that my system is so similar each time that if a couple of the local police chiefs put two and two together there’ll be an alert out for us. This had better be the last morning.”

  “Fine with me.” The returns she would make that morning were in the town of Slattery. Cory pulled the truck into a supermarket parking lot two blocks from the row of stores where she would be making her returns. They unloaded the boxes, and he helped her carry them toward the first store she would visit.

  “There’s a bar on the corner,” she said. “Meet you there in …”

  “Half an hour.” She smiled and took the boxes from his arms.

  Cory intended to nurse a beer until she finished, but saw a sporting-goods store across the street. There was a large display of rifles in the window. He crossed the street and entered the store. A small bell above the door tinkled as he entered. The store was empty of customers, and for a moment he couldn’t see the proprietor.

  A man got up from an easy chair located in a far corner near the cash register. “Help you?” He yawned.

  “How do you stand the pace?”

  “It’s tough. It does pick up when school lets out.” He was a very tall man, over six five. As was usual with sporting goods stores in small towns, the owners were ex-high school jocks who were unable to give up past moments of glory. This man looked basketball, as the excessively long rows of basketballs and sneakers indicated.

  “I’m interested in a rifle.”

  “I have a pretty good selection. Anything in particular?” They crossed to the far side of the store, where one wall was covered with a display of rifles, with boxes of ammunition stored below.

  “I’d like to look at a 30-30 or a 30.06, semiautomatic. Something with a large magazine capacity.”

  The tall man reached up and took down a weapon. “I imagine you’re looking for a deer rifle. Try the weight of this.”

  Cory took the weapon by the pistol grip and snapped it to his shoulder. It had a good feel. The open sight was the type he preferred, and the bolt action was smooth. He opened the chamber and swung the weapon in an arc until it was pointing out the window toward a small flagpole above the store across the street. “Nice. How much?”

  “Two and a quarter, and I’ll throw in a cleaning kit.”

  “That sounds pretty …” Cory lowered the weapon as Ginny left the shop across the street. She was held tightly between two large men, who walked on each side of her. Even at this distance, Cory could see that her eyes were wide and frightened.

  The threesome hesitated at the curb until the traffic light changed. One store down from the sporting-goods store was a brown Chevrolet. Its tall aerial and municipal plates marked it for a police car.

  They must have been waiting for her inside the store and grabbed her as soon as she made her request for a cash refund. The initial charges would be second- or third-degree larceny, but once they began to book her it would all come out.

  “How’s she feel to you?” the sporting-goods-store owner asked.

  “Just fine.” Cory reversed the rifle and swung it in a short chopping motion that caught the clerk on the side of the head. The man fell behind the counter without a sound except the thud of his body hitting the floor. Cory hoped he hadn’t hurt the man permanently, but didn’t have time to dwell on it as he vaulted the counter and fumbled through boxes o
f shells for the right size. He found a box and spilled it across the counter as he stuffed the magazine and filled his pockets.

  The detectives and Ginny were almost at the police car. In seconds they would thrust her into the rear compartment and drive away.

  Cory clicked the loaded magazine into the rifle base and ran for the door. He reached it just as the detectives were opening their car’s rear door.

  He snapped his first shot off with the rifle still held at his waist. The round ricocheted off the car roof and whined into the distance.

  The men at the car froze. Cory fired again. The bullet screamed off the pavement to the back of a rear tire. “Hands on the roof!”

  Ginny broke from their grasp and ran toward him. The instant her body interjected itself between the detectives and Cory, the two police officers fumbled for their service revolvers and dropped behind the protecting bulk of their vehicle. Cory fired three shots in rapid sequence. He spaced the bullets evenly along the windows of the car. He fired for noise and shock effect, to keep them pinned down.

  Next door to the sporting-goods store was an Exxon gas station. A mid-seventies Buick convertible was stopped at one of the pumps. The car’s occupants, a man and a girl, turned in their seats to look toward the shooting. The attendant stood stock-still with the hose in his hand. Gas dribbled from the hose nozzle onto the pavement. Cory pushed Ginny toward the convertible. “Over there. That car!”

  A shot blew small bits of concrete into the air, four feet to the left. The detectives had begun to fire from their crouched position behind the car. Ginny ran toward the convertible as Cory backed up. He held the rifle at his waist and fired again and again. Bullets dug into the asphalt a foot in front of the two crouched men.

  Ginny reached the convertible and ripped open the driver’s door. “Hey!” the man yelled.

  Cory turned and waved the rifle at the couple. “Out! Fast!” They scrambled from the car as Ginny swung behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition. Cory turned back toward the firing police as a shot plowed through the rear of the car. He fired a series of three rounds, spacing them carefully and methodically, near the detectives.