1963 - One Bright Summer Morning

by James Hadley Chase

  Quickly, Harper told Dennison what was happening.

  “And now Dermott's gone up to the house. I warned him to keep clear, but he's gone,” he concluded.

  Dennison swore softly.

  “You've certainly fouled this one up,” he said. “Get Miss Van Wylie away. Can she drive the jeep?”

  Brody shook his head and shrugged when Harper asked him.

  “Brody says no. She's hysterical.”

  “Then tell Brody to take her direct to her father. That's the first move. These three are certain to use Mrs. Dermott as a hostage . . . that's a bet. You stay where you are. If they break out with Mrs. Dermott, I want to know. If they break out without her, I'll have the road blocks set up. Keep in touch with me and don't go near the house. I want to know what's going on,” and Dennison went off the air.

  In the house, Biff and Chita stared at Moe as he threatened them with his gun.

  “You gone nuts?” Riff snarled. “We take her with us and we're in the clear!”

  “For how long?” Moe said wearily. “We're not going to add to our troubles. We're going without her!”

  “We take her with us or we don't go!” Chita said shrilly.

  “You do what I tell you!” Moe's face hardened. “I'm sick of you two! I've nothing to lose now. You do what I say or I'll wipe the pair of you out!”

  It was at this moment that Vic's car headlights flashed across the curtain. Moe swung around and started towards the window. Chita threw herself at him, sending him reeling. She snatched at the gun and got it. She backed away as Moe recovered his balance. She pointed the gun at him.

  “From now on,” she said viciously, “we'll handle this.”

  Riff was at the window, peering through the curtains.

  Chita snapped off the lights. Riff recognized Vic's Cadillac.

  He saw Vic get out of the car.

  “It's Dermott!”

  “Watch it!” Chita said sharply. “Don't show yourself!”

  “Gimme the gun!”

  Chita handed him the gun. Riff again peered out of the window. Vic was standing motionless, looking towards the ranch house. He saw Riff at the window.

  “I'm alone,” Vic called. “I have the ransom.”

  “Palsy, you'd better be alone,” Riff said. “I have a gun on you. Come on in, with the dough.”

  Vic lifted the two suitcases from the car and walked up the veranda steps.

  “Let him in,” Riff said to Chita. He remained, watching at the window as Chita went into the lobby.

  Moe stood motionless, but his eyes peered around the moonlit room for a weapon. Near him, on an occasional table stood a small bronze statuette of a naked girl. He edged towards it until he was close to the table.

  Aware that he had moved, Riff looked swiftly at him.

  “Don't start anything you can't finish, Fatso,” he said.

  “I'm not starting anything,” Moe said. “This is the end of the road. We're not going to get away with it.”

  “Shut your mouth! You may not, but we will!”

  Vic came in, followed by Chita who sat once again on the arm of the lounging chair.

  “So we have Feds out there, palsy?” Riff said viciously.

  “Was this your bright idea?”

  “There were two of them,” Vic said. “One of them is dead. The other is taking the Van Wylie girl home.”

  Through the open window they could hear the jeep start up. A few moments later they saw the headlights of the jeep lighting up the dirt road as the jeep headed fast towards Pitt City.

  “Yeah?” Riff sneered. “You expect me to believe that? Come on . . . how many more of them are out there?”

  “I've told you. There's no one now, but there will be. In another hour the place will be swarming with them. Here's the money . . . take it and get out!”

  Riff jerked the curtains into place.

  “Put the light on.”

  Chita reached out from where she was sitting and snapped on the lights.

  “Where's Kramer?” Riff demanded, glaring at Vic. “Why isn't he here?”

  “Why should he be?” Vic returned. “This is your share of the ransom. He's already on the run.”

  Riff looked at the suitcases.

  “How much?”

  “Over a million and a half,” Vic said.

  “You're lying!”

  “See for yourself.”

  Vic put the suitcases on the settee and snapped back the locks. He opened the cases and stood away. The Cranes stiffened at the sight of all the money packed in the suitcases.

  Then Riff, hypnotized by the sight of so much wealth, lowered his gun and went across to the suitcases. He had to pass Moe and this was Moe's chance. Moe's hand dropped on the bronze statuette, lifted it and smashed the base of it down on Riff's wrist. His movements were so fast the eye couldn't follow them.

  The gun dropped from Riff's hand and he yelled out with pain, clutching his wrist and staggering away. Moe scooped up the gun and covered both the Cranes.

  Chita hadn't moved. She sat on the arm of the lounging chair, her face expressionless, her eyes glittering.

  Moe said, “Tell me the truth, Mr. Dermott. Are there Feds out there? We'll need help. I'm turning these two in . . . I'm turning myself in. If they're out there, call them in.”

  “There's one out there,” Vic said.

  “Okay, then call him in,” Moe said.

  Nursing his wrist and cursing, Riff leaned against the wall as Vic started towards the door. Moe swung around and covered Riff with his gun. His back was half turned to Chita. He didn't see her slide her hand under the cushion of the chair. Her fingers groped for and found Vic's automatic which she had taken from Riff's trousers pocket the previous night and had hidden under the cushion.

  Vic stepped out into the lobby. As he walked towards the front door, Carrie came out of the bedroom.

  “Oh, Vic!” she exclaimed joyfully. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  He went to her, catching her in his arms.

  “It's all right, darling,” he said. “Just a moment . . . I'm getting the Federal Officer. I . . .”

  The violent bang of gunfire that exploded from the lounge turned them into frozen, frightened statues. Under the cushion, Chita had thumbed back the safety catch, lifted the gun from its hiding place, levelled it at Moe's back and squeezed the trigger.

  Moe felt the impact of the bullet without pain. It was as if someone had hit him with a heavily padded sledge hammer. He went down, knocking over an occasional table, his gun sliding out of his hand and coming to rest at Riff's feet.

  Her face set in a white, hard mask, Chita stared at Moe, watched him as he moved in a feeble endeavour to get to his feet, then raising the sight of the gun slightly and aiming at his head, she again squeezed the trigger.

  In the brief seconds before the second bullet smashed into Moe's skull, he thought of his mother. He wondered if she had been frightened to die. He regretted not being with her when she had passed on. In these brief seconds, he realized, even if he hadn't listened to Kramer, with her death, he would have had no future. People, he thought, had to live with people, and he had never had anyone to live with except his mother. With her gone out of his life, he knew he was lost. There was no pain. He knew he was dying. At least, he thought, he would never again be caged up in the awful cell. Just before the second bullet killed him he thought of the Dermott's baby.

  Riff picked up Moe's gun with his left hand.

  “The son-of-a-bitch's broken my wrist,” he whined.

  “Oh, shut up!” Chita snapped and going to the door, she covered Vic and Carrie as they stood motionless, staring at her. “Come on in,” she said, “and be careful how you come.”

  The sound of the two shots came clearly to Harper. He immediately contacted Dennison on the two-way radio.

  “There's shooting going on up there,” he reported. “Looks like the Dermotts want help. Permission for me to see what's happening.”

 
“You stay right where you are,” Dennison said firmly. “In less than an hour, you'll have help. Pitt City police are sending men out to you. I must know if these hoods make a break out and if they use the Dermotts as shields. You stay right where you are and report to me . . . understand?”

  “But they could be killing those two up there,” Harper protested. “I can't stand by . . .”

  “You heard me!” Dennison barked. “Stay where you are . . . that's an order!”

  At the sight of Moe's dead body, Carrie stifled a scream, turned and hid her face against Vic's shoulder.

  Riff seemed stunned that Moe was dead. He stared at his sister, stared at the gun in her hand, but although bewildered, he had sudden confidence that if anyone could get him out of this spot she could.

  “Take the money!” she said to him. “Put it in the car!”

  “I can't carry them,” Riff snarled. “My wrist's broken!”

  “Do what I say!” Chita screamed at him. “To hell with your wrist! Take the money to the car!”

  Cursing, Riff shoved the gun into his hip pocket, shut the lids of the suitcases, grabbed the handles in his left hand and staggered out of the room with them.

  Chita eyed Vic and Carrie. The gun in her hand pointed directly at them.

  “I killed him,” she said, nodding to Moe's body. “I've got nothing to lose now.” She was speaking directly at Vic. “We're leaving, but we're taking your wife with us. Start something and I'll fix you and your baby! Now . . . get away from her and stand against the wall!”

  “You're not taking her with you!” Vic said, white-faced, but determined, “Oh no!”

  “Get out of the way!” Chita screamed at him. “I won't tell you again!”

  Carrie broke free of Vic's hold.

  “I 'm going with them,” she said breathlessly. “Vic, please . . .”

  “No!” Vic exclaimed. “I'll go! What's it matter who goes?” He went on to Chita. “My wife has the baby to look after.”

  Riff came in silently. He was behind Vic. Chita nodded her head. Vic had no warning. Carrie suddenly saw Riff, but before she could scream a warning, Riff clubbed Vic at the back of his head with the butt of his gun. Vic went down on hands and knees, then sprawled forward, unconscious.

  Carrie started towards him, but Riff grabbed her.

  “Let's go!” Chita said urgently. “Come on . . . come on . . . let's get out of here!”

  As Carrie was still struggling, Riff hit her across her face.

  Dazed, Carrie's knees buckled. Chita and Riff caught hold of her and rushed her out of the house to the Cadillac. Chita slid under the driving wheel while Riff shoved Carrie into the back seat. He got in beside her. Chita started the engine and headed the car towards the drive.

  “Think they'll shoot?” Riff asked, a quaver in his voice.

  “Why ask me?” Chita said impatiently. “You'll know fast enough.”

  Riff dragged Carrie on to his lap. He cowered down behind her, using her body as a shield. He stared with scared eyes over Carrie's shoulder at his sister who sat bolt upright, her hands gripping the driving wheel as she raced the car down the long drive towards the five-barred gate.

  Dennison was poring over a large-scale map of the district surrounding Wastelands when Harper came through on the two-way radio.

  “They broke out just this minute,” Harper reported. “I could only see two women, but maybe the men were lying on the floor. One woman was driving, the other was on the back seat. They're using Dermott's Cadillac. They turned left at the gate: that means they are making for Boston Creek.”

  Dennison looked quickly at the map spread out on his desk.

  “Okay, Tom: go up there, and find out what's happened to Dermott. Watch it! They may have left someone there, but I doubt it. Call back fast. I'll be waiting.”

  Harper picked up the two-way radio, slung it by its strap over his shoulder, then gun in hand, he ran towards the ranch house.

  He arrived as Vic came unsteadily to the front door.

  “They've taken my wife!” Vic said, leaning against the doorway. “You've got to do something! They've taken my wife!”

  On his way to the ranch house, Harper had passed Di-Long's body. He had paused long enough to identify the body and now he started past Vic to enter the house, but Vic grabbed his arm.

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Towards Boston Creek,” Harper told him. “What's been going on here?”

  “See for yourself,” Vic said. “There's a man in there . . . dead.”

  Harper went into the sitting room. He found Moe on the floor. He turned him over with his foot, made sure he was dead, then he switched on the radio.

  By now Dennison had alerted all police patrols within fifty miles of Boston Creek to look out for the Cadillac. One of his men was alerting all service stations to report if Dermott's Cadillac stopped for gas, adding the warning that on no account should there be any attempt to stop the car. Yet another of Dennison's men was alerting the various airports in the surrounding district.

  When Dennison heard Harper's report, his face turned grim.

  “They can't go on driving forever,” he said finally. “Sooner or later they'll have to go to ground. So long as Mrs. Dermott is with them we can't try to stop them. Come on back, Tom, and bring Mr. Dermott with you. Tell him we are doing everything possible for his wife's safety.”

  As Harper listened to what Dennison was saying, he became aware of the sound of a car starting up.

  “Hold it, Chief,” he said, and putting down the mike, he went quickly to the window. He was in time to see Vic drive Moe's Lincoln out of the garage, swing the car on to the drive and then at a speed that made Harper gape, roar down towards the exit.

  Swearing, Harper ran back to the mike.

  “Dermott's taken off!” he reported. “He's probably got some crazy idea he can overtake the Cadillac.” He paused as a new sound came to him: the persistent crying of a baby.

  “Oh, for Pete's sake! Now the Dermott's baby is yelling. What am I to do?”

  “You're getting married,” Dennison said unfeelingly. “You'll have babies of your own. This will be good practice for you. You'd better bring the kid to headquarters,” and he went off the air.

  With the speedometer needle showing eighty-five miles an hour, the Cadillac fled down the dirt road towards Boston Creek. Chita was hunched over the wheel, watching the road as it raced towards her in the powerful beams of the car's headlights. She felt exhilarated and recklessly excited. Already, she was working out a plan of escape.

  They had a million and a half dollars in cash! With that kind of money and with two guns, there was nothing they couldn't do, she told herself.

  Carrie sat in the corner of the back seat. She was desperately frightened. Sooner or later, this mad drive would end, then what would happen to her? She thought of Vic. Had he been badly hurt? She thought too of Junior. Who would look after him?

  Muttering to himself, Riff examined his swollen wrist. Very cautiously and wincing, he flexed his hand and realized with relief the bone wasn't broken, but it hurt him. Satisfied now he wasn't crippled and he wasn't going to be shot at, he began to recover his nerve. He leaned forward and shouted at Chita, “Where do you think you're going? Don't drive so goddam fast! You'll have us over!”

  Even as he spoke the car lurched dangerously as Chita took a bend in the road, righted itself as she wrestled with the wheel and then she once again increased speed.

  “Hear me!” Riff bawled, scared. “You'll have us over!”

  “Oh, shut up!” Chita said viciously, but she slowed as they came off the dirt road on to the highway leading to Boston Creek.

  “Where do you think we're going?” Riff asked again.

  “There must be an airport around here,” Chita said. “Our one chance is to get to Mexico. If we can charter a plane and get over the border, we'll be in the clear.”

  The hard coil of fear that had paralysed Riff's mind began to dissol
ve.

  “Baby, you're stuffed with brains,” he said admiringly. “Yeah, we can beat the rap that way.”

  “Look for a road map,” Chita snapped. “Do I have to do everything?”

  “Take it easy,” Riff said and climbed over the back seat to the front seat. He hurriedly pawed through the pockets of the car, but he found no map. He began cursing again. Then he turned around and glared at Carrie.

  “Where's the nearest airport?”

  Carrie, who had been listening to their conversation and who knew where the various airports in the district were, was determined to give them no help.

  “I don't know,” she said.

  Riff snarled at her. He leaned over the seat, doubling his fist.

  “I said where's the nearest airport! Don't feed me that don't know crap! You want some loose teeth?”

  Carrie stared at him, her face white, her eyes defiant.

  “I don't know.”

  Riff hesitated, then swung around to look at Chita.

  “So what do we do?”

  “We'll find one,” Chita said. She had noticed that the gas gauge showed the tank was nearly empty. “We're running dry. Get back to her. We'll have to stop at the next service station. Have your gun ready.”

  Riff scrambled over the seat and sat close to Carrie. “Listen, baby,” he warned, “I want quiet from you. If you start trouble, it'll be the last trouble you'll ever start.”

  He now had Moe's gun in his hand.

  Carrie edged away from him.

  As they approached Boston Creek, they saw the bright lights of a service station. Its flashing sign spelt out C-a-l-t-e-x.

  “This could be trouble,” Chita said softly. “Watch it, Riff. Hit her if you have to.” She put her gun under her thigh where she could get at it quickly, then she swung the car into the service station's entrance.

  A big, pleasant-faced attendant came trotting out as the Cadillac drew up.

  “Fill her up and skip the manicure,” Chita said curtly. “We're in a hurry.”

  “Who isn't?” the attendant said, grinning. He poked the nozzle of the hose into the Cadillac's gas intake. “Oil, water, tyres okay?”