The Big Bite (13 page)

“You have his gun.”

“I’ve got news for you,” I said. “They made two guns last year.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked, leaning against the door frame.

“I’m going to get the hell out of here while I’m in one piece. I don’t want any punchy maniac blowing my head off from behind, or while I’m asleep.”

Her eyebrows arched.
“Well! And what about me?”

“The hell with what about you. You meet me in Houston Thursday at noon with that money, the way you’re supposed to. In the meantime, try the Marine Corps.”

She flared up. “Don’t talk to me that way!”

“Beat it,” I said. I turned back to my packing.

“Why, you arrogant muscle-brain—”

I collected my shacking gear off a shelf and dropped it in the bag.

“John—”

There was something plaintive about it. I turned. She leaned her head back against the door frame and the big eyes were contrite. “I’m sorry,” she said.

It was a smooth routine, from blazing hellcat to appealing little girl in one breath, and I was about to tell her what she could do with it when something else occurred to me. Tallant might flip his lid and kill her, even after she’d gone back home. What was I thinking about, going off and leaving her? That was stupid; the thing to do was take her with me so I’d know damn well she would still be alive Thursday morning.

I walked over to her. “I’m sorry, too,” I said. “I guess he scared me a little.”

She looked up at me with an eager smile. “Why don’t we go away somewhere, if you don’t want to stay here?”

You’re reading my mail,
I thought. I put my hand under her chin, tilted her face up, and kissed her.

“That’s the ticket. Just the two of us, like a honeymoon.”

Her eyes were shining. “Wonderful. Where shall we go?”

“Anywhere, baby.”

“Houston?”

“We’ll go there Thursday.” I didn’t want to be around Houston any longer than I had to. There was always a chance that taxi driver had spilled my description to the cops.

She laughed. “Well, what does it matter? Who cares where he is, on a honeymoon?”

“Sure,” I said. I put the envelope with the eight thousand on top of the other stuff in the bag, and after she’d packed hers I carried the two of them outside and locked the cabin.

“There’s no use taking both cars,” she said. “Why don’t we go in mine?”

“No,” I said. “You go ahead. Turn right when you get out on the highway. I’ll follow you and leave my car in Breward. I can pick it up again when we start down to Houston.”

She frowned slightly. “But why not just leave it here? Nobody’ll bother it.”

“Save having to come back in and get it,” I replied. Naturally, I couldn’t tell her I wanted her to go out first so I could stop and dig up that tape. I’d leave it in the car, of course, and she’d never know. When we came back through Breward and I drove it on down to Houston I could leave it on a lot and while she was at the bank I’d go get the tape out of it, still carrying out the illusion somebody else had it all the time.

She shrugged. “All right.”

I put the bags in her Buick and got in my car. When I stepped on the starter, nothing happened. I tried again. The battery was dead.

That was odd. The generator had been charging all right. Maybe it was just a bad connection. I tried the lights. They came on dimly, and then died. Well, so you buy an old clunk—

She got out of the Buick. “What’s the matter?”

“Dead battery,” I said.

“Why do you suppose that is? Did you leave the radio on?”

“It hasn’t got a radio. Well, you can push me to get it started.”

“Oh, let’s go,” she said impatiently. “Leave it here.”

“Push it,” I said. I climbed back in. She maneuvered up behind me and came up against the bumper. I managed to swing around and we started out the road. After a quarter of a mile there still hadn’t been a cough out of the motor. She stopped and got out. “What do you suppose is the matter?”

“Maybe the battery’s shorted out inside; not enough juice even for the ignition.”

“Well, leave the silly thing here, John. Let’s go.”

“I can’t leave it here in the road.”

“Oh, all right.”

She got back in the Buick, went past me, and turned around. We maneuvered the Chevy back to the cabin and left it in the yard. I started to lift the hood to have a look under it, but shrugged. All it needed was another battery. We could bring one in when we came back. I didn’t like the idea of coming back in here, but it would be safe enough. All I’d have to do would be call Tallant’s shop beforehand and make sure he was there instead of down here looking for us.

I got in the car with her and we drove out of the bottom. Before we came out on the highway it occurred to me it was damned strange the car hadn’t started.

With her pushing it, there should have been enough spark from the generator to fire it.

Oh, well,
I thought, and dropped it. It was a mistake, but I was making them one after another by that time.

We drove to Shreveport. When we checked in at the hotel, she waited impatiently until the bellhop got his tip and left; then she came close to me, put her hands up behind my neck, smiled delightfully, and said, “Isn’t this nice?”

“Sure, sure,” I said. I’d intended to ask the desk to send up the Houston papers, but I’d forgotten.

She leaned against me a little, “Riding in a car always does something funny to me. Maybe it’s the vibration.”

“Could be,” I said.

“Being on a ship does the same thing.”

So does breathing,
I thought.

She brushed her hand through my hair, whirled away I from me, and spun herself onto the bed. She doubled up her legs and lit a cigarette, smiling roguishly at me above the match. “Air-conditioning, no mosquitoes, tiled bath, clean sheets—this is much better, don’t you I think?”

“Who’s got a one-track mind?” I asked.

She made a face. “All right. But is that so bad?”

“It’s fine with me,” I said.

“Well! Couldn’t you be just a
little
more ardent?”

I lit a cigarette and sat down on the other bed, facing her. “I don’t always get your message,” I said. “Seems to me you should be sore as a boil.”

“So I should.”

“But you’re not?”

She shrugged. “What good would it do?”

“I see what you mean. If you can’t whip ‘em, join ‘em.’

“That’s part of it. But maybe I like you.”

“Sure, sure.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. “It’s odd, I know. But there’s something fascinating about you. You’re exciting.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t know, really. It’s a lot of things, I guess. You’re big, and hard, and utterly ruthless. You’re so completely a male animal from every angle—”

“And you like ‘em male?”

She glanced up at me from under those long lashes. “Haven’t you formed any opinion about that yet?”

We didn’t leave the room for twenty-four hours. We had our meals sent up, and I got hold of all the Houston papers. There was nothing in them about Purvis, which could mean anything. The police would still be actively working on it, even if it didn’t rate any space. There was no love-nest angle and no way they could work in some pictures of a half-dressed babe; he was just another sleazy character with his roof shoved in. They’re a dime a dozen in any large city and have to have a real homey angle somewhere to stay in the papers more than a couple of days. That taxi driver could have come forward and given my description to the cops without anyone’s bothering to get out an extra about it. That was the scary part of it; I wouldn’t know, and I had to go back down there.

I thought about it. Why go down there at all? She could go draw out the money and meet me in San Antonio or Dallas or somewhere else. No. That wasn’t so hot. She’d be wandering around over the state alone with over ninety thousand in cash, and there was no telling what’d happen. The way she was bothered, she was just as likely to take off up an alley after a telephone lineman. I wasn’t so sure now but what she might be a little whacky, at least when she was troubled with ants in the pants, which seemed to be most of the time. There was no doubt she was one of the smoothest-looking dishes I’d ever seen, but she was beginning to strike me as a character. They both were, as a matter of fact, and they didn’t look half as dangerous as they had at first. It was just dumb luck they’d fooled the police the way they had, and Purvis had been merely stupid. Hell, I’d made them look silly, right from the start.

We went to a movie Sunday afternoon and out to dinner afterward. Men turned and looked at her everywhere she went. She was in a good mood when we came back, and didn’t seem to mind whether I listened to her yakking or not. When you’ve reached the saturation point in love-making, there’s nothing you can get as sick of as being shut up for any length of time in a hotel room with a woman, but I had to hand it to her. She was good-natured all the time, and if I just grunted occasionally when she was beating her gums fourteen to the dozen while brushing her hair or washing out her stockings with the bathroom door open it was all right with her. She just didn’t want me to be out of reach for a minute.

On Monday she wanted to go shopping, and nothing would do but that I go with her. She had three or four hundred dollars beside what she’d given me, and I wandered through shops and sat around bored stiff while she bought stockings and another nightgown and some perfume and looked at ten times as much more she didn’t buy.

“You don’t mind, do you, John?” she said, smiling happily at me. “After all, I’m doing it for you.”

“Sure, go ahead,” I said. What the hell, I had to keep her pacified and contented until Thursday morning, and wandering around in stores was as easy a way to do it as any. She was beginning to wear me out.

She kept me up most of the night, yakking and being very sweet and chummy and giving me the old buildup, so it was late when I awoke on Tuesday morning, some time after ten o’clock. She was still asleep beside me, wearing the new shortie nightgown she’d bought. I raised up on one elbow and looked at her, and all sorts of bells began to go off in my mind. She was beautiful as hell, and even asleep she didn’t look stupid. What kind of an act was she putting on, and why was she doing it?

So maybe she did need men the way an alcoholic needs booze—she still had too much in the way of equipment to have to knock herself out chasing them. They’d be falling all over her. Why break a leg trying to scramble into the sack with a guy who was putting the bite on her for a hundred grand? I wasn’t that good. I’d never had any illusions about anything since I was eleven, and that included myself. I was no particular great-lover type. In two hours on any public beach she could pick up a half dozen big hard-shouldered jokers who’d give her just as good a run for her money in the hay and even throw in the old moonlight-and-roses pitch at no extra charge. So what was the gag?

Was it a stall? But why? What did she hope to gain by it? It didn’t make any sense. I had the goods on them, and there was no way on earth they could squirm out of it. But this whole thing was too easy; it didn’t ring true. My first impression of the two of them was that they were sharp, brainy, and dangerous as hell. Then he’d acted like some punchy adolescent out there at the cabin. And now she was a happy-go-lucky round-heel with nothing on her mind but a place to fall. Was the whole thing an act for my benefit? Did they think they could con me, string me along with a measly eight thousand and a lot of empty promises? Well, we’d see about that. I reached over and shook her.

Her eyes opened. She looked at me rather coldly for an instant until she was fully awake, and then she smiled. “What is it, John?”

“I just wanted some information,” I said shortly. “What’s the name of that brokerage firm in Houston? The one that’s selling the stocks for you?”

With no hesitation at all, she replied, “Harley and Bryson. Why?”

“And who handles your account?”

“George Harley, Jr.” She looked puzzled. “But why, John?”

I ignored her. Picking up the phone from the table beside the bed, I told the operator, “I want to put in a long-distance call to Houston. Person-to-person to Mr. George Harley, Jr., at the brokerage firm of Harley and Bryson. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just a moment, please.”

I passed the phone over to her. She stared. “Ask Harley how he’s coming along unloading your stocks. Hold the receiver out a little from your ear, and pray you’ve been telling me the truth.”

She took it and held it as I told her. I slid over, holding her tightly with my cheek against her head and my own ear touching the outer rim of the receiver. I could hear the long-lines operators talking:

The receptionist answered. “Just a moment, please.”

After a short pause, a man came on. “Harley speaking.”

I squeezed her arm. If she’d been lying, she was in a bad spot.”

“Oh, Mr. Harley,” she said calmly. “Julia Cannon.

“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Cannon.”

“I just called to ask if you had executed the order I phoned in the other day—”

“Oh, yes. I was just about to send through a statement. Let’s see. . . . Have It right here somewhere, I think . . . Just a moment . . . Yes . . . Here it is. . . . Hmmmmmm. General Motors.. . . Boeing . . . Anaconda . . . Hmmmmmm . . . yesterday’s market . . . check . . . be deposited your account bank here as instructed . . . total proceeds, less commission, ninety-seven thousand, six hundred, forty-four dollars, eighty-one cents . . . apparently all in order . . . hmmm . . .”

I sat up on the bed and reached for a cigarette. She looked at me. I nodded and waved a hand. She said, “Thank you, Mr. Harley. Good-by.” She hung up.

I handed her a lighted cigarette.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Just checking, honey. Just checking.”

“You thought I was lying?”

“It just occurred to me I didn’t have anybody’s word for it but yours.”

“You think I’d dare? Under the circumstances?”

“Relax,” I said. I felt like a million.

Of course she hadn’t been trying anything funny. How could she? They were absolutely helpless, and their staying alive depended on their doing exactly what I told them. Of course she was knocking herself out to be nice to me. If anybody had me where the wool was that short I’d be an eager beaver myself. I thought about it. The stocks were already sold; I’d heard the man say so myself. All I had to do now was go down there Thursday and pick up that big, fat bundle of folding money.

“You must think I’m insane,” she said petulantly.

“Honey, I think you’re terrific.”

“Do you like me? Just a little?”

“Sure, sure,” I said. Like her? She was Fort Knox, with legs. I was just reaching for a cigarette when the bells began to ring again.

My hand hung there halfway to the cigarette pack while the whole thing raced through my mind at once. Was that it? Was that the angle? Sure. It figured from every direction. Look at it, you fool. You underestimated them and got yourself sucked out of position, but good. They almost had you.

I grinned coldly. Almost. But not quite. There was still time.

It had been close, though, if I were right. This was Tuesday. I had been with her since Thursday afternoon, been with her every minute. She’d seen to that. She knew every move I’d made and she knew definitely I hadn’t been in contact with anybody. So suppose they were feeling me out, stretching out the time I was incommunicado, testing me a little at a time? That would account for the fact the car wouldn’t start—he’d butched it some way that first night to make sure that if I went anywhere it would only be with her—and it would explain this whole lovey-dovey routine on her part. They simply didn’t believe there was anybody else in this thing with me, and when they had finally proved it to their own satisfaction they’d knock me off. Like that.

I hadn’t quite sold them with that piece of razzle-dazzle that morning. They weren’t sure I had mailed the tape, or if I had, that I had mailed it to an accomplice. And every hour that went by without my getting in contact with
somebody
to assure him I was still alive was making my position more dangerous. The deadly efficiency of it made me shiver.

Well, we’ll see about it,
I thought.
Thank God I’d caught it in time.

She gave me a provocative, sidelong glance and then made a face at me. “Well, if
that’s
all you woke me up for—” She sat up in bed, stripped off the nightgown with casual unconcern and strode naked into the bathroom. She left the door just partly open, as she always did, and started yakking as she turned on the shower.

I lit the cigarette.

“—don’t you think so, John?”

Smart baby,
I thought. I didn’t say anything.

“John?”

“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”

“You brute,” she protested above the noise of the shower, “you’re not even listening to me. I said, aren’t we having a good time?”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “A wonderful time.”

She went on chattering. I reached out for the telephone, lifting it carefully off the cradle. When the operator answered, I said quietly, “I want to make another long-distance call.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just one moment.”

The yakking went on from the shower. It paused momentarily on a questioning note.

“Sure, sure,” I answered, holding my hand over the mouthpiece.

“Well, that’s better. I think you’re sweet, too.”

“Aren’t we both,” I said. That’ll hold you for a minute, you sweet, deadly bitch. It did. She started humming in the shower.

“All right, sir,” the operator said.

I took my hand off the transmitter and spoke directly into it, very quietly. “Fort Worth. Person-to-person to George Gray at the Gray Midcontinent Equipment Company.”

“Yes, sir. Will you hold on, please?”

The humming continued from the bathroom. I breathed softly; she couldn’t possibly have heard me.
All right baby,
I thought;
I’ve got you.

I could hear Information in Fort Worth giving the number, and then the telephone ringing.

The humming stopped. “Oh, John?”

I grinned coldly. Putting my hand back over the transmitter, I said, “Stop the yakking for a minute, will you. I’m trying to make a telephone call. And turn off that shower.”

The shower stopped abruptly. The door opened and she came out, naked, beautiful, and dripping, with a big towel in her hand. “A telephone call?” she asked with big-eyed innocence. “To whom, John?”

I smiled. “Long distance. To a friend of mine. You may have heard me speak of him.”

“Oh,” she said, with no surprise in her voice and no change of expression. The world lost a great actress, I thought. After six days she must have figured they about had it made, but no disappointment showed on her face at all.

Just then George’s voice sounded in the receiver. “Hello? Gray speaking.”

“John,” I said. “How are you, boy?”

I held the receiver tightly against my ear. She’d be able to hear there was a voice on the other end and to recognize it as a man’s, probably, but unable to catch a word of what it said.