Bring Back Her Body
Page 13
He was nearly to the bar when he heard the clinking and Honor’s squeal. He glanced back to see a flood of half-dollars rolling about the floor and Honor valiantly trying to scoop them up. No one but Smoky had moved and he was performing his function of helping her recover the money. Cain went on. No one here gave a damn about a sixty-or seventy-dollar jackpot.
He came to the bar, paralleled it, and went through a small door at the far end. He chose the first on his left as he entered a narrow hallway. His rap brought a “Come in.” Cain opened the door. He saw Munger at his desk and shut the door softly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HONOR glanced up to see Cain go through the doorway and then she returned to her money gathering. It was unpleasant, having Smoky so close. His hair grease and his breath smelled funny. He breathed down her neck as he picked up half-dollars for her. When she stood, his little eyes appraised her again in a way that made her shiver. The word came to her — lewd.
She said, her mouth dry, “Thank you very much,” as he dropped her money to the bar.
“Change some of this for the lady, Curly.” Smoky went back to his station by the door.
The baldheaded bartender made a quick count and handed Honor a stack of bills. Going to the ladies’ room, she slipped ten into her stocking for Cain. Then she returned to the machines.
She broke even on the fifty-cent machine, got more change, and tried the dollar one. She lost ten dollars and then hit the jackpot. “Golly!” she squealed as the silver cartwheels rolled across the floor.
Smoky again helped her scoop up the money and take it to the bar. The bartender said, “Ain’t you a bit young to be winning so much dough?”
“I was twenty-one today,” Honor lied. She took her money again to the rest room, decided Cain had a twenty-five per cent share as his investment, and put a little over fifty dollars into her stocking for him. Returning to the bar, she ordered rye and water. When she finished, she turned to the roulette wheels. By now she was wobbling a little on her high heels.
The bartender sighed as she left. He sighed more as he saw Smoky signal the croupier to build her up for a while. Curly was glad his daughter had more sense than to mess in places like this.
Honor bought a hundred dollars worth of chips and then studied the lay-out. From things Paula had told her, she had often dreamed of a system using the mathematical laws of probability. Now she tried her system, placing a limit bet of ten dollars. When she walked away, she had over five hundred dollars in her tight, sweating fist. In the restroom she put a fourth of it into her stocking for Cain. She returned to the tables.
It was half past eleven before she became aware of the time. She had had to change the bills in her stocking to bigger notes to hide the bulge. A thousand dollars made quite a wad of money. She felt light headed, drunk, but not from liquor. It was excitement. She wished Cain would come out and see her.
Smoky came up. “You’ve ridden that luck a long way.”
She turned, startled. He had not made any noise when he approached her. His smile made her spine crawl. She tried to sound airy. “I’d ride it more but that man won’t let me bet a thousand dollars.”
“There are no limit tables in the other room,” Smoky said.
Honor hesitated. Cain had told her to wait here for him. She looked at Smoky. “Tell my husband I’m in the other room, please.”
“Your husband?”
Honor smiled sweetly. “Today was my birthday and my wedding day.” She walked off.
Smoky whispered. “The hell!” He went to tell the bartender. “So Cain broke down and got married. She’ll make a good-looking widow, won’t she?”
Honor found the other room nothing but four walls, a dozen well-dressed people, and a big roulette wheel. She lost a thousand dollars before she got her mathematics working. Then she won the money back, lost half, and then pyramided the rest into eighty-seven hundred dollars. She went and sat down, her legs trembling.
She failed to see Smoky come in and signal “That’s her limit.” She wasn’t aware that about twelve thousand dollars had been previously decided on as the top figure. It would make a fine piece of bait to get her back.
After getting Cain’s twenty-five per cent into her stocking, she went to the bar and asked if Cain had returned yet. When she found he hadn’t, she began to feel worried. For the first time she became aware of how long Cain had been gone. Nearly three hours.
It struck Honor that she knew no one here but Cain. And there were people around like Smoky and that doorman and she had nearly twelve thousand dollars. Then she stopped thinking about the money because she remembered Munger hated Cain and Cain had been gone for three hours.
Honor went up to Smoky, her bulging purse clutched tightly in her hand, and asked to see Munger. Without hesitating, he led her through the door where Cain had gone and into an office.
Honor had never seen Karl Munger; he wasn’t at all what she had expected. He looked tweedy and very nice and masculine. Like the exchange professor from the University of London, she thought. She sat down and folded her hands primly in her lap.
“I’m Honor Ryerson Cain,” she said. “My husband has been gone three hours. I thought you might know …”
Munger smiled and took out his pipe. “My best wishes,” he said. “I’m sorry but I haven’t seen Cain tonight.”
“He came this way.”
Munger looked puzzled. Then he said, “Oh, into the hall. He may have gone to the card rooms.” He picked up the phone and spoke into it briefly. He smiled at Honor. “Men sometimes get carried away by cards.”
He was so bland, so smooth. His smoothness seemed to rise up and choke her. Honor watched his eyes and felt a little shiver work up her spine. Whatever he was, he was too much of it, she thought.
Honor waited. Soon Smoky opened the door. “The poker guys said he was there a couple hours ago. He played a few hands and then left. The faro dealer says he was there a while, but he ain’t now.”
“Thank you,” Munger murmured. He looked helplessly at Honor. “I’m sorry, Miss — Mrs. Cain.”
Honor remembered why Cain had come. She wondered if he had got a tip from the games and had gone off, intending to return soon. She looked numbly at Munger, knowing it wasn’t so. She was sure this whole thing was a lie. Just looking at Munger made her feel that way. Suddenly all she wanted to do was run … get home.
Munger was still smooth. “Do you have your car?”
She started to say yes and then remembered that Cain had the keys. “We came in his.”
“I’ll call you a cab. With all that money …”
So he knew she had won, too. Naturally, he would, she realized. She nodded and swallowed and managed to thank him. Smoky escorted her to the checkstand and turned her over to the doorman. The final appraisal from his eyes made her nerves ache.
The doorman called a cab and when it swung around she saw the headlights strike the familiar outlines of the Buick. It was still where Cain had parked it. It wasn’t proof except that it showed he hadn’t left by it.
When the cab driver asked, “Where to, lady?” she almost said the police station. But she choked it back, giving her own address. Cain wouldn’t want her to run to the police. She tried to sit back, to relax, fighting to keep from shaking herself to pieces. She wasn’t afraid for herself or for the money; she was afraid for Cain.
When she reached the house, she thrust a twenty into the driver’s hand and ran inside and up to her room. She threw herself on the bed and then the tears came, jerking out of her in great, soundless sobs.
She sat up suddenly. “Stop it!” she said aloud. “You’re not a child, even if Cain does think so.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette, thinking about what she must do. Finally she knew the way to do it. She had so few weapons, she realized, so little skill … But what she had, she must use.
She got up and wiped away the tears, took the extra keys for the Buick, and, in Paula’s room, found
the little .25 that she kept there, and went out. She took Cain’s dinghy that Lisa had left at the boathouse and worked around the point to Cain’s. She found the place dark, and she stood on the dock a moment to regather her courage. In his cabin, she put the money she had won in a drawer. Then she got out his charts of the Sound and left.
She came into a dock near Munger’s, her full skirt looped up over her shoulders. She made the dinghy fast and walked up the beach to a small road and followed it to the parking lot. She saw that the Buick was still there in deep shadow and only a few other cars were about. She realized then that it was late; dawn would break before too long and she knew she had to hurry.
She walked in shadow to the terrace and stopped at one side of the doors leading into the gambling room. This was one part of the plan she wasn’t sure of. A few times during the evening she had seen Smoky go out here, probably for a smoke. She could only hope he would do so again.
She began to feel the chill and realized she had left her wrap at home. She was shuffling her feet nervously, ready to give up, when the door opened and he appeared. She waited until the door had shut behind him and he bent to the flame from his lighter. She stifled a sigh of relief.
She knew that she couldn’t buy him; Munger had more money than she could get. That meant she had but one thing to offer. The idea made her crawl now that its possible fulfillment was so close. Back in her bedroom the thought had been in the abstract and it hadn’t seemed too bad. It was a horrible plan but it wasn’t as horrible as thinking about Munger getting Cain.
She took a deep breath and said softly, “Smoky.”
He jumped and turned, his hand sliding into his coat. She moved to where he could see her and he let his hand fall away. He stared at her curiously. She licked her lips and smiled at him, fighting to make it a warm smile and make it hold still.
“I sneaked back,” she whispered. “I knew you’d come out here. I’ve been waiting …”
“Yeh? Say, babe, you’re shaking.”
“I’m cold, Smoky.”
His arm was hard and she didn’t like it. His hand on her bare shoulder made her shudder. She almost drew away from him when his fingers slipped down toward the top of her evening gown. She made herself think, “Relax! Relax!” and she fought to remember that.
“You ain’t bad, babe.” His breath was funnier than before, she thought. A sweetish odor was on it. In the semi-darkness his eyes were hard dots coming closer to her. His lips were a thin line of wire bent into a cold sneer. She made her mouth go lax under them, made herself lift her arms and run her hands through the oily hair, press herself against him, let her mouth part just a trifle. She found when she pressed against him his hands couldn’t operate. She pressed harder.
She drew back her head. “Not so fast. This is no place …”
His breath came from deep in his chest in little gushes. “Anywhere with you, baby.”
She said jerkily, “I couldn’t wait all night for Cain. How long does a woman have to wait on her wedding night?”
His laugh was low, making her crawl inside. “You’ll never have to wait, baby.” She shut her eyes as his lips went over her shoulder, along the neckline of her gown.
“Cain made me wait. You tell Cain I’ll never have to wait.”
“Cain won’t care. Cain won’t care about anything … ever.” His snicker rubbed her ear.
She said hoarsely, “Let’s go to my car. Quick!” She was almost sick now. “The blue one out there.” His lips were still searching. “Cain doesn’t count now.”
He still held his cigarette, but it had gone out. He put it in his pocket carefully. She noticed as he did so that it wasn’t a regular cigarette but looked more like a hand-rolled one. Some people liked them, she thought — and then it struck her. Smoky, and odd breath, a funny cigarette. Marijuana. And her skin crawled now and she felt a new fear, having heard tales of the viciousness and strength of people under dope.
She almost ran to the car, dragging him by the hand. He was laughing softly. “Eager, ain’t you, baby.”
They crawled into the back seat and he reached for her. She let her purse slide to the floor and got the clasp open and then she said, “Not so fast, Smoky. I have to get my wind.”
“I don’t wait, baby. Not with you.”
She felt his lips again, under her ear this time. She said, “I’m scared, Smoky.”
“Scared — of me?”
“Of Cain,” she whispered. “Cain is tough. I’m afraid of him.”
He made a snorting sound. “You married him.”
“My father made me. I’m scared he’ll find us.” She shook now and it was easy to do.
Smoky’s arm drew her closer. She felt the top of her gown go. He was panting now, clawing at her. His hands were cold and hard, breaking the fine stays. She said, “He does scare me.”
“No more, baby. Just relax. Let me handle this. Relax!”
She couldn’t stand it any more. She wriggled free and pushed away from him. “That doesn’t stop me from being scared, I tell you!”
She saw his eyes, pinpoints in the darkness and she wondered if she had overplayed it. She wanted to jerk up the front of her gown to cover her breasts but she held herself from doing it. She said, “What if he finds us — like this?”
“No danger of that, baby.”
She pulled the front of her gown up now. “It’s easy to talk but I — I don’t believe you. I have to know before we can — take a chance. Cain is dangerous.” She let the top of her gown, its thin stays broken, slide a little now.
His breath came out in a gush of bravado. “I said he won’t hurt you. Cain’s took care of, see. The boss gave him to me and Rhumba, see. Cain won’t bother nobody no more, see.”
Honor let him see her disbelief. He said, “Hell, baby, he’s taken care of. He’s out on the Sound now. Nothing messy, see. A fancy job set up to look like someone else did it. Relax. Cain’s done.”
Honor made her body relax. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” she murmured. Shaking, fighting to keep from letting it show, she trailed one hand to where her purse was on the floor. Her mouth was dry, her throat ached from strain. Her one thought was to get away — at gunpoint if necessary — and drive for the police.
Now she felt his lips seeking hers again. She fumbled to open the catch on her bag. And then she felt him stiffen. His gripping fingers dug cruelly into her. “What you pulling away for, baby? I told you he was safe. I …”
He stopped suddenly and drew away from her. She winced as his hand caught her chin, holding her head rigid. “Yeh,” he said with suspicion, with the sudden change of mind of a marijuana addict. “Maybe you was after information. Maybe you’d like to run now and …”
His fingers hurt her viciously. She opened her mouth to protest, to lie. He let loose and slapped her. “Well, we’ll take care of what you said you came for first, see. See, baby?”
She was twisted, thrown across the seat. His breath was hot and harsh and violent. “Then,” he gasped at her, “we’ll see you don’t get no chance to talk.”
He wrenched at her. She felt her hand being pulled from the bag and she grabbed desperately, hooking a finger into the trigger guard of the gun. It came free and she worked the butt into her hand.
She brought the gun down, slashing at his face. He swore as the muzzle ripped at his cheek. His fist caught her shoulder. His hand caught her wrist, forcing her arm backward. Pain shot through her, blinding her, making her cry out. He was taking the gun away, she thought wildly. He would get it and then …
She kicked with her legs, slashing at him with her free hand. The pressure of his grip slipped briefly. She could think of only one thing to do. She did it. Her finger squeezed on the trigger.
The shot was only a pop, a little sound. Honor was rigid, hearing it as an explosion in the confines of the car. And then the noise faded and she realized she couldn’t hear his rasping breath any more, couldn’t feel the weight of him on her. He had slid towa
rd the floor, angled awkwardly against the back of the front seat. He still had a grip on her and she pried his fingers away. She was thinking that she would have to bathe and bathe and bathe.
She snapped on the inside light and saw the small, round hole where one of his eyes should have been. It was only then that she realized she had killed a man.
In sudden reaction, she tore open the car door and pushed at his body. Sobbing now, shaking, she pushed and kicked at him until he slid from the car and fell against the base of a tree.
Slamming the door, she crawled over the seat with her bag, found her keys, and stabbed them into the ignition. When the motor caught, she eased the car around and drove slowly, fighting to keep her trembling from showing in her driving.
Once she was on the road, she jammed the accelerator to the floor, throwing all the power she could into the big wheels, whipping the car forward into the fading night. At Cain’s, she shut off the motor, climbed out, and walked toward his boat. It was in her mind now that there was nothing the police could do for Cain. It was too late. But she thought she might take his boat onto the Sound and find him. No matter what happened, she could only think that somehow she had to see Cain.
Half running now, she tripped on the edge of the dock and fell face forward and lay there, sobbing, shaking, retching. “A hell of a birthday,” she thought.
She didn’t even hear the car when it pulled up alongside hers. She didn’t hear Munger when he got out of the car and walked toward her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAIN had the feeling that Munger was pleased about something when he went into the office. Munger took his pipe from his mouth long enough to say, “Have a chair, Cain.”
Cain drew up his trousers and crossed his legs. He lit a cigarette and looked coolly at Munger. He didn’t feel that way; even knowing Munger was only a figurehead, even knowing he had been Toby Parton’s boyfriend didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous.
“Who are you pinning the Patton killing on, Munger?”