Solomon's Vineyard (9 page)

“Where?” the driver asked.

“To the cabin,” Pug said.

We started off. I saw a light go on in the front of the frame house.

I said: “How about a cigarette?”

“Sure, pal,” Pug said.

He gave me a cigarette and lit it for me. We came out of the lane and
swung around to the right. The car was moving a little faster than
before. I took a drag on the cigarette.

“What the hell's the matter with you, pal?” Pug asked.

“Nothing.”

“You must be tired of living,” Pug said.

“Why?”

“You heard me last night, didn't you?”

“I didn't think you meant it.”

“Get a load of that!” Pug laughed. “Pal says he didn't think I meant
it.” He put his face near mine, trying to sec me. “Didn't you think I
meant those punches?”

“Were those punches?”

There was a moment when I could hear the sound of the engine and the
rush of air. Then Pug hit me, knocking the cigarette against my face.
The ashes burned my lips.

“You're doing better,” I said.

“By God!” Pug's voice was amazed. “I don't get you, pal. Don't you
know I'm going to knock you off?”

“That's what you think, pal.”

“Listen to the guy.”

“He thinks he's wise,” the man on my left said.

We went along in silence for a while. We were all thinking. I
wondered if there was a way I could get out of the jam. I wondered if
it would do any good to tell Pug I was a G-man. He wouldn't believe it,
and he probably wouldn't care, anyway. I'd have to get a better story
than that.

Pug said: “I'm trying to think of the best way of knocking you off.”

“The Chinese do it with rats,” I said. “They let 'em eat the victim.”

“Where am I going to get the rats?”

“Well,” I said, “there're three in the car now.”

I don't know which one hit me; Pug or the guy with the garlic breath.
It was the barrel of a pistol and it cooled me for a couple of minutes.
When I came to we had stopped by a small shack. I was alone with the
guy on my left.

“On tap again?” he asked, poking his pistol in my side,

“Sure.”

“You take it funny for a guy whose got no more'n ten minutes,” he
said.

My head hurt.

“Listen,” he said. “If you're nice you'll go without being hurt much.
But if you get Pug much sorer, there's no telling what he'll do first.”

“When I need your advice I'll ask for it,” I said.

I think he wanted to slug me, but my attitude had him worried. I felt
him sitting there in the dark, wanting to slug me, but not quite daring
to. The driver and Pug came back. They had a roll of bailing wire and
some rocks. They threw the stuff in back with me and got in the car. We
began to move across a field. I shook my head to clear it. The movement
hurt like hell.

“That stuff's no good,” I said, kicking the bailing wire.

“You don't know what it's for,” Pug said.

“Oh, don't I? You're going to bind me and the rocks up in it, and
then dump us in the lake.”

“The guy's bright,” the driver said.

“Only when my flesh rots,” I said, “it'll tear loose and I'll float
to the surface.”

“Not the way we do it,” Pug said. “It's not as good as cement.”

“I ain't got cement.”

“That shows you're a punk,” I said. I got ready for the blow. It
didn't come. “Listen,” Pug said, “you're laying up a lot of trouble for
yourself. You can go easy, or you can go hard. I kind of think it's
going to be hard.”

“Don't kid yourself. I'm not going at all.”

“Jeese,” said the guy with the garlic breath, “I think he's crazy.”

The car came to a stop. Pug said: “Now we take a nice little walk.”

“First I want to talk to you,” I said. “Alone.”

“Come on,” Pug said, opening the door. “Not until I talk to you.”

“Go ahead,” Pug said. “I got no secrets.”

“You scared to talk to me alone?”

“Go ahead,” Pug said. “Talk.”

His voice was different. He hadn't had anybody act this way on a
ride. Mostly, I guess, they begged for their lives. I had him thinking,
at least.

“Before you bump me,” I said, “you'd better ask the Princess.”

There was a silence. In the east I saw a faint light. In an hour it
would be daylight. There was a noise of lapping water.

“Why?” Pug said. “She's going to be sore.” Pug said: “What makes you
think I care?”

“You care.”

I could almost hear the other guys listening. I was pretty sure Pug
hadn't told them about his arrangement with the Vineyard. A guy like
him wouldn't. He'd want to act like he was the big boss.

Pug said: “Where'd you get that idea?”

“Ask the Princess.” Pug was silent.

“Listen,” I said. “Send those mugs away.” I tried to see his face.
“You're going to need all the help you can get after tonight.” The car
shook a little as somebody shifted his weight. One of the seats had a
squeaky spring. A current of cool air came off the lake.

“Do you know who you knocked off at Papas's?” I asked.

“I wasn't at Papas,” Pug said. “I
can
prove I was somewhere
else.”

“Not if Gus talks.”

“He won't.”

“Don't be too sure.”

“Who was knocked off?” Pug asked.

“Did you ever hear of a guy named Caryle Waterman?”

This hit him. He was silent for a minute. Then he said to the hoods:
“You guys scram.”

They climbed out of the car and went away. “I figured there was
something funny about you,” Pug said.

“Look,” I said. “The Vineyard will be sore as hell about what you've
done tonight. You know how they feel about rough stuff.”

“Do I?”

I went right on. “There'll be plenty of heat tomorrow. And you'll
need the Vineyard's help. But you won't get it if you knock me off.”

“Who says so?”

“The Princess, for one.”

“Okay,” Pug said. “Maybe I'm in a jam. But why should I believe you?”

I told him some of the things the black-haired girl, Carmel, told me.
I told him about the ten thousand a month split, and how the Vineyard
ran most of the joints in the county.

“And if that doesn't convince you I'm in, ask the Princess.”

“If you're lying,” Pug said, “I'm going to chop you up like a
hamburger.”

“Ask the Princess.”

“Okay, pal.”

I felt better. That gave me a little rime. Maybe I could get away
before she came. Maybe something would happen. An earthquake, or a
tidal wave. I wasn't particular. Pug called the others.

“We're putting this guy in storage for a while,” he said.

We drove back to the shack where they had got the wire and the rocks.
The car stopped. “Get out.”

I got out. Pug told the others to stay with me. They prodded me
towards the shack. Pug got in the driver's seat. “Be back in half an
hour.”

We went in the shack. One of the toughs lit a lantern. It was the
driver. The other one grinned at me. He had crooked teeth.

“You must of talked fast,” he said. “I had to,” I said.

He thought that was funny. He laughed. The driver was a dark man with
a thin face. Something was wrong with his left eye. He didn't laugh. He
watched me, keeping his pistol pointed at my stomach. He looked like an
Armenian. “Sit down.”

There were three chairs around a stove. I sat in one of them. The
shack looked like a place fishermen and duck hunters used. I saw some
rods and some old boxes of twelve-gauge shells on the floor. There was
a cot in the corner, and over it was a window with a cracked glass. The
toughs pulled their chairs away from me and sat down. They kept their
pistols on their laps.

I tried to figure an angle. If I could get one of them alone, I'd
have a chance. “Is there any water?” I asked. “I'm thirsty.”

“He wants water,” the driver said. “Think of that,” said the other.

They didn't move. They weren't going to move. I shifted my legs and
found I could reach the driver's chair. If I could hook my foot on the
leg and pull the chair out from under him, I could make a play for his
gun. That is, if the other guy didn't shoot me. I figured I'd have to
take the chance. I was gone if I waited until Pug got back. I edged my
foot nearer the chair. The driver cracked my shin with his pistol.
“Don't get funny.”

The shin hurt like hell. I rubbed it for a while. “You boys play
rough, don't you?”

“Shut up.” I could tell by their faces they would shoot if I made
another move. It was a wonder the one with the garlic breath hadn't let
go when his pal cracked me. I sat quietly in the chair. There wasn't a
damned thing I could do. My mind went to all the times I'd seen it done
in the movies. They did it fine there, and in books. The hero was
always knocking hell out of three or four armed men. I even saw one
movie where he took on eight at once. Franchot Tone, I think it was. I
could lick hell out of eight Franchot Tones, armed or otherwise, but I
couldn't do anything about the two toughs. Not without getting shot. I
wanted to put off getting shot as long as possible. I closed my eyes. I
thought, well, nobody will miss me, anyway.

I HEARD the car coming along the road. It was a few minutes I
before sunrise and the sky was blue. I could sec the sky through the
cracked window. There weren't any clouds. I had a funny feeling in my
throat. I'd been close to death a lot of times before, but I'd never
had so much time to think about it. I wished I'd made the break,
shooting or no shooting. I would, anyway. The car came up in front of
the shack. I heard the motor stop. I heard a woman's husky voice say:
“Is he inside?”

“Yeah,” Pug said.

She came into the shack and stared at me, standing with a hand on her
hip. The lantern and the cracked window made it light inside. Her hair
was the colour of a bamboo fishpole, and she had on rouge and mascara,
but underneath the paint her skin was good. She had on black slacks and
a scarlet shirt and open sandals. She was beautiful. Pug scowled at me
over her shoulder. Brother, I thought, this is the third-act curtain.

“So it's you,” she said.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say.

She turned to Pug. “What's the idea of beating him up?” That question
was like a kick in the belly. It knocked my wind out; I could hear it
rush through my throat.
She was going to play along with me.
Pug
said: “He had it coming.”

“You're going to have it coming,” she said. “He never told me he was
a friend of yours until the last,” Pug said. The driver and the
Armenian watched him. “You guys scram,” Pug said.

They went out. The Princess said to Pug: “We'll get another guy if
you keep knocking off everybody who makes a grab for that redhead.”

“Get this,” Pug said. “Nobody grabs.”

“You get this. Another murder or two from you and they'll clamp down
on the county.”

Pug looked thoughtful. I wondered if he'd told her about what
happened at Papas's. “He's already done 'em,” I said. Pug scowled at
me. She said “Yeah?” I told her about Caryle Waterman.

“Did you have to pick the richest guy in town?” she asked Pug.

“How'd I know he was in there?”

“You dope!”

“They won't pin it on me. I got an alibi.”

“A lot of good that'll do. The Governor won't care about that. He'll
start a grand jury investigation and we'll have to close down. Then
who'll pay you your dough on the first of every month? Not us. You'll
probably have to take up bank robbing, or kidnapping, and then the
G-men will grab you.” She was plenty sore. Pug didn't answer her. He
stood scowling at me. He was wishing he'd shot me long ago. She said to
him: “Now beat it.”

“All right.” He went to the door. “How'll you get back?”

“We'll ride, you damn fool. The walk'll do you good. It's only a
couple of miles.” Pug said: “It's three miles.”

“All the more good it'll do you. Now beat it.”

“No.”

She slapped his face. It was a hard blow. His eyes got red with
anger. Then he turned. “Okay.”

She laughed as he went out. She had liked hitting him. She went to
the window. I got up and went to her.

“You shouldn't have done that,” I said.

“Why?”

“Now he'll have to kill me.”

“I don't get you.”

“No guy like Pug is going to stand for another man seeing a woman hit
him. The slap was all right, but not my seeing it.”

“So what?”

“So he'll try to knock me off as soon as he dares.”

“Listen, honey,” she said. “You couldn't be in a worse spot than you
were half an hour ago.”

That was true. I should bellyache about Pug. I looked out the window.
The sun had come up. It looked like an orange. Pug and the others were
walking across the field. She laughed.

“Those small time punks,” she said.

I stared at her. She looked pale in the light. I could see the curves
of her shoulders and the rise of her breasts under the scarlet shirt.
Her skin was white and soft-looking. She turned and looked at me.
“Well...”

“Thanks.”

“I like big men,” she said.

Her voice was raspy, like she had a cold. She came up to me and
grabbed my arm. Her fingers hurt the muscles. I could smell her
perfume. She came close to me. I thought I knew what she wanted. I
tried to kiss her. She jerked away.

“No.”

“I'm sorry.”

She slapped me. She was strong; my cheek stung. She moved in,
swinging both arms. Now she had her fists closed. She hit my arms and
my chest. I tried to hold her.

“Hit me!” she said.

It was goddam queer. I held her arms, but she got loose. She struck
my chest.

She said: “Hit me.”

I hit her easy on the ribs. “That's right I That's right!” She hit me
a couple of hard blows. Her eyes were wild. She hit me a hard punch on
the neck. I hit her in the belly. I heard the breath go out:
ouf!
It didn't stop her. She kept coming in, punching hard.