by Jack Usher
The man shoved the pistol into the waistband of his trousers and walked around in front of the bound man. He was dressed in black, a sailor’s watch cap pulled completely over his head and face. Two small holes for the eyes and a slit, exposing only part of his mouth, were not enough to make him recognizable. Black shoes completed his costume.
“I asked you a question,” the man said.
“Pelchek? Never heard of him, friend.”
The man kicked Reyes again. Viciously. Then walked around the writhing and helpless man, kicking wherever he saw an opening. He had almost kicked him into insensibility when he caught sight of the girl making for him, high-heeled shoe in hand. He grabbed her by the front of her dress, savagely twisting her around and hurling her toward the far wall.
The entire top of the dress ripped away in his hand, and she hit the wall with a thud, scraping bare arms and shoulders against the rough adobe. He followed her, jerked her around by the hair and struck her a half-dozen hard, open-handed blows on the face and head. He let go of her hair and, as she began sinking to the floor, kicked her in the stomach. She hit the floor sprawling, lay with her face in the dirt, blood seeping from her nose and mouth. Reyes had begun to curse in Spanish and English. Terrible words, deadly and monotonous.
He turned his head and watched the man reach down and begin stripping Mary Perrini, tearing the rest of the clothes from her semiconscious body, roughly dragging her over the floor as stubborn fabrics refused to tear. The dazed girl, partly aware of what was happening to her, feebly tried to ward him off. When he’d stripped her, he put a foot to her shoulder and shoved her to the floor, let her lay cowering and naked in the dirt. He then methodically tore the clothes into shreds, scattering them around the small room.
“You’re insane,” Reyes muttered.
“Don’t say that!” the man said. “Don’t—” He controlled himself, moved over in front of Reyes, pulled the pistol from his waistband. “Are you going to answer my questions?”
“You’ll let the girl go?”
“I’ll drive her to an airport tonight and put her on a plane to wherever she wants to go.”
“No, he won’t, Al.”
Reyes turned his head and looked at the girl. She had pushed herself to a sitting position and was leaning against the wall, one bloody arm held in front of her breasts.
“He won’t let me go, or you either,” she panted. “Besides, someday I’d find out who he is and kill the filthy pig!” She spat bloodily, turned her head to the wall. “Tell him nothing.”
“That’s a woman, friend,” Reyes said to the attacker. He took a long look at the girl. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
When he turned back the man shot him. Point-blank. The force of the bullet slammed Reyes back on the dirt floor and he rolled on one side, lay still.
Mary Perrini didn’t even look up. Still facing the wall, she allowed herself to sink to the floor. Tears spilled over and coursed down her bruised cheeks as she bit her lips. And waited.
The man untied the cord that bound Reyes’ legs, then unlocked the handcuffs. He dragged the unresisting body away from the upright.
“It won’t be that easy, Miss Perrini. I’m sure you can imagine the picture they’ll get when they find you two. If they ever find you. I’ll come back and unlock the door in about three weeks. That should be sufficient time.” He paused, watching the naked girl. “That is, unless you wish to co-operate. No?” He walked to the door, took another look around, then ejected the live shells from the revolver. He left the spent cartridge under the firing pin, tossed the gun near her prone figure. He went out, shutting the heavy door behind him.
The girl vaguely heard the snapping of a padlock. She lowered her face into her hands and wept softly.
CHAPTER 13
ELENA drove into the yard as Pelchek and the old man were eating breakfast. She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the kitchen table.
“Mary called me late yesterday afternoon, Steven. She’s canceled her engagement at the Casa and gone to Chicago.”
“When did she leave?”
“Last night. When I picked up the car today, Mr. Fenner said Al picked her up and took her to the bus station.”
“I wonder if Al found out anything yet?”
“I don’t know. I called his place just before I left town and they said he wasn’t in. He’s probably out trying to locate those men.”
“This young woman. She was sympathetic?” Aguilar peered over his coffee cup, darting quick glances at both of them.
“Oh, yes. She was wonderful, Grandfather,” Elena said, turned to Pelchek. “I have a message for you, Steven. She said to tell you she was going to be playing in a cellar in Chicago, and that it wasn’t very far from Milwaukee.”
“It would have to be real far to keep me away,” Pelchek said.
“I don’t understand,” the old man said. “You say this girl has much talent. Why does she play in a cellar? After the Casa Camino she should be able—”
“With Mary’s kind of music you sometimes go down before you can go up, Grandfather.” She patted the old man’s hand, then said to Pelchek, “All right, Steven. Into the bedroom and onto the bed. I’m going to change your dressings.”
They moved to the bedroom, Pelchek easing himself down on the bed. She efficiently removed the bandages from his head and body, then said:
“You should wear a shirt, Steven.”
“The one I arrived in was too filthy. The old man will take care of it, though. He’s going to town today and buy me some things.” He glanced at her bent head as she arranged the clean bandages. “How does it look?”
“Your side doesn’t show any signs of festering or infection. Thank goodness it was a clean, shallow cut. Your head is still a mess, though.” She smiled at him gently as she applied fresh bandages. “How does it feel?”
“As if someone beat on it with a piece of chain,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, Steven.” She grasped his hand and held it against the side of her face.
“Cut that out, Elena,” he said, quickly pulling his hand away. “I told you once. I’m doing a job, that’s all. Don’t ever do that again.”
“You’re not so tough.” Unruffled, she was putting the medical supplies away. “You like to appear that way, but you’re not fooling me.”
“I’m not? Well, wait until this side clears up and I’ll show you how tough I am. How long has it been since you’ve had your backside beat?”
“Steven!”
“No woman in my family tells me off. It’s against the hunky religion. You gave me the right yesterday. Remember?”
“Olé! Olé! my son.” The old man stood in the open doorway, grinning through strong yellow teeth. He turned to the girl. “This one sounds almost good enough to be a Mexican.”
“Men are all crazy,” she said, smiling at them both, then asked seriously, “What can I do today, Steven? I don’t go on duty until four this afternoon.”
“Where’s the closest phone?” he asked.
“About two miles up the highway from where we turn off. At a service station.”
“You can drive me down there and back. Your grandfather is going into town and won’t have time.”
“All right,” she said doubtfully. “But I’m not sure you should be riding around. The doctor said forty-eight hours—”
“Don’t worry,” he broke in. “You’ll be driving, and when we get back I’ll stay quiet the rest of the day. These calls are important.”
“I’ll take you.” She went to the kitchen for her purse. “Here’s the money, Steven,” she said, handing him a sheaf of currency.
“Did you have any trouble cashing the check?”
“No. I gave it to Mr. Fenner and he cashed it at the Casa. He didn’t even ask me where you are. Just said he’d hold your cottage for you until you got back. He must like you.”
“I’ve never met him. Maybe he doesn’t like Romero.” He handed the money to Aguilar. “Here y
ou are, Mr. Aguilar. Buy whatever we need, and don’t forget the clothes. You still have the list of sizes?”
“Right here,” the old man said, tapping his shirt pocket. He pulled a worn wallet from his hip pocket and stuffed the money into it.
Later that morning Pelchek made his phone calls from the service station. First, he put through a collect call to Elman. In a matter of minutes he was speaking with the little lawyer. He talked for five minutes.
“… and get Bartlett busy on those names. I want everything you can get on Baker Land employees. That includes McCreery. I will want anything you can find on members of the family, too.”
“But, Steve! Most of them were never even called at the trial.”
“Never mind. Just get me the information.”
“All right, I’ll see to it. How is everything else?” Elman asked.
“We’re moving, I think. There’s no question any more, Elman. Someone wrapped Baker up, and whoever it is is getting worried. Real worried.”
“Have you any ideas?”
“Yeah, and I hope I’m wrong. In the meantime, don’t call me at the Casa. I won’t be there. Any messages you have, leave them with Elena Baker at the hospital.”
When he’d finished with Elman he called his office in Milwaukee, talked for a few minutes, then rejoined Elena in the car.
“Okay, nurse. You can take me home now.”
The man paced back and forth across the large room. He cursed softly and faced Allen Baker.
“One person, Baker. One lousy, drunken sheepherder, throwing his money around in a whorehouse. It must be that! There isn’t anything else Reyes could know to tell him.”
“Where is Pelchek?” Allen Baker sat in the large wicker armchair, features bloated and discolored through a three-day growth of blond beard. A half-empty whiskey bottle stood on an adjoining table. His eyes focused blearily, forehead wrinkled in thought as he looked at his visitor.
“I don’t know and I can’t ask. Neither can you. I think he’s at the girl’s grandfather’s, but none of us can go out there to see.”
“Why not?”
“If you’d stop making a pig of yourself you’d be able to answer questions like that. Only one man can hurt our plans. Orrosco!”
“All he can do is tell ’em about the fight,” Baker said. “That’s what you told me. That he saw Cal and Walker fighting? Are you sure that’s all he saw? Sometimes I wonder if Cal really—”
“That’s exactly what he saw.” The man walked around the wicker chair, eyes narrowed. He watched the back of Baker’s head as he continued speaking. “If Orrosco had talked then it might have been called self-defense.” He waited carefully for Baker’s reaction.
“I didn’t think Cal would be convicted of first-degree murder. You said the worst they could do would be to charge him with manslaughter. You said it would mean a short prison term and—”
“And that he wouldn’t come back from prison to bother you or the Company,” the man finished for him. “Well, he was convicted and sentenced. And unless you want to be, you’d better hope Pelchek doesn’t find out anything solid.”
Baker poured two inches of whiskey in a glass and prepared to drink it. The man took two swift steps and dashed the glass from his hand.
“What the hell!”
“You’ve just finished drinking until this is all over,” the man said. “You’re taking a shower, going to a barber shop for the complete treatment, and in the morning you’ll arrive at your office ready to see your sister. Ready to help and full of brotherly affection.”
“You can’t tell me—”
“Yes, I can, Allen,” the man said wearily. “You’re a damned coward, a sniveler, and a weakling. You always were. Only when the old man was alive you were able to hide it from everyone. Now you’d rather see your brother in the gas chamber than take a chance on going to prison for suppressing evidence in a murder case. Or allowing the Rodriguez thing to be published. Of course, that would mean prison for you, too.”
Baker sat silently in the chair.
“No, Allen, as long as you can have your liquor when you want it, your tarts behind closed doors, and still be a power in this town, you’ll do as I say.”
Baker glared at him with a twisted smirk on his dissipated face. “At least I live a little, you damned coldblooded bastard.”
The man stared at the sodden Baker, then said quietly, “All right, Allen. Go take your shower. I’m staying with you until morning.” He picked up the bottle. “You get a shot of this when I think you need it.”
Baker got to his feet and lurched toward the door. He held onto the doorjamb to steady himself and looked back. “What about Reyes? He doesn’t like me anyway. If he thinks I know anything he’ll bust all hell loose to find out what it is.”
“You don’t have to worry about him. Go take your shower.” The man sat in a chair facing the bathroom, prepared to wait.
“Mary!”
The hoarse whisper penetrated the battered girl’s semiconsciousness and she moved her head slightly. The lamp still filled the room with flickering yellow light.
“Mary! Look over here!”
She twisted painfully until she could peer through matted hair at the recumbent figure. A small streak of light showed at the bottom of the solid door.
“Al!” She crawled over to where he lay. He reached out an arm and pulled her head to his shoulder.
“The damned fool!” he said. “He should have made sure.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked in his face. She was crying softly. “I thought you were dead, Zapata. How bad are you hurt?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe we’d better look.” He put both hands behind him and pushed himself to a more upright position. “See if you can get my coat off.” He tried to smile. “You look like you need it.”
She struggled with the coat, finally getting it off and out from under him. She put it on, using his necktie as a belt, then knelt by his side and pushed his hands away from his shirt buttons.
“Let me do it, Al.”
She got the bloody shirt off, tossed it to one side. He wore no T shirt. A bluish hole, blood encrusted, was visible directly below his left breast. He followed her gaze, looking down at the wound.
“If it’d gone straight in I’d be dead. Roll me over, Mary, and see if it came out.”
She turned him over, saw no sign of profuse bleeding. Then she saw it. A blue-white lump, halfway down, in the fleshy part of his back. It had stretched the bronze skin tight. She touched it with her finger and he winced.
“That’s it. That’s the bullet, Mary. It must have plowed into a rib and gone around instead of through.”
“What are we going to do?” She moved around until she could look at him. “Can you move at all?”
“Not much. I think the lead is causing pressure on a nerve or something. Get my knife out of my pants pocket.”
“What?”
“Get it, Mary. We can’t do anything this way. You’ll have to cut it out.”
She got the knife, and at his direction, opened the small blade. It was razor sharp.
“Heat it over the lamp flame. Let it get good and hot.”
She did as she was told, then came back and got on her knees beside him.
“Do exactly as I say, querida. Cut right across where it’s the tightest. Don’t saw or jab. Cut. Deep and fast. Don’t worry about the blood. We’ll want plenty of blood to wash it out. And don’t worry about me. I’ll cuss in Spanish if it hurts too much.”
“You say any damned thing you want, sweetie. In any language,” she half-sobbed. “Ready?”
He pulled his arms in close to his sides, drawing the skin tight over the lump. She placed the blade above the swelling and cut down quickly. The blood spurted and the blade scraped as it passed over the piece of lead.
“Push around it with your fingers,” he panted.
She placed her fingers around the cut and pushed in. “Harder!” he said, begin
ning to curse gutturally.
She applied more pressure and the piece of bloody lead fell into her palm. Reyes let out a tremendous sigh, let his head sink to the floor.
“Let me see it, querida,” he breathed.
She helped him to a near-sitting position, sliding in behind him to give him support. Leaning on one arm, he took the lead with his other hand and examined it.
“Maybe I’m lucky,” he said. “It’s all in one piece, so if it didn’t hit anything vital, I’ll make it.” He let his head fall back on her shoulder. “Is your watch still running?”
She held it to her ear, then looked at it. “It’s almost seven o’clock. I must have been out most of the night.”
“Shock, Mary. Anyway, he won’t be back in the daytime. Now it’s up to us. We have a few things to do if we’re going to get out of here. First, see if you can find enough left of your clothes to make a couple of compress bandages,” he directed.
She eased him back into a reclining position, then searched the room for pieces of her underclothing. When she’d gathered enough, she folded the remnants into two thick squares of material.
“Now what?”
“Now the coat, querida. Take it off and tear the lining out.”
She quickly divested herself of the coat and started to remove the lining. He looked at her bruised and scratched body impassively. She smiled painfully through puffed lips.
“A mess, huh?”
“Yeah. I’ll find him, Mary,” he promised slowly. He began to study the boarded ceiling.
“What do I do now?” She had put the coat back on and stood holding the gray silk lining.
“Tear it in four-inch strips and give them to me.”
After tearing the strips, she helped him to a sitting position, handed him the pieces of silk. He tied them together, making one double square knot in the center.
“Take one of the compresses and put it over the hole in my back,” he directed. “Good! Now put the knot on top of it and pass me the ends. There!” He placed the second square of folded material where the bullet had entered his chest, crossing the strips of silk strapping and pulling with all his strength. He let his breath out, then said to the girl, “I’ll breathe as shallow as I can. Take the ends and pull as hard as you’re able. Cross ’em and hand ’em back to me.”