“Yes. I brought some whisky. I thought . . .”
“Well, get it!”
She looked quickly at him, flinching at his tone, but she went into the inner room, came out a moment or so later with a bottle of Scotch, two glasses and a pitcher of water. Harry poured himself a four-finger shot, splashed a little water in the glass and drank half of it. He added more whisky and went over and sat on the bed. He lit a cigarette while he watched Glorie make herself a drink.
“I ditched Franks,” he said. “I had to.”
He saw her stiffen, then she turned slowly and stared at him.
He looked up, then looked away.
“You—you ditched him? He was wounded, wasn't he?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did you ditch him?”
“For the love of mike, don't look at me like that!” he said violently. “I ditched him on the road. I had to. Not far from here, I ran into a roadblock. The cops were holding up all traffic and searching the cars. I'd have looked good, wouldn't I, if they had found Franks with me, bleeding all over the seat. I had to ditch him!”
“I see.” She sat down abruptly as if her legs wouldn't support her. “What's that, Harry?” She pointed to the steel box on the bed.
He braced himself. He knew instinctively that he was going to have trouble with her.
“Now look, Glorie, let it lie. I'm tired. I've had a hell of a night . . .”
“What is it, Harry?”
“The diamonds! What the hell did you think it was?”
She put her hands to her face, her eyes opening wide.
“But why haven't you given them to Borg? You wrote and told me that was the arrangement.”
“I haven't given them to him because I've stopped being a dope. Why should your pal collect two million bucks while I take all the risks and pick up only fifty grand? I know who will give me a million and a half for the diamonds, and I'm going to do a trade with him. To hell with Delaney! And to hell with Borg!”
“No!” Glorie exclaimed, her voice shrill. She started to her feet. “You mustn't, Harry! You must give the diamonds to Ben. You must! He paid you the money. He trusted you! You can't do this!”
“Yeah, he trusted me. He trusted me like a fox. He had two thugs following me wherever I went. He slicked Borg on to me. Trusted me? That's funny. That rat wouldn't trust his mother not to put poison in his food. He gave me the money because he knew there was no other way he could get his claws on the diamonds. Okay, he's been smart too long. Now it's my turn. I'm trading the diamonds and he's going to whistle for them.”
Glorie struggled to control herself. She was shaking and cold and terrified.
“Look, darling, you don't understand,” she said, trying to speak slowly and quietly. “I can see how you feel about this. I can understand the temptation, but you mustn't do it. No one has ever double-crossed Ben and got away with it. No one. They've tried. I know. I've lived with him for fourteen months, and during that time dozens of men have tried to pull a fast one on him. They've never succeeded, and, darling, you won't either. Oh, Harry, do try to believe me. I'm telling you this because I love you. I don't want anything to happen to you. I want you alive, Harry, not dead. Don't you understand?”
“Relax Glorie,” Harry said. “What you don't seem to understand is that he will be looking for Harry Green. Thanks to you Harry Green doesn't exist anymore. He is buried in the sandhills where no one will ever find him. This is the one time Delaney is going to be double-crossed, and there is nothing he can do about it He'll never find me. I don't exist. He can hunt for me as the police can hunt for me until he and they are blue in the face They'll never find me, thanks to you. They can hunt for a thousand years. Delaney can hunt for a thousand years. The guy they are looking for has ceased to exist. Don't you see that? Snap out of it, baby. We're sitting pretty. We have fifty grand in the bank waiting for us in New York. I've got three million tying there on the bed. What are you worrying about? This is fool proof. Can't you see that?”
Glorie put her tends to her face and began to cry.
IV
When the telephone bell rang, Ben Delaney got quickly to his feet, leaving Fay pouting and surprised on the settee, crossed the room and picked up the receiver.
He had listened to the broadcast about the robbery. He had been shaken out of his usual calm by the news of the slaughter.
If the diamonds were traced back to him, there would be trouble, he thought, as he had listened to the excited voice of the commentator. The guard dead and Lewin and Meeks killed! This was going to cause a sensation. If his name got hooked to the robbery, Chief of Police O'Harridan would have to move against him, and that was the last thing Ben wanted. He had been waiting for Borg to ring; cursing him for keeping him waiting. He had been waiting now for two hours, and the sound of the telephone galvanized him into life.
“Yeah?” he said into the mouthpiece. “Who's that?”
“Borg.” The fat, breathless voice came over the line like treacle.
“It's a gyp. He hasn't shown.”
Ben felt a hot wave of rage run through him.
“Keep talking!” he snarled.
“I've been waiting here for two hours and there's no sign of him,” Borg said. “We had arranged to meet at nine-thirty. It's close on twelve now. He's run out on us.”
“Maybe not,” Ben said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “He may be in trouble. The radio said he and Franks went off in the car. Franks was wounded. The police may have got him.”
“The police haven't got him, but they've found Franks. Green dumped him by the roadside; left him to bleed to death. When the cops picked him up, he'd been dead at least half an hour. No, Green's skipped all right; skipped with the diamonds.”
Ben thought of the fifty thousand dollars he had paid Green.
He thought of the two million dollars he could have got for the diamonds. He thought of the yacht.
“If that punk thinks he can double cross me, and get away with it, he's got another thing coming,” he said, his voice shrill with rage. “Get after him! Do you hear! Get after him!”
“He doesn't exist,” Borg said, unconsciously echoing Harry's words. “He never was Harry Green. By now he's got rid of his limp and that scar and he's someone else. I told you how it would be.”
Ben slid off the desk into his chair. His face was white and glistening. His eyes looked like river-washed pebbles.
“Do you know the number of the car?”
“LMX—999007. How's that help you?”
“Shut up asking questions!” Ben's hand gripped the telephone so tightly, he drove the blood out of his nails. “Listen, you're to find this guy. I don't care how long it takes or how much it costs. Find him! And listen, I don't want to set eyes on you again until you do find him. Understand? You've got no other job until you've found him, and if you don't find him you haven't got a job.”
“I'll find him,” Borg said placidly. “It’ll take time, but I'll find him.”
“That Glorie Dane woman might know where he is. Get after her,” Ben said. “I don't have to tell you how to find him, just find him!”
He slammed down the receiver and sat for a long moment staring down at the desk blotter.
“What is it, honey?” Fay asked, raising her lovely head to stare blankly at him. “You sound angry.”
“Shut up!” Ben shouted. “Keep out of this.” He picked up the receiver, said, “Give me police headquarters.”
Fay made a futile face and sank back on to the settee. She reached for a chocolate from the box at her side and studied it with interest. It was a bore that Ben was cross, she thought.
She wanted him to take her to the movies tonight. Now, he would rant and rave until bedtime. She lifted her shoulders. Of course he would be sorry in the morning. He'd give her a present to make up for his rudeness, but it was a bore. She put the chocolate in her mouth and thought how good it tasted.
Ben said, “Give me O'Harridan.” He waited, t
hen when the Chief of Police came on the line, he went on, “Pat? This is Ben. How are you? Swell. Yeah, I'm fine. Look, Pat, I've some inside dope you might be able to use. One of my boys tipped me off. The guy who pulled that aeroplane robbery is Harry Green. No, I don't know anything else about him except I heard he had his photograph taken at the Photomat on Essex Street. My man seems to think the limp and the scar's a fake. His car is a Pontiac, number LMX—999007.” He listened, a fixed wolfish grin on his thin lips. “Why sure, Pat. You know I always do what I can. Yeah; hope you catch him. This type of hold-up is bad for trade.”
He laughed. “Let me know if you get him. Yeah. Be seeing you. So long for now.”
He hung up.
chapter four
I
Long after Harry had fallen asleep, Glorie lay awake beside him, staring up at the bars of light across the ceiling that came in through the blind from the illuminated office sign.
She was realizing that she was powerless to stop Harry from double crossing Ben. She was sure now that if she continued to beg and argue with him, he would lose patience and leave her.
She felt sick with fear as she thought of the consequences of Harry's planned treachery. She knew Ben. Double crossing him was as dangerous as handling a cobra. She told herself that she must give Hairy up if this was the way he intended to behave.
She knew if Ben discovered that she and Harry had planned the robbery, and it was 'her idea that Harry should disguise himself, he would have no mercy on her.
But although she was terrified, although she knew the only sensible thing to do was to cut away from Harry, she knew too that she couldn't bring herself to do it. She felt that Harry was the last man in her life. If she lost him, there would be no others: she would be alone, and rather than face that, she decided to face the threat from Ben.
Perhaps after all, she argued with herself, she was frightening herself for nothing. Ben would be looking for Harry Green, and as Harry had said, Harry Green no longer existed. No one, not even Ben, for all his cunning and cleverness, would know that the man at her side had been the fat-faced, scarred, thickset Harry Green. She was sure of that. But would Ben suspect Harry if he found them together? There was the danger, and she shivered, suddenly realizing that for Harry's safety, she should leave him even if she refused to care about her own safety. It was only through her that Ben could possibly trace Harry. If he found them together and made enquiries about Harry and found out that he had once been a pilot for the C.A.T.C. he might easily put two and two together and guess Harry was the man he was after.
But that wouldn't happen if she broke away from Harry.
She couldn't do it, she told herself. They must go away: as far away from Ben as they could get. He couldn’t search the whole of the States for them. After they had been to Europe, they must settle in Florida and not in California. That way they might be safe.
Then another thought dropped into her mind: suppose it occurred to Harry that Ben could find him through her? Suppose he realized that die was the only link between himself and Harry Green? What would he do? Leave her? Hate her? Her hands turned into fists. What would he do?
She turned her head to look at him. He was sleeping heavily, his handsome face relaxed, his mouth firm in sleep, and, watching him, she felt weak with love for him.
She couldn't give him up. She knew that. Even if it meant death for both of them.
A sudden sound outside the cabin made her stiffen. She raised her head to listen, her heart beginning to pound. Someone was moving about outside. She heard the scrape of a shoe; a board creaked on the verandah. She pushed back the bedclothes, so frightened, she had difficulty in breathing, caught up her wrap, slid into it and crept across to the window. She looked through a chink in the blind.
What she saw in the moonlight turned her cold and she throttled back a scream that rose in her throat. Turning, she ran over to the bed and catching hold of Harry's arm she shook him violently.
Harry sat up, throwing off her hand.
“What's the matter?” he said angrily. “Can't you let a guy sleep?”
“The police!” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “There are ten of them out there.”
Harry stiffened. She saw the blood drain out of his face, and stark, naked panic jump into his eyes. He reached under his pillow for his gun. She heard the safety catch snick back as he threw off the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor.
“No, Harry!” she said in a fierce whisper. The sight of his fear drove her own away. She was now protective; her mind working swiftly to find a way to save him. “Put that gun down!”
“They won't get me alive!”
“But they don't know you. They'll never know you, Harry! What are you thinking of? Put that gun down!”
He hesitated, then went over to the window and peered through the chink in the blind.
He could see a number of men in peak caps clustered around the Pontiac that he had left in the parking lot.
“It's the car,” he said. “I should have ditched it! But how could they have known it was here? How could they?”
She caught hold of his arm.
“Did anyone see you drive in?”
“I don't think so. I didn't see anyone myself.”
“Did you tell the manager you had a car?”
“No.”
“Then it's not yours. If they ask you, tell them you came by bus. The last bus would get you here about the same time as you arrived. Our car is at the head of the line: the Mercury. Tell them I came here by car and you followed by bus. We came from Carson City and we're going to Los Angeles.”
Harry nodded. That made sense to him. He was recovering now from the shock. He went to the window and looked out again.
Six of the policemen, flashlights and guns in their hands, were converging on the cabins.
“Where's the box?” Glorie whispered.
He had forgotten the box. He had forgotten he was holding his gun. He had forgotten he had left Franks' gun on the mantelpiece in the front room.
He ran in there, snatched up Franks' gun and put both guns up the chimney, He ran back to the bedroom, took the steel box from a drawer in the chest and looked around wildly for a safe hiding place.
A heavy knock sounded on the outer door.
Glorie snatched the box from him.
“I'll hide it. Answer the door!”
Harry hesitated, then, drawing in a deep breath, he walked into the living room, turned on the light and opened the door. His heart contracted as he found himself looking at the two policemen, guns in hands.
He remained motionless, staring at them while they stared at him.
“Who are you?” one of them barked.
“I'm Ted Harrison,” Harry said. “What's the idea?”
“What is it, darling?” Glorie said, joining him. She pretended to stifle a scream at the sight of the policemen. Watching the two policemen's faces, Harry saw they had relaxed at the sight of Glorie.
“Nothing to get excited about,” one of them said. “Is that your car outside? The Pontiac?”
“Why, no,” Glorie said. “Ours is the Mercury.”
“We're coming in,” the policeman said. “We're looking for a guy. He may be hiding in here.”
Harry stood aside.
“Come on in. There's no one here except my wife and myself.”
One of the policemen entered and went into the bedroom. He came out almost immediately.
“No,” he said to his companion. “I guess he's miles away from here by now. He ditched the car.” He looked at Glorie. “You heard about the diamond robbery?”
“Yes. I heard it on the radio.”
“That's the getaway car there. Did you see it arrive?”
“I think I heard it. I don't know what time it was: about an hour ago I guess.”
“It would be longer than that. The car's cold. More like around half-past twelve.”
“I didn't look at the time. Do you think they're
hiding here?”
The policeman shook his head.
“He wouldn't stay here. He'll be on the move. I guess he had another car hidden somewhere. You didn't hear another car, did you?”
“I might have. I did think there was something, but I was only half awake.”
“Well, okay; sorry to have pulled you out of bed.”
Nodding, the two policemen left the cabin and joined the others who were going from cabin to cabin, talking to the occupants.
Glorie closed the door and leaned against it. Harry looked at her and drew in a slow, deep breath.
“You were pretty good,” he said. “You've got a nerve, baby. I was ready to climb up a wall.”
She went past him into the bedroom and sat on the bed. She was shaking and cold. It was starting, she thought; just like the days when Ben was a small-time gangster. The sudden alarms in the night, the hard-faced policemen with their guns and their questions, the smooth lies she used to tell to cover Ben, She had hoped all that was finished with, but no, it was starting again, and it would go on. She was sure about that now, and the .thought turned her sick.
Harry was standing at the window, watching the police through the chink in the blind. Three plain-clothes detectives had now arrived and were photographing the car and going over it for fingerprints, and, watching them, a sudden feeling of cold panic crept over him.
He hadn't thought of fingerprints. The feeling he had had of safety suddenly dropped from him. That was the way they could nail him! He must have left dozens of prints on the car. If they decided to fingerprint everyone staying here, they'd have him.
He spun around.
“Glorie! They'll find my prints on the car! That'll sink me. I hadn't thought of the prints.”
She stared at him. She hadn't thought of them either.
“Maybe I could get away out the back,” he went on, his face tight with fear. He ran across to where he had left his clothes.
“I stand a chance . . .”
“No! “ Glorie jumped up and ran to him. “Don't be a fool! If they find you gone, they'll know it was you. You've got to keep your nerve. If you run now, you're done for. There's a chance they won't think of taking your prints, and if they don't, you've beaten them.”
1955 - You've Got It Coming Page 10