1963 - One Bright Summer Morning (20 page)

“We haven't any home,” Kramer said furiously. “Don't you listen to what I'm telling you? We are stripped clean! I'm in something that will get us back as we were, but you have to come out here and join up with me. Now come on, but be very careful how you come.”

“I 'm not coming,” Helene said. “Years ago, we went through all this, but I'm not going through it now. I thought and hoped you and I were free of the rackets. I'm not coming. Goodbye, Jim. I'll manage somehow and I hope you will also manage. If you change your mind, if you drop whatever you're doing, then I'll be waiting, but otherwise, Jim, it's goodbye.”

The distinct click over the line as she hung up was like the slamming of a door that had, up to this moment, led into a few years of life that Kramer had enjoyed and had been proud of.

He jiggled the crossbar of the telephone, unable to believe that his wife had really hung up on him. Helene! A second-rate singer he had rescued from a third-rate nightclub . . . to have done such a thing to him! A woman to whom he had given wealth, position and social security! He couldn't believe it! Slowly, he replaced the receiver. He looked around the small, bleak room. He sat there for some time, sweating, a little frightened and in pain.

“Goodbye, Jim,” she had said.

There had been a final, I'm-finished-with-you note in her voice.

Slowly, Kramer got to his feet. He walked with heavy, plodding steps to his suitcase and took from it a bottle of whisky. He went into the bathroom and poured himself a stiff shot. He drank it without water, refilled the glass and then walked slowly back into the bedroom.

Helene! What would she do? There would be no money in the house. He thought of the mink stole he had promised her. What the hell did she imagine she was going to do without him?

The telephone bell rang, startling him so that he slopped whisky on the carpet. He put down the glass and picked up the telephone receiver.

“You asked to be told when Mr. Jack Howard arrived,” the reception clerk said. “He's just booked in: Room 135.”

“Thanks,” Kramer said and hung up. He finished his drink and lit a cigar. Room 135 would be on his floor: down the far end of the corridor. Dermott would have a million and a half in cash. What was he going to do? Kramer asked himself. Gould he really believe that Helene had said goodbye? If she meant it, then why should he stick around here? Why not take what there was of the ransom and get the hell out of here? Why should he bother his head about Moe and the Cranes?

The cigar tasted bitter, and with an impatient gesture, he stubbed it out.

A man could live pretty well with a million and a half dollars. He could get on a boat and go to Cuba. Maybe, later, Helene would join him. He closed his eyes. He felt curiously tired and the nagging pain in his side worried him. Could he walk out on Moe? He ran his thick fingers through his hair as he tried to decide what he was to do. Finally, still undecided, he hoisted himself to his feet, took another drink and then walked out into the long corridor. He started down towards Room 135.

Vic Dermott was washing his hands in the small bathroom when he heard a knock on the door. Drying his hands, he crossed the room and still holding the towel, he turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The sight of Kramer startled him. He backed away as Kramer came in, pushing the door shut behind him.

“Well?” Kramer said. “How have you been making out?”

“All right,” Vic said and tossed the towel on to the bed. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

“How much money have you got?” Kramer said.

“A million, six hundred thousand so far,” Vic said and waved to the two suitcases lying on the floor near his bed.

“Let's see . . . open them up,” Kramer said.

“Help yourself,” Vic said quietly.

Kramer stared for a long, threatening moment at Vic who stared back at him, then with a grunt, he went over to the suitcases, bent and opened one of them. As he did so, he felt something that was like a red-hot spear drive through his body. His big hands had already lifted the lid of the suitcase.

He fell forward, his eyes staring at the mass of one hundred dollar bills in the case, the pain in his side making him speechless.

He tried to say something. He tried to get his face away from the open suitcase. He was suddenly without strength, like a punctured sawdust doll. Then there was another shocking jolt of pain that made him groan and he relaxed into death, his hands grasping at the money he would never spend.

Paralysed with surprise and shock, Vic watched the big man die. It was only when the heavy body sprawled on the floor that Vic moved forward in a helpless, hopeless attempt to do something.

He stood over the dead body and he thought of Carrie and Junior. He remembered suddenly that the Federal Officer had said someone would be near him all the time. He went to the door and opened it, then moved out into the corridor. There was a long pause, then a door opened further down the corridor and a tall, powerfully-built man appeared. He looked at Vic and raised his eyebrows.

“You'd better come,” Vic said. “He's dead.”

An hour later, Jay Dennison arrived at the hotel. He went immediately to Vic's room. Vic had been waiting in Kramer's room with Abe Mason, the Federal Officer. They now both joined Dennison who stared down at Kramer's body while he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Then he looked at the two suitcases packed with money.

“How much is there in that little lot?” he asked.

Vic told him.

Dennison turned to Mason.

“Fix it to get the body removed when the hotel is asleep,” he said. “I don't want any publicity about this.” He closed the suitcases and picked them up. “Let's you and me, Mr. Dermott, go somewhere where we can talk.”

Vic led the way back to Kramer's room and the two men shut themselves in. Dennison sat on the bed while Vic sat in the only armchair.

“You have enough money here to satisfy the other three,” Dennison said. “I guess we'd better start things moving. I want you to return to Wastelands and give these hoods this money. Once they get it, they'll quit. Once away from Wastelands, they'll be out in the open. My men will close in on them and that'll be their finish. Would you like a gun, Mr. Dermott?”

Vic shook his head.

“No . . . if I go back there alone, they are certain to search me. If they find a gun on me, they'll know something is up. No: I don't want a gun.”

“We could hide one in your car.”

Vic shook his head.

“I'm taking no chances. This is too important to my wife and myself. Besides, I'm hopeless with a gun.”

“Well, okay: maybe you're right.” Dennison thought for a long moment. “They'll want to know where Kramer is. Tell them he is waiting for them at the Arrowhead Motel: Cabin 57. They'll never get as far as the motel, but it'll sound right.”

“You think so?” Vic was doubtful. “Suppose one of them telephones the motel and asks for Kramer?”

Dennison smiled.

“I'll fix all that, Mr. Dermott. The owner of the motel has worked with me before now. He'll say Kramer has gone out.”

“I have still more cheques to cash. What do I do with them?”

“It's my bet Kramer hasn't told the others how much he was asking. They'll be happy enough with a million and half dollars. Let me have the rest of the cheques. I'll return them to Mr. Van Wylie.”

As Vic handed over the remaining cheques, he said, “They don't expect me back for another two days. Won't they be suspicious when I turn up so soon?”

“Tell them Kramer speeded up the operation,” Dennison returned. “Tell them as you had no trouble cashing the cheques you got way ahead of schedule. Why should they care?”

Vic thought about all this. He didn't like it, but he couldn't see what else to do.

“All right: then I'm ready to go.”

Dennison looked at his watch.

“You can get to San Bernardino in three or four hours. Stay the night there and get to Wastelands around ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I have three of my men staked out in the sand dunes, watching the house. You won't be alone, but play it carefully. It's my bet when these three get their hands on all this money, they'll quit and quit fast.”

“I'm not waiting until tomorrow morning,” Vic said with quiet determination. “I don't intend to leave my wife out there for another night. I'm driving to Wastelands tonight.”

“Now look, Mr. Dermott . . .” Dennison began, but Vic cut him short.

“I said I'm driving to Wastelands tonight. And no one is going to stop me!”

Dennison studied him, then shrugged.

“I guess I'd act the same way. Okay, but watch it.”

As Vic picked up the two suitcases, Dennison reached for the telephone.

* * *

Harper was about to shake Letts awake to take over the watch on the ranch house when he heard Zelda's screams. The sound woke the other two Federal Officers and the three men looked anxiously at one another.

“What the hell's going on up there?” Letts said, getting to his feet.

The screams that came shrilly through the still night air suddenly stopped and silence once again descended over the desert.

“I'm going up there,” Harper said.

“Wait,” Letts said. “I'm better at this kind of caper than you. I could get up there without being seen. If they spot us, the balloon will go up.”

Letts was a small, wiry man who had seen service as a jungle scout during the war. Harper recognized his claim. If anyone could get to the ranch house without being seen, it would be Letts.

“Okay, Alex, but get up there fast. I want to know what's going on.”

As Letts moved forward, first on hands and knees and then flat in the sand, Harper got on to the two-way radio and tried to contact Dennison. He was told Dennison wasn't available.

“Find him!” Harper said urgently. “There's trouble up here. A woman has been screaming. Find and tell him!”

At the sound of Zelda's screams, Moe came out of his heavy sleep with a start that brought him unsteadily to his feet. For a long moment he couldn't recollect where he was. He had hold of his gun, his breathing was heavy, his heart pounding, then he came fully awake and looked across to the cabin where he could see Zelda, her hands in her hair, screaming.

Riff ran to her and slapped her face. Her screams cut off.

Sobbing frantically, she tried to cling to him, but he shoved her away.

The stench of death from the Vietnamese sickened both of them.

Slowly, Moe came down the veranda steps. A light had come up in Carrie's room, and Carrie peered fearfully out of the open window. Even from where she was, the smell of death came to her.

Zelda turned and ran blindly down the drive. Riff started after her, then stopped when he saw Moe coming towards him, gun in hand. Moe yelled after Zelda, but she kept on running.

“Get after her!” he shouted to Riff. “She's getting away!”

But Riff paid no attention. He was now staring at the man he had killed. Fury, frustration and fear surged through him. He suddenly realized he would never marry Zelda and his hopes for a rich, easy life now exploded in his face.

Then Moe saw the body of the Vietnamese and he stopped short, feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck lift.

Chita had slid off the bed. She was watching gleefully through the slit in the shutter.

Letts, a hundred yards away, found himself right out in the open. In the hard light of the moon, he realized if he now made a movement forward, he must be seen. He watched Moe and Riff standing over something dark, lying in the sand. He then saw Zelda running frantically towards him. He recognized her, and on impulse, he jumped to his feet.

“I'm a Federal Officer,” he said, catching hold of her arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop. “Keep going . . . there's . . .”

Moe suddenly saw Letts rise out of the ground. He saw Zelda jump clear of him and run on. He fired at Letts. He had no intention of pulling the trigger. This was an instinctive movement brought on by shock and fear.

Shot through the head, Letts pitched forward as the gun flash made Riff start back. By now Zelda had disappeared beyond the first of the sand dunes.

Both Riff and Moe remained motionless, staring at the body lying in the sand.

“What's happening?” Moe quavered. He felt he was going out of his mind. “What's going on?”

Cursing, Riff ran to where Letts lay. He bent over him, turned him and began pawing at his body. He found Letts's wallet and then the F.B.I, badge. He peered at the badge, then scrambling to his feet, he raced back to Moe.

“It's a Fed!” he snarled as he reached Moe. “You stupid jerk! You've killed him!”

As Zelda blundered on down the drive, Harper, seeing her come, jumped up and grabbed her.

“It's alright. We're Federal Officers,” he said and clamped his hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. She wrestled with him, her eyes wide with terror and shock, but he finally quieted her by repeating over and over again that he was a Federal Officer. She went suddenly limp and collapsed against him.

“Jack!” Harper said urgently. “Get her to Dennison! It's Miss Van Wylie!”

Brody was looking towards the ranch house.

“How's about the woman and child up there?”

“Do what I say!” Harper snapped. “I'll take care of them.”

Brody caught hold of Zelda and half dragging, half supporting her, took her to the jeep, hidden behind a big sand dune.

Harper turned his attention to the ranch house. He saw three figures running towards the house. They disappeared inside. From where he stood, he heard the door slam. The light in one of the rooms went out.

As the jeep started up, he, and Brody in the jeep, saw the lights of an approaching car. Zelda was sobbing hysterically as she crouched in the seat beside Brody. He patted her arm as he got out of the jeep. Harper joined him. Both men had guns in their hands and they moved into the path of the approaching car.

Vic saw them. He slammed on the brakes and stopped the car.

As the two men came towards him, Vic heard a woman sobbing with dry, rasping gasps that chilled him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN