I'll Get You For This (17 page)

  I did a little measuring and stood back, frowning.

  "Could you put a false bottom to this?" I asked Maxison.

  He gaped at me. "Yes, but what—–"

  "Skip it," I said, and turned to Laura, who was watching me with large eyes. "Will you do something for me, kitten?" I said. I patted the coffin. "Get in here."

  "Oh no," she said, with a shudder. "I—I couldn't do that."

  "Please," I said.

  Maxison started forward but Tim raised the gun, bringing] the old man to an abrupt stop.

  "Stay where you are, Laura," Maxison grated.

  She hesitated, looked at me and then stepped to the coffin. I lifted her up and lowered her in. She sat in the thing, her eyes dark, her mouth working. She looked like something out of the
Grand Guignol.

  "Lie down," I said.

  Shuddering, she lay down. I took more measurements.

  "Fine," I said, and pulled her up. "Out you come." When she was out, I turned to Maxison. "I wanted to see if this coffin was big enough to hold two bodies. It is. You and I are putting your dead woman in and Miss Wonderly goes in under her. You're to fit a false bottom to this box. That's how I plan to get Miss Wonderly out of jail."

  I arrived at Maxison's place at nine o'clock the next morning. There was a sedate, oldfashioned motor hearse parked outside.

  I gave it a quick glance, then pushed open the glass door of the showroom and walked in.

  Maxison was waiting for me. He was dolled up in a long black coat with silk lapels and a high hat. His face looked ghastly in the hard sunlight, his mouth twitched.

  "Is she all right?" he asked anxiously, as soon as he saw me.

  "Sure," I said. "So long as you play ball with me, you don't have to worry about Laura. She isn't worrying, and she has a woman to look after her." I tapped him on his bony chest. "But one false move from you, Maxison, she won't be all right."

  He flinched, looked away. I felt sorry for the old geyser, but there was nothing else I could have done. I knew I couldn't trust him, and I had to have a hold on him.

  "Did you get rid of your assistant like I said?" I asked.

  Maxison nodded. "He's been wanting to do a trip with his wife to Miami for a long time. I told him he could go."

  "Okay," I said. "We're almost set?"

  "Yes."

  "Let's go into the back room," I said, and pushed past him.

  The coffin was standing on trestles. I raised the lid, examined the false bottom and the airholes. Maxison had made a swell job. I told him so.

  "We'd better have a couple more air-holes by the handles," I said. "It's going to be a tight fit, and I don't want her to have a bad journey. Will you fix that?"

  While he was doing this I unpacked a grip I'd brought with me. Neither Davis, Tim, nor I had ceased to work on our plans during the night, and none of us had had any sleep, but I was now satisfied that everything had been covered satisfactorily. We had seen Mitchell again, and I had bought his co-operation for a grand. He was to play an important part in the jail break. He knew it would cost him his job, but he didn't care. He was sick of Paradise Palms and Flaggerty, and was ready to pull out as soon as he'd done his job for me.

  I changed into a prison-guard's uniform that Mitchell had obtained for me. It wasn't a bad fit; I studied myself for a moment in the long mirror on the wall.

  Maxison watched me furtively, but he didn't say anything. I took out a long black coat like his and put it on. It was high-necked and successfully hid the guard's uniform. Then I slipped into my mouth two little rubber pads Tim had borrowed from an actor friend. The effect of the pads was remarkable. They completely changed my appearance, making me look plump and rabbit-toothed. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses completed a simple, but excellent disguise.

  "How do you like your new assistant?" I asked, turning so Maxison could see me.

  He gaped. "I wouldn't have known you," he said, and he sounded as if he meant it.

  "I hope not," I returned. "Flaggerty knows me a little too well. This has got to fool him."

  Maxison had refitted the false bottom to the coffin and was now ready to go.

  "Right," I said, going over to him. "We're not going to fail. Things may get sticky, but whatever happens, you must keep your head. I'm George Mason, your new assistant. Your other assistant is on vacation. I come from Arizona, and I'm the son of an old friend of yours. I don't suppose they'll check up, but if they do, you must give them the answers without batting an eyelid. If I'm caught, it's going to be just too bad for Laura. Understand?"

  He licked his lips, looked sick, said he did.

  "Okay," I said, putting on a stove-pipe hat like his. "Let's go"

  I drove the hearse. Although it looked old-fashioned, there was nothing wrong with its eightcylinder engine. It had a lot of speed, and I let it out on the coast road. A mile or so from the jail I eased up on the accelerator; we drove along at a sedate twenty miles an hour.

  As the roof of the jail appeared above the sand-dunes, I saw two policemen standing in the road. They had Thompsons slung over their shoulders; they looked bored, and waved to us to stop.

  "You do the talking," I said to Maxison, out of the corner of my mouth. "This is only a

rehearsal for the real thing. These boys won't worry us."

The two cops stood each side of the hearse, peered at us.

"Where are you going?" one of them asked Maxison.

  "The jail," he said curtly, and produced a burial certificate and the court order for the release of the body.

  The two cops read the papers and handed them back. I could see by the blank looks on their faces they couldn't make head nor tail of the legal jargon, but they weren't suspicious.

  "Okay, seems in order," one of them said importantly. He took a yellow sticker from his pocket and pasted it on the fender of the hearse. "That'll get you to the gates. No speeding, and stop if you're signalled."

  "And that means stop," the other cop said, grinning. "The boys up there are sure itching to use their rods."

  Maxison thanked them, and I released the clutch. We continued up the road.

  "They're certainly taking no chances," I said.

  Maxison gave me a surly look, grunted. "What did you expect?" he said.

  On the other side of the sand-hills, I spotted four cops sitting round a machine-gun on a threelegged stand, covering the road. One of the cops was equipped with a portable radio, and he was tuning-in as I crawled by. They eyed the yellow sticker and then waved us on. It began to dawn on me that Mitchell had been right about it being impossible to get into the jail in the ordinary way.

  Four hundred yards from the side- road that led through the sand-dunes to the jail was a barricade made out of a big tree-trunk on wheels.

  I stopped.

  Three cops in their shirt sleeves appeared from behind the barricade, and swarmed round us.

  One of them, a big, red-faced guy with sandy hair, nodded to Maxison.

  "Hey, Max," he said, grinning. "Howja like the war conditions? Ain't it hell? That punk Flaggerty sure has the breeze up. We've been camped out here all night, and now we're being skinned by the sun. You going to the jail?"

  "Yes," Maxison said.

  The cop looked me over.

  "Ain't seen him before," he said to Maxison. "Who's he?"

  "George Mason," Maxison said calmly enough. "My new assistant. O'Neil's on vacation."

  "He would be, the lazy rat," the cop said, spitting in the sand. "He's always on vacation." He looked at me. "Glad to know you, Mason. I'm Clancy. Howja like the new job?"

  "Pretty good," I said, shaking his sweaty paw. "The beauty of this job is our customers can't answer back."

  He bellowed with laughter.

  "Say! That's a funny one," he exploded, slapping his thigh. "Did you hear what the guy said, fellas?" he went on to the other two cops who stood around, grinning.

  "We heard," they said.

  "Pretty funny," Clancy declared. "I didn't think guys in your trade had a sense of humour."

  "That's all we have got," I said. "What goes on? I've never seen a jail guarded as tight as this one."

  Clancy wiped sweat from his fat face with his forearm. "Aw, the hell with it," he said in disgust. "We got that Wonderly dame locked up, and our Chief thinks Cain's going to get her out. He's nuts, but there's no one with enough guts to tell him. I bet Cain's out of the State by now. Why the hell should he bother with a dame he picked up for the night?"

  "She's a nice looker," one of the other cops said. "I'd trade her for my wife."

  "I'd trade her for mine too," Clancy said, "but I wouldn't risk my neck for her."

  "This guy Cain must be a tough egg if Flaggerty thinks all you boys are necessary to keep

him out," I said, grinning.

  "I tell you Flaggerty's nuts," Clancy snorted. "Mind you, if that dame did escape, he'd lose his job. I heard Ed. Killeano tell him."

  "Pretty soft for him," I returned. "I bet he's sitting some place cool, while you boys sweat it out in the sun."

  "You bet he is, the monkey-faced punk," Clancy said, scowling. "He's got a swell office with air-conditioning on the top floor so he can keep an eye on hard-working stooges like me." He kicked sand, shaking his head. "I don't know what's come over this jail. A dame died yesterday, and damn me if another ain't gone cuckoo this morning. Dived off the deep end as I came on duty. Brother, she gave me a turn. You'll hear her screaming and laughing when you get inside. It gives me the heebies to listen to her."

  "They'll take her away, won't they?" I said curiously.

  "Yeah, in a day or so, but she's in the cell next to the Wonderly dame, and Flaggerty reckons it'll soften the poor little judy to have someone like that peering through the bars at her."

  I gripped the wheel tightly, and I felt my face turn white, but Clancy didn't notice.

  "They didn't oughta keep a dame like that in the jail," he went on. "She's making the other prisoners restless. She's dangerous too. She was in for sticking a knife into her old man. I'm keeping clear of A floor."

  "Let us through, Clancy," Maxison said, glancing at me. "We have a job to do at ten."

  "Sure," he said. "These boys are okay," he said to the other cops. "Let 'em through."

  As I drove the hearse slowly past the barricade, Clancy bawled after me, "If you see that punk Cain, tell him we're expecting him, and not to disappoint us."

  "I'll tell him to pick his box first," I called back, "and pick it from us."

  They laughed like a bunch of hyenas.

  "How are you making out?" I asked Maxison.

  He was wiping his face with a handkerchief, and he looked hot and uncomfortable.

"I'm all right," he said shortly.

  "Did you hear what that cop said?" I asked, through tight lips. "About that crazy dame being next to my girl? Did you hear it? Did you think what it means?"

  "Yes," he said sullenly.

  "Oh no, you didn't," I snarled at him. "But put Laura in my girl's shoes and then ask yourself how you'd like it."

  I saw his face stiffen; he didn't say anything.

  The drab stone building of the jail reared above us. Sunlight baked the granite walls. It was a lost, forlorn place, and it chilled me to look at it.

  I stopped before the two large oak and iron gates. On the right of the gates was a small lodge. Two cops came out carrying automatic rifles.

  "Hello, Maxison," one of them said. "We've been expecting you."

  "Can we go in, Franklin?" Maxison said. "These new regulations are confusing me."

  "It's all hooey," Franklin said, scowling. "Sure, you can go in I'll open the gate for you."

  As he moved to the gates he caught sight of me. He turned back.

  "Who's this guy?" he demanded. He had a flat squashed face, and eyes like a Chinaman.

  Maxison explained I was his new assistant, and where O'Neil, the other assistant, had got to.

  Franklin scratched his head. "Well, I dunno," he said. "I got instructions to let in only those people I know by sight. I've never seen this guy before. I guess I'd better call the sergeant."

  "Skip it," one of the other cops said. "The sergeant's at breakfast. You don't want to make him mad for the rest of the day."

  "Will you hurry?" Maxison asked, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. "I have a job to do. I'm late already."

  Franklin stared at me with a worried frown. I leaned out of the car window, jerked my head at him. He came closer.

"Can't you rustle up a crap game?" I asked, keeping my

voice low. "The old man can do the work. I got money to lose."

  He grinned suddenly, the frown went away. "To hell with that for an idea," he said. "Here, get out of the buggy."

  I pulled the .38 from my waist-band as I pretended to fumble at the door. I shoved the gun to Maxison, who sat on it, his face turning a faint green.

  I dropped on to the hot sandy road.

  "Better make sure you're not heeled," Franklin said, but he was grinning all the time. "Then you can go in."

  He ran his hands over my body. If he had told me to undo my overcoat I'd have been sunk, because he'd have seen the guard's uniform. But he didn't.

  "Okay, hop in, and beat it," he said, stepping back.

  I got into the hearse and slammed the door. My left hand reached under Maxison and retrieved the .38. I slipped it into my pocket. I felt a lot better with that gun within reach.

  We drove through the gate into a courtyard. I saw the dogs then. They were massive brutes that strained at their chains when they saw us, snarling and showing their teeth. None of them barked. Their silent snarling made them look like wolves. I was glad to get past them.