Steve Blake’s mouth pulled wide in a wolfish grin.
“Don’t you want to hear why I’m afraid, Bruce? Don’t you want to hear the best part?”
“No.”
“Because you’re a sneak. I’m afraid of you because you’re a sneak. Not because you’re a man. If you tried to act like a man, I’d take that little gun away from you and beat your teeth out with it. But you’re not a man. You’re a sneak. A man with a gun is one thing. But a sneak with a gun is a hell of another thing.”
Bricker nodded toward the dark sedan parked at the curb. It was a new model car. It looked as if it hadn’t been out of the showroom a week. Bright. Shining. New. You could buy things like this if you were willing to sell out your friends. Sometimes you could buy them with money from honest labor. But not so many. Not so quickly. And Blake knew that Bruce Bricker preferred the quick way every time.
“Just stand there,” Bricker told Steve. Bricker went warily around the front of the car, his hand on the gun in his pocket lifted high, his harried eyes never leaving Steve’s face.
Bricker slid into the car, under the wheel. The gun was in his hand now. Glinting in the street light. “Get in,” he said.
Blake opened the door, got in and slammed it after him.
Bricker tried to smile. “I’ve got to drive, Blake. So don’t try anything. This gun is ready. Like I told you. I don’t want to use it. I’m trying to do you a favor.”
“I know. That’s what scares the hell out of me.”
“Stop hating me, Steve. I’m trying to make it up. I know I made a mistake.”
“No. Your old lady did. She should have drowned you before you learned to bark.”
“You’ll thank me for this, Steve. I’m giving you a chance to make five grand.”
He had shifted gears and the car moved out into the deserted streets. He drove intently, one hand on the wheel, the other holding the automatic in his lap. Steve glanced over. He could see that the safety was shoved off. There was a bullet primed in that chamber, he thought. With a name on it. Steve Blake’s name.
His voice grated in the silent, smooth running car.
“Look, Bricker. Stop with the sermon about what you’re doing for me. What in the hell do you think I want with five grand? Money. Christ, that’s for people who’ve got something to spend it on. I haven’t got anything to spend money on. I’m dead. I’ve been dead since Stella was killed. Stop offering me money. If you want to do something for me, take me to the man that killed Stella. Help me get my hands on him.”
“I wish I could, Steve. I wish to God I could.”
They went up Second Avenue and passed the Seaboard Station. Steve glanced out the window. The place was dark, closed. He thought of the Saturday afternoon he’d come back home. A hundred years ago? A thousand? He couldn’t say. It had been raining. That much he remembered. He had been happy. He had been a guy on the way to the girl he loved.
What was he now? A corpse-maker. A dead man walking around. A man without reason to live. An executioner fixing a noose for a killer’s neck.
“Where the hell are you going?” he growled. Bricker had driven the car across Ninth Street and had turned down a narrow alley that led deep into Negro town.
“It’s down here,” Bricker said. His voice was hollow. “This is where the job is.”
“Christ. You’ve sunk pretty low, haven’t you, Bricker?”
“They’re hiding down here.”
“Who’s hiding down here?”
“Both of them. Terravasi. Dickerson.”
“You’re crazy. You’re lying.”
“I’m not crazy. I’m not lying. That’s our job, Steve. Ten grand. And they’ve got it. I know. I saw it.”
“Listen to me. Ross Connell was in the Regal Hotel. He told me that Dickerson and Terravasi had asked for police protection out of town. And he told me that they got it. I’ve seen cleaner citizens than Ross Connell. But I’d a hell of a lot rather believe him than you, Bricker.”
Bricker didn’t answer. Blake looked at him. The military brush hair. The sweated face. The dishonest eyes. God, who could ever trust Bricker? Maybe Prue Quincy, who had what he wanted. Maybe somebody who didn’t know him.
Bricker cut the engine and let the car roll to a stop before the rear of a battered brick building. The night was black down here. There were no street lights to crack it open. It was the black night. The close, hot black night. Unbroken.
“Get out ahead of me,” Bricker said. “And stand still. Just don’t make any noise, Steve. There’s no use making this tougher than it has to be.”
Blake got out. He stood in the hot, thick night. The evil smelling night. Bricker slid out of the car behind him and inched the car door closed so that there was not a sound.
There were wooden stairs leading up the rear of the brick building. Bricker nodded toward them with his closecropped head.
Blake started up the steps. They protested, squeaking every time he moved. He could hear Bricker just behind him. The sound of Bricker’s breathing. The squeaking of the steps.
A door opened above them. A Negro stood in the light, looking down at them. He was wearing trousers buttoned at his navel and no belt, no shirt and no shoes.
“Lawdy, boss,” he said to Bricker. “Am I glad to see you. Them gem’mums is getting’ mighty sick and mighty nervous in there.”
“Okay, Sam,” Bricker said. “We’re here now. We’ll take over.”
“Yassuh.” He looked at the gun in Bricker’s hand. He turned then and his dark eyes went over Steve Blake’s face.
“My Lawd, Mistuh Steve. What sort of business is this? What sort of bad business is this? You need any help?”
Blake just grinned at him. Bricker said sharply, “Never mind, Sam. You’re getting paid just to keep your mouth shut. So you better start earning your money right now.”
Sam’s mouth pulled together. “Yassuh,” he said. But his eyes remained on Steve’s face, remained worried. “It don’t seem right,” he said. “A fine man like you, Mistuh Steve. A man what’s already got all the grief in the world on his shoulders.”
“I told you to shut up!” Bricker blazed. “Steve Blake will make five grand out of this. What the hell else is there?”
“A man with Mr. Steve’s troubles, money won’t help him. It ain’t money he needs. It’s a man like you leavin’ him alone that he needs, so’s he can get to the work that’s left to him. Avengin’ the death of his woman.”
Steve stopped just inside the door. He looked at the big man. “It’s all right, Sam,” he said. “You understand. People like you understand. Thanks.”
“My God!” Bricker ejaculated. “What’s there to understand? Five grand is five grand. I’m doing you a favor.”
Steve looked at him. He said nothing. He walked into the room where Terravasi and Dickerson awaited him.
He had to look twice at Dickerson to know him. Dickerson had been arrogant, immaculately dressed. Now he looked like the back alleys of hell. His clothes hung, sweated and rumpled. He hadn’t shaved in two days. His hair was wild on his head and his eyes were harried.
Terravasi was sitting at a bare table. He had stood up under it better than his boss. Or else he looked so much like a tramp anyway that the hell he’d been through since the fire on Gale Island didn’t alter him outwardly.
Terravasi was drinking steadily. His eyes were hot and hazy.
Dickerson mumbled, “Thank God, Blake. We had about given up. We thought you’d never get here.”
“I’m here,” Steve said. “What do you want with me? I’m the guy that was no more good to you. I’m the guy you weren’t going to take a chance with the police on. I’m the guy you gave an hour to get out of the world.”
Dickerson ran his trembling hand through his graying hair. “My God, Steve, forgive me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know then.”
“No. You were on top of the world. You didn’t know.”
“Don’t hate me, Steve. I — ”
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t give a damn.”
Dickerson prowled the room. “You’ve got to give a damn!” he said. “You’re the only man in this town who can help me. I thought Bricker could. But he can’t. He says you’re the only one.”
Blake looked at him without compassion. “What do you want?” he said.
“I want to get out of this town!” The way Dickerson croaked it, it was a wail, a plea for help. A drowning man’s hopeless cry the third time down.
“I thought you were out once.”
Dickerson stared at him. “Out once? How? When? Arrenhower’s company men are watching this town. Terravasi and I couldn’t even walk down Central Avenue and hope to stay alive!”
“I thought you told me Arrenhower wouldn’t stoop to a thing like that.”
“Steve, for God’s sake. The man who talked to you that way Sunday morning is dead. He’s gone. The things he believed and the arrogance he felt are all gone. I’m a helpless old man, Blake. I never knew how helpless until I began to try to find some way to get out of this town alive.”
“What about your family? I might help them.”
“Help them! My God, man. It’s me who needs help! They let my family go. They went out on the Silver Meteor. They’re all right. They’re out of Florida by now. But they’re after me. And they’re after Terravasi. Thick shouldered goons with guns at their hips. Hired by a man who knows no law except his own. Arrenhower laughs at the government when they try to tell him what to do. His company police are after me. I can’t stand it. I’ve got to get away. And Bricker says you’re the only man who can help me.”
Blake shook his head. “Ross Connell told me that you and Terravasi had put the finger on me as the man who had set fire to your house. You said I was trying to kill you.”
Tears welled in Dickerson’s eyes. He looked as though he were going to fall on his knees before Blake.
“I was trying to fool Arrenhower. Don’t you see? I still thought that if Arrenhower believed I wasn’t after him, he might call off his wolves! It didn’t work! God forgive me, I said the only thing I could think to save my hide.”
“Yoah hide?” Sam said from the corner of the room. “What about the hide of Mistuh Steve? Put on by little men like you. Little men who come whining after him in the night when they get into trouble. You didn’t mind adding to a man’s woes when his heart was already breakin’. And now you beg him for help. God help me, I hope I never sink so low.”
Dickerson stared at the big man. His teeth chattered and tears brimmed over his eyes. “I don’t ask forgiveness. I only ask for help. It’s not for me, Blake. What becomes of my family if I die?”
“My Lawd,” Sam said. “Prob’ly they throws a party and has real pork chops, do that happen.”
Dickerson was visibly shaking now. “I asked for police protection, Steve. Out of town. They gave it to me. You know where they took us? Out Fourth Street, to Gandy Bridge, to the Gulf City city limits! And there they left us — right at Arrenhower’s front door!
“Terravasi and I ran through the mangroves to a fishing camp. They had a public telephone. I called Bricker. He came out and got us.” His lips curled. “But he said he wouldn’t have come if he had known that Arrenhower had sent his men over here to pick us up!”
“All right,” Blake said. “So Bricker brings you here to Sam’s place and agrees to find me for ten grand. That’s where you made it worse, Dickerson. I might have helped you. I might have helped Terravasi. But I’m not going to do anything that’ll help Bricker collect ten grand.”
Bricker spoke then. “Blake talks tough, Dickerson,” he said. “But I hold the gun.”
“Do you want I should take it away from him, Mistuh Steve?” Sam said.
Bricker’s face went white. “Keep away from me, Sam. So help me God!”
Blake smiled. “No, Sam. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to help these two guys get out of town. I’ve decided to do it. The only thing is, Bricker is going along. Just for the ride.”
“No!” The word broke across Bricker’s mouth.
He took a backward step toward the wall. The gun came up in his hand.
Terravasi spoke then. He got up from the table and stumbled over to the door. He leaned against it. “You’re going, Bricker,” he said. “You can’t get us all. So you better put that thing away. If it means me gettin’ away from Arrenhower, you’re going with us.”
15
LET’S GET GOING!” Dickerson said. “For God’s sake, let’s get going!”
“No,” Blake said. “Not so fast. There’s going to be a delay, Dickerson. You might as well make up your mind to that.”
“A delay?” Dickerson’s voice shook. “How long?”
Blake thought a moment. “We can’t leave here for two hours.”
“Two hours?” Dickerson’s voice rose into a wail. “Every minute counts. Do you think they’re not looking for us right now?”
“I can’t help it. You want me to get you out of Gulf City and on the way out of Florida. Bight? Then you’re going to have to do it my way. Relax, Dickerson. Sam won’t let Arrenhower get you, will you, Sam?”
Sam grinned widely. “Who this Arrenhower?” he said.
“Use your phone, Sam?” Blake said.
“Sure, Mistuh Steve. Help yourself.”
“It’s long distance,” Blake said, dialing the operator. “Better give Sam ten dollars, Dickerson.” When the gray-headed man hesitated, Blake’s voice went hard. “Your money is not going to do you any good if you’re caught, Dickerson. You’d better be nice to Sam.”
He smiled grimly as he watched Dickerson hand Sam a ten dollar bill. He told the operator the telephone number he wanted in Jacksonville. There was a two minute wait. Then, with the men in the room watching him, Blake said, “Hello, Dave? This is Steve Blake. Yeah. I’m ready for my car. What did you think when you didn’t hear from me? Thought I was on a binge, eh? No. I just didn’t work over there this week. Listen carefully, Dave. I want you to drive across State in my car to Route 19. Have one of your men drive a Caddy or a Buick anyway, to follow you and take you back. Yeah. You’re going to have company on the ride back. We’ll meet you at the Empty Plate on 19. Watch for it and wait for us there. Don’t come any nearer. How long you think it’ll take you? Route 19 is wide open. No towns. You ought to be able to hold at sixty-five — legal is fifty-five at night. So that’s what 1 figured. Three hours. We’ll be there, Dave.”
“There ain’t no way in God’s world you can force me to go along!” Bricker said. “That wasn’t our agreement, Dickerson. You were to pay me five grand when I brought Steve up here and he agreed to help you. You were to pay Steve the other half when he got you out of town.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Blake said. “So that’s how we were to get the money. Five for you the easy way. And five for me — if we get past Arrenhower’s goons. Brother Bricker, this is one trip I wouldn’t make without you!”
“I’m not going!” Bricker cried.
“Why don’t you try to get out of here?” Terravasi said. “I’m telling you, you’re going.”
A car stopped out in the street. Dickerson fought back a sob. “It’s them!” he whimpered. “It’s Arrenhower’s police. They’ve found us!”
Sam shambled over to the window and looked down into the dark street. “Just a taxicab, Mr. Dickerson,” he said.
Dickerson sat at the table. “Why do we have to wait? Why can’t we start?”
“Take my word for it,” Blake said. “We can’t. We’ve got to make exact connections. We’ve got to pray we make ’em!” He looked at Sam. “How about it, Sam? Would you like a game of two-handed Canasta while we wait?”
They sat at the table. They played cards quietly, without interest and yet without any desire to stop playing. Time inched away. Each separate minute ran its full sixty seconds. Dickerson tried to write a letter. His hand shook so badly that he smeared the paper and balled it up in his fist. Terravasi remained
standing at the door. Blake looked at him. Terravasi had been one of Arrenhower’s company police. Standing for hours was no chore for the big man.
At last, Blake stood up and stretched. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Bricker was sweated down. He leveled the gun at Terravasi. “For the last time,” he said. “Let me out of here. I’m not asking for my money. I’m just telling you. I’m not going. I’ll kill you, Terravasi.”
Terravasi took a step forward.
“Stay where you are!” Bricker shouted.
Terravasi didn’t hesitate. The gun went up. Sam stood hunched over the table, his mouth open, his eyes wide as he waited for the sound of gunfire.
Bricker took a backward step. Terravasi pounced. He wrenched the gun from Bricker’s hand with a snarling laugh. He looked at it with contempt rutting his face. He shoved the safety on and pushed the gun into his coat pocket.
They went down the steps single file. Big Sam went first. He reached the alley and opened the doors of Bricker’s new car. “We can’t use that,” Bricker protested. “They may know that I used this car to pick up Dickerson at Gandy Bridge.”
Blake only prodded him in the back with his fist and told him to keep moving. Terravasi and Dickerson got in the back seat. Bricker got in front and Blake slid under the wheel. He backed the car out and moved slowly down the alley. “You and Terravasi will be safer if you sit on the floor,” Blake said.
“I got to see if they’re coming,” Dickerson protested. “I got to see where we’re going.”
“All right,” Blake said. “Arrenhower’s boys would like nothing better than to put a neat little bullet hole in your head. Sit up back there and you’re asking for it.”
The next time he looked in the rear vision mirror, he saw that the two men had moved off the seat. He smiled.
He swung out into Ninth Street and headed across the city. The car purred smoothly under its shiny new hood. He held it at thirty through the deserted streets. No one spoke. Bricker was watching every side street. Terravasi and Dickerson were silent on the floor in back. Blake shook his head. Why was he here? Why was he again letting some of Arrenhower’s unfinished business drag him away from what he knew he had to do? What if Bix Glintner decided to run? Blake’s mouth tightened. He hoped not. For Glintner’s sake, he hoped the pretty garage attendant would not try to run. I’ll be back, Glintner, he said. I’ll be back to see you.
Mourn the Hangman Page 12