The Kidnapper (7 page)

Nobody else tried to stop me. I walked out of there, knowing I’d played it perfect, knowing that each step was taking me closer and closer to the big day.

Chapter Eight

I
t was Friday, June sixteenth. A nice warm day, the last day of school. Everybody was planning their vacation. I had mine planned, too.

I got up at noon and checked out of the YMCA. That’s where I’d been staying, the YMCA, after I quit my job. I told Mrs. Delehanty I was moving to Oregon. The YMCA was a good place for me to stay, these last days, because I’d been plenty busy getting things set.

There’d been only one meeting, Sunday, with Specs and Mary. The rest of the time I had them call me, afternoons, from a pay phone to the booth across the street from the Y in Walgreen’s.

They were ready now, and I was ready.

I went across to the drug store and had lunch. I carried my suitcase.

At one, Specs drove up in the old heap and picked me up. He took me out to the road near the cottage, backed onto a side road.

I walked down and got the Olds out of the garage. I’d put it there yesterday afternoon, when I moved in—and Specs had waited on the road then, too, to drive me back in his car.

Now I looked the place over once more. It was a perfect setup. These people I’d rented it from, the Racklins, used to live out here themselves, and they had fixed it up real nice. First of all, there was a two-car garage, with a driveway, set in back of the house and on the way down to the lake. Trees all around on both sides—and the next cottage was half a block away, easy.

This cottage was more like a house, really. Big front room, small dining room, good-sized kitchen with a bottle-gas stove and an oil heater in case it got cold. John off the kitchen, too—no running outdoors to a privy. There were two bedrooms off the dining-room. They had a linen closet and plenty of towels, dishes in the pantry and everything. The place was even furnished half-way decent. Radio and a phonograph attachment. I knew, because Mrs. Racklin showed me through the joint and I had to pretend to be interested and ask all kinds of damn fool questions. I told her my wife was working until Friday afternoon, that’s why she couldn’t come out.

Another thing I’d made sure of was that the Racklins weren’t going to be around. They lived in town, and they were driving up north over the weekend.

They gave me the keys Thursday morning, the fifteenth, and when I came out with Specs that afternoon I’d lugged quite a few groceries. There was a store down the line at the crossroads, about a mile and a half away. We’d be eating regular.

Now I took a final inspection tour and I was satisfied. I’d done everything I could think of. Even brought a deck of cards and some magazines out. And there was milk in the icebox for the kid.

Things were okay. I walked back down and took the Olds out, driving to where Specs was parked.

“All set,” I said. “You know what to do.”

“Anybody see you get the car?”

“Hell, no. There’s nobody out there. I told you that.”

“Steve, I’m nervous.” He wasn’t handing me any news bulletin. I could see he was jumpy as a cat on hot bricks.

“Well, don’t be. You do just like you’re told and we’ll have no trouble. You want to go over it again with me once more, just to make sure?”

“All right. We drive back to town. I take route sixteen and you take the county trunk. I park down the alley half a block south of the school, going in from the street side, at three o’clock.”

“Sharp,” I said. “They get out an hour earlier, on account of this is the last day. Make sure you get in there, and keep that motor running.”

“What about cops?”

“I already told you. The cop on that beat goes to the north corner to direct traffic when school lets out. He won’t bother you. And there’s no warehouse outlet or anything in the alley. It’s safe.”

“But just suppose there’s a truck in there or something?”

“Suppose, my hinder,” I said. “There won’t be. You go into the alley. And then what?”

“Then Mary comes along with the kid. I open the door. She pretends she’s scared. Then I say for her to jump in the back seat with the kid or I’ll let her have it. And I point the gun.”

“You don’t
point
the gun. You just
show
the gun. Remember, this is all for the kid’s benefit, in case she talks. She’ll say Mary had to get in because you had a gun. But don’t wave it around so’s anyone could see it in case they pass the alley.”

“I get it.”

“And make sure you’ve got your hat on, and your glasses off.”

“That’ll be tough, driving without glasses.”

“It’ll be a lot tougher if you wear them, and they check up on you. Remember, you only got a minute where she’ll see you—and a kid four years old, she won’t be able to identify you very good. If you follow orders.”

“Yeah, Steve. I know.”

“All right, what do you do then?”

“Then I take out the sap and hit Mary.”

I nodded. “And for Christ’s sake, remember you’re only
pretending
you hit her. It’s for the kid, that’s the reason.”

“I will, Steve. And then I take this rope and tie the kid’s hands.”

“Like hell you do. First, the blindfold.”

“Oh, sure, the blindfold first. Then I tie her hands and put her down in the back seat next to Mary. And I drive two blocks and turn right in the second alley we come to. That’s where you’re waiting.”

“Right. I switch them to my car there, and you drive away.”

“Suppose somebody sees us there?”

“Nobody will. I tell you, there’s a blank wall on three sides where we’ll be. And this loading platform space isn’t used because the warehouse is closed.” I grinned at him. “Stop worrying, Specs. This is a lot easier than working. But keep going. Then what do you do?”

“You give me the ransom note. And we put in the kid’s handkerchief and hair ribbon, if she’s wearing any.”

“Right. Here’s the note now.”

I showed it to him. Dime-store paper and envelope, special delivery stamp, and this big rubber stamp lettering.

MR AND MRS WARREN

GOT YOUR KID. SHE IS ALL RIGHT. BUT IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER ALIVE ANY MORE DONT CALL THE POLICE. GET $200,000 CASH READY IN TENS AND TWENTIES AND DONT MARK THE BILLS EITHER. THEN WAIT FOR A PHONE CALL. WILL TELL YOU WHERE TO BRING THE MONEY BUT NO FUNNY STUFF. OR ELSE YOUR KID WILL GET HURT.

That’s all it said, and I figured it was enough. “You catch on?” I asked. “I don’t say ‘I’ or ‘we’ in the note, so they can’t be sure how many people are mixed up in this. They ought to get this before tonight, and that’ll give them plenty of time to start worrying. By Monday morning, old Raymond E. Warren’ll be out rounding up the cash.”

“You’re sure they won’t go to the police?”

“Of course not.” I
wasn’t
sure, but I really didn’t give a damn—that was one risk we’d have to take. At the same time, I wanted Specs to figure we were in the bag. “They’ve read about these cases where people go to the police and the kids get killed. They won’t take any chances.”

“They can’t trace this letter?”

“Not in a million years. So quit bothering about it and tell me what you do next.”

“Next I drive back home and get ready to go to work.”

“That’s right. And be sure you tell Healey or somebody on the floor about the movie.”

“That cowboy picture?”

“That’s the one. Tell him how good it was, he should see it tomorrow afternoon at the matinee, like you did.”

“All right. But I don’t know how I’m gonna get through tonight.”

“Just think about the sixty-six grand you got coming. That’s how to get through it. Hell, the news won’t even be in the papers, yet. And I doubt if it hits the radio until after everybody’s left for the night shift. So don’t worry. And tomorrow noon, you get over to that drug-store and wait for me to call.”

“Right.”

I looked at my watch. “Well, time we got started.”

“Steve, you’re absolutely sure about all this?”

“Absolutely. Come on, boy. In less than an hour it’ll be all over.”

I waved at him instead of slamming him one the way I felt like doing. Then I waited until he got in his old heap and drove away.

I turned the Olds around and took the other road back. It wasn’t a long drive, but I thought it would last forever.

It was all Specs’ fault. Him and his goddam worrying. He got me jittery too, now. Even though everything was planned. Nobody knew better than I did that something
could
go wrong. A lot of things.

There could be somebody notice them getting into the car at the alley, or turn down there while they were tying the kid up. But it had to be done.

Mary hadn’t gone for that part at all. I had to explain over and over again that this story about the Mexicans I told her was out. On account of the kid being there and seeing who picked them up. It would only work my way—make it look like Specs pulled a gun and forced them in, then knocked her out.

After the kid was tied and blindfolded, I’d be waiting in the other alley to take over. The kid would never know about the Olds, what it looked like. The kid would never see me. The kid would never even know Mary was still along—because I was going to talk like she’d come to and I was throwing her out. She’d ride back in front with me and keep her mouth shut.

And when we got out there, the kid still wouldn’t know where she was—or see anything either. Because I’d keep those hands tied and that blindfold on.

Mary was hard to sell when I told her this. She was afraid the kid might get hurt. But I convinced her we could feed her and keep her warm out there in the garage until dark, then bring her in. And she mustn’t hear Mary’s voice or anything. It was the only way.

Of course there were a lot of hitches in that part of it, too. I could get messed up when we changed cars in the other alley. We might have a flat or a crazy accident on the way out. The kid could accidentally see or hear something in spite of everything.

But there was no other way that made sense. It was a big risk from beginning to end—but that two hundred thousand was a big stake. It was worth the gamble. My share of the pot, mine and Mary’s, was $133,666. Not bad, with no taxes.

So driving back, I finally took my own advice and just thought about the dough.

I wheeled into the alley at five minutes to three. All clear. I sat there, making a last-minute checkup. Thinking of all the things Mary had to do. Carry the head scarf and wear it in the car. Take the sun glasses and put them on. Get the kid around on the right side of the car without anyone noticing or following them. And most important of all, keep her trap shut. Before, during, and after.

Well, it was too late to do anything more. She and Specs were on their own. The big job would be up to me.

I looked at my watch. One minute to go.

One minute and it would all be starting. And once it started you could never stop. You couldn’t go back, you just had to go through with it.

Kidnapping is risky business.

But two hundred grand is enough money to last a lifetime, if you know where to go and what to do with it.

And I couldn’t turn back now. It was as if everything I’d ever done had somehow led right up to this moment.

I looked at my watch again.

Three o’clock, on the head. This was it.

The snatch was on.

Chapter Nine

T
he car came tearing down the alley at eight minutes after. I started my motor and waited. Specs turned off and shoved on the brakes at the same time. Our bumpers almost touched.

He jumped out and nodded at the back seat. Mary sat up. I got out and opened the rear door.

“Okay, sister—here’s where you get off!” I said. “Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone what happened or I’ll kill you.”

That was for the kid. The kid was lying on the floor in back. I took a good look at her to make sure the handkerchief was tight over her eyes and the rope was knotted around her wrists. She was crying, but not loud. She didn’t look like she was in such bad shape.

I reached in and picked her up, fast. Out of the corner of my eye I was watching Mary slip something to Specs. The hair ribbon and the kid’s handkerchief.

Meanwhile I got my own handkerchief out and put it over the kid’s mouth, for a gag. Mary saw me do it and started to say something. I shook my head. “Sorry, kid,” I said—but I was really talking to Mary. “I got to do this, can’t have you bawling.”

Then I stuck her in the back seat of the Olds, on her side. With her hands tied she couldn’t sit up.

Mary climbed in next to me. I gave the bug the gun and backed down the alley, watching through the rear-view mirror. I didn’t see any cars, any people. So far so good.

As soon as I was clear, Specs got back into the driver’s seat. I watched him put on his glasses again and pull away. He’d sure looked different without his glasses. Now, if he ditched his old suit like I told him to, they’d never be able to identify him.

I waited until I saw his car turn out into the street. Then I followed. He turned right at the end of the alley and I turned left.

Still nobody in sight. I looked at Mary now, but I didn’t have to look—I could feel her against me, trembling.

Without saying the words out loud I moved my lips so she could see me. “Snap out of it. Head scarf. Glasses.”

She got them out of her purse, put the scarf on and then the glasses. I drove along at about thirty-five. No sense getting panicky and speeding.

The kid was making sounds under the gag. Mary frowned. Her hand dug into my arm. I reached over and slapped it down.

I looked at my watch. Just twenty after. Specs should be at the post office by now, mailing the letter. Fast work, but my hands were tired and my neck was stiff like I’d been driving for hours.

I made myself take deep breaths, to relax. Then I got a cigarette into my mouth, but I couldn’t taste it so I threw it away.

Mary started to look around again, at the kid. I tugged at her shoulder and she stopped.

Then we were on the highway and rolling. It was just quarter to four when we pulled in the driveway. I got out, left the motor running, and opened the garage door. Then I drove right in.