No Orchids for Miss Blandish (22 page)

He glanced at the gas gauge. He had plenty of gas. But where to go? He could think of no one who would hide him. He reached down and touched Miss Blandish on her shoulder.

"Come on up," he said. "It's okay now."

Miss Blandish struggled back on the seat beside him. She crouched away from him, staring through the windshield at the long, wide road that stretched endlessly in front of them.

She had had no drugs now for fifteen hours and her mind was slowly clearing. She tried to remember what she was doing in this racing car. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she had a picture of a small, dark man with blood on his coat.

"They'll come after us," Slim said. "They'll hunt us. You and me are in this together to the end. We've got nowhere to go."

Miss Blandish didn't understand what he was saying. She just felt a cold sick feeling of fear at the sound of his voice.

Slim shrugged. He was used to her silences, but he wished she would talk now. He wished she would help him. He knew before very long the cops would be setting up road blocks and the highway wouldn't be safe. He would have to get off the highway and get lost in the country. He wished Ma was with him. She would know what to do.

A few miles further on he came to an intersection and he left the highway, driving along a secondary road for another few miles until he came to a dirt road. He swung the Buick off the secondary road and drove up the twisting hilly dirt road that led quickly to wooded country.

By now it was dark and Slim became aware he was hungry. After driving for several miles, he spotted ahead of him the lights of a farmhouse. He slowed down, then seeing the open farm gate, he swung the Buick up the rutted track leading to the farmhouse.

"I'm going to get some food," he said. "You wait in the car." He put his damp hot hand on Miss Blandish's wrist.

"Don't run away, baby. You and me have got to stick together now. You sit quiet."

He stopped the car and got out. Taking his gun, he walked silently to the lighted window and peered in.

Three people sat at the table: a thickset man of around fifty in a checked shirt and blue jeans, a thin-faced woman who was probably his wife and a fair girl of about twenty, probably his daughter. They were eating and the sight of the meal spread out on the table made Slim's mouth water.

He moved to the door, gently turned the handle and pushed. The door yielded.

The three at the table looked up as he pushed the door wide open. Slim grinned to see the sudden fear on their faces. He showed them the gun, his yellow eyes gleaming.

"Sit still and you won't get hurt," he said.

He moved into the room as the man half started up, only to sink back on his chair as Slim swung the gun in his direction.

"I'll take this," Slim said reaching out and picking up the remains of a meat pie from the table. "You got a phone?"

The man nodded his head to where a telephone stood on a table by the wall. Slim backed to it. He put down the pie and then jerked the cable of the telephone from its socket.

"You all relax," he said. "Just forget you've seen me." He looked at the girl, his eyes running over her figure. She was about Miss Blandish's size. "You!" The gun pointed at her. "Gimme that dress you've got on. Hurry it up!"

The girl went white. She looked at her father.

"One of you want to get shot?" Slim snarled.

"Do it," the man said.

The girl stood up, unzipped the dress and took it off. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand.

"Throw it here," Slim said.

The girl threw the dress at him. He caught it and tucked it under his arm.

"Just take it easy," he said. He picked up the pie and backed into the darkness. He hurried to the Buick and got in.

Miss Blandish cringed away from him as he tossed the dress into her lap.

"Here's something for you." He set the pie down carefully between them, then started the car. "It'll fit. When we get away from here, you put it on. I don't like seeing you in that punk's suit."

He drove a mile or so up the road, then stopped the car. He looked back along the road, but could see no following lights nor did he hear anything to worry him.

"Come on: let's eat," he said. "It smells good."

He scooped up some of the pie in his dirty fingers and began to eat. Miss Blandish sat huddled away from him.

"Come on," he said impatiently. "It's good."

"No."

He shrugged and went on wolfing the pie down. In five minutes he had finished it and he threw the empty pie dish into the darkness.

"That's better." He wiped his greasy fingers on his trousers' leg. "You get into that dress. Go on... hurry it up!"

"I don't want to."

He caught hold of her by the back of her neck and shook her.

"Do what I tell you!" His voice became high pitched with sudden rage. "Get into it!"

He pushed her out of the car, still holding her by the back of her neck.

"You want me to strip those clothes off you?"

"No."

He let go of her.

"Get on with it!"

In the light of the roof lamp of the Buick, he watched her struggle out of Rocco's suit and put on the dress. He picked up the suit and tossed it into the back of the car. He pushed Miss Blandish back in her seat. She leaned forward, her head in her hands. She was shaking. Her body was now craving for the numbing bliss of the drug Doc gave her regularly. Misty pictures that had haunted her mind during the past four months were gradually coming into focus.

Slim looked uneasily at her. He guessed what was happening to her. He had seen junkies in prison blow their tops because they had been deprived of drugs. If only he could have a word with Ma. She would tell him what to do. Then a disturbing thought entered his head. What had happened to Ma? Had she got away? Had she been trapped in die club? All his life he had regarded her as indestructible. He couldn't believe anything really bad could ever happen to her.

The dirt road abruptly ended at a secondary road and once again Slim found himself driving on a road with other traffic. This worried him. There wasn't much traffic, but every now and then he overtook a truck or a car and he wondered if the Buick would be recognized.

A little later he came upon a small filling station standing at the junction of another dirt road that cut across the secondary road. He swung the car onto the dirt road, then pulled up. He looked back at the filling station. He could see a man sitting in the lighted office reading a newspaper. There would be a telephone in there, Slim thought. He had to get news of Ma. Who could he ask? He remembered Pete Cosmos. Cosmos and Eddie Schultz had always been good pals. Maybe Pete would know something.

"I'm going to telephone," he said to Miss Blandish. "You wait here... understand? You wait here for me."

She remained crouched forward, her head in her hands. He could feel the violence of her trembling. He could see in her present state she wasn't capable of standing, let alone running away.

He got out of the car, pushed the .45 into the waistband of his trousers and walked quickly back to the filling station. He went to the office. The man, fat and beefy, glanced up as Slim pushed open the door. His face registered startled surprise when he saw Slim. He got to his feet.

"I want to use your phone, pal," Slim said. "That okay with you?"

There was something about Slim that scared the man.

"Go ahead, "he said. "You want gas too?"

"No... just the telephone." Slim crossed to the desk. "Give me some air, pal."

The man left the office and stood by the pumps. He kept glancing uneasily through the window at Slim and then hopefully up and down the long dark road.

It took Slim several minutes to find the Cosmos Club in the book. He wasn't used to handling a telephone book and he was swearing and sweating by the time he finally tracked down the number.

Pete answered the telephone himself.

"This is Grisson, Pete," Slim said. "Give it to me fast. What's cooking?"

"All hell's broken loose," Pete said as soon as he had got over his first shock of surprise to hear Slim's voice. "Eddie's been picked up. There was a hell of a battle at the club. Woppy, Flynn and Doc were knocked off during the fight." Slim felt his insides contract. Cold sweat dripped from his face onto his hands.

"Never mind about those punks," he snarled. "How about Ma?"

There was a pause on the line. Slim could hear violent swing music from the club band. He could hear Pete's heavy breathing.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "What's happened to Ma?"

"She's gone, Slim. I'm sorry. You can be proud of her. She knocked off four cops before they got her. She fought it out like a goddamn man!"

Slim felt the bile rise in his mouth. His legs sagged. He let go of the receiver and it fell onto the floor.

Ma gone!

He couldn't believe it. He felt suddenly defenseless, lost, trapped.

The sound of an approaching motorcycle engine made him stiffen. He looked quickly through the window. A State trooper, slowing down on his machine drifted past the filling station, heading towards the Buick.

Slim jumped to the door and opened it. The State trooper stopped by the Buick, got off his machine and leaned in through the Buick's window.

Slim drew his gun.

The filling station attendant, who Slim had forgotten, suddenly let out a yell of warning as he saw the gun in Slim's hand.

The State trooper straightened, looking around, his hand dropping onto his gun butt, but he didn't have a chance.

Slim jerked up the .45 and squeezed the trigger. In the silence of the darkness, the bang of the gun was loud and violent. The State trooper went down, knocking over his motorcycle...

Slim spun around snarling, but there was no sign of the attendant. He hesitated, then ran to the Buick. He stepped over the State trooper's body, got in the car as Miss Blandish opened the off side door and made to get out. Slim grabbed her arm and jerked her back. He reached across her and slammed the door shut.

"Stay quiet!" he shouted, his voice shaking with panic and rage. He started the car and then drove furiously up the dirt road, heading for the woods.

The filling-station attendant came out from behind an oil drum. He ran over to the State trooper, bent over him, then turning, he ran back to his office and grabbed up the telephone.

Brennan and Fenner were bending over a large-scale map spread out on a desk in the Operations Room at Headquarters when a police officer came over.

"Mr. Blandish is asking for you, sir."

Brennan made an impatient movement.

"I'll handle him," Fenner said, and leaving the room, he followed the officer to one of the waiting rooms.

John Blandish was standing by the window, looking out across the lights of the city. He turned as Fenner came in.

"I got your message," he said curtly. His face was grey and drawn. "What's happening?"

"We're pretty sure your daughter is alive," Fenner said, joining him at the window. "She has been kept at the Paradise Club these past three months. We broke in there not an hour ago. There's evidence she was kept a prisoner there."

Blandish's face hardened.

"What evidence?"

"A suite of rooms; a locked door; women's clothes."

"Where is she then?"

"Grisson got her out of the club just before the raid. She was dressed in a man's suit. Later we had a report that Grisson raided a farmhouse and took a woman's dress. Since then we've lost them for a moment, but we know more or less which way he is heading. He can't get away. Every road is sealed off. As soon as it is light enough we'll have aircraft searching. It's just a matter of time."

Blandish turned away and stared out of the window.

"Alive... after all this time," he murmured. "I had hoped for her sake she was dead."

Fenner didn't say anything. There was a long pause, then Blandish asked without turning, "Have you anything else to tell me?"

Fenner hesitated. Blandish turned: his eyes were bleak.

"Don't keep anything from me," he said harshly. "Have you anything else to tell me?"

"They have been drugging her," Fenner said, "and Grisson has been living with her. He is a pathological case. She'll need special care when we find her, Mr. Blandish. I've been talking to the M.O. He doesn't want her exposed to any past contacts until he has had a chance to look at her. I'm putting this badly. Perhaps you'd better talk to him. He thinks you shouldn't be there when we do get her. He thinks it would be better for you to wait at home and for us to bring her to you. She'll need some hours to get over the shock of being free and it would be better for this to happen among strangers. Another thing: Grisson won't surrender. We'll have to kill him. It's going to be a tricky business with her with him. You realize..."

"All right, all right," Blandish said impatiently. "You've made your point. I'll wait for her at home." He started for the door, paused and went on, "I understand it was you who found the clue that started the hunt for this man. I'm not forgetting our bargain. When she is returned, you'll get your money. I'll be waiting at my house. Arrange to keep me informed how the hunt is going and when she is found."

"I'll fix that," Fenner said.

Blandish nodded and went out.

Fenner shook his head, then waiting a few seconds to allow Blandish time to get clear, he returned to the Operations room.

He told Brennan what he had said to Blandish and the Chief nodded.

"You're right," he said. "We've just had another lead on this punk." He put his finger on the map. "Ten minutes ago he was here with the girl. He badly wounded a State trooper who spotted the girl and even spoke to her. They got away but we know which way they are heading. We've tightened the cordon. We've called on the Army to help. It can't be long now. I've got the local radio and television network to interrupt their programs warning everyone in the district to look out for the car."

Fenner sat on the edge of the desk. He was surprised that the prospects of making thirty thousand dollars wasn't giving him the bang it should. He kept thinking of the Blandish girl and what she had suffered at the hands of Grisson.