The Crossroads (16 page)

“Please, Mark,” she said, her mouth trembling.

“You’ll do anything in this big wide world I tell you to do, and do it fast, won’t you?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“And nobody knows you even know me. Nobody knows you come here. You haven’t been bigmouth with a girl friend?”

“No.”

“Now get your clothes on and get out of here. I got thinking to do.”

Her hands shook as she got dressed. She was biting her underlip and she looked pallid and sweaty.

After she backed out and drove away, stalling the Chevy twice, Mark Brodey sat for a long time tasting the sharp sweetness of vengeance. Five crummy years working for those bastards. The girl was cowed. She’d done fine so far. He realized how lucky he had been with her. Something in her responded to being beefed around. It was something she needed and hadn’t been getting. She liked being scared to death.

From now on it had to be handled perfectly. The chaotic ideas he’d had of procedure had to be sorted out, made solid and foolproof. And the very first thing to consider was a good place for the money. A place where it could sit safely for from six months to a year. Safe from fire and damp, but easy to get at in a hurry if need be. The thought of the money made his heart bulge, and his ears ring.

The punk would arrive with the money in a small suitcase or dispatch case.… He spent an hour devising and discarding plans. Long ago a farmhouse had burned nearby. The fieldstone chimney still stood. He wandered over to it. Brush screened him from the highway. It was a hundred yards from his cabin. It was so overgrown it took him almost a half-hour to find what he was looking for. Vines covered the rotten boards that covered the old well. He looked in all directions, then knelt and shifted a board. It would do. The more he
thought about it, the better he liked it. Take the money out of the case, seal it in Pliofilm bags and repack it in the case. Have a piece of wire all ready, one end securely anchored. Fasten it to the handle of the case, hang it a few feet down the well, shift the board back. It would keep for a year. And available in moments.

Suddenly he realized that the case itself, if something went wrong, might link him to Lawrenz. The money itself would be a lot harder to identify. Unlikely there’d be any record of serial numbers. So get rid of the case. Put rocks in it and drop it in the Walterburg River. Or burn it. Have something ready for the money. It wouldn’t be bulky. Not if the old man had it packed in a safety deposit box. Probably one of the big boxes. Pack it in something that would give it some additional protection. But what? Something with a very ordinary look, so that if by accident it should be seen by some nosy kid, it would not excite any special curiosity.

An inner tube would do it. Make a long slit in the inside, pack it with the Pliofilm bundles, seal the slit, hang it in the well.

It satisfied him. The other major problem remained. The exact place, the perfect place, for Lawrenz to meet Sylvia. It had to be easy to find. It had to be completely secluded. And it had to have one other essential characteristic.

On Friday afternoon, a little after four o’clock, not long after Glenn Lawrenz had come to work, Jack Paris and Pete Drovek were getting ready for their weekend fishing trip. A friend of Pete’s had a summer place on Bogue Sound and a thirty-six-foot sports fisherman. Figuring a short stop along the way for food, they could drive right on through and arrive before ten o’clock at night. Jack’s station wagon was parked in the handiest place for both of them to load, in Pete’s driveway, between the two houses, headed out. They had loaded the rod cases, tackle boxes, suitcases, beer cooler. Joan had come home from the office to see them off.

She stood with Jack beside the station wagon. Pete had
gone into his house. Jack glared at his watch. She realized he was as excited as a kid about to leave for camp.

“When do I start looking for you, darling?” she asked.

“If it’s slow Sunday, we’ll probably come in early enough to get back here late Sunday night. But if they’re hitting, we’ll stay over and leave early Monday. What the hell’s keeping Pete?”

“Have you got everything?”

“Sure. I made a list.”

Pete finally found the hat he had been looking for, a faded red job with a long bill. He backed out of the storage compartment, slapped it against his thigh to knock the dust off, put it on and turned and grinned at Sylvia. “Man shouldn’t hardly go anywhere without his lucky hat,” he said.

He hugged Sylvia strongly and casually, bent to the soft ripe rind of her mouth, kissed her with emphasis.

“Have a good time,” she said, not looking directly at him.

He shook her gently. “Be of good cheer, chunky stuff. You’ve been a dirge lately.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be back Monday. Stay out of trouble. Be wearing something you can get out of fast when I get home, doxie. The sea air does amazing things to me.”

“Pete?”

“What is it, honey?” She was looking at him pleadingly.

“When you come back could we go away together? For a long time?”

“Where?”

“Just away from here.”

“What’s so horrible about here? Cheer up, honeybundle. I can’t leave. Go buy some tricky underwear and some new shoes.”

He walked out to the station wagon with her, his arm around her, his hand on her firm and slender waist, feeling the warmth of her, the interwoven flex of her muscles as she walked. A good kid, he thought. He felt irritated with her for her recent moodiness, and felt slightly ashamed of himself. He knew that he did not have any
special interest in what might be upsetting her. He just wished it was over. It was like resenting a good dog because it had a touch of mange. Or a horse with a sore foot. Or a boat with a leak. The utility was slightly reduced, the efficiency not up to par, the pleasure of perfect functioning reduced.

He patted the seat of her shorts as he released her. “Be wearing a wide grin for ole Pete when I get back, puss.”

“Lo, the intrepid mariners,” Joan said.

He grinned at her. “The Rover boys goof again, Sis.”

“Let’s roll,” Jack said. “Come on. ’Bye, gals.” He gunned the engine. Pete climbed in, shoved his lucky hat onto the back of his head. The wagon went down the drive and turned right. They could see it again after it had made the turn by Chip’s house, going up the slope and over the crest toward the Motor Hotel and the highway.

It was the first time Joan had been with Sylvia since she had overheard the phone conversation. Sylvia, in rust-colored short shorts and a pale-yellow blouse, high-heeled sandals and gold hoop earrings, stood squinting and frowning in the sun, her posture bad, looking small and rather dumpy and discouraged. She was at her worst in sunshine, Joan thought. She’s made for dark places.

“Off they go,” Joan said. “Come on in for a coffee break, Sylvia.”

“What? Oh, no thanks, honest.”

“Then come watch me drink some. We never get a chance to talk.”

“Okay,” the girl said listlessly. She followed Joan into her kitchen, sat in the incongruous Boston rocker by the kitchen fireplace and crossed her ripe dusky legs.

Joan felt that she was chattering. She could not bring Sylvia out of her shell. She provided a half dozen openings which, had Sylvia been in any mood for confession, she would have taken. But she could not dent the listlessness, or get anything but mechanical answers to trivial questions. She watched Sylvia trudge slowly back to her own house. Joan went back to the office. As she walked
by the Jeana Louise Shop she looked in and saw Jeana standing by a display case, talking to an elderly couple. She turned as Joan walked by and gave her a quick wave and her wonderful smile.

Chip was coming out of his office as she approached. He straddled the Vespa, chugged over to her and cut the motor, sat balancing it with one foot braced against the gravel drive.

“You look thoughtful,” he said.

“I just saw Jack and Pete off. Then had a little chat with Sylvia. She’s acting … a little dreary lately.”

“She’s basically dreary, isn’t she?”

“You know what I mean. Up until lately she’s been, at least, a goodhumored little thing.”

“I suppose. Say, what’s this about the Daniel Shop?”

“Everybody around here has their own radar! I didn’t find out about it until today. He wants an extension on the rent. Fifteen days.”

“What did you decide?”

“Give it to him.”

“What’s the story?”

“He’s been going downhill for six months. Bad buying, bad stock control, bad advertising, bad customer relations.”

“Will he go under?”

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

“And you could rent the space right away?”

“In a minute.”

“Then why the generosity, Joan? I don’t get it.”

“You have a flaw, Chip. You lean too hard. First, he’s going to have a big clearance sale and move a lot of the stuff at cost. We’ll get the money. Secondly, he talks too much about his problems, and he is going to make it well known that we gave him a break. Our other tenants will know that if they have some trouble, we’ll go along. It makes good relations.”

He grinned at her. “Why do I bother questioning your judgment?”

“Get there early for the sale. He does have some handsome
Italian sports shirts and some wonderful doeskin Daks. It starts Monday.”

“All the other tenants happy and healthy?”

“Extremely. How about the auto agency?”

“They break ground Monday.”

“How’s Nancy making out?”

“She’s not complaining and she’s stopped limping. She might even last the whole summer.”

“You better take a closer look at the dainty little jaw on my niece, Chip. That gal will never quit anything she starts.”

“We should have more of them in the family, Sis.”

“I suppose.”

She watched him ride off, heading south, his broad back dwarfing the scooter, bloused shirt rippling. She walked into her office, her mind back on Sylvia.

At three-thirty in the morning Glenn drove Sylvia back to the municipal parking lot and pulled in on the left of her car. As she reached for the door handle he caught her arm and pulled her back.

“Don’t be in such a rush.”

“It’s awful late, Glenn. Somebody could see me coming in so late.”

“That would be a terrible shame, kid. You flip me. You really do. You line up this deal we’re going to do … I’m going to do … and you’re as cold as a damn piece of ice about it. But you get in a big sweat about going home late.”

“It’s different.”

“I want to talk to you another couple of minutes, so lean back. You act like I’m some kind of a slob. You give the orders. I got some ideas too, kid. I’ve been thinking. My neck is going to be out a hell of a lot further than yours is. I’ve got some ideas about this thing. See what you think of this …”

“Glenn!”

“Shut up. This car is too damn conspicuous. This is the way I want to do it. Take it from when I walk out of the bank with the money. I got my suitcase in the
trunk. Okay. As soon as you’ve phoned me, you’ve started out, heading east on 82. I get in my car and head east and I’ll get on 82 east of Walterburg. You keep it at about forty and I’ll catch up with you maybe fifty miles east of here. Soon as I pass you, you follow me. I’ll find some side road to pull off into. There’s some wild country over that way. I’ll put my stuff in your car. I’ll take the plate off this crate and find a good place to run it off, maybe into one of those lakes over that way. I’ll have a Florida plate to put on the Chevy. There’s one kicking around the station I can lift. It fell off a car going by over a month ago. We ditch our two plates and keep going in the Chevy. When we stop that night, you be fixed up with some junk to turn you into a blonde, baby. We’ll ditch the Chevy someplace in Texas and we’ll cross …”

“No! We’ll do it my way, Glenn. I told you and told you. I’ll find a place for you to meet me. But … maybe we could go in the Chevy. If you think that’s best.”

He sighed. “So we use
one
of my ideas anyhow.” He cupped his hand on her large solid breast. “It scares me, baby, when I think of what we’re doing.”

“It’s an awful lot of money. I got to go, honey.”

“Will you turn into a blonde?”

“If you really want me to, I guess. Leggo me, Glenn, please.”

He kissed her and let her go. She drove out. He waited a few minutes and then drove out of the parking lot, back through the empty night streets to his room.

Sylvia drove down 71 to the Crossroads. All the units at the Motor Hotel were dark. She was happy to be off the highway. The big trucks that hammered through the night, passing her car, scared her. As she passed the Motor Hotel office she saw the night man leaning on the desk near the switchboard, reading. As she dipped down over the crest she turned her motor and lights off. She could see the road by starlight. She coasted almost silently to her driveway, left the car out, latched the car door carefully and went in. She drew a hot tub and lay in it for a long time, soaking. She had never been so tired in all her life, or so unhappy.

On Monday, the second day of July, at ten-fifteen, Glenn Lawrenz went to the Walterburg Bank and Trust Company and rented one of the larger boxes, paying cash. He wore the sedate brown suit, a brown felt hat, a white shirt and a conservative tie. His shoes were polished. His cheeks were padded with cotton. He carried a brown dispatch case he had purchased at a pawnshop. It was scuffed, but appeared to be of good quality. He wore a pair of glasses with heavy frames. He had lifted them off the front seat of a car from Indiana while sweeping the floor boards. The correction was slight, but it bothered him, and the bows hurt his ears. He pitched his voice higher than usual and spoke more rapidly. And he did not smile.

The whole routine was far simpler than he had anticipated. The woman took his money, wrote down his name and address, had him sign a signature card, gave him a receipt for the box rental, two keys in a small red cardboard envelope and explained what it would cost to have the box opened should he lose both keys. He hoped the address was satisfactory. It was the rooming house where he had first stayed when he came to Walterburg, one he had been requested to leave.