You Never Know With Women (17 page)

“No!” I said and stood up. “You’re keeping out of this. You’re not coming with me. I’ve changed my mind about you. These boys mean business. There’s going to be shooting when they run into me. If we’re caught together you’ll suffer for it. Keep out of it.”

“She’s right, Floyd,” Casy said. “You might stand a chance of getting through with her. They’re looking for you on your own. If she was with you, you two might throw them off.”

“I can’t help that!” I said and moved restlessly about the room. “She must keep out of this. This is lynch law. I can smell it. You know what they’d do to her if they caught us together.”

Casy shrugged. He looked tired and his face was sullen with anger.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“We’re going together,” Veda said quietly. “Let me talk to him. I’ll convince him.”

“You won’t,” I said raising my voice. “I’m not dragging you into this. Now look, Mick—”

“Think about it,” he interrupted. “I’ll be back in a while. I’ll think about it, too.”

He went away before I could stop him.

“I’m coming with you,” Veda said. “It’s no use arguing. I’ve made up my mind. The two of us can get through. I’m sure of it.”

“Now look, you’ve heard what they’re saying about me. They’re calling me a mad dog, a vicious killer, a child-murderer – every damn name they can lay their tongues on. If they catch me they’re not going to take me to Headquarters. They’ll string me to a tree or kick me to death. Think what they’ll do to you if you’re with me.”

She caught hold of my coat lapels and pulled my head down and kissed me.

“You’re rattled, Floyd. Don’t lose your nerve. We’ll do it together. Think a minute: what will happen to me if you leave me? I can’t go back to Cornelius. I haven’t any money, and besides, I want to come with you. I’m not scared. This is what we’ll do. You must dye your hair and wear a pair of shell spectacles. They’ll never suspect you with me. I’m positive, Floyd.”

I stared at her. I wanted her along with me if I could be sure I wasn’t getting her into a jam. I knew she was talking sense. They would be looking for me on my own. If I did alter my appearance and travel with her, the betting was we’d get through.

“I’m weakening,” I said. “I believe you’re right.”

“I know I am. Let’s see what I can do with you.” She ran to her bag and brought out an elaborate make-up box. “I have some black hair dye that dries fast. Come into the bathroom, and I’ll fix you up.”

Twenty minutes later I stood before the mirror and stared at a tall, dark fella who stared back at me a little short-sightedly through a pair of thick horn cheaters. He might have been a distant relative of mine, but he certainly wasn’t me.

“Not bad,” I said, and for the first time that day I felt a little more confident. “Not bad at all.”

“They won’t know you,” Veda said. scarcely recognize you myself.” She fished out a road map from her bag and began to study it. She had got down to this escape business with a grim seriousness that impressed me. It was as if she had been running away from the police all her life.

“We’ll go out on Highway 395,” she announced. “That’ll take us through Riverside to San Diego and into Tijuana. We should do it in under five hours.”

“You have it all figured out, haven’t you?” I said and took her in my arms. “If we get out of this jam, Veda, I’ll make you happy.”

“You’re making me happy now.”

A little later Casy rapped on the door and came in. He took one look at me and let out a startled oath. A gun jumped into his hand before I could let out a yap.

“Hey, Mick, take it easy. Is it as good as all that?”

His face was a study as he lowered the gun.

“I’ll say it’s good. I didn’t know you from Adam.”

We told him what we planned to do.

“That little car ain’t much,” he said when we were through. “I can get you something bigger. I have a Buick that’s been built for this job: armour-plate and bullet-proof windows. If you get in a jam, you can make a run for it and nothing can stop you. It has self-sealing tyres and an engine that’s geared for fast work. You can knock a hundred and twenty out of her.”

“Do you want to trade your car?” I asked Veda.

“For a job like that — yes. We can use my licence plates and tag, can’t we?”

“I’ll fix ‘em myself,” Mick said, getting up. “As soon as it gets a little darker, you’d better move.” He gave a sly grin. “I’ve locked up all those boys who know you’re here. They’re getting difficult to handle, but they’ll stay under lock and key until you’ve gone.”

“You’re a swell guy, Mick. I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you. I’ll square accounts if I ever get out of this jam.”

He laughed.

“You’ll get out of it all right. They won’t spot you. Don’t worry. It’s a cinch now. I’ll be back in a while.”

The moon was getting up above Ocean Rise when we left the hide-out and walked along an alley that led from the back of the gambling joint to a dirt road. It was a hot night, and the stars were like points of steel through blue velvet.

I carried Veda’s bags and Mick brought mine. The Road-master Buick looked as big as a house as we came upon it. It wasn’t a new job, but we didn’t want anything too showy.

“You’ve got food and drink in the back,” Mick told me as he stowed the bags in the boot. “This job was built in Chicago, where they know how to build a car. There’s a couple of panels you might like to know about. One’s under the driving-seat and contains a .45. I’ve cleaned and oiled her and she’s loaded. There’s another panel under the dashboard. There’s a Sten gun in there with ammunition, and two hand grenades that might come in useful.”

“For Pete’s sake,” I exclaimed, “what do you think this is? The beginning of another war?”

“It might be — for you,” he said grimly. “Don’t let them catch you, Floyd.”

“Okay, Mick, and thanks again.”

We shook hands.

“Keep your eye on him,” Mick said to Veda. “He’s a good guy. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“I’ve found that out for myself,” Veda said, “and you’re a good guy too.”

I engaged gear. Before we all burst into tears, I moved the Buick slowly on its way.

Mick jumped on the running-board.

“There’s a barricade across the bottom of the Main Street as you go out and another at Pasadena. Watch out — and luck.”

He dropped off as I trod on the gas and sent the big car leaping forward along the dirt road.

“Well, we’ve started,” I said. “I’ll be a lot happier when I’ve crossed the border.

“If we’re questioned, you’re my brother John,” Veda said. “You better let me do the talking. I’ll sex them into letting us through.”

“You’ve got a nerve, kid. Aren’t you scared?”

“A little; not much. I’m trying to get a kick out of this, I can’t really believe it’s happening to us.”

“Yeah,” I said, “every now and then it sneaks up on me, then I get the shakes.”

I swung the car off the dirt road on to Main street, and drove along at a steady thirty miles an hour. I could feel an atmosphere of suppressed excitement as we passed through the town. There were groups of men outside every beer saloon. They all looked at us intently. Several of the men carried rifles, and not a few swung pick-handles.

“Looks like the beginning of a lynch mob,” I said. “I’m glad we’re getting out.”

“Lights ahead,” Veda said with a slight catch in her voice. “They’re stopping the traffic.”

I slowed down. Two cars ahead of me had come to a stand-still. I drew up behind them. A big truck had been manoeuvred across the road to prevent traffic passing. A group of men with lanterns and flashlights and armed with guns stood around the truck while two policemen and a State Trooper talked to the drivers of the cars in front of me. They waved the cars on, and came strolling towards me.

I found I was sweating slightly, but there was nothing I could do about that. I was lighting a cigarette as one of the policemen threw a beam on me.

“Where are you going?” he demanded roughly.

“Pasadena,” I said.

The beam slipped over me and on to Veda.

“They must be looking for the Brett killer,” she said brightly. “That’s right, isn’t it, officer?” She gave him a smile that rocked him back on his heels.

“That’s right, miss,” he said, almost human now, “and who are you?”

“Rux is the name. Veda and John. He’s my brother.”

The beam came on to me again.

“Brother, huh? Lucky guy.”

“I’d as soon be her husband,” I said, but my grin was a little stiff.

“Don’t listen to him, officer,” Veda giggled. “He always says the most terrible things.”

“That’s not so terrible,” the policeman said and laughed. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “He’s got something there.”

The State Trooper came up. He looked as hard and as un-friendly as a concrete sidewalk.

“Checked their licence tag?” he demanded.

“Naw, but that guy ain’t him. Use your eyes, and don’t try to make work.”

“Check it,” the trooper snapped. “This ain’t a picnic; it’s a man-hunt.”

Muttering under his breath, the policeman read the licence tag on the wheel, grunted.

“Okay, move along,” he said to me, winked at Veda. “I wouldn’t want to be your brother either,” he told her.

I drove around the truck, aware of a couple of dozen eyes on me. Some of those guys certainly looked hungry to earn them-selves thirty grand. Once clear of the truck, I gave the Buick its head.

“That was easy enough, wasn’t it?” Veda said, but there was a little quiver in her voice.

I wiped my face with my handkerchief.

“It was all right while it lasted,” I said. “But I don’t want any more of it.”

We licked along the road at a steady sixty miles an hour. I didn’t feel much like talking. I kept thinking of the other barricade at Pasadena.

We went through Glendale without being stopped. There was a big crowd of men at one street comer. A guy in a Stetson hat was standing on the back seat of a car, talking to them. He kept waving his arms and seemed excited. A number of men had pick-handles, and I didn’t have to wonder who he was talking about.

One of the men in the crowd turned and stared at us. He shouted suddenly, but he was too far away for us to hear what he was yelling. I drove on. It needed a little effort not to in-crease our speed.

Veda, looking back through the rear window, said the crowd were looking after us.

We got on to the Pasadena road, and after driving for eight or nine miles I saw a red light flickering in the distance. “There’s a light ahead,” Veda said sharply.

“Yeah,” I said, and tried to make up my mind whether to stop or not. There were no other cars coming, and this was a lonely stretch: too lonely.

“Act natural,” she said sharply as if sensing my hesitation. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Who said I was worrying?” I snapped back.

I guess our nerves were sticking out a foot.

The head-lights of the Buick picked out a bunch of men standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t see a policeman or a trooper amongst them, and I felt a chill run up my spine. They looked a tough mob.

“Watch out,” I said to Veda and reached down and slid back the panel at my feet.

“Don’t start anything,” she whispered fiercely. “Please, Floyd . . .”

I let go of the butt of the .45 and straightened up.

“I don’t like the look of them,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

As the Buick stopped, a fat guy, carrying the red lantern, came up. He was big, and his dungarees were ragged and dirty. Four of the others levelled their rifles at the windshield and blinked with intent eyes into the head-lights. They also wore ragged dungarees. They looked like a bunch from a milling camp.

“Road up or something?” I said leaning out of the window. “Or is this a hold-up?”

“Come out of it,” the fat guy said, “and make it snappy.”

“Do what he says,” Veda whispered. “We don’t want to make them mad.”

“Not damn likely,” I returned. “Once out there they could do what they liked with us. We’re safer in here.” I leaned farther out of the window. “What’s the idea?” I demanded.

Someone flashed a beam on us.

“Taint him, Jud,” a voice said. “This punk’s dark.”

The fat guy sneered. He came closer and I could smell beer on his breath.

“Come on out when I tell you,” he snarled and pushed the rifle into my face.

I heard Veda’s door open and glanced round. She had slid out and was standing in the road. I cursed softly, flipped open the panel under the dashboard and my hand closed around a cold hard object. Very cautiously I lifted it and slipped it into my side pocket. Then I opened the car door and got out.

The fat guy pushed me into the glare of the headlights.

“Take care of him,” he said to a little guy with a face like a weasel.

They were all looking at Veda, who smiled at them. They were very still and intent. The little guy pointed a shotgun at me.

“We’re looking for the Brett killer,” the fat guy said to me. “How do we know you ain’t him?” While he was speaking he didn’t take his eyes off Veda.

“You have a description of him, haven’t you?” I said and laughed as if I thought he’d made a joke.

“Okay, so you’re not Jackson,” he returned. “So we ain’t collecting the thirty grand reward, but we’re having a lotta fun this night. You’re the third guy with a dame we’ve stopped. You don’t object if we have a little fun with your girl friend, do you, pal?”

“I wouldn’t start anything I couldn’t finish if I were you,” I said.

“Haw! Haw!” The fat guy slapped his thigh. “That’s pretty good. You’re the punk who’d better not start anything. If he makes a move, Tim, let him have both barrels.”

“You bet,” the weasel-faced man said and tittered.

The fat guy went up to Veda.

“Hello, sugar,” he said. “You and me are going for a little walk.”

Veda looked at him. Her eyes were steady.

“Why?” she said in a hard, flat voice.

“That’s a secret,” the fat guy said. “But you’ll find out quick enough.” He grabbed hold of her by her shirt.

She didn’t try to get away, but continued to stare up at him, her eyes hardening.