by Jack Usher
“An hour, George.” She hung up, went to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.
CHAPTER 12
THE whining of the dog awakened Pelchek and he sat up quickly, wincing as the stitched cut in his side sent a lancing pain through his body. He listened carefully, but could hear nothing.
“What is it, boy?” He reached out, laid a hand on the dog’s head. Nueve looked up at him, still whining, the hackles on his neck beginning to rise. Then Pelchek heard the noise of a car motor.
He got up from the couch and went to the door, opening it in time to see the car come over the rise and pull into the ranch yard. It was Chris Baker. The dog met her at the edge of the small porch, wagging his tail tentatively.
“Which one is this? Siete or Ocho?” she asked, extending a hand, palm down, to be catalogued for future reference.
“Nueve,” he said, looking at her strangely. “Come on in the house, and how in the hell did you find me out here?”
“Oh, Steve!” She studied him closely as she tried to help him across the room. Extending from under the bandage on his head were two ugly bruises, raised to welt-like proportions, reaching out to discolor his left cheekbone. His left eye bloodshot to the retina, a shallow cut over his right eyebrow, various abrasions caused by sliding on his face in the graveled parking lot, did nothing to enhance his appearance. Chris helped ease him back on the couch, then sat on the edge. The corners of her mouth were white with anger as she gently touched his battered face with a soft finger.
“They tried to kill you!”
“I don’t think so. Just discourage me. Or keep me out of circulation for a while. Say, for thirty days. Now, how did you find me?”
“Elena’s never been the quickest girl in the world.”
“She told you?”
“No, but she made a slip.”
“All right, you’re here. Why?”
“I tried to see Allen this morning.” She bit her lip, said angrily, “Right after Elena called, I phoned his office. George looked all over town for him but couldn’t find him.”
“Drunk?”
“I don’t think so. At least, not passed out at home. I drove to the home place and both he and his car were gone.” She paused, then continued, “Is this the way he acted when Cal was being tried?”
“Elman says he wasn’t much use.”
“But he told me he hired the best lawyers money could—”
“He didn’t come up with a quarter,” Pelchek broke in flatly. “Cal and Elena used up what they had in the bank, then Elman worked for nothing. Here’s another thing they did while you were in New York listening to brother Allen’s advice. They froze Cal’s Land Corporation funds and stock, plus making it impossible for Elena to sell their house.”
“Then they’re trying to kill him! And Allen’s helping whether he knows it or not.”
“That’s the general idea,” he said. He pointed to the table. “There’s a box of green pills over there. Maybe I’d better take a couple. Elena said they’d smooth off the edges.”
She got up and went to the kitchen, returned with a glass of water. She resumed her place on the couch after he’d taken the pills.
“Much pain, Steve?”
“No pain.” His lips twitched. “Just aches. Everywhere.”
“How about your side?”
“It’s there.”
She leaned over, kissed him on the mouth, then said pensively, “No wonder Elena hates me.”
“When did you stop being her friend?” he asked. “When Cal got interested? When she decided to become a nurse? No, don’t stop me,” he said, not allowing her to interrupt. “You’ve been to this house before. Plenty. ‘Is the dog’s name Siete or Ocho?’ and a bee-line to the back of the kitchen for the water. What happened? Did your nice Mexican girl friend make the mistake of becoming a person who didn’t need condescension?”
“Why do you have to cut so goddam deep, Steve?” Her face was scarlet, eyes filled with tears. “Haven’t you ever been wrong?”
“Plenty. But we’re talking about you.”
“I suppose it’s the country,” she said more calmly. “I just haven’t been big enough to beat it. You’re right, of course. Elena and I were friends in school. We both held class offices in our senior year and had to do a lot of work together, so I spent a lot of time out here. In fact, in this bilingual town we were known as ‘Las Camaradas,’” she said. “During that time my parents wanted me in a public school and they thought this relationship was cute. When I got older, they didn’t.” She shrugged and went on. “I suppose I just went along with the system. Las Camaradas,” she concluded, half bitterly.
He grunted, said nothing.
“What’s the matter, Steve? Don’t you believe me?”
“Sure I believe you. Only it’s not the first time I’ve heard almost the identical story.”
“What can I do about it?”
“Nothing, I guess. At least, not now.” He reached in his pocket for a cigarette, lit it, then asked, “Are you sure no one followed you out here?”
“Perfectly. The last ten miles before the turnoff is straight road, and there were no cars in sight when I made the turn.”
“That means no one suspects you know where I am. Or, if they do, are afraid you know them. That would make following you almost impossible.”
“Do you have anyone particular in mind?”
“No. It could be one of several people or a combination of any or all of ’em. It could be your brother,” he said bluntly, “or you. Anyone that has anything to do with Baker Land and Mining, and that covers a lot of territory.”
“But that would mean—”
“Let me finish! I said it could be. There isn’t time to run everyone down on the list, so it has to be done a different way.”
“How?”
“I still won’t tell you.”
“All right, Steve.” She changed the subject. “I’m going up to see Cal tomorrow. Is there anything you want me to tell him?”
“Will he see you?”
“I think so. I wrote to him and I think maybe the letter will get me in to see him.”
“Good. You can tell him I’m working. Don’t mention this business,” he said, pointing to the bandages. “There’s no use adding to his worries.” He hesitated, then smiled crookedly. “Tell him I argue with you almost as much as I did with him. He’ll get the message.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said, laying her head on his good shoulder, “but it sounds as if it might be good. Anyway, we haven’t always fought.”
“Haven’t we? I’ve heard it described as a battle.”
“War is hell, huh?” She grinned into his neck.
“Yeah.” He reached up and pulled her around to face him. “You’d better leave now. Remember, you weren’t out here and have no idea where I am. Right?”
“Of course, Steve.” She got up from the couch. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Not a thing. If anything comes up I’ll call you.”
“Be sure to.” She leaned over and kissed him, then went to the door.
“Hey!” he called. She halted in the doorway, looked back over her shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked.
“No daytime Martini sessions?”
“Or nighttime either,” she said quietly, and left the house. He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Mary Perrini picked up her music portfolio.
“Thank you, Mr. Fenner. If there wasn’t such a good fill-in to work until you get a replacement, I wouldn’t cancel out like this.”
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind, Mary? The people like you. They’re even beginning to appreciate what you’re playing,” the hotel manager said.
“Real sure. I’ve had it. You were a doll to give me a full check, Mr. Fenner. You didn’t have to, you know.”
“Forget it. We may want you back someday.” He stood up, offered her his hand across the desk.
>
“Maybe it’ll be that way,” she said, taking his hand. “Anyway, I’ll tell some talent there’s a good man to work for down here. Thanks again, sweetie, and good-by.”
Up in her room she continued packing until interrupted by the telephone.
“Mary?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Reyes.”
“Oh, hey!” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you find out anything?”
“Some. I don’t want to tell it over a phone. Where can I meet you?”
“That’s easy, chum. If you’d like to give a lady a ride to the bus station you can fill me in on the way.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yep. But don’t think I’m going before I find out what you know about the clobbering. I’ve got an hour and a half before bus time. Will you come out here and pick me up?”
“Sure, if I can get in.”
“Look, Zapata. Just come to the desk and ask for me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Twenty minutes.” He hung up.
Mary jiggled the receiver, got the switchboard and asked for the manager. He was still in his office.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Fenner? This is Mary Perrini. Again.”
“Yes, Mary?”
“One more favor. A guy named Al Reyes will be here soon to take me to the bus station. Will you tell that creep at the desk to send him up here? This guy is… oh, you’ve heard of him? Well, does he come up?”
She could hear Fenner chuckle. “Sure he goes up, Mary. So what are they going to do, fire me? I own a piece of the joint.”
“Thanks. You’re another doll.”
Twenty minutes later she heard a knock on the door, went to open it. A smiling Al Reyes stood in the hallway, lightweight straw in hand.
“Come in, Zapata,” she said, pulling the door wide. As he entered and she closed the door, she gave a low whistle of approval. He tossed his hat on a chair, turned around and put his hands in his pockets.
“See? No serape or sombrero, Señorita.”
“Wow! You never bought that suit in this town.” She walked over and lightly fingered the material. “It feels like money. London?”
“Tokyo. Most of the guys in my outfit had a few made. Exact copies of Saville Row. Cheap.”
“Well, find a seat while I finish getting my things together.”
“Why the rush to get out of town? You don’t like it here?” he said, leaning against a bedpost.
“That’s not it exactly. There’s a basement joint in Chicago wants me. Lots of critics go there to listen. I should have left here weeks ago.”
“Sure it’s not Pelchek?”
“You’re pretty sharp, aren’t you, Zapata?” She applied a last touch of make-up and straightened her seams. She gazed at him in the mirror. “It might have worked out that way, but it didn’t.” She shrugged. “I just want to get out of here.”
He nodded. “Has anyone bothered you? About this business, I mean.”
“No.” She picked up her purse, pointed to a bag. “That’s the only one up here. The rest of ’em are down by the desk.” She smiled at him as he picked up the bag. “You can buy me a drink downstairs and tell me what you’ve found out.”
They found a booth near the back of the dimly lit Highway Room. Reyes looked at her across the table.
“You played in here?” he asked.
“Every night.”
“I wish I could have heard you.”
“I wish you could have, too. I’ve an idea you’d like my work, Al.”
The bar waiter arrived with their order, and after he’d gone she leaned forward, drink in hand.
“Who clobbered him?”
“Romero paid for it.”
“Can anyone prove it?”
“No. He had four eight-balls do the actual beating. They’re scattered all over, and even if they were pulled in, only one of them knows who did the hiring.”
“Chelo?”
“Yeah. He’s a perpetual jailbird. Romero used a few dollars and a lot of pressure on this guy, then saw that he got out of this part of the country. By the time he drifts back the whole thing will be over.”
“You get around.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t very hard. The chain helped some, and then, he had a woman. They all have a woman.” He motioned to a passing waiter. “Will you have a boy come in here, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter left, and Reyes turned back to Mary. “I wish you were staying in Las Milpas.”
“Sure you do,” she replied, smiling. She leaned forward, both elbows on the table and stared at him over her drink. “I can t figure—”
“May I help you, sir?” The boy stood by the table, looking at Reyes.
“Take these keys,” the Mexican said, handing the boy a set of car keys, “and put Miss Perrini’s bags in my car. It’s a yel—”
“I know your car, Mr. Reyes.” The boy grinned.
“Then put the bags in it. They’re lined up by the desk. You can leave the keys in the ignition. Here.” He tucked a bill in the boy’s uniform pocket, looked across the table again. “Now, what is it you can’t figure?”
A man got up from a darkened booth behind them and made his way out of the lounge. Mary waited until he was out of earshot.
“I can’t figure you, Zapata, but it’s too late for me to worry about it now. Can we have one more for the road? Then you can deliver me to Greyhound.”
A half-hour later he escorted her across the dark parking lot, headed for the canary-yellow convertible.
“Good God!” she exclaimed. “No wonder you told the kid to leave the keys in the car. It’s too damn big to steal! All I saw when you followed me home this morning were headlights. I didn’t suspect this monster.”
“My biggest folly,” he said, as he put her in the front seat and shut the door. He walked around the front of the car and got behind the wheel. “I suppose it makes a good many people unhappy. Maybe that’s why I bought it.” He started the engine, moved out of the parking lot, came to a stop between the stone pillars that flanked the entrance. “Don’t turn left!” a voice commanded from the back seat. Mary Perrini let out a stifled scream as she felt something cold and metallic pressed against the back of her neck, and Reyes started to turn toward her.
“Don’t even move, Reyes,” the whispered voice ordered, “or the woman gets her head blown off.”
Reyes sat still, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s better. Now turn off your dashlights and move very slowly, my friend. Good. You can turn to the right now, and be sure you drive properly. If you don’t, I kill the woman. And you.”
Reyes did as ordered, let his eyes search the rearview mirror. It was too dark to see anything in the back of the big car.
“Who are you?” he asked. There was no answer. “How about letting the girl out? She’s the piano player from the Casa and doesn’t know anything about anything.”
“Shut up and keep driving. I’ll tell you when to turn.” Reyes darted a glance at Mary. She sat rigidly at attention, her dark eyes wide with fright.
“This is kidnaping, mister. You can get—”
A hard, gloved hand struck the girl on the side of the face, knocked her head against the side window. She let out a short cry.
“I said shut up! The next time I use the gun.”
Reyes kept driving, lips tight and eyes smoldering. A quick glance at Mary showed a small trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. She didn’t attempt to wipe it off. They rode in silence for fifteen minutes; then came more whispered instructions.
“In a hundred yards you’ll turn right. Start slowing down.” The dirt road led back into the hills and after several miles began climbing. Reyes was again directed to turn off on a side road, this time a barely discernible set of tracks leading into thick sagebrush, grass having almost obliterated all signs of wheeled traffic.
“All right, he
re we are. Stop the car.”
Reyes stopped the car in the center of several old buildings, their sagging shapes silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
“Turn off your lights and motor. Put your hands on the wheel. Higher! That’s right. Now, miss, get out of the car and leave the door open. Slowly! If you take your hands off that wheel, Reyes, she gets it!”
Mary opened the door and slid from the car, feeling the gun’s pressure against her neck. The man eased out behind her, walked her around the back of the car until they stood by the driver’s door.
“Okay, Reyes. Get out and put your hands behind you.” When Reyes had complied, the man handed Mary a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on him. Tight. I want to hear ’em click.”
Reyes started to turn his head.
“Face the way you are,” the man said, shoving the gun deep in the girl’s back.
She put the handcuffs over Reyes’ wrists, closed them until the ratchets caught. Shifting the gun to his left hand the man reached out and exerted more pressure on the cuffs. They clicked twice more before he was satisfied.
“Walk over to that building,” he said, prodding Reyes toward a squat, windowless structure. Roughly grasping the girl’s shoulder he shoved her after Reyes. Herded inside the open door, they waited silently. The man halted in the doorway.
“Sit down by that upright, Reyes. Now, put your legs around it. Here!” He handed Mary a length of heavy cord. “Take three or four wraps around his ankles. That’s right. Now pull ’em tight. I said tight! That’s better. Make some loops the other way, between his legs. Good! Now tie a knot. Another!” He gave the commands in a whisper, the almost total darkness making him a vague shape in the doorway. “All right, that’s good enough. Stand over against the wall, miss.”
When Mary had done as ordered he came inside the room, moved over to a corner and picked up a lamp. He shook it to ascertain if it contained fuel, then lifted the chimney and lit it. He placed it on an empty box, adjusted the wick, turned to face his captives.
“Now, Reyes, where is Pelchek, what does he think he knows, and what’s he going to do?” he whispered. He walked over and kicked the Mexican brutally in the side. Reyes grunted and the girl put a hand over her mouth to hold back a scream.