“Your time has expired, my friend,” Perriquey said. “Good-by. Before I go, I’ll give you a little advice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You have in your possession a quarter of a million of Ironfield’s money. You’ll never buy the baby’s life with that money. Take my advice. Get into Mexico with it while you can. Go, Durazo, and keep going.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When Perriquey slammed the door behind him, Ric moved toward it in almost a reflex action. His hand was on the knob before he stopped, staring at the closed door. He stood there and forced himself to count to five, slowly. He hated standing there. It was against everything he was and had become in his way of existence. He decided he was one of those condemned to strike out, to move forward and keep moving. Against the quality of enemy he’d faced all his life this had been permissible, even smart. But he would not be smart to dash out there after Perriquey. That was what Perriquey expected him to do.
Perriquey was certain he had Ric Durazo pegged pretty definitely, too.
It seemed a long time counting to five. He stared at the furnishings of the room. Perriquey had been in here and seemed to have touched nothing. That would figure. If Norton Perriquey knew Saul Rehan was on Ric’s trail, he could be sure the FBI would dust this room for fingerprints. Those gloves of Perriquey’s had not been an affectation.
Ric snapped off the light, stepped out on the narrow veranda that ran the length of the simulated bunkhouses. For another moment he pressed against the wall with his eyes closed. The light out here was faint, and he wanted to be sure he saw what he needed to see.
From a curve in the parking area, Ric saw a car reversed slowly. The headlights were not on, but when the car was put in reverse the back-up lights glowed. He saw that the car was a Chrysler Windsor, last year’s model in cream and green. For one instant when the car was turned, the brake lights glowed and the license plate was illumined. Ohio 1621. Ric could never remember license numbers; here was one he would never forget.
The car pulled all the way to the exit in the stone wall before the driver turned on the headlights. The car swung left on Highway 58, not moving swiftly. Perriquey was a man who never attracted attention to himself if he could avoid it. Right now, Perriquey was a man with a duodenum liquid-full of fear.
Ric ran across the plotted grass, struck the pavement of the parking area at a ran, his shoes sounding loudly in the quiet darkness.
Ric had his hand on the Plymouth door when he felt the gun bite into his kidney, thrust hard and cold.
He turned slowly. “Put your hands against the top of the car,” the man ordered.
Sweating, Ric stared. “Rehan,” he said.
“You were expecting maybe Doctor Livingston?”
“Wise guy. What the hell do you want?”
“You know my name—”
“It’s no secret in this whole county—”
“You know my name, you must know what I want.”
Ric stared past Rehan to the darkened highway.
“You don’t want me, Rehan.”
“Maybe not. What say we go into town?”
Ric’s mouth twisted. He stared at the gun.
“Are you asking me?”
“Practically.”
Ric sat across the blood-veneered desk from Rehan. A younger man, whom Rehan didn’t bother to introduce, sat against the only window and stared at Ric as though he were a wanted poster on a post office wall.
The room was almost bare. Ric supposed it was an interrogation room used by the Los Solanos police department. Anyhow it was upstairs in headquarters.
Ric could not get a full breath of air in the musty room. The tautness that had built in Perriquey’s room had him stretched like violin strings now. Through his mind raced the picture of Perriquey’s cream and green Chrysler disappearing west on Highway 58.
“Now, I’m not going to fool around with you, Durazo. I know you. I know your record, and it dates back to the time you were twelve years old. A bad kid that grew up bad in all the best reformatories.”
“You were lucky, Rehan. Maybe you were never hungry when you were twelve years old.”
The youthful man stirred at the window as if offended that Durazo had answered Rehan at all.
Ric just looked at him.
“The hell with what you were. I know your record, so I know the last term you spent in prison was on a bum rap. Is that why you’re bitter, Durazo?”
“Am I bitter?”
“A man doesn’t get mixed up in kidnaping unless he is bitter or mentally warped.”
“I’m all warped, Rehan.”
“Trying to hit back at Senator Ironfield? Now, Durazo, we can save time. We know you met with Ironfield in a hotel room out in Wantaugh, Long Island. Oh, he went to a lot of trouble to meet with you out there. Unfortunately, the senator isn’t a wealthy man—not so wealthy that he could get together a quarter of a million in cash without attracting attention.”
“You were already on him, Rehan. Your whole office was. He told me about it. He even told me he had seen your supervisor and had gotten his promise to lay off until he could get his child back alive. Your supervisor promised.”
“I’m the supervisor, Durazo. I’m the man the senator talked to.”
“Then I’ve only one thing to say to you. You bastards are just as stupid as city cops. The only difference is you cover more territory.”
The young man stood up, shrugging his coat up on his shoulders. His face had hardened, eyes narrowed.
“Sit down, boy,” Ric said. “You’ve been seeing too many G-men movies.”
Rehan smiled slightly, head turned from his assistant. He said, “Now, Durazo, you may not know it. Our function is public welfare. We have to protect the lives and property of our citizens, whether they want us to or not. Any oral promises I might have made to Senator Ironfield have to be predicated on that premise. This is kidnaping—a federal offense. Our job is to bring in the men behind it. We’re going to do it.”
“You’re going to get the child killed.”
“Don’t you threaten me, Durazo.”
Ric laughed coldly. “You’ve got it all figured out. I contacted Ironfield. He paid me and now I’m trying to deliver the loot to accomplices.”
“That’s it. Now, we’re prepared to make a deal with you. You’re on your way to the electric chair. That’s the penalty for kidnaping. You turn state’s witness, we’ll work something out. We can get you off with life.”
“I swear, Rehan, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Keep a civil tongue in your face,” the young man said.
Ric didn’t even look at him.
“You met a man out at the dude ranch tonight. Is he one of your accomplices?”
“We talked golf.”
“Be smart, Durazo. We’ve plenty of time. We’re going to get it out of you. And don’t worry about your friend. We’ve got an agent tailing him, too.”
Ric leaped out of the chair, knocking it over. He moved so abruptly that both agents reacted, coming to their feet, poised and waiting for him.
Ric’s voice was hoarse. “Call him off. Rehan, I beg you. Call that man off. You’re going to get Ironfield’s baby killed.”
“We re going to break up that slime gang of yours.”
“Your damned devotion to duty is costing the Ironfield baby its life.”
“Is that your word to us?” the younger agent asked.
Ric kept his gaze locked against Rehan’s. “You know what happens, Rehan. This may be College Boy’s first assignment. But you know. You crowd them and they’ll kill the baby.”
“If they haven’t already. You can tell your people this for me, Durazo. We’ve been in this business a long time. We operate under the assumption that the baby was dead within a few hours after it was taken from its home. Why shouldn’t they kill the baby? To keep it alive is just that much more trouble for them. They’ve got plenty of trouble, and it does not in any way assure th
ey’ll get the money.”
Ric’s fists clenched, unclenched. “But I’m working on a different idea, Rehan. And that one is that the baby may be alive—may have been alive until you put one of your slicked-up patrolmen on him.”
The young agent spoke. “I’ve warned you for the last time about keeping a civil tongue, Durazo.”
Ric glanced at him. “A law degree doesn’t change a thing, boy. You’re still a patrolman on a dirty job. You like it or not, that’s the truth. You people have shown no intelligence on this thing.” He heeled around, facing Rehan again. “God knows, if you know Senator Ironfield well enough that he would come to you to call off your boys, you know he would not deal with me if I were even remotely connected with kidnaping. He’d have turned me in back in Wantaugh, even if it meant his baby’s death. He’s that kind of man.”
Rehan hesitated, and his gray face was paler. He exhaled.
“We’re not questioning the senator’s honesty, Durazo. But we do question yours. We think he was convinced you were not part of this operation. But we believe you are, and you’re going to stay here until you name the rest of your gang”
“Beat cops.” Ric spat the words.
“You may well wish you were dealing with police at the precinct level, Durazo, before we’re through with you. Our interrogation methods may be more refined, but they are more thorough. You’ve never been in trouble before. You’ll be pleading with us to let vou name the rest of your rat pack.”
Ric stared around him helplessly. The young agent remained poised, standing just before the window. Through the blind Ric saw it was still night.
“Rehan, on this deal, I’m as honest as you are. But I’m in one hell of a better spot. You gave a United States senator your word that you’d give him the time he needed for one last attempt to deal with the kidnapers and save his child’s life. Then he was to cooperate in every way with you. You can hold me here. Soon it’s going to be too late anyhow. If the baby was alive, it’ll be dead. But before you’re through with me you’re going to find out from Ironfield that I was brought in on this thing at his insistence. I didn’t want it. I told him I didn’t want it. I didn’t think I could do him any good. Finally he convinced me I could try. And that’s the truth.”
The young agent gave a sharp laugh. “You were better able to track down the kidnapers than the Federal enforcement agency?”
“I never said it. Ironfield thought so because of some peculiar aspects of the case. There are a lot of your men, but sometimes that’s about all you can say for them. And this was one of those times.” He watched Rehan’s scowling face. “So you go ahead, Rehan. You hold me. You get the baby killed. Oh, I admit he might already be dead. But there’s one chance he isn’t, and as long as there’s that chance, his life depends on how smart you are. You get in touch with Ironfield. Oh, it’s going to take time. Tune we don’t have. But you’ve got the government on your side— and it’s just the life of one little baby. You want those kidnappers. I want that baby. By the time Ironfield chews you out for what you’ve done, the way you’ve screwed the works out here, the baby will be dead—and Junior here will be your superior.”
Rehan walked around the desk. “Durazo, I’m twenty years older than you. This I know. You’re tough. I’m tougher. You believe you’re a smart character. I think I’m smarter. Threatening me with a demotion that might come if I’ve gambled wrong doesn’t even touch me. I’ve got a duty I’ve sworn to uphold, and that’s what I’m doing. I cannot believe that I could be wrong in this case. You’ve a bad record and I’ve a good one. However, there is one thing in your favor. Ironfield did tell me that there was one last chance he might get in direct contact with the kidnapers, and that the baby was alive when he talked with them. If he has put his faith in you, I’m deeply disappointed in him. I believe that I and my bureau could have done him a better job. But there’s this I know. You can’t escape me now. So I’m going to turn you loose. You’re free, Durazo. You can walk out of that door. If I were you, I’d run to Chile and keep running. These may be your last free moments on earth. Get out of here.”
They stood and their gazes locked levelly. The color moved slowly upward in Rehan’s face.
“You’re on your own, Durazo. We’ve got a man on the tail of the man you met at the dude ranch. You can’t turn to the police. You try to leave this country and we’ll shoot you down. You beg for help, Durazo. I want you to. I want to stand there and watch them gun you down while you beg for help. Now get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ric crossed the walk before the police building and got in the Plymouth. Without close scrutiny, he saw the car had been minutely examined. His mouth twisted. No sense in keeping this car now.
He started the engine and then sat there a moment. He did not know how long until dawn, but it had been a long and miserable night. He was tired. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. What else could he do? There was not much chance of finding any trace of Perriquey’s Chrysler by now. Even if he found it, very likely Perriquey had changed cars and names. He could not think how he could go back and tell them he had failed. Two people had advised him to get out of the country and keep running. Sitting there, that was what he wanted to do.
He laughed, a bitter sound, wondering if he could accomplish even that.
He glanced back at the window of the interrogation room. Yellow glowed up there. No sense thinking Rehan was letting up. Rehan wasn’t trying to get off any hook by releasing him. Rehan considered him guilty, and believed that eventually he would lead them to the kidnapers. Ric was too tired even to laugh at that idea.
He put the car in reverse, moved to the silent street and drove to the bus station. He paid for the rented car, got back most of his deposit and walked out.
He went along the shadowed street, walking tiredly. The weariness was like a virus inside him. He no longer had any will to go forward. He wanted to sit on the curb and rest. It had been so long. He could not remember when he had rested. He thought about Eve Kimball in that hotel room. Briefly he wondered if she’d gotten in touch with her father. He was tired. It did not matter. The hell with you, Eve Kimball. Hell with you, Ironfield. Hell.
He entered the all-night storage garage, walked through the echoing tunnel past the parked cars to the Porsche. He fought in his pocket, found the keys. He would drive out of here. Maybe the State cops would get on his tail and chase him somewhere. Anywhere. That would make up his mind for him when he was too beat to make his own decisions. Maybe he’d run into Martin Kimball somewhere and he’d slap him around until he began to feel better.
“Ric.”
He spun around. “Eve. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been here, Ric. Most of the night.”
“Where’s your father? What happened to your hotel room?”
“I called him, Ric. I told him I was in trouble. I was afraid to tell him too much. I begged him to come help me. You know what he said, Ric?”
“Something charming, I’ll bet.”
“He said to take a couple aspirin and that he’d send one of his lawyers out here tomorrow. He wouldn’t even call the lawyer tonight. Said he didn’t want to disturb him. That’s how urgent it was to Father.”
“So you got scared and ran?”
She shook her head, moving close to him. He felt her shiver. “No, Ric. I was terrified. You were gone, and Father wasn’t going to do anything, except notify his lawyer who might or might not fly here. I went downstairs. I went to the night clerk and asked him if you’d said anything about where you were going. At first, he couldn’t remember. Then he said you’d asked about a car rental. That meant you were going to put the Porsche up for a while. This was the only all-night storage garage. I came here. I found the Porsche. I asked the attendant if I couldn’t wait for you. I told him you were my husband. He let me sit in that car there.”
“All very lovely. But why didn’t you stay in the hotel?”
She
pressed against him. Now she was trembling. “Ric, while I was talking to the night clerk I looked across the room. He was there.”
“Who?”
“Martin.”
“Kimball. He was there and didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think he did. He was in the phone booth. He was turned away. I was numb. First I thought he had seen me and was trying to keep me from recognizing him. Then I saw he was talking to someone on the phone. I took a chance that he hadn’t seen me. I ran back up the stairs. I was afraid to go back to my room. Maybe it was my room that Martin was calling. Maybe he’d gotten the room number from the clerk, wanted to be sure I was alone. I don’t know. I was too scared to think. I just ran. I went out the back way and came here.”
Ric unlocked the Porsche. “Get in,” he said.
“What about the baby?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been stopped. I’m finished.”
“Ric. No.”
“There’s nothing else I can do. I didn’t want to start this thing, I never should have.”
“Ric, what happened to you?”
He helped her in the Porsche, got in beside her. He started the engine, let it warm up. Briefly he told her what had happened. He put the car in reverse, changed gears and rolled out of the garage. She did not speak for a long time.
“I’m beat,” he said. “I’ve got sense enough to know I’m beat.”
“Ric. That man turned west. You can look for him.”
“In this country? I couldn’t if I had ten years, and I don’t.”
“But you know the make of his car, his license number, its color. We could drive. Somebody must have seen him.”
“Sure. How long could we drive? Until the State Police pick us up?”
“Yes. That long. I want to be looking for that baby when we’re stopped, Ric. It doesn’t matter what else happens to us. As long as there’s any chance that baby’s alive, we’ve got to keep looking.”
Ric stared at the quiet buildings as they rolled along the street. They moved through the residential section in the shadow of the cottonwoods. He glanced at the motel, La Pueblo. Its lights were out. He wondered if Peggy had slept well.
A Ticket to Hell Page 12