by Ed McBain
“Yes, I understand,” King said.
“Hurry, hurry!” Byrnes whispered into his receiver.
“You will drive away from the house and away from Smoke Rise. You will be watched, Mr. King, so don’t attempt to take anyone in the car with you, and don’t allow the police to follow you. If you are followed, we will kill the boy right away. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do. I have it.”
“Have they got it yet?” Carella whispered to Byrnes.
“The damn fools are…”
“You will continue driving, Mr. King, until someone meets you with instructions. That’s all you have to know for now. Leave the house at ten sharp, alone, with the money. Goodbye, Mr.—”
“Wait!”
“Keep him talking,” Byrnes said. “They’ve got it traced to Central on Sands Spit!”
“What is it, Mr. King?”
“When do we get the boy back?”
“When we get the money, we’ll call again.”
“How… how do we know he’s still alive?”
“He’s still alive.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“No. Goodbye, Mr. King.”
“Wait! You…”
“He’s gone!” Carella said, ripping off the headset.
“Son of a bitch!” Byrnes said. Into the phone, he shouted, “He just hung up. How far have you… What? Oh. Oh, I see. Okay. Okay, thanks.” He hung up. “Didn’t matter a damn. He was using a dial phone. As soon as they traced it to Central, it got lost in the automatic equipment.” He turned to Carella. “What’d he say, Steve?”
“A lot. Want me to play it back?”
“Yes, go ahead. Nice work, Mr. King.”
“Thank you,” King said dully.
“His voice sounded different,” Carella said. “Didn’t you think so?”
“Yes,” King answered.
“I think we got a different customer this time,” Carella said. “Mind if I start the playback with the previous call, Pete? Just to check the voices?”
“No, go right ahead.”
Carella looked at his watch. “Eight-thirty-five. We’ve still got time,” he said, and he flipped the switch that reversed the tape.
* * * *
It was eight-thirty-three when Eddie Folsom came out of the telephone booth. The ride to the grocery store had taken longer than Sy had estimated, but there was still nothing to worry about. It would be a long, long time before ten o’clock rolled around.
Casually, he walked to the counter.
“Let me have a package of hot chocolate,” he said, “and a bottle of milk, and a box of those cookies there.”
* * * *
12
Kathy had begun pacing at eight-thirty. Now, at eight-forty-five, she wandered the room aimlessly, the window facing the front yard serving as the focal point of her ramblings. She would walk to the window, lift the shade and look out at the front yard, draw the shade again, pace, wander, light a cigarette, and then end up back at the window again.
“Where is he?” she asked. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
“He’ll be back,” Sy said. “Relax.” He paused. “He not only had to make the call, you know. He also had to do the daily marketing.”
“The boy…”
“The boy, the boy, the boy! I hear another word about the boy, I’m going to start a club for underprivileged kids! Man, am I sick to death of this job! I should have known better than to tie up with a jerk who runs out to buy milk!”
“He went out to make the call,” Kathy said. “Someone had to do it.”
“He’s also buying milk. And hot chocolate,” Sy said, using a falsetto on the words, giving them a mincing, oversweet quality.
“The boy is cold.” She glanced at Jeff where he lay huddled on the bed, Kathy’s coat around him, a blanket over that. “You’re lucky he hasn’t started crying.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t started crying,” Sy said. “That money is so damn close I can taste it.”
“Sy, when Eddie comes back—”
“What time is it?”
Kathy looked at her watch. “Eight-fifty. When he comes back, what are you going to do?”
“Nothing. Not until a little before ten.”
“And then what?”
“Stop worrying. Your milkman will return, and everything’ll come off all right, and we’ll be rich as hell. And you know why? Because Sy Barnard is handling this little shindig. If a small-time punk like Eddie was in charge—”
“He’s not a small-time punk!”
“No? Okay, he’s a big operator, okay? How’d you ever get involved with such a big operator, huh?”
“Oh, what do you care?”
Nervously, she walked to the dresser and opened her purse. Nervously, she began combing out her hair.
“I’m interested,” Sy said. “Really.”
“We just met, that’s all.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.”
“The Safecrackers’ Ball?”
“That’s not funny, Sy.”
“But you knew he was in the rackets?”
“Yes, I knew. It didn’t matter to me.” She paused. “Eddie is good.”
“Yeah, he’s a doll.”
“I’m not joking. Oh, why am I even talking to you!” She hurled the comb into her purse and then snapped it shut and walked to the window again.
“Didn’t I say he was a doll?”
“He’s in this because it’s the only thing he knows,” Kathy said. “But if he got away from it, if I helped him to get away from it, he’d be good. I know he would. I’d see to it.”
“Why’d you marry him?”
“I love him.”
“Warm for his form, huh?”
“When are you going to let me go?” Jeff said from the bed.
“Shut up, kid.”
“Aren’t you ever?”
“I said shut up. I had you up to here already!”
Kathy lifted the shade and scanned the yard again. Sighing, she turned away from the window.
“You worried about him?”
“Of course I am,” she said.
“What for? There’s other fish in the ocean. Bigger fish. Smarter fish.”
“He’s my husband.”
“Pull down the shade.”
“It’s morning. Why can’t… ?”
“I don’t want nobody peeping in here.”
“There isn’t a soul around for miles!”
“Pull it down!”
Kathy lowered the shade, walked to the dresser again, fished into her purse for a cigarette and, discovering she was out, snapped the bag shut angrily.
“Stop worrying,” Sy said. “Husbands are for the birds. All they are is a piece of legal paper and a gold circle. Who the hell ever takes husbands seriously?”
“I do,” Kathy said. “I love him.”
“Love is what they make up for teenagers. There ain’t no such animal.”
“You’re mistaken. You just don’t know.”
“I know more than you think, baby, and about a lot of things. I know, for example, that your darling boy is rotten clean through. There ain’t nothing you can do for him no more. It’s too late now.”
“It’s not too late. Once this is over…”
“Once this is over, there’ll be another job, and another one after that, and then another and another and another! Who the hell are you kidding? Yourself? I seen bums like Eddie in prisons all over this country. He’s rotten! He stinks! He’s me, for Pete’s sake! Do you think I’m such a prize?”
“I don’t want to listen.”
“Okay, don’t. The big reformer there. Gonna make a silk purse. Bullshit!’
“Don’t talk like that, Sy. I don’t…”
“Why? What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’ll—Just don’t talk like that.”
“You sound actually threatening, you know that? I got to watch my step, huh? Go
t to be careful. Not like little Blondie there, huh? He don’t have to be careful.” Sy paused and then looked at the radio receiver. “Eddie shoulda turned on the monster before he went out. We ain’t heard nothing for a long while.”
“There’s nothing to hear but the road blocks.”
“So? I find road blocks interesting.” He paused and studied her. “Listen, you want a little drink?”
“So early in the morning?”
“Sure. Puts hair on your chest. Come on.”
“No.”
“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you drink?”
“I drink.”
“So, come on, have one. For Pete’s sake, we’re sitting on a fortune, you realize it? Are we supposed to mope around like a couple of corpses? What the hell is this, a graveyard? Come on, baby, loosen up.”
“If you want a drink, take one. Nobody’s stopping you.”
“Right, baby! Nobody stops me from nothing I want!” He studied her speculatively for a moment, and then walked to the dresser. Picking up a pint bottle from its top, he held it aloft, said, “Cheers,” and tilted it to his mouth. “Good stuff. Change your mind?”
“I don’t want any. Where’s Eddie?”
“You getting nervous, huh?” He held the bottle out to Jeff. “Want a slug, kid? Warm the cockles. No, huh?” He shrugged and wiped his mouth. “You worry too much, Kathy. We could be having ourselves a real ball, insteada worrying. A real ball.” He smiled and nodded, staring at her. Kathy moved toward the window again, crossing her arms over the front of her sweater. “You know what your trouble is, baby? You don’t know how to live, that’s what. You’re all tensed up because darling hubby went to the grocery store. You got to learn to relax. Look at me. Cops covering the city like a plague. Do I worry? Hell, no.”
“How can I relax when Eddie may have run into trouble?”
“You can start by forgetting all about Eddie. Come on, have a little drink.”
“Oh, Sy, don’t bother me! I don’t want a drink.”
“Excuse me, I didn’t know I was bothering you. Okay, stand around and worry if that’s what you want to do. I can think of a lot better ways to kill the time, though.” He walked closer to her, his eyes on the front of her sweater. “A dame like you should have good clothes, you know that? Where’d you get that crumby, moth-eaten sweater? Eddie should be ashamed of himself! You should be wearing fancy, lacy stuff. It ain’t every dame can fill clothes like you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“What the hell’s the matter now? For Pete’s sake, I’m complimenting you!”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
“Boy, there sure ain’t no mutual-affection society here, is there? All the affection goes out to Blondie, don’t it? Or Eddie, depending on who’s around. But none to Sy, that’s for sure. Well, you want to know what I think? I think you’re wasting your time with a punk like Eddie, that’s what I think. Best thing could happen to you is for the bulls to pick him up.”
“Shut up,” Kathy said.
“I’m shooting you the goods. Pretty little piece like you tied down to a second-rate punk. Who needs him? I can run this job alone. Honey, you’re wasting your talents on him. What you need is somebody who knows the score, somebody who can—”
“Shut up, Sy!”
“Tell me the truth, ain’t you hoping they pick him up? You was against this job to begin with, wasn’t you? All you’re worried about is little Blondie over there, will we hurt him, will we—”
“Shut up, shut up!”
“What is it? You got a yen for a family of your own? Is that it?” He laughed bitterly and tilted the bottle to his mouth again. Kathy walked to the window and raised the shade. Sy pulled the bottle from his mouth and shouted, “Lower the goddamn shade!” She glared at him sullenly and then obeyed. “Boy, this is some cheerful party, ain’t it? Will I be glad when this gig is over. Man!” He held the bottle aloft in a toast. “Here’s to the object of the lady’s affection, the dear little kidnap victim. Cheers, Blondie.” He drank. “How about that, you little bastard? I just drank a toast to you.”
Jeff did not answer.
“I just toasted you,” Sy repeated. “What’s the matter, ain’t you got no manners? Didn’t your mother never teach you to say thanks? Or don’t you know how to talk?”
“I know how to talk,” Jeff said. He was still trembling, both from the cold and from a very real fear which had begun the moment Eddie left the farmhouse.
“Then say something,” Sy said. “The goddamn cops are chasing all over the city looking for me, and my partner is out marketing and I’m cooped up here with a frigid bitch, and on top of all that I drink a toast to your health, you little bastard. That’s pretty damn white of me, I would say. How about a thank-you.”
“Thank you.”
“Or maybe you don’t know the reason I’m cooped up here with Little Miss Cold Ass. Maybe you don’t know you’re the reason, huh? Or maybe you think I like this?” He paused. “You know you’re the cause of my misery?”
“I… Yes.”
“Oh, you know, huh?”
“Y-yes,” Jeff said, hugging the blanket to him.
“So what the hell’re you gonna do about it?”
“Stop picking on the boy, Sy. And watch your language.”
“Stop picking on the boy, Sy, and watch your language,” he mimicked. “Good to see that something gets a rise out of you, anyway. I was beginning to think maybe you had died and was already laid out.” He turned back to Jeff. “I asked you a question, Blondie.”
“I…I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, that’s a hell of an attitude!” He paused. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose…”
“Yes, sir!”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“One hell of an attitude, I would say. You’re the cause of all my misery, and you don’t know what to do about it. Well, how about thinking a little? A smart little bastard like you should be able to figure out something, don’t you think?”
“Sy, leave him alone!”
“Yeah, and watch my language, I know. Well, you can go straight to hell, baby.”
“Why are you picking on the boy?”
“Who’s picking on him? We’re chatting. You want me to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Make it worth my while. Convince me.” Sy laughed and turned back to Jeff. “Start thinking, kid. I’m waiting.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, sir.”
“I want you to come up with some ideas.”
“I haven’t got any ideas, sir.”
“Well, now, ain’t that a crying shame? No ideas. Teh, tch, tch. You just don’t care what happens to me, is that it?”
“I…I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Say whatever the hell’s in your head, stupid! When somebody asks you something, say what you think!”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Okay. Would you like to see me get the electric chair?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Sir!”
“Sir,” Jeff said, beginning to get rattled. “I don’t know, sir.”
“You do know. Yes or no? Give me a yes or no answer. You want me to get the electric chair?”
“Sy, stop it!”
“Yes or no?” Sy persisted.
“Yes, sir. I…”
“What?”
“I would like to see you get…”
“What? What, you little bastard!”
“Sy, you’re scaring him half to death! Can’t you see?”
“You keep your ass out of this! Unless you’ve got some ideas!”