When he returned to the hotel later in the afternoon he found Joey playing silver cartwheels at the roulette table. He joined him for a while, but could not get interested. Gambling against house odds had never appealed to him. Joey quit at dinnertime, learned that Clark had concluded his business in Las Vegas, and wanted to return to Monterey that night. Clark shook his head and convinced him that it was too dangerous flying over the mountains at night. Joey had dinner and returned to the roulette table, where, oddly enough, he enjoyed a steady winning streak.
Joey was up ready to leave before dawn, but Clark took his time at the breakfast table and leisurely read through the morning paper. He stalled with the desk clerk while paying the bill and he stalled with the porter who checked his suitcases for safekeeping. When they finally got into a taxicab the sun was already above the eastern mountains and the temperature was rising, giving promise of a day even hotter than the one before. By the time they reached the airport and got into the plane Joey was beginning to suffer. Clark stalled some more, until the heat inside the metal ship was intense and Joey was gasping for air, then taxied out to the runway and took off. He closed the air ducts that would otherwise have cooled the cabin and watched Joey gasping and melting in his own perspiration. Clark was also bothered by the heat, but he pressed his lips together and was able to take it better than Joey.
The plan Clark had in mind was simple but effective. Joey had suddenly become dangerous, and therefore he had to be eliminated. It had to be done, however, in such a manner that suspicion would never attach itself to Clark. He knew exactly how to do it.
When he pulled out of Las Vegas, climbing for altitude, he took a different route than the one the day before and cut south of Charleston Peak. He crossed the Pahrump Valley and turned north and west until they were over the Amargosa Desert straddling the California-Nevada line. There he nudged Joey and pointed down. “Death Valley,” he said. Joey wiped the perspiration from his eyes, looked down briefly, nodded, and closed his eyes again. Clark chuckled grimly and edged the plane more to the west. He came through a slot between tall peaks on either side and there before him was the real Death Valley, 278 feet below sea level and a white hell of sand and borax. At the right edge of the valley and slightly north of his position was Furnace Creek Inn. There was nothing else.
Clark crossed the valley straight toward the Panamint Mountains, with Telescope Peak to his left and above. As he reached the western edge of the valley he glanced at Joey and saw that his eyes were still closed. Clark reached down and closed the valve to the gas tanks. The engine purred on for a moment or two, then suddenly it barked, coughed, and began to stutter. Joey snapped himself upright and stared at Clark, who was apparently searching frantically for the trouble. Then the engine quit cold and there was silence in the plane, except for the rush of the wind of their passage. Clark put the nose down, banked, and slowly began to spiral down.
“Goddamn it,” he cried, “we’re out of gas!”
Joey looked wildly about and screamed, “You’re crazy! I heard you tell ’em to fill the tanks yesterday.”
“I know, damn it. They must have forgotten. Jees, how I’d like to get my hands on those jerks!”
“My God, you can’t go down in these mountains!”
“You want me to look for a gas station up here? Fasten your belt, Joey. This may be rough. Now, pay attention. The door’s on your side. If we go over on our back, you get out and be sure to get me out.”
“Ain’t you got no ’chutes?”
“Never carry ’em.”
Joey screamed in a high-pitched wail, “But we can’t go down here! It’s suicide!”
Clark was banking to the left in a steep spiral, searching the ground below, and at last found what he was seeking, a smooth piece of ground large enough for a landing at the edge of the desert. It also looked hard and, because it was close to the bottom of the Panamints, it lacked the vicious wind ridges found farther out on the desert. Clark knew he was taking a chance landing a tricycle-geared plane in that area, but he was willing to gamble. The worst that could happen would be a broken nose wheel, in which case he could radio for help and they would be taken out safely.
He let down the gear and flaps, noted the direction of the wind, and squared around for the landing. Joey was deathly pale at his side. Clark came in on the final approach, had a better look at the ground, and began to smile. It was baked hard and the rocks scattered about were small. He was in luck. Gently he eased back the wheel as the ground came up, rolled the main gear on the ground, while holding the nose high, then gradually dropped the nose wheel until it was rolling. He felt the jar of one rock as it hit against the wing, but that was all. He jammed on the brakes and brought the plane to a halt.
As soon as the ship was at rest the metal skin began to soak up heat and the cabin became like an oven. Clark reached around Joey, shoved the door open, and pushed Joey out. They stepped down from the wing to the ground and the intense sun bit into their eyeballs.
Joey whined, “My God, what a close one! You’re pretty good, kid. I thought we’d be kilt sure. Jees, this ground feels good.”
Clark said quietly, “It won’t feel so good in a little while. This is desert country, Joey. We have to get out of here.”
Joey turned to the east and tried to squint out over Death Valley, but the white glare was too much for his eyes. He turned back to blink at Clark. “Desert?” he asked.
“Sure. Dozens of deserts all over this country. I’ll get a map and see where we are.”
He took the chart from the plane and spread it out on the ground. He and Joey squatted down to examine it. Clark knew exactly where they were, on the western edge of Death Valley, but he placed his finger on Panamint Valley on the other side of the Panamint Range. “This is where we are, right on the edge of this valley.”
“Panamint, huh? Ain’t much around here.”
“We’re down between big mountain ranges, that’s why. This is all desolate country, probably the worst geography in North America. Believe me, Joey, this is not going to be a picnic.”
“How ’bout the radio?”
“Well, I’m going to try that now, but I doubt if I’ll raise anything in these mountains.”
He got back in the cabin of the plane and switched on the radio. He held the mike to his lips and pretended to be trying to raise a station, as Joey watched hopefully, but he never actually pressed the mike button. After five minutes he shook his head and stepped back out to the ground. Joey, he noticed, was soaked with perspiration and already his face was turning beet-red. In the cabin he had noted that the temperature was over 120 degrees. Joey was beginning to sag.
Clark said, “I was afraid the radio would be no good. Too much interference and static in these mountains. And we can’t stay here. You’ll be baked in another few hours.”
“Then what’ll we do? My God, kid, what’ll we do?”
Clark again squatted down before the map and brought Joey down with him. He pointed at Panamint Valley and said, “Notice these little lines? They’re highways. See where that one makes a bend? Let me see. That’s exactly two miles due south of us. That isn’t far and you can’t miss it.”
Joey blinked at him. “Me? You askin’ me to walk to that highway? You outa your head?”
Clark gave him a grim look and said, “Stay here by this plane and you’ll be out of your head before afternoon. That’s when it really gets hot. It’s over a hundred and twenty now, by the way. You have to reach that highway.”
“What if I miss it?”
“You can’t. All you have to do is walk straight south and stay along the edge of these mountains. You can see that on the map.”
“Yeah.”
“When you get there you stay where you are and wait for a car to come along. There won’t be much traffic, but there should be some. Whoever picks you up, have them take you to the closest town and you’ll be O.K.”
Joey squinted at him with a puzzled frown. “Where you
goin’?”
Clark again pointed at the map. “You see here farther north up the desert and around the edge of this spur of mountains? That’s a place called Darwin. I’m going to walk around there and pick up a truck and some gasoline. I’m damned if I’ll leave the ship here where it might get wrecked in the mountain winds.”
“Darwin, huh? Say, I’ll go along with you.”
Clark smiled and shook his head. “That’s a walk of at least twenty miles, with maybe a little climbing through rocks. You know the shape I’m in. I can do it. It doesn’t worry me. But do you think you can?”
Joey blinked and admitted he would never be able to make it. “But why don’t you come with me to the highway? That’s the easier way.”
“Sure. But that highway doesn’t go anyplace where I can get gas and get back here today. I can’t leave the ship overnight. During the night winds blow down these passes strong enough to smash an airliner. We’ll have to do it my way.”
“Yeah.” Joey straightened and staggered a moment in the heat. “We got any water or anything?”
Clark stood erect and shook his head. “Nothing. Look, Joey. We can’t stand here talking. You’re dehydrating to beat hell right now. We have to get on our way.” He put out his hand and shook hands with Joey. “I’ll see you back in Pebble Beach.”
“Maybe you won’t make this Darwin place.”
“Well, if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow evening, have a search party sent out.”
“I think you’re takin’ a hell of a chance for this crate.”
“It’s my skin, Joey. I can make it, all right.” He lifted a hand in a mock salute and smiled at him. “See you later, Joey. Remember, now, due south.”
“Yeah.”
Clark turned away from him, went around the plane, and started walking north. He walked with his head down and his collar turned up to protect his neck from the sun. He walked steadily for ten minutes, without pause or looking back, until he approached a small spur of the mountain in his path. He walked around it and bore to the left and came to a halt in a little draw. He crawled back to the spur, edged himself up to some rocks, and looked over. Joey was walking south, but at that moment paused to look north. He stood there immobile for a moment, then turned back and continued walking south, plodding along, dragging his feet, his shoulders sagging and his arms swinging like lead weights. Clark turned away, found a shady spot among the rocks, and stretched out for a rest.
Even in the shade of the rocks the furnace-like heat ate into his skin, baked his lips, and partly closed his eyes, but he forced himself to be patient. He waited a full two hours, then crawled to the top of the rocks and looked south. Joey was nowhere in sight. He could have been seen out on the desert, even miles away, but he, too, had been walking around various spurs of the mountain. Clark estimated that he was probably two or three miles away, with a good possibility that he had already collapsed.
Clark walked the few hundred yards back to the plane, opened the gas valve, primed the engine, and started it. He chuckled lightly as he eased the throttle open and the plane began to move. Joey was walking due south on the floor of Death Valley, where no highway crossed. Actually, there was a highway, but that was a mile or so to the east and Joey would never dare walk in that direction. He would keep on in the wrong direction, if he was still moving, until the white burning hell that was Death Valley caught up with him and he collapsed. There was no possible way he could save himself, nor, probably, would he ever be found on that side of the Valley.
Clark lifted the plane into the air with a wide grin of triumph.
Chapter Fifteen
CLARK HAD NO INTENTION of slipping up on even the smallest detail. He flew north up Death Valley until he found a slot in the mountains, turned west through that, then south. He came down over Panamint Valley, where Joey thought they had landed, found a level stretch of ground, and landed the plane. He got out and walked around, scuffing up the ground, then took to the air again. Any search party that cared to look would find the tracks of his plane where they were supposed to be. He was rather pleased with that detail as he headed west for home.
He arrived at the house early that evening and asked the butler if Joey had telephoned. The butler shook his head. Clark walked back to the master bedroom and found Faye toweling herself after having just taken a bath. She threw her arms about him and got his shirt wet. She noticed dirt on his slacks, where he had crawled in the rocks, and showed her surprise.
“You’re always so neat about your clothes, darling. How on earth did you do that?”
He dropped to the edge of the bed, watching her with the towel and reminded of a burlesque queen he had once known. He replied, “Out on the desert.”
She stared and blinked at him, the towel dangling on the floor. “You’ve been on a desert? Where?”
“Panamint Valley. We had trouble with the plane on the way back.”
“We?”
“Joey went with me to Las Vegas. I had to make an emergency landing on the way back. Damned vacuum lock in the gas lines. Incidentally, Joey hasn’t called, has he?”
“You’d better change those trousers.”
“I’m going to.”
“I always like to see you looking neat.”
He growled irritably, “I’ll change them in a minute. God, how I could use a nice cold shower! I can still feel that desert sun burning me. But how about Joey?”
She gave him a light interested smile. “What about Joey, dear?”
“Damn it, has he called? Have you heard from him?”
“Why, no. And I don’t understand what you’re getting angry about. After all, Joey comes and goes as he pleases. He doesn’t keep in touch with me.”
Clark sniffed the air, smelled the heavy fumes of alcohol, and nodded. “Look, Faye. I left Joey on the desert.”
She seemed aghast. “But why on earth would you do a thing like that? It isn’t like you, Clark.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I didn’t leave him willingly. He had to walk a mile or so to a highway and hitch a ride from some passing car. I guess maybe he’s staying overnight somewhere. I thought he might telephone, though, and let me know he was all right.”
“Is he all right?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t he be? It was only a short walk to the highway.” Then he grinned and suddenly laughed. “Hell’s bells, I’m always thinking in air terms. He’ll probably come home by automobile and that’s a hell of a long trip in a car.” He yawned and stretched his arms. “I suppose he’ll get in tomorrow afternoon. Nothing to worry about.”
He went into the dressing room, stripped off his clothes, and stood under a cold, stinging shower. When he returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, in socks and fresh underwear, Faye said, “We’re going out to dinner, dear.”
“Who with?”
“Oh, nobody. I didn’t expect you home, so I told the cook not to fix anything. We’ll go to the Lodge. Maybe Ricki will be there. He’s back from the city and called for you a little while ago, but I told him you were still away. He wants to talk business, I guess. How is the club going? Do you know?”
He ignored her last questions and said, “Good idea. I’d like to see Ricki.”
On their way out of the house Faye stopped in one of the guest rooms, which she had converted into a combination studio-darkroom, and picked up a half-dozen photographs she had taken of one of the Lodge bartenders. “They’re so appreciative,” she told Clark. “All those bartenders and waiters just pester me to death, you know. They love having their pictures taken.”
Clark remembered their agonized expressions every time they saw Faye with a camera and commented dryly, “Who wouldn’t love posing for an artist?”
“Oh, you flatterer, you.” But she gave him a pleased, adoring smile.
They had a quiet dinner at the Lodge, by windows overlooking the eighteenth green and the lead-gray ocean. Faye, as usual, silently chewed her way through a meal that would have satisfied three wres
tlers. Clark believed that that was the reason she was able to drink so heavily; she also ate heavily and she always chewed her food well. He was happy, however, that he would not have to watch her cud-chewing antics much longer.
After dinner they ran into Ricki in the barroom. He was with a young blonde from the city, a svelte creature with the body of an angel, a guileless smile, and the eyes of a cobra. She clung to Ricki’s arm and, whatever his position, always managed to lean against him. The two of them joined Clark and Faye at a large corner table for brandies and highballs. Others drifted in and chairs had to be added to the table. In a short time a dozen couples were gathered about the table listening to Clark.
He told them all of his emergency landing in the desert, with embellishments, and was pleased with his audience. Never at any time did he display the slightest worry about Joey’s safety, stressing the fact that it was a short and easy walk to the highway. No one gave it a thought. Clark again saw an easy way to capitalize on tragedy. The following day he would begin to worry and by late afternoon he would be really concerned. He would then call the Civil Aeronautics Authority and start an air search. He, personally, would lead the air search, and so gain greater glory for himself. Of course, no one would be looking for Joey in Death Valley.
Only Ricki was puzzled by one detail and asked Clark, “How did you get out of there if you were out of gas?”
Clark was happy he had asked. “Actually, I wasn’t. I got thinking about it, after walking away from the plane, so I returned and looked the tanks over. They were almost full. I knew what it was then, an air lock, so I was able to clear the gas lines in about an hour. I flew over the highway after I got it fixed, but Joey was nowhere in sight. I guess he had already been picked up by a car.”
Conversation at the table turned to other matters and Clark was ready to go home. He had established all he wanted his friends to know, no one seemed to think he should be worried about Joey, and the evening was a success. Another good plan had worked out beautifully.
But as he lay in bed that night, deep in the back of his mind was a slowly revolving picture of Hibbard and Elsie and Joey, a picture that went around and around. It was not especially disturbing or tragic, yet it was there and he could not get rid of it.
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