Cape Fear

by John D. MacDonald

  Six

  SIEVERS MADE NO REPORT ON WEDNESDAY, and Sam could find nothing in the paper. On Thursday morning at nine-thirty he received a call from Dutton.

  “This is Captain Dutton, Mr. Bowden. I got some news for you on your boy.”

  “Yes?”

  “We got him for disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace and resisting arrest. He got into a fight last night at about midnight in the yard in back of that rooming house on Jaekel Street. Three local punks jumped him. They marked him up pretty good before he got untracked. One got away and two are in the hospital. He threw one through the side of a shed and gave him a sprained back and multiple bruises. The other one’s got a broken jaw, a broken wrist, concussion, and some ribs kicked loose. They laid his cheek open with a bike chain and thumped him around the eyes with a hunk of pipe.”

  “Will he be put in jail?”

  “Definitely, Mr. Bowden. He was dazed, I guess, and it was dark in the yard, and he swung on a patrolman when he came running across the yard and gave him a nose as flat as a sheet of paper. The second patrolman dropped him with a night stick and they took him in and got his face sewed and then brought him in and threw him in the tank. Judge Jamison has night court this week, and we’ll see what we can give him tonight. He’s yelling for a lawyer. Want the job?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Judge Jamison doesn’t cooperate as much as some of the others, but I think he’ll lay it on pretty good. Drop around tonight about eight-thirty and you can see how he makes out.”

  “I’ll be there. Captain, is it too early to ask you how they made out in Charleston?”

  “No. It came out like I figured. The woman was contacted at her home by the Charleston police. She admitted she was married to Cady at one time, and claims she has not seen him since he was sentenced. She told them she didn’t know he had been released. Too bad.”

  “Thank you for trying.”

  “Sorry more didn’t come of it, Mr. Bowden.”

  Sievers phoned at four and asked Sam to meet him in the same place. Sam arrived first. He took his drink back to the same booth and waited. When Sievers arrived he sat across from Sam and said, “You should get a refund.”

  “What happened?”

  “They got careless. I sent word down the line that monkey was rugged. They gave him some love taps and when he didn’t go down, they tried to love-tap him some more. And suddenly it was very much too late. And he purely scared the living hell out of those boys. The one that ran got hooked in the gut first. He can’t breathe right yet, I hear. The word is going around. It’s going to be hard to line up boys for a second shot at him. I hear that when one of them went through the shed wall it sounded like a bomb going off. I’m sorry it was handled so badly, Mr. Bowden.”

  “But he will go to jail.”

  “And he will be released.”

  “Then what do I do?”

  “I guess you pay for another treatment. You better set aside a thousand for this one. He isn’t going to be caught napping a second time.”

  By the time Sam got home Carol had most of the information from the evening paper, a single paragraph on a back page that gave the names of the two in the hospital and told of Cady’s arrest.

  “Are you going in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please go in and find out, darling.”

  Night court was crowded. Sam sat in the back. There was a continual mumbling and shuffling of feet, a constant coming and going, so that he could not hear a word of what was going on. The ceiling was high, and naked bulbs made stark shadows. Judge Jamison was the most bored-looking human being Sam had ever seen. The benches were narrow and hard, and the room smelled of cigars, dust and disinfectant. When he saw a chance he moved up into the third row from the front railing. Cady’s case came up at nine-fifteen. One of the city prosecutors, Cady, a young lawyer Sam had seen at bar-association meetings but whose name he couldn’t recall, and two uniformed patrolmen lined up before the judge.

  Sam, strain as he might, could catch only a word here and there. Cady’s lawyer, in an earnest undertone, seemed to be stressing the fact that the attack had taken place on property where Cady rented his room. The patrolman with the bandaged nose testified in a blurred monotone. When the noise in the courtroom rose to too high a level the judge would rap indolently with his gavel.

  The prosecutor and the defense lawyer talked animatedly, ignoring the judge for a time. Then they both nodded. The judge yawned, rapped the gavel again, and pronounced a sentence Sam could not hear. Cady walked over with his lawyer and paid money to a clerk behind a small desk. A bailiff started to lead him toward a side door, but Cady stopped and looked back, apparently searching the courtroom. Tape was a vivid diagonal white across his cheeks. His brows were swollen and bluish. Sam tried to shrink down on the bench, but Cady spotted him, raised one hand, smiled, and said quite audibly, “Hiya, Lieutenant. How’s it going?”

  And he was led out. Sam spoke to three people before he could find out what had happened. Cady had pleaded guilty to striking the officer. The other two charges had been dismissed. He was sentenced to pay a hundred-dollar fine and spend thirty days in city jail.

  He took the news back to Carol. They tried to believe it was good news, but it wasn’t very comforting. Their smiles were stiff and faded easily. But, at the very least, it was thirty days of grace. Thirty days without fear. And thirty days of anticipation of the fear to come. As far as their morale was concerned, Cady could not have planned it better.

  School had ended. The restrictions on the children were lifted. The golden summer had begun. Cady’s thirty days began officially on the nineteenth of June. He would be released on Friday, the nineteenth of July.

  They had planned that Nancy would go again to summer camp, and she had pleaded to be allowed to attend for six weeks this year instead of the usual month. It would be her fourth year at Minnatalla, and probably her last. The six weeks would begin on the first day of July. Jamie would return for his second year to Gannatalla, the boys’ camp that was three miles away and under the same management. The camps were on the shore of a small lake in the southern part of the state, a hundred and forty miles from Harper. Camp plans had been settled in family council back in April when the applications had to be in. After consideration of all factors, Nancy’s request for six weeks had been granted. Then Jamie had objected strenuously to being limited to one month. It was pointed out to him that Nancy had been allowed to stay but one month when she was his age. He settled for a guarantee that when he was fourteen he would be allowed to register for six weeks. Bucky had been stolidly indignant about the whole thing. It meant nothing at all to him that he would start going in three years. Three years was half his entire age. It was an eternity. He was an unwilling victim of cruel and unnecessary discrimination. Everybody would be gone.

  When he was at last resigned to a fate of staying home all summer he came up with a series of firm opinions about camps. They were crummy places. You had to sleep in the rain. The horses would kick you and the boats all leaked, and if you didn’t wash six times a day, they beat you and beat you.

  After the arrangements had all been made, Nancy had slowly begun to change her mind about it as summer approached. She was changing in body and emotions from child to woman. It was obvious from her attitude that she had begun to think of summer camps as kid stuff. A lot of the gang would be around Harper all summer. She named boys who were going to work on the new road job, a superhighway that was in the process of construction and would cross Route 18 three miles north of Harper. She thought maybe she could get a job in the village. But Sam and Carol thought it would be best for her to extend her childhood through one more summer of swimming, riding, handicraft, cookouts, hikes and singing around the bonfires.

  Nancy was not sullen, and she was not a whiner. When it was made clear to her that she was going to go, she went into what Sam called her duchess condition. It was a majestic and patronizing aloofness, punct
uated by telling sighs and barely audible sniffs. She was above all of them and, of course, would condescend to go along with their ideas, no matter how childish they were.

  But at some point during the week after Cady was sentenced, there was a startling change of attitude. Nancy became vibrant about the plan, excited, going about with tiptoe pleasure. The change intrigued Sam and Carol.

  One night Carol said to Sam, “Mystery solved. I got her cornered today. She was packing her red dress, and with a furtive little manner about the whole operation. So I told her that would be a divine getup for scrabbling up the side of a mountain. So she told me firmly and haughtily that there are social evenings when the groups from both camps mingle. So I told her I was quite aware of that, and I was also aware that the top age for the young gentlemen from Gannatalla was fifteen, and thus the red dress would be like shooting a cricket with a deer rifle. Rather than be accused of lowering her sights, she confessed that Tommy Kent has a job as assistant director of athletics this year at Gannatalla.”

  “Ho!”

  “Yes, indeed. Ho! And the campers are closely supervised, and the female staff members of Minnatella are not so closely supervised, and her Tommy will probably become very buddy with an elderly staff member of eighteen or so and break our chicken’s heart.”

  “It’s a calculated risk. But I’m glad the duchess routine is over anyway. She’ll be fifteen on the twentieth. What day does that come on?”

  “A Saturday this year. We can drive down, bearing gifts.” She paused and gave him a stricken look. “I didn’t think before. That’s the day after …”

  “I know.”

  “What about them down there? Jamie and Nance. Will they be safe?”

  “I suppose he could find out where they are. Almost any contemporary in the village would know where they go. I’ve thought about that. You know how it is down there. They travel in packs. Great yelping packs, full of muscular enthusiasm. I’ve planned to instruct the kids and have a talk with the management when we drive them down. But having Tommy there may simplify it. I can talk to him. I think I like that kid. There’s a look of competence about him.”

  “You’ll have to hurry, then. They have a date tonight, and he leaves early in the morning. He has to get there early to help get the camp ready. They’re going to the benefit barn dance at the firehouse. He’s picking her up at eight.”

  “I never knew this routine was going to start so soon.”

  “We gals with Indian blood grow up early.”

  That evening Nancy raced through her dinner and was ready by quarter to eight. Sam cornered her in the living room. “Very rustic,” he said, approvingly.

  “Do I look all right?”

  “What are those things called?”

  “These? Ranch jeans for girls. They’re cut sort of like men’s.”

  “Sort of. But just to humor the idle curiosity of your senile male parent, just how do you get into them?”

  “Oh, that’s easy! See on the side of the legs here? Concealed zippers from your knee to your ankle.”

  “Very effective with that shirt. It looks like a tablecloth from an Italian restaurant. Nance, honey, I assume you’ve told Tommy about our … problem.”

  “Heck, yes.”

  “When he arrives do you mind pretending you’re not ready yet? So I can have a little chat with him?”

  “The car will be loaded with kids, Daddy. What do you want to say to him? I mean I don’t want you to sound—”

  “I’ll get him away from the others, honey, and I will not shame you.”

  There was still some sun at eight o’clock when Tommy arrived, and the long summer dusk was beginning to gather in blue shadows under the trees. Sam came down from the porch and met Tommy when he was halfway across the yard from the driveway.

  “Farmer Brown, I presume,” Sam said. Tommy wore bib overalls, a blue work shirt and a straw hat.

  “Pretty corny outfit, isn’t it, sir?”

  “A proper uniform for the occasion. Nancy will be ready in a few minutes. I want to talk to you a minute, Tommy.”

  He saw a fleeting look of apprehension and for a moment he knew exactly what Tommy was thinking. A sticky little scene coming up, with the papa saying how young his little girl was, and don’t keep her out late and so on.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Nancy says she’s told you about a man who is giving us a bad time?”

  “Yes, she told me. I can’t remember his name. Brady?”

  “Cady. Max Cady. In jail now. But he’ll be released next month on the nineteenth. You’re old enough so I can lay it on the line. I think the man is dangerous. I know he is. He wants to hurt me through my family. That’s the way he could hurt me the worst. He may go down to camp. I want to give you an extra responsibility. I want to tuck Jamie under your wing. Make sure he isn’t ever alone. Give the other people down there the word. I think you could achieve the best degree of alertness down there if you tell them there’s been a kidnap threat. My wife and I talked this over, and we think he’ll be safer there than here. Are you willing to do this?”

  “Yes, sir. But what about Nancy?”

  “You’ll be three miles away from the other camp. I’m going to talk to them when we take the kids down. She’s older than Jamie and less likely to forget to be cautious. But I think … she’s a more logical target. I’m going to try to handle the problem here when Cady is released. If it is handled, I’ll get word to you at once, Tommy.”

  “I understand there aren’t many men over at Minnatalla,” Tommy said dubiously.

  “I know that. You will see Nancy off and on, I assume. Keep reminding her to stay with the pack. She’s seen Cady. That’s going to be a lot of help to her.” He gave Tommy a detailed description of the man and said, “If a situation should come up, don’t try to be impulsive and heroic. You’re husky and you’re an athlete, but you’d be no match for the man. He’s got the size and speed and ruthlessness of a bear. And I don’t think you could stop him with a pipe wrench.”

  “I understand.”

  “And understand this too. I’m not being dramatic.”

  “I know that, sir. I know about the dog. I never heard of anything like that before. I’ll make certain they’ll both be all right, Mr. Bowden. I won’t goof it.”

  “I know you won’t. Here comes the farmer’s lady.”

  He watched them walk out to the parked car. There were long whistles as Nancy approached the car. After they left, waving and yelling, Sam went back to the porch.

  When Carol came out, bringing him the unexpected bonus of a tall gin and tonic, he said, “I’m thinking about pendulums.”

  She sat on the railing near him. “Lecture by Bowden.”

  “You can always tell, can’t you?”

  “Of course, darling. Your voice gets a little bit deeper and you articulate more carefully. Out with it.”

  “If I could rehearse this, it would be better. I suspect we’re near the end of the glamour days of juvenile delinquency. I think a very unusual crop of kids is coming along. Good kids, but strange. They’ve become bored with the dissipations of their elders and the animal philosophies of their contemporaries. They are tired of using the bogeyman of military service as a built-in excuse for riot and disorder. This is a very moral crop of kids. They are sophisticates, but they practice moderation by choice. They seem to have a sense of moral purpose and decent goals, which, God knows, are all right. But they appall me a little. They make me feel like a doddering degenerate. Tommy is a good kid. The pendulum is swinging back.”

  She put her glass down carefully on the railing and clapped solemnly. “Hear, hear.”

  “Now stop listening to me and we will sit in this stagy dusk and listen to bugs.”

  “To myriad insects, please.”

  “You can tell temperature from crickets.”

  “So you have told me a hundred times.”

  “Another sign of senility. Banality and repetitiousness. And forgetfulness
, because I never can remember the formula you use on a cricket.”

  “Let’s just say when the crickets sing outdoors, it’s warm enough.”

  “Fine.”

  They sat in silence while night came. Jamie and some of his friends were playing in the barn. The shrilling of their voices merged with the insects’ song. Sam tried to submerge himself completely in the subtle rhythms of the summer night, but he could not halt the ticking of the clock in the back of his mind. Each second brought them closer to the return of danger. And he knew that Carol too listened to that clock. It was, he thought, somewhat like the knowledge of a mortal illness. It made the immediate beauties more vivid, all pleasures sharper, while at the same time it stained beauty and pleasure with a distressing poignancy.

  When the phone rang Carol went in and answered it and came back out and said, “It’s dispersal time. Go and break up the atomic set, darling.”

  “Atomic?”

  “Where have you been? They are constructing an atomic sports car.”

  He broke up the group. Bicycle lights went up the road and plans for tomorrow were shouted back and forth. It was the wonderful world of all the summers of childhood. Television, after having been a source of worry for a time, was back under control. Summer was time to use the big muscles, time for running and yelping. Summer was the time when the big red dog should have been running with them, banging into tanned legs and knocking them down, undergoing a quavering ride in the atomic sports car, barking with frustration at being unable to join them in a tree, collapsing loose-jointed into her corner at night to enter a dream world that set her legs twitching while she ran with consummate valor after all the monsters she had terrified into flight.

  They left early for camp on Monday, the first of July. Most parents would have taken the kids down on Sunday, and that had been the original plan, but after family debate, Sam had decided to take Monday off so that on Sunday they could picnic on the island. It had been a perfect day on the island. On the way home a stiff breeze had come up, and Bucky, accepting his Bonamine a little too late, had spent the last half hour of the trip home hanging over the rail, intensely indignant with his own stomach, aware of black betrayal.