Talk of The Town (18 page)

“I’m with you.”

“Put on your walking shoes,” I said. “Let’s go.”

It was a two-story house in a setting of big oaks some two hundred yards back from the road. One lighted window showed in front, on the right. The yard of packed bare earth was unfenced. I took her arm, and we moved silently around to the side, studying the place. There was a lighted window here, too. Probably the same room, I thought. I kept my eyes averted from the light to retain night vision. Fifty yards or so behind the house was a large shadow that presumably was a barn. There was only one car, a Ford sedan from the shape of it. It was parked under a tree to the right of the front porch.

I left her by the tree. Placing my lips against her ear, I whispered, “Wait here. Don’t come in till I call you.”

She nodded.

I slipped over towards the lighted window at the side of the house. As I approached it, phonograph music welled up inside and I heard shoes against a wooden floor. I peered through the dirty screen, careful not to get too near.

It was a long room, extending from the front of the house almost all the way to the rear, harshly lit by two big overhead bulbs. Directly across from me, an overblown and vapid-looking blonde girl of eighteen or nineteen was lying on a sofa reading a book and glancing now and then towards the two people who were presumably dancing just outside my line of vision. She was wearing a pair of brief shorts and an inadequate halter that did their best but didn’t have a chance against all that overflowing girlishness. She was barefoot, but wore a gold chain around each ankle, and a yellow gold wrist-watch. Beside the sofa was a flimsy card table stacked with magazines and more books. I couldn’t see the rear of the room, or anything off to my left at all.

She lowered the book and said to one of the dancers, “Trudy, you ha’n ought to be rubbin’ T.J. up like that. Pearl woul’n like it.” She spoke like somebody with a mouthful of soap.

“Oh, shut up, La Verne,” a girl’s voice said. “And for Christ’s sake, go put some clothes on. I get so sick of looking at that sloppy—”

Just then the dancers shuffled into view. I stared. One of them was that dark, hard slat of a girl Talley had been using for a memo pad that first day I saw him. But it was the man who caught my eye. He was the one who’d got away from me there in the bar when Frankie started the fight.

I slipped around in front and stepped up on the porch. The screen door swung open noiselessly and I was in a hall that was unlighted except for the illumination from the open door at the right. I stepped through it and looked swiftly around. There were only the three of them, and it was the craziest room I had ever seen.

An interior decorator, locked in it for an hour, would probably have gone foaming mad. Beyond the sofa was a coke machine. On top of it was a stock saddle, lying on its side. There was a jukebox against the outer wall, blushing in pastel colors and supplying the dance music, and at the far end of the room a bed made up with a patchwork quilt and old-fashioned bolster. In the corner across from it was a pinball machine. Directly opposite me was a small safe, and in the corner next to it an old roll-top desk covered with papers. There was a telephone on the desk, and on the floor beside it was a small electric fan. There were no rugs, and nothing on the unpainted plank walls except perhaps a dozen pinups torn from magazines.

The dancers sprang apart. T.J. was a lank six-footer with an angular, sun-reddened face and pale eyes. It was a good description Georgia had given. Trudy didn’t look any more attractive than the first time I’d seen her. The black eyes were hard, and the thin, dark face expressed a sort of wise-guy contempt for everything. La Verne merely looked at me as if she weren’t sure the situation was serious enough to call for a change of expression.

T.J. said harshly. “Whata you want?”

“You, for one thing,” I said.

Trudy made a noise with her lips, and laughed. She had all the charm of a strangulated hernia. “Take the bastard, TJ.”

He pulled his knife, clicked it open, and advanced on me in a sort of prancing walk, feinting with the blade. I took the sap from my pocket and hit him across the muscles of the forearm. The knife fell to the floor. I kicked it under the sofa, where La Verne had become carried away with the excitement to the point of sitting up. Trudy shrilled something obscene and tried to rush past me, towards the desk. I tossed her back and she bounced against the jukebox before she fell to the floor with a display of stringy legs. T.J. was holding his arm. I sliced the sap across the other one, caught him by the neck and the back of his pants and threw him into the wall. Then I remembered the way that room had looked and picked him up and bounced him against it again.

The gun was in one of the top drawers of the desk. It was a .45 automatic. I dropped it in my left coat pocket and walked over towards La Verne.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She drew up her big thighs and hugged them, with her chin resting on her knees. It made her look completely naked. She regarded me with what I took to be concern, but might have been merely interest. “You ain’t goin’ to rape me, are you?”

“Not tonight,” I said. “Maybe I can work you in tomorrow if I get a cancellation. So Pearl phoned you the good news?”

“Huh? Oh, sure, he told us about it.”

“Name?” I asked again.

“La Verne Talley,” she said. “I’m his second cousin.”

“What times does he usually get back from town?”

“Oh, not never before one or two o’clock.”

Trudy lashed out at her. “Shut up, you stupid punching bag!”

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Trudy Hewlett. She ain’t no kin.”

I turned and looked at Trudy. “Gertrude Hewlett. Gertrude Haines. You people never learn, do you?”

She cursed me.

“And this one?” I continued, nodding to T.J. “What’s his name, and his kin rank, and what does he do when he’s not throwing acid?”

“T.J. Minor,” she replied. “He’s a first cousin. He gen’ly sharecrops, but he had a little trouble up in Georgia and had to leave. Me an’ him’s engaged. We’re goin’ to run the motel for Pearl—”

Trudy tried to reach her, the tendons standing out in her neck as she screamed, “You dim-witted cow, shut up!”

I shoved her back and faced the big girl again. “That’s a lovely watch you’ve got there. Is it the one Pearl gave you?”

She held out her wrist and gazed at it fondly. “No, Frankie give it to me. . . . Oh, it was before me an’ T.J. got engaged.”

“Pearl didn’t give you one?”

She shook her head at me as if I weren’t very bright. “Pearl? He ain’t about to give no watch. He says what the hell, it don’t cost you nothin’. He give Trudy one, but I reckon that was for something else.”

“Yes,” I said. “I guess it was.”

I had to subdue the raging Trudy again. I pushed her harder, and she sat on the floor beside the jukebox.

“All right, La Verne,” I said, “where do you sleep? Upstairs?”

“Umh-umh,” she replied. “But like I said, TJ.—” She broke off and appraised me thoughtfully. “Hmmm.”

“No,” I said, “what I meant was you’d better go up to your room and go to sleep. Things are going to get a little rough around here, and you’ll be safer out of the way.”

The jukebox had stopped its plaintive moaning. The room was silent, and very hot under the naked lights. I could hear La Verne going up the stairs to her room. Trudy sat staring at me like some wild animal, while T.J. stirred and pushed his shoulders against the wall, trying to sit up.

I went over to the desk, picked up the little fan, and plugged it in. As I’d already known it would, it ran with a rough whirring sound just like the one in the phone booth at Ollie’s bar. Emery dust in the bearings, I thought. I unplugged it and tossed it back on the floor.

“What time is it?” I asked Trudy. She spat at me.

I called Georgia and she hurried in. She looked anxiously at me, and then at the others, and I saw the quick recognition in her eyes as they came to T.J.

“I want you to meet some very charming people,” I said. “That’s the acid artist, of course. And the hard, gem-like flame is Trudy Hewlett. She’s the girl who phoned me how to get out to that old barn.”

“I think I feel a little sick,” she whispered.

“Oh, don’t be hasty or intolerant,” I told her. “He gave her a nice wrist-watch.”

“Bill, don’t—”

“You kill me,” Trudy said. “You really do. Squares!”

“Is there anything we can do?” Georgia asked.

“Why not call the cops?” Trudy asked. “That’d be a shrewd move.” She was beginning to regain some of her confidence now. After all, squares never did anything to you, and when they couldn’t call the police they were helpless.

“We’ve got a chance,” I said. “It’s still not much, but it’s better than it was. You wait outside, and if a car turns in, warn me and then get out of sight. I’m ready to use that phone now, but we haven’t got much time left.”

She went out. I perched on the corner of the desk, took Redfield’s gun from my pocket, and showed it to them. “You’re just about to learn how it gets when squares are pushed too far. If either of you makes a move, you’ll be gut-shot before you get off the floor.”

T.J. said nothing. Trudy made her lip noise again, but stayed where she was. I looked up Calhoun’s home number, breathed a prayer he’d be there, and dialed. The phone rang, and then again. I’d just about given up hope when he picked it up. “Calhoun.”

“This is Chatham—”

He interrupted. “Listen. I don’t know where you’re calling from, and I don’t want to know. But if you’re not out of this County yet,
get out!”

“I didn’t do it. You know that.”

“I don’t think you did, but that’s not the point. Don’t you know what’ll happen if they bring you in? He’s half out of his mind. I’ve tried to get through to him; it’s impossible. I just asked him to calm down a little and he almost hit me in the face with a gun.”

“I can’t make it out of the State,” I said. “And that’s the only thing that’d do any good.”

He sighed. “No. They’ve got everything blocked, and he’s pretty sure you’re still here in the area. He’s called in the Deputies from the other towns and they’re taking the whole place apart.”

I know,” I interrupted. “But never mind. Have you had a chance to get anything on that job I asked you about?”

“Sure. I called up there long distance, just in case you did have something up your sleeve. The supermarket didn’t have a burglar alarm. The one at the jewelry store was installed by an outfit called Electronic Enterprises, in Orlando.”

I sighed. “And by a man named Strader.”

“God, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But hold it a minute. Sure, the alarm was gimmicked. But there are plenty of pros would know how to do that.”

“There’s a lot more, but no time to go into it now,” I said. “Give me anything else you’ve got on it.”

“Okay. They figure there were three of them, at least, and maybe four. They hijacked the gasoline rig at a trucker stop on the highway about ten miles from town. Police found the driver the next morning in some bushes back of the place. They’d started to tie him, apparently, and then discovered they didn’t have to. They’d hit him too hard.

“This power sub-station was out in the edge of town where the highway dropped down a little grade, on a curve. Fenced, of course, like they all are, but it might as well have had a silk scarf around it. They rolled the tanker right into it and let it burn. Melted the transformers and poles and switches like peanut brittle, had all the firemen and police in the county there for three hours, and put out the lights in the whole end of town where the supermarket and jewelry store were. The gang must have had a good-sized truck of their own, and dollies and hoists, because they just picked up both the safes and walked off with ‘em. Burned them open out in the country somewhere, I suppose.”

“Talley’s junk yard would have a big truck, wouldn’t it? And heavy moving gear, and acetylene torches.”

“Sure. He’s got all that stuff.”

“How about the time and date?” I asked.

“Sub-station went just a little after midnight. November eighth. It was almost daylight before anybody discovered the robberies. Look, have you got any kind of proof at all?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet. But I’ve got some very interesting people. And I’m going to have more if my luck holds.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Yes. If you will. Is Frankie Crossman married?”

”Yeah.”

“Okay. You told him to go home after that fight, so he should be there now. Get where you can watch his house. He’s going to come out in a few minutes and drive off. After he’s been gone a few minutes, knock on the door and ask for him. Be as vague about it as you can so you won’t get in trouble, but give his wife the impression Frankie’s wanted for questioning in something very serious.”

“Got you.”

“Then drive out to Redfield’s house. I pulled his phone out of the wall. He won’t be there, of course, but say you’ve been trying to get hold of him at the office and he’s out. Give her the message, just in case she sees him first. Say that I called you. I wouldn’t say where I was, of course, but it was a local call, so I’m still in the area and cut off, and I sounded as if I’d gone crazy. I wanted you to call the F.B.I, because I had some information in a Federal case of some kind, and that as soon as they were here to protect me I’d come in and surrender on the rape charge. Your opinion, of course, is that it’s a lot of hogwash, but you think I might try again and they can trace the call if they’ll set up a watch on your phone. Or Redfield himself could call the nearest office of the F.B.I, and make arrangements with them to have the call traced if I try to get in touch with them direct.”

He whistled. “Son, I don’t know how this is going to come out, but there’s one thing. They’ll sure as hell know you’ve been here.”

I hope so.”

“If only there was some way I could stop Redfield!”

“You can’t. His office has jurisdiction. And he’s in charge.”

“Maybe if I did call the F.B.I—”

“I’ve got no proof. Not yet.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to need it.”

I hung up, and checked my watch. It was twenty past midnight; we were going to have to work fast. T.J. and Trudy were watching me uncertainly. I called Georgia. She hurried in.

I think we’re in business,” I said. “But there’s no time to talk now. See if there’s a sheet on that bed back there.”

She brought it, and I began tearing it into strips. She watched, mystified. I rolled T.J. over on the floor, and tied his hands behind his back. The sheet was raw muslin, and quite strong. He struggled weakly and cursed. I shoved cloth in his mouth and made it fast with a strip tied in back of his head. I tied Trudy’s hands, but didn’t bother to gag her. She called me things I’d never heard before.

Hauling T.J. to his feet, I took the car keys from his pocket, handed Georgia the sap, and jerked my head towards Trudy. She was lying on the floor in front of the jukebox. “If she tries to get up, slice her across the backs of the legs just as hard as you can. Think you could do it?”

She nodded grimly. “I would love to. Believe me.”

I shoved T.J. out the door ahead of me, and took him outside to his car. Pushing him inside on the rear seat, I tied his legs together with some more of the sheet, and drove the car down behind the barn where it would be out of sight. When I went back, Trudy was still mouthing obscenities and Georgia Langston was kneeling beside her with the blackjack poised. I untied Trudy’s hands. Georgia looked at me questioningly.

I grinned coldly. “Trudy’s our secretary. She’s a great little girl on the telephone and she’s about to go to work for us now.”

I hauled her to her feet, “You impress me,” she said. “You really do. Scare me some more.”

“This may not be very pretty,” I said to Georgia. “You keep an eye on the road.”

“All right,” she said quietly. “But don’t think it would bother me.” She went out.

I took Trudy’s arm and led her over to the desk. “What a pair of creeps,” she said, full of bright insolence.

I ignored her, looking up Frankie Crossman’s residence in the phone book. Hoping he and his wife would be asleep, I dialed it, and listened, holding my finger on the switch. It went on ringing . . . four . . . five ... six. . . . Just after the seventh ring, somebody picked it up. I pressed down at the same instant, breaking the connection. I hung up.

“I’ll bet that was a real smart move,” Trudy said. “If I was stupid enough to figure it out.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “You just do what I tell you. In about two minutes, as soon as he gets back to bed, you’re going to call him. I’ll tell you what to say.”

“Up yours,” she said.

I slapped her.

She staggered sideways and fell to one knee. When she got up she tried to scratch me. I caught both her wrists in my left hand and slapped her twice more, forehanded and backhanded. I shoved and let her go. She fell backwards.

She looked up at me with the beginnings of doubt.

“You sumbitch, you’re crazy-”

“Get up, Trudy,” I said.

She climbed to her feet, watching me warily and trying to back away. I said nothing, and merely slapped her again, feeling a little sick at my stomach. She was about eighteen. But it had to be done. This was the method they’d left us.

“You cut it out,” she said, sullen now instead of insolent.

“Your trouble, Trudy, is that you’ve been milking complacent mopes all your life and never did run into a desperate mope before. I haven’t got anything more to i lose. Catch?”

I pulled the .38 from my pocket and cocked it.

“You wouldn’t.” She licked her lips nervously.

“We can use T.J. if you don’t want to do it. He’ll be easier to convince, too.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Guess,” I said.

She cracked. All the brass melted at once and she began to whimper. “What do you want me to do?”

“That’s better,” I said. I want you to call Frankie. If his wife answers the phone, don’t say anything. I’ll ask for him myself, because she might recognize your voice. As soon as we get hold of him, you do the talking. Here’s what you say.” I told her. “You got it?”

She nodded.

“All right,” I said grimly. “And remember. If you try to tip him off, God help you. The State can’t kill me any deader than Redfield.”

I dialed the number and held the instrument so she could speak into it and we could both hear. Crossman himself answered.

“Listen, Frankie,” she said hurriedly. “Pearl just called from town, and he’s on his way out here now. He said he tried to get you, but you didn’t answer—”

“He hung up before I could get to the phone,” Frankie grumbled. “What is it?”

I don’t know, except something’s gone wrong. All he said was he was leaving right then and for me to call you and keep calling till I got you, if I had to try every place in town. Don’t tell anybody, not even your wife, but just get out here as fast as you can.”

“I’ll be right there,” Frankie said. He hung up.

I replaced the instrument and looked at my watch. It was 12:47. We were cutting it dangerously fine. She’d said Pearl sometimes came home as early as one. It would take Frankie a couple of minutes to dress, and then Calhoun would wait two or three more. It was very still in the room. I was hot in the flannel jacket. Sweat ran down my face. My hands were so stiff now I could hardly close them.

“How long have you been living with Pearl?” I asked Trudy.

“Three or four months,” she said defiantly. Then she started to whine again. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with anything. I came here from Tampa.”

“When did T.J. show up?”

“About the same time. He was in a cuttin’ scrape up in Georgia.”

They were small change, I thought. I had to have the three big ones, and some kind of proof, and even then it might do me no good at all.

“What’s in the safe?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied sullenly.

“What’s in the safe?” I repeated harshly, taking a step towards her.

“Honest to God.” She began to whine again. “He never lets nobody see in it. Or watch him open it. That Miz Redfield offered me three hundred dollars if I could steal the combination—” She stopped abruptly.

“Why?” I asked. “What did she want with it?”

She retreated into sullen stupidity. “I don’t know. But Pearl carries it in his head. Nobody’ll ever know it but him.”

I looked at my watch again. It was 12:55. Calhoun should be talking to Mrs. Crossman now. And Frankie should be here any moment. “When Mrs. Crossman calls,” I told Trudy, “tell her Frankie’s not here and Pearl’s not here. Nothing else. Got it?”

She nodded. We went on waiting in hot, bright silence.

The phone rang. I nodded, and she picked it up. I stood beside her with my ear close to the edge of the receiver.

“This is Bessie Crossman,” a woman’s voice said. “Is Frankie there, Trudy?”

“No,” Trudy replied. “He hasn’t been here.”

“You don’t know where Pearl is?” I shook my head. She replied no.

“I’m worried. He got a phone call and rushed off somewhere, and then Calhoun come looking for him just a few minutes later.”

It was beginning to work. I motioned for Trudy to hang up.

Almost at the same instant Georgia Langston said quietly at the side window, “Car turning in, Bill.”