Whom Gods Destroy (14 page)

It sounded all right, so we got into my car and went around to Link Mefford's house, a two-room shack standing almost on the edge of the river, and Link went in with me. From under the bed he got two sixteen-gauge shotguns and from his pocket he took a .38 caliber revolver.

“The pistol is Burl's,” he said, “the shotguns are mine, I'll have to buy some cartridges for the .38, though.”

“Do it when you pick up the trucks,” I said, “because I won't be seeing you any more until I meet you across the river.” I looked at my watch and it was almost noon. “We've got plenty of time. I'll give you two hours to get the trucks and drive them across the river on the south highway. That's where I'll meet you.”

“Where do you figure on hittin' this truck of Barney's?”

“I'll let you know when we get there,” I said.

He shrugged, put the guns on the bed and went out. All I had to do now was wait. And not think. I broke the shotguns open and inspected them. Just keep busy, I thought. Don't think about anything. Mefford and Cox were perfect, all guts and no brains, and greedy. Right now they were probably trying to think up a way to keep me from getting the split they thought I was going to take.

Time dragged. I found a rag and began wiping the guns.

I looked at my watch again and there was still almost an hour to go but I couldn't sit still any longer. I went out to the car and put the guns under the back seat. About an hour later I pulled onto a side road, across the river, and smoked a cigarette until I saw two trucks crossing the bridge. Mefford waved as they roared by. I pulled out and moved up ahead of them and we were on our way.

It was only about a ninety-mile drive to where we were going, so we were in no particular hurry. It was dark by the time we reached the section line road Vida had spotted for me. I blinked my lights two times and turned off, then I looked back and saw that the trucks were following. We were still almost a mile from the highway when I came to a stop and the trucks eased up behind me. Mefford and Cox got out of their cabs. I was in the back seat breaking out the guns when they came up.

“All right,” I said, “Here's the way we do it. If Sea-ward's truck is running on schedule, it will be passing this section line around ten o'clock. We'll leave the trucks here and take my car back down to the highway. I'll go down the road maybe four or five hundred yards to spot the truck when it comes, and as soon as it passes I'll give you a signal with a flashlight. Three quick flashes. Burl, you'll be at the crossroads in my car. When you see the flashes you pull out and block the highway in a hurry. Play like your car's stalled or something.”

Burl Cox nodded as I handed him the revolver. “You'd better take the pistol,” I said, “because all the attention is going to be focused on you right at first. Keep it where you can get to it, but don't let it show. Maybe it would be a good thing if you get out of the car after you get the highway blocked, because I want the driver and guard to be looking at you.”

Then I turned to Mefford. “Link, while this is going on, you'll be crawling out of the bar ditch on the other side of the road. You come up behind the truck—and this has to be fast—and throw your shotgun in the driver's face. By that time I ought to be up to the truck. You keep your shotgun on the driver and force him and the guard out on the other side. Then you get in the truck and drive it-down the section line road to where we're parked. Burl and I will take care of the driver and guard and meet you.”

Link Mefford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What if the guard goes for his own gun?”

“If we have to kill them, then that's the way it'll have to be. You don't get twenty thousand dollars worth of whisky without taking some chances. The thing is, do it fast.”

They seemed satisfied. Cox got in my car and backed away from the highway. Mefford went across the road and lay down in the bar ditch, and I struck out across an open field with my shotgun and flashlight. I found a place by a culvert, about four hundred yards up the highway, and sat down to wait.

There wasn't much traffic. It was flat prairie country and you could see the headlights coming for more than a mile in both directions. Two hours must have gone by and I hardly moved. About a hall a mile to the south there was a bend in the road, and the cars would come around it, their headlights slicing the night wide open, and I would lie in the gully and hold my breath until they were past. You could see the trucks a long way off because of the lights above the cabs. They would come hurtling up the highway, hellbent for somewhere, but-none of them was the right truck.

Ten o'clock came and went and I began to sweat. Then, just as I was about ready to blow up, I saw the truck round the bend.

I lay there watching its headlights take a long cut at the night; then as it roared toward me I raised up just a little. It was in a hell of a hurry, but not in such a hurry that I couldn't read the lettering on the side of the cab. It said “Caney Produce Company.”

It was the one.

The minute it got by I stood up and flicked the flashlight three times and then started running across the open field toward the crossroads. I hadn't taken two steps before I saw Cox snap the lights on and begin pulling onto the highway. The truck driver tramped his air brakes and I could hear the squeal of rubber on concrete and the blaring of the horn as he rocked to a stop. I got out of the field then, rolled under a barbed wire fence and began running up the highway. I could hear the driver yelling, “You goddamn farmer sonofabitch! Get that thing off the highway!”

Cox did it just right. He pulled out in front of the truck and stalled the motor, and I could see him standing out in front of the car, in front of the headlights, waving his arms and yelling back at the trucker, just like a damn farmer. But the luckiest part of all was the fact that there was no traffic. I didn't see Link Mefford until I had almost reached the truck myself. He seemed to blend with the darkness, and when I finally saw him he was moving all crouched over like a big cat, holding that shotgun at the ready. Cox had got over on the guard's side of the highway, holding their attention in that direction. I wasn't close enough to hear anything when Mefford sneaked his shotgun into the other window, but I've got a pretty good idea of what was said.

I was blowing hard when I finally got there. Mefford was saying coldly, “Don't sonofabitch me, mister. Just get out of that cab before I blow your face through the back of your head.”

They didn't like it, but they got out, all right. Cox had his pistol out now, hustling them toward the car and Mefford was climbing under the wheel of the truck. About that time a car rounded the bend and came toward us.

“Get that thing out of here!” I yelled.

I piled into the back seat of the car, on top of the driver and guard. Cox got under the wheel of the car, and we shot off the highway. In just a few seconds Mefford had the truck rolling. He got off the highway just as the car zipped past us.

It was pretty awkward, three men in the back seat and one of them trying to hold a shotgun on the other two. I got the pistol from Cox and then climbed into the front seat where I could do a better job of watching them.

“What's goin' on back there?” Cox asked.

“Nothing. Mefford's coming along with the truck.”

“What do you aim to do with the two in the back seat?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

This was the catch in the plan. It was the catch that all of us had thought about, but none of us had brought into the open. The cold fact was, the truck driver and the guard had to die.

For a minute I felt sick. Then I thought of all the thousands of hash houses in the world, of all the three-dollar shoes and hand-me-down suits. I thought of Lola. The revolver cracked five times.

I couldn't stop until I heard the hammer clicking on empty chambers. Then I turned around in the front seat and watched the road. Cox didn't say a thing.

Cox pulled up past our trucks and as we got out Mefford came up with the load. We had to work in the dark and we had to work fast. The first thing we did was break the lock on the back of the truck and open the big swinging doors, then I vaulted up on the tailgate and began throwing the tarps back.

It's no easy job transferring a whole truckful of liquor. It took us well over an hour to get all the stuff shifted from the one big truck to our two lighter ones. After the job was finally completed and we got the tarps tied down, Cox looked at me, then spat wearily in the direction of my car.

“What do you aim to do with them?”

“Well, there's one sure thing. We can't just leave them here; we've got to get rid of them somehow.”

“The river?” Mefford asked.

“Maybe. Sure, I guess that would be all right. We can wrap them up in a tarp, throw in a few rocks and tie them up good. They'll stay at the bottom a long time if we find a hole deep enough.”

Cox rubbed his chin. “I know a place that might do.”

“All right,” I said, “that's it, then.” We took part of the tarp off the big truck; then Mefford and I went out to get the rocks while Cox dragged the bodies out of the back seat. After we got the bundle made we heaved it back into the car and I said, “Cox, you take my car and get rid of this. I'll drive the truck back to Big Prairie and Mefford and I will meet you at 712 Burk.”

Cox nodded, then Mefford said, “Why Burk Street?”

That stopped me for a moment because I hadn't meant to take the stuff to Burk Street at all. But I had to take it somewhere, and I didn't think Mefford and Cox would be very enthusiastic about leaving it in Sid's warehouse. The main thing was to postpone making the split.

“That's where we're going to store the liquor for now,” I said. “As it is, we've got to work damn fast to get it unloaded before sunup. It wouldn't look good, going from one place to the other splitting up two truckloads of whiskey in broad daylight, would it?”

I could see that Mefford didn't like the idea. He wanted his share and he wanted it now—but time was running out.

“What are you going to do with the liquor truck?” Cox asked.

“You can't do away with a thing like that. Leave it here.”

I got under the wheel of the lead truck and began pulling for the highway. Then Mefford pulled out. And, finally, Cox, in my car. When we got on the highway, Cox passed us up, hellbent for the river.

It was a little after four o'clock and Burk Street was as quiet as a grave when we rolled the trucks into it. Cox had already finished his job and had the car parked in front of the old man's house.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“I got rid of the bundle,” Cox said, “if that's what you mean.”

“Have you seen anybody?” I said.

Cox laughed shortly. “On Burk Street, at four in the mornin'?”

To me, those trucks sounded like a battalion of tanks, but they don't pay much attention to things on Burk Street. Finally, I pulled the truck into the street, then backed it right up to the front porch. Then Mefford and I got in the back of the truck and started throwing whisky down to Cox. It took us about an hour to get it unloaded and stacked.

“Well,” I said, when we finally got finished. “I guess this is the best we can do for now. We can make the split tomorrow night.”

“I guess me and Burl'll stay here and just keep an eye on it,” Mefford said. “This is a hell of a lot of whisky. I'd hate for anything to happen to it. What're we goin' to do about the trucks?”

“Geez, we've got to get those things out of here! You and Cox take care of that. I'll wait here till you get back.”

The minute they left the house I ripped open a case, uncorked a bottle and gulped down a healthy slug. I never needed a drink more than I needed one now. My nerves were screaming. Every muscle ached, and my eyes burned, and more than anything else in the world I wanted to lie down and sleep. But I couldn't do it. The minute I closed my eyes I could see that truck driver and guard.

Forget about it, I thought. That's one thing you've »got to forget or you'll go nuts. Besides, you've got other things to think about.

About a million other things, and I didn't know where to begin. The first thing I ought to do, probably, was get in touch with Sid and turn the whole thing over to him.

And there were Mefford and Cox to be taken care of somehow. I'd be damned if I split the liquor with them. I'd take all of it or I'd drown in it. While I was worrying about it, they came in.

They had their shotguns with them and it looked as if they meant to stay—until they could carry off their share of the whisky, anyway. The hell with them, I thought. I didn't have time to worry about a pair of farmers.

“You get the trucks put away?” I said.

Mefford nodded, resting his shotgun against the door.

“All right,” I said, “we can take them back to the rental company after a while. Are you two going to stay here?”

“We thought it might be best,” Cox said evenly.

I started for the door. “I've got something to look into. I'll be back before long.”

“There's just one thing,” Cox said as I hit the porch. “The back seat of your car is pretty messed up.”

The whisky started to bounce on me. I made it as far as the car, then I leaned on the fender and let it go. I got a hold on myself finally and slid under the wheel. But I didn't look in the back seat.

The sky in the east was growing pale as I pulled out of Burk street and headed toward the center of town. Big Prairie was quiet. The old day hadn't quite died, the new one hadn't quite started to live.

I found an all-night service station near the edge of town, so I had the boy put in some gas while I went inside to use the phone. I got the number and listened to the ring at the other end—once—twice....

“Hello.” It was Vida.

“It's all over,” I said. “In another hour or two we'll be out of Big Prairie—”

“Roy—!” I could hear the quick intake of breath. Then her voice broke. “Roy! Roy!”

“Take it easy,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Everything's all right. It's all over. I've got the stuff at the old man's place on Burk Street. You can stop worrying now. But how about Sid? Did he get the money out of the bank?”

“I—I think so.”

I said, “All right, Vida, just sit tight for another hour or so, and you'd better start waking Sid up. I've got two farmers watching the liquor for me, but pretty soon they'll be leaving to return the trucks. I'll let you know when. Then Sid can come down and we'll close the deal.”

I could feel myself grinning faintly. There was going to be hell to pay when Mefford and Cox came back and found that their liquor had been bought and paid for by another bootlegger. But that was something they would have to settle themselves. I would be far away by then.

“Roy—” Then she waited a long moment before saying anything else. “Roy, I'm afraid. It's Sid, I think,” she said uncertainly. “He doesn't even seem to care.”

“Forget about him,” I said. “It isn't that he doesn't care—he just can't do anything about it.”

I hung up when the service station attendant came in to collect for the gas. As I got in the car I noticed that it was getting light, and I didn't like that much. A few cars were on the streets now—factory workers, heading for work. I didn't see the pickup truck until it pulled up beside me at a stop light. I sat there behind the wheel, numb with fatigue, and then I heard a voice saying, “I'll be damned!”

I could feel my guts dropping out of sight. It was my old friend, Max. And sitting beside him was his partner, Joel.

Of all the lousy breaks! I thought. For an instant I seemed to be paralyzed. Then I slammed the car into gear, spurting cross the intersection against the red light, but that pickup was right on top of me. There was a teeth-rattling jar as the truck rammed me broadside, shoving my car over against the curb. I made a grab for the door, completely panic-stricken for that moment, and the only idea in my mind was to run—run! The door stuck, it had been jammed somehow in the crash against the curb, and I nearly went crazy as I struggled with it. It came open suddenly. I piled out and ran straight into Joel's arms.

“Geez,” Max said flatly, “you never learn, do you, buddy?”

“We can't just stand here,” Joel said, “what are we goin' to do with him?”

Max shrugged. “I guess Barney'll decide that.” It all happened in a few seconds. They grabbed my arms, hustled me around to the pickup and shoved me in between them.

Max looked at me, puzzled. “Geez, I've seen some dumb ones,” he said, “but, friend, you just about take the prize.”

10

I DIDN'T REALLY BEGIN TO GET SCARED until we got to Barney's place. Until the rage had kept me from thinking about anything else, the helpless rage at myself and at my luck. It was just one of those lousy breaks that Max and Joel had been making a delivery at that time of morning. It was another lousy break that they happened to stop beside me. Happened to see me. God, I thought, how Lola will laugh when she hears about this!

It was still early, not much more than five o'clock when Max pulled the pickup around behind Barney Seaward's house. He went around to the side door and talked to somebody for a minute and then he came back.

“It's dumb punks like you,” Joel said, looking at me, “that make things hard for guys like us.”

“Well, he asked for it,” Max said. “He can't ever say he didn't.”

That was when I began to wonder for the first time what they were going to do with me. I thought, I can't stand another beating like that last one. My nerves are gone, I'm ready to crack wide open.

“Get out,” Max said.

We went across the back yard and up to the porch. Barney opened the back door and stood there looking at us.

He looked annoyed and that was about all. Anyway, I thought, he hasn't heard about the hijacking yet. “You're causing me a lot of trouble, Foley,” he said, coldly. “For a punk, you sure cause a lot of trouble.” He lit a cigarette and looked as if it tasted like hell. He said abruptly, “Get him out of here. Take him somewhere, you know what to do. I'm sick of looking at him.”

He turned to walk away and I went to pieces for a minute. The fear of pain covered me, almost drowned me. “Barney, for God's sake, I'll tell you something, something you ought to know! But just let me leave and forget about it!”

I don't think he even heard me.

“Marty Paycheck, Barney!” I yelled. “Marty Paycheck! Did you ever hear of a man with a name like that?”

Barney stopped as if he had been shot. He looked at me with the coldest eyes I ever saw and maybe ten seconds went by before he made a sound. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, still looking at me. Then he let the smoke out very slowly and said, “Let him go, Joel. I'd better talk to him.”

Joel dropped my arms as though I had suddenly stung him. “Now get out, both of you,” Barney said, “I want to think.”

Max and Joel looked at each other and Max shrugged the smallest shrug in the world.

Barney didn't say another word or make a move until they were gone. I was too full of relief to feel much of anything.

Then Barney said, “What is this about a man named Paycheck?”

“He's dead,” I said. “Sid killed him on a deal he made for you. The body's in Copper Lake, north of town.” And I thought, Why are you telling this? It's not going to do you any good. You're getting yourself in deeper all the time; he's going to have to kill you whether he wants to or not because now you know as much as Sid.

It was that sudden sickening fear of pain. The most important thing in the world seemed to be keep talking, keep Barney interested, somehow postpone the time when Max and Joel would come back.

“Did Sid tell you this?” Barney said, and I nodded.

“When?”

It seemed like a long time ago. I had to think back and it startled me when I realized that it had been just a day ago. “Yesterday,” I said.

For the first time a kind of emotion came into Barney's face. His mouth seemed to draw tighter, his eyes narrowed down in cold anger. “The drunken bastard!” he said softly. “The goddamn bastard! Go on. What else, did he say?”

“That's all.” Then I did think of something else, and when I thought of it some of the old excitement rose up again and pushed some of the sickness away. I tried to keep my voice even. “Yes, he did mention that Paul Keating knew about the killing.”

I could see him stiffen, but he didn't say a thing. He looked at me for a long time, and finally he said, “I get nothing but punks. All my trouble comes from punks and they're all I ever get.” Then, without even calling to Max and Joel, he walked out of the room and left me standing there.

After a minute I heard him talking on the phone. “Sure it's the truth. There's no other way he could have found out about it. He even knows about Copper Lake!”

You've done it now! I thought dumbly. You've talked yourself right into an unmarked grave.

Still, it didn't seem to be me whom he was worried about. It was Sid who had knocked that iciness out of him and put him into a rage. That slow excitement started coming up again as I began to feel carefully along the edges of an idea.

I knew what Barney was going to say. Even before he came back into the room and stood there looking at me, studying me, I knew what he had in his mind.

“All right, Foley,” he said quietly, as though he had never been out of the room, “I think we understand each other. You know what will happen if I put Max and Joel onto you again. The last time was nothing, Foley. Less than nothing, compared to what it will be if it happens again.”

I knew what was coming, I could see it in his eyes.

“You wanted a chance to get out of Big Prairie without being worked again,” he went on. “Well, you're going to have to earn your way, Foley. Do you know how you can earn your way, Foley?”

“No.”

His smile widened slightly. “Yes, you do. Sid is a luxury I can't afford any longer; you can understand that. If he talks to you, he'll talk to other people, so I've got to get him out of the way. That's going to be your job, Foley, and then you can leave Big Prairie and you'll never see me again.”