Hostage For A Hood (18 page)

Paula brought the newspaper into the house on Friday, shortly before noon. It was a New York paper and had been dropped off at the drugstore.

Cribbins took it from her at once and went over it avidly. He was pleased to see that the Rumplemyer story was buried on the back pages of the second section. It was the usual follow-up story, brief and without information. Police working on the case said they had several leads, but nothing definite had developed so far. A single sentence mentioned that funeral services had been held the previous afternoon for the murdered driver of the armored car.

Cribbins read the article carefully and then dropped the paper to the floor and stood up. "It's time I called Goldman," he said. "Paula, get the car out."

Santino looked up. "Maybe I should go with Paula and make the call," he said.

Cribbins shook his head. "No, you stay here. It doesn't matter if I go out. That old bag across the street saw me when I arrived and thinks I'm Paula's father. She sees me going out for a ride and she won't think nothing of it. You'll be better off here, in case anyone noses around. After all, this is supposed to be your house."

"If it is, I'm getting damned sick of it," Santino said. "Tell Goldman to hurry it up—we gotta get out of here as fast as possible. Anyway, I think this whole Goldman deal is crazy. Why should we sell him the money for seventy cents on the dollar? There isn't one chance in a hundred any of the numbers have been recorded. You know that."

"I don't know nothing," Cribbins said. "I only know we agreed we'd take no chances. Not any. That we'd play it safe. You never can tell about that kind of dough. It came into the brewery from bars and taverns. Maybe, for some crazy reason or another, one of the barkeeps did happen to take down a number. Maybe he thought there might be something funny; maybe he was protecting himself against a stickup. There's just no way of telling.

"So we get seventy on a buck from Goldman and he gives us clean money. We made a getaway, leaving no traces. The only way we can ever get picked up is if the money should be traced. This way, it can't be. We won't even have it."

Santino sat down and frowned. "All right, have it your way. But you're forgetting one little thing. You're forgetting that broad upstairs."

Cribbins stared at him for a moment and then spoke in a soft voice. "I'm not forgetting her—not for a second," he said.

"Then why not let me take care of her right now?" Santino asked. He stood up, starting for the door.

"Jesus, sit down," Cribbins said. "Can't you get it through your head? She was seen coming in here with me. We can't take any chances until we're ready to blow, in case someone comes snooping around. We gotta be able to produce her if we have to. Just take it easy. I'll call Goldman. It can't be more than a couple of days."

Cribbins made his call from a telephone booth in a town several miles away. He was lucky, finding Goldman in and getting through in less than five minutes.

He was very careful. "Did the boy get out of school?" he asked.

"Yeah—he'll be home Tuesday morning. He's got company just now, but he'll get rid of them as soon as he can. He'll be coming into Poughkeepsie on the train and wants to be picked up. Nine-fifteen."

"Shall we plan on you for a visit this weekend?"

There was a long pause and finally the lawyer spoke. "It's rather warm in town," he said. "I hate to travel in this weather."

"It's cool up here. We want to see you. The family may have to leave if you don't come."

Again there was a long pause. "Okay. But the first of the week. Say Tuesday."

Cribbins scowled into the mouthpiece of the receiver. "No later," he said. "We'll have to leave by Tuesday afternoon if you don't show."

Goldman hung up without answering.

Cribbins jammed the receiver on the hook, turned and left the booth.

"Light me a cigarette," he growled at Paula as he climbed back into the car. "I can't handle it with this arm in a sling."

The right sleeve of his jacket was empty, as it had been when he arrived at the house in Cameron Corners. He was taking no chances; he'd arrived there as a man with one arm and he would continue with the subterfuge.

Slouching beside the girl, Cribbins said, "Not till Tuesday. The bastard—you'd think he was doing us a favor."

Paula took her eyes from the road momentarily and stared at Cribbins. "And just what happens Tuesday?"

"Tuesday Goldman comes. By then Mitty will be here, too. We turn the dough over to Goldman and he pays us off. Then we split it up and blow."

She drove on in silence for a few minutes and then spoke suddenly, her voice bitter. "I'm not going with Santino," she said.

"Nobody says you have to."

"Santino says I do," Paula said.

"Listen, kid," Cribbins said. "The hell with Santino. You do what you want to do."

"Suppose I want to go with you?"

Cribbins reached over and patted her on the thigh. "I like you, Paula," he said. "I guess you know that. But when I leave, I leave alone. It's the way I planned it and the way it's gotta be. I'm not the kind of guy that travels double. Never have and never will. It isn't anything personal—it's just the way I am."

The girl was silent for a long time and then once more spoke, her voice low and husky. "What about me?"

"Like I said," Cribbins said. "You do what you want. If you're worrying about Santino—well, don't. I'll see to it that you cut clean."

"Well, I'll settle for that," Paula said. "I just hope there won't be any trouble with him. You know how he can be."

"I know."

"Another thing," Paula said. "Wasn't it a little risky leaving him there alone with the money? How do you know ... "

"He's not alone," Cribbins said. "Luder is there with him. The last thing I did before we left was to talk to the old man. He'll be watching him."

"And you can trust Luder?"

"I can trust him. I can also trust him to take care of Santino in case he should get any ideas. Luder is old, but he's been around for a long time. He's sitting back there in the house now with a thirty-eight in his pocket. Santino wouldn't have a chance. The old man doesn't like him and won't need much of an excuse to cut him down to size. Anyway, don't worry about it. Guys like Santino are tough only when they got a machine gun under their arm or are pushing dames around."

* * * *

Santino made himself a fix a few minutes after Cribbins and Paula left the house. Today, for the first time, his nerves seemed less on edge and he lost the odd jerky movement of his head when he talked. He had shaved and put on fresh clothes and he looked almost human. He sat at the kitchen table and was carefully cleaning his fingernails with the blade of his switch knife as Luder sat across from him reading the newspaper.

"How long you suppose they'll be gone?" Santino asked.

Luder dropped the edge of the newspaper to look over at the other man. He was mildly surprised when Santino spoke to him. Santino very rarely spoke to anyone.

"Oh, an hour, an hour and a half maybe," he said.

Santino nodded. "I ain't been sleeping well," he said. "Last few days, I just can't seem to sleep. I think it's that damned cot in there."

Luder grunted from behind the newspaper. "Yeah," he said. "They aren't soft."

"I'm tired all the time," Santino said. "Always tired!"

"It's that stuff you take," Luder said. "It'll kill you before you're through with it."

"Yeah. Probably," Santino shrugged. "But it's a nice way to die. Anyway, I ain't been feeling good. I got to take something all the time."

He stood up and slowly stretched. "You know," he said, "I think I'll take a little nap. As long as you're going to be down here, go on upstairs. There's a more comfortable bed up there."

Luder dropped the newspaper and stared at the other man.

"You wouldn't be thinking of stopping off at the closet, now, would you?" he said.

Santino looked at him and sneered.

"Oh, sure," he said. "I'm goin' to grab the suitcase and take off. What's the matter with, you anyway?" he asked, the sneer turning to a tone of injured innocence. "You think I'm a double-crosser? You think I'm nuts or something? You're down here. If you don't trust me, sit in the living room. You can see the closet at the head of the stairs from there. You got a gun on you; it ain't any mystery. All I said was I feel tired and I'm going up to find a comfortable bed and get a little shut-eye."

Luder stood up and folded the paper. "Go right ahead," he said. "I'll be sitting in the living room."

Santino followed him out of the kitchen and started up the stairs.

Joyce had been dozing, but the moment the door began to open she sensed it and her eyes flew wide. By now she had become used to their coming and going; she was no longer alarmed when they came into the room. Usually it was Paula, but sometimes old Luder would come up and talk to her. Paula didn't talk a great deal, but just seemed to want another woman for company. Luder, however, liked to talk. He never tired of telling her that he was a "family man" and he talked about animals. She'd grown almost fond of him and preferred his company to that of the girl.

She looked up expectantly as the door gradually opened and then, as Santino stepped softly into the room, she was unable to conceal the sudden disappointment in her face.

He stood at the doorway for a moment, staring at her without expression. Then he turned and carefully closed the door. Joyce felt a shiver go down her spine.

"You and I are going to have a talk," Santino said. He walked across the room and unfolded a camp chair which stood against the wall. Opening it, he pulled it over next to the bed on which Joyce lay.

Joyce pulled the blanket up in an effort to cover herself.

"Yeah, a short talk. You can use a friend, you know."

Joyce nodded, saying nothing. She wondered what was coming next.

"Cribbins has been coming up here," Santino said. "He came up the other night to see Paula. That's right, isn't it? Well, I want to know what they talked about."

Joyce shook her head. "I couldn't tell you," she said. "I was sleeping."

Santino laughed and it wasn't a pleasant laugh. He got up slowly from the chair and took a step so that he was standing over the bed. Leaning down suddenly, he took one end of the blanket and jerked it down.

"You got a pretty face," he said. "Pretty face and a nice body. I can spoil them for you. I can turn that face into something that nobody will ever want to look at again. I can do things to that body of yours ... "

He stopped then and took the knife out of his pocket. Opening it, he leaned down and almost carelessly drew the naked, razor-edged blade across her breasts.

"Now listen," he said. "Don't play cute with me. Cribbins was up here and you were here. So was Paula. I wanna know what they talked about. They must have talked about something." He smiled at her, his grin evil and leering. "Don't try and tell me you slept through it."

"He was here," Joyce said, her cheeks fiery red. "But honestly, I don't know what they said. They didn't talk."

"Nuts. They talked. Sister, you're going to tell me what they talked about."

His hand reached out and he slapped her hard across the face, back and forth, several times.