1963 - One Bright Summer Morning

by James Hadley Chase

  “I told you! There's no risk!”

  “It's a snatch. Something could turn sour,” Riff said. “It's hard to keep the Feds out of a caper like this. Ten grand or we don't touch it.”

  Moe looked anxiously at Kramer. The old man looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel.

  “Then get out!” Kramer spluttered. “The two of you! Out! There are plenty of punks who'd do it at my price!”

  Chita moved uneasily, but her brother scowled at her. He said quietly, “For ten grand, we'll do the job, and we'll do it nice and smooth. You won't have any complaints. I promise you that.”

  “Get out!” Kramer snarled, leaning forward, his face congested. “Hear me! Out!”

  “It's not your money,” Riff said without moving. “What are you getting excited about? You just raise the ransom a little, and in return you get a hot service.”

  “It's five grand or nothing!” Kramer said, getting to his feet. His right hand hung near his coat where the bulge of a hidden gun was plain to see.

  Riff stared at him for a long moment, his face expressionless, then he stood up.

  “Come on, Chita,” he said. “We have things to do.”

  “Wait!” Moe said sharply. Turning to Kramer, he said, “I want a word with you, Jim,” and he walked into the bedroom.

  After hesitating while he glared at Riff, Kramer stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door.

  “What is it?” he snarled.

  “Take it easy, Jim,” Moe said quietly. “Don't say I didn't warn you. These two are tricky and you're handling them wrong. They are worth ten grand. They'll do the job. We can't afford not to pay them now. They now know we are planning a snatch. They are like snakes. I told you.

  Give them what they want and they'll do a job, but turn them out now and they'll cross the street and tell that Fed what's cooking. Neither of them have a record . . . but we have. Those two could fix us now. Don't you see that?”

  For some seconds, Kramer stood mouthing at Moe, his face purple, his great fists clenching and unclenching. Finally, he said in a voice that shook with rage, “You imagine I'm going to be stood up by a slob like him? I'll get some hood to kill him. I'll . . .”

  “Who will you get to do it?” Moe asked. “Neither of us have gunmen to call up now, Jim. I; you did find someone, you'd have to pay him, and anyway, it would be too late. Once the Feds know we are planning a snatch, we're through.”

  Kramer walked slowly and. heavily to the window. He turned his back on Moe. He felt a nagging pain under his heart. He hadn't been so worked up in years and this pain scared him. He stood motionless, breathing heavily until he felt the blood gradually leave his face and his heartbeats return to normal.

  Moe watched him uneasily, seeing the sag to the heavy shoulders and the furtive hand pressing against the bulky left side.

  Kramer turned.

  “You really think these slobs can do a job?” he demanded.

  “I'm sure of it,” Moe said.

  Kramer hesitated, drew in a long, deep breath, then suddenly shrugged.

  “Well, all right, but if I have any more trouble from them, I'll kill them myself!”

  Knowing this was a face-saving boast, Moe nodded.

  “That's right, Jim, but right now, let's talk to them again.”

  They went back into the sitting room. Riff was lighting another cigarette, his face expressionless. Chita was lolling back in her chair, her eyes closed. Her cheap dress had ridden up a little: she showed the tops of her stockings. As the two men came in, she straightened and pulled down her dress, but not before Kramer had seen the length of her slim, sensual-looking legs.

  “We've talked about this,” Moe said before Kramer could speak. “You'll get five grand each, but for that money, you'd better, do a job.”

  Riff nodded. His dark eyes lit up, but his face remained expressionless.

  “We'll do a job,” he said, looking at Kramer. He felt a surge of triumph run through him. He knew that Chita had thought he had gone crazy when he had turned down the first offer. For an uneasy minute, he thought too he had made a mistake, but he had bluffed this old square, and he had pulled it off! “You tell us what to do and we'll do it!”

  Kramer sat down. His face was blotchy and he still felt this tugging pain on his left side. He found his eyes kept going to Chita, remembering the glimpse he had had of her white thighs. The more he looked at her, the more her sensual body disturbed him.

  “I warn you two,” he said, “from now on you do what I tell you. I'm not having any trouble from either of you . . . understand?”

  Having won his victory, Riff could afford a servile nod of his head.

  “You'll have nothing to grumble about,” he said. “You can be sure of that.”

  Kramer stared at him. The expressionless, scarred face, the flat snake's eyes bothered him a little. It was quite a time since, he had had to deal with anyone quite as dangerous as this young slob.

  “Okay,” he said, paused to light a cigar, then when he had it drawing to his satisfaction, he went on, “Here's the plan. The snatch will be easy. I've been checking on the girl. Every Friday morning, she drives alone to San Bernadino for a hairdressing appointment. She then lunches at the Country Club before going back home. She's done this, routine run for the past two years. She lives with her father on a big estate out near Arrowhead Lake. There is a three-mile drive from the house down the private road to the San Bernadino highway. The entrance to the private road is guarded by a five-barred gate. There's a telephone by the gate. A caller has to telephone the house and one of the staff releases the lock on the gate and cuts off the electrified wires on the gate with a switch.

  “The girl leaves the house around nine o'clock. She reaches the gate at nine-ten.” Kramer paused and looked at Chita. “This is your job, so listen carefully. You'll be outside the gate at nine o'clock. You'll have a car. I'll get you one. At nine-ten, you'll open the hood of the car as if you have had a breakdown. Don't be too early or you'll have some helpful guy coming to stick his nose into the car. Moe will be with you, but he'll be out of sight. I've checked the place. There's a big clump of shrubs where he can hide and not be far from where you'll be parked. The girl has to get out of her car to open the gate. You'll go up to her, tell her you have a breakdown and will she give you a lift to the nearest service station. She won't refuse you. You're a girl on your own: she won't have anything to be suspicious about. You get in her car and she'll drive you towards San Bernadino. Moe will come out of hiding, get in your car and come after you.” Kramer paused and stared at Chita who was sitting forward, listening intently, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. “This is where you begin to earn your money. On the way, you have to convince this girl that she has to do exactly what you tell her to do. You'll be provided with the means.” He took from his jacket pocket a small flask. “This contains sulphuric acid. Touch this cap at the top of the flask and the acid is projected with considerable force. You tell her if she doesn't do exactly what you tell her, she'll get the acid in her face. Make a demonstration; spray some of the acid on the leatherwork of the car. Be careful how you do it. When she sees the results, she'll behave. I guarantee that!”

  Chita nodded as she reached for the flask.

  “I'll fix it,” she said. “That's easy. I've handled this stuff before.”

  Kramer and Moe exchanged glances. Moe lifted his eyebrows as if to say, “I told you so, didn't I?”

  “You will direct her to Mackling Square car park. This is a big public park and at that hour you won't have any trouble in finding room for the car. Moe will be right behind you. You and the girl will then leave her car and transfer to Moe's car, getting in at the back. You'll have to watch her. She's not likely to make a break for it, but don't relax for a moment. . . understand?”

  Chita nodded.

  Kramer looked over at Moe.

  “You'll drive them to Wastelands. You've seen the map and you know where it is. You should get th
ere around midday. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Moe said.

  Chita asked, “Wastelands? What's that?”

  Kramer ignored her. He was now looking at Riff.

  “Now you get your ears open and listen carefully. This is going to be your end of it. The trick in this is to find a place to hide the girl where no one will think to look for her and also find someone who will arrange about the ransom. None of us is going to contact the father. I've found a fella to do the job. You two ever heard of Victor Dermott?”

  Chita said, “There's a guy of that name who writes plays. You don't mean him, do you?”

  “That's him,” Kramer said. “He has a big reputation: he's known. People think a lot of him. I've picked him to talk to the father. He'll convince him to pay up and to keep the cops off our necks.”

  “Why the hell should he?” Riff demanded, scowling.

  “Because he happens to have a nice-looking wife and a baby,” Kramer said, smiling evilly. “You, Moe, the girl and you,” he glanced at Chita, “will be in his house. Your job is to put such a scare into this fella he'll do what he is told.”

  Kramer regarded Riff's blistered and scarred face. Okay this slob was tricky, but Moe had picked the right one. If he couldn't throw a scare into a man with a wife and baby, then no one could.

  “I don't get it,” Riff said. “How does this guy come into it?”

  “He's writing a play,” Kramer explained. “I happen to know the fellow who has rented him a ranch house. I've seen the place. I went there a couple of years ago. It's the most awful, lonely, Godforsaken spot you can imagine, but just the place for a guy who wants some peace and quiet to write a play. He's out there now with his wife, baby, a Vietnamese servant and an Alsatian dog.” Kramer paused to stub out his cigar, then he pointed a thick finger at Riff. “Your first job is to fix the dog and the servant, then throw a hell of a scare into the Dermotts. Get it?”

  “I can fix the dog,” Riff said, looking searchingly at Kramer, “but how do you mean . . . fix the servant?”

  “These Vietnamese can be tricky. You'll have all you want to do watching the Dermotts,” Kramer said. “Keep the servant locked up in his quarters. He could make a bolt for it and make trouble.”

  Riff glanced at Chita who stared back at him with blank eyes. Impatiently, he shrugged.

  “You'll put the telephone out of order and immobilize the cars,” Kramer went on. “They have shotguns. Get them and put them out of the way. Make sure there are no other guns in the house. Then stick around until Moe arrives. You'll get down there around midnight the day before the snatch.”

  Riff got to his feet and crossed the room to the window. He looked through the curtains without touching them.

  “What do we do about that jerk down there?” he asked.

  “Not a thing. You two go down to the bar and buy yourselves a drink. Stick around for half an hour and then leave. That guy down there doesn't know you, but watch out you're not tailed. The chances are you won't be, but watch out. Moe leaves now. They know him and they'll tail him, but Moe's been tailed before. I'm checking out after lunch. They'll tail me.” He showed his big, yellow teeth in a grin. “And I've been tailed before.” He levered his bulk out of his chair and went over to a briefcase. From it he took a thick envelope which he tossed to Riff. “There's all the dope for you both. Maps, times and the whole setup. When you've got the stuff into your heads, burn it. We make the snatch next Friday. In the meantime, Moe will drop out of sight. On the day before the snatch, you will be at Twin Creek Tavern at five o'clock. Moe will be there. He'll give you final instructions and check to see you both know what you're to do. Got all that?”

  Riff, who had been listening intently, nodded.

  “How about some dough now?” he asked. “We're down to our last dollar.”

  “You'll find a hundred bucks in there,” Kramer said, waving to the envelope that Riff held in his hand. “That'll hold you. Moe will give you more when you meet. He'll also have a car for you.” The small, hard eyes shifted to Chita. “Now, get down to the bar and remember if you foul this up, you'll have me as well as the Feds to reckon with!”

  The Cranes went out, leaving Kramer and Moe together.

  * * *

  On Thursday night, Riff Crane drove on his motorcycle from Pitt City towards Boston Creek. Some fifteen miles along the highway, he turned off on to a dirt road and drove a further fifteen miles until he arrived at the five-barred gate that guarded the entrance to Wastelands.

  It was a warm, moonlit night. Riff pulled up outside the gate and sat for some moments peering up the long drive that he had been told by Moe led to the ranch house.

  Riff was wearing his black leather uniform together with a pair of heavy goggles that half hid his face. He was sweating and uneasy. This was his first major job and he knew the consequences if the job turned sour. He and Chita had talked and talked about the job during the past seven days. They were both mesmerized by the thought of laying their hands on ten thousand dollars, but at the same time, they both realized they would be risking their lives. This wasn't their usual small-time, petty thieving: this was suddenly big-time, and the payoff, if the

  job turned sour, would be their finish. Both agreed after endless discussion that the gamble was justified. A character like Kramer, old as he was, wouldn't stick his neck out unless he was sure the job would work.

  So Riff was now committed. In another nine hours, Chita would also be committed. Then there would be no turning back for either of them. The job had to succeed!

  He opened the gate and wheeled his machine on to the grass verge. Moe had told him to walk the machine up to the house. Riff walked very cautiously, his eyes probing ahead. He had no stomach for a sudden encounter with an Alsatian dog. He had come provided with a lump of poisoned meat, but he knew if the dog saw him before it saw the meat, he would be the one to suffer.

  It took him over an hour before he saw the ranch house in the moonlight, and by then sweat was streaming off him. He lowered his machine on to the grass and then moving rapidly, he approached the house.

  He was lucky. He saw the dog before the dog either saw or smelt his approach. Riff dropped flat. The dog was standing upwind, looking away into the darkness. It was some fifty yards from the ranch house and by the way the dog stood, its ears cocked forward, Riff guessed it sensed pending trouble.

  He took the meat from the plastic bag and gauged the distance, then with a quick overarm throw, he tossed the meat towards the dog. It was a good throw: the meat landed within a few feet of the dog. It whirled around, looking in Riff's direction, but Riff had already flattened in the sand, sure he would be invisible in his black uniform. He lay there, sweating, his face buried in his arms, wondering if the dog was bounding towards him and knowing it would be fatal to make the slightest movement.

  He lay like that for a long, heart-thumping five minutes, then very slowly, he raised his head. He saw the black shape of the dog lying on its side. He stared, waited, then as there was no movement, he got slowly to his feet. He approached cautiously.

  Ten minutes later, using a trenching tool he had brought with him, he had completed the burial of the dog. He spent some minutes smoothing down the sand, and then satisfied no one could tell where the dog was buried, he returned for his motorcycle.

  He wheeled the machine towards the outbuildings. Leaving it behind the garage, he paused to take stock of his surroundings.

  Moe had supplied him with a detailed plan of the house and the outbuildings. He quickly identified the staff cabin. In the cabin would be the Vietnamese servant. He hesitated for a long moment whether to tackle the servant first or go to the house. He decided finally to go to the house. Moving like a long, black shadow, he silently circled the house. He quickly found the lead-in wires of the telephone. These he cut and rejoined with thin black string Moe had provided him with.

  To the left of the house were french windows, leading to the gunroom. The lock on the door gave him little t
rouble and he moved silently into the big room. He had never before broken into a house and he was nervous. He stood in the darkness, moving the beam of a powerful flashlight around and listening. The beam came to rest on the gun rack.

  He lifted the guns to the floor, then acting on Moe's instructions, he searched the drawers of the desk. He found the .38 automatic which he slid into his hip pocket. Then gathering up the guns, he walked out into the moonlight. When he was several hundred yards from the house he buried the guns in a sand dune.

  All this took time. When he returned to the ranch house, it was a little after two o'clock. He closed the french windows and with the aid of a paper-thin knife, he coaxed the catch to drop back into place.

  He then walked quickly over to the garage. The door was unlocked. He swung it up, entered and lowered the door back in place. He turned on the electric light. Working quickly, he removed the sparking plugs from both cars. These he rolled up in his handkerchief. He carried them to the place where he had buried the guns and buried them too.

  He was less nervous now. Everything was working out the way Moe had said it would. The dog was gone, the guns buried, the cars immobilized and the telephone fixed. He now had to take care of the Vietnamese servant.

  From a long narrow pocket that ran the length of his left trouser leg, he drew out a bicycle chain. This was Riff's favourite weapon in a fight. Carefully he wound the chain like a bandage around his right fist. He flexed his fingers, making sure he hadn't the chain on too tightly, then satisfied, he headed for the staff cabin.

  Di-Long was a shrimp of a man: fine boned, thin and nervy. A few minutes after two o'clock, he had woken out of an uneasy sleep. Usually, he slept through the night and to come awake so suddenly startled him. He lay for some moments in the dark, wondering what could have woken him, then he turned on the bedside light and got out of bed. He found he was thirsty and he went into the kitchen.

  He took a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator and snapped off the cap. With the bottle in his hand, he went to the cabin door, turned the key and pulled the door open. He moved out into the warm moonlight, looking across at the ranch house. As he stood there, Riff came silently around the side of the cabin.