The Seven File

Thirteen

When they heard the car turning into the drive Grant glanced at Hank and then walked to the windows, his hand instinctively moving toward the gun in his pocket. As he pulled the curtains back, Belle said. “Is it them, honey?” Her voice was like an anxious child’s, uneasy and guarded, appealing to grownups for reassurance.

“Sure, it’s them,” Grant said bitterly. “With their arms full of junk. They must have hit every goddam store in town.”

“Williamsboro is quite a shopping center,” Hank said, and Grant looked at him, his eyes narrowing irritably. “The psychology bit, eh? Don’t strain yourself, Junior.”

Hank glanced at his watch: eleven o’clock. Duke had been gone about two hours and the tension had been building steadily; Grant was worried and his fears had infected Belle. She had attempted a few chattery gambits to break the long silences, but Grant was in no mood for small talk. For the past hour there had been little conversation. Once Grant had said to Hank, “You don’t like Duke, eh?” but Hank had shrugged off the question. Later Grant had come back to the subject from a different direction. “What did he do to you? You must have crossed him. He’s a loyal guy. I know him. He sticks to his friends.”

“You’d have to ask his friends about that,” Hank said.

“Yeah? I don’t have to ask anybody.”

There was a step on the porch and then the door was pushed open and Duke and (he nurse came into the room. In the movement and noise of their entrance Hank caught her eye, trying to read something in her expression; but she seemed distracted and nervous, and there was no communion between them, no warmth or awareness or recognition. He wondered if he had imagined her reaction to him last night.

“The baby’s fine, I think,” Belle said to her. “I haven’t heard a peep out of her.”

“I’ll go up,” Kitty said, turning to the stairs.

“If she’s awake, tell her we’ve got the stuff to fix her up,” Duke said. He was in a jubilant mood; a cigar jutted at a comical angle from his mouth, and his cheeks were flushed with sun and air and excitement. Hank knew the reason for his high spirits; the danger of being in town with the girl had exhilarated him. He always needed such stimulants; without them he became bored and sullen and troublesome.

“Take some of this loot,” he said, handing a big shopping bag to Belle. “We’re going to eat for a change. I’ve got steaks here two inches thick, and a dozen big Idahos.” He whacked Belle lightly on the hip with the flat of his hand. “Come on, shake it. I’ll make the sauce for the potatoes — a Duke Farrel special with cheese and butter. We’ll hate ourselves in the morning, eh, Belle?”

Belle responded gratefully to his enthusiasm. “Well, we’ll be a long time dead,” she said, laughing, “so let’s live it up a little.”

Belle loved a good time. Food and drink in generous amounts, jokes, horseplay, kidding around — this was her notion of a party. She knew from long experience that nothing mattered unless the men were in a cheerful mood: if they just ate and drank and got mad when you tried to cheer them up — that was murder. Now Duke seemed to be coming to life, and she was hoping some of it would rub off on Eddie.

“Steaks for lunch,” she said, smiling at him. “Black on the outside, pink on the inside. Like that place in Chicago you were talking about. Donovan’s.”

“Donovan’s?” Duke said, still grinning. “Everybody in jail thought about women. Except Eddie. He was torching for a steak house.”

“It was good enough for the biggest people in town,” Grant said shortly.

“Sure, sure,” Duke said. “Look, we need something to drink. We got nothing here but rum.”

“Rum is all right,” Belle said. She noticed unhappily that Eddie wasn’t responding to Duke’s good humor. Just when they had a chance for a little fun...

“Rum is for old men,” Duke said. “I want some whiskey.” He glanced at Hank. “Why didn’t you tell me this jerk town of yours was dry?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Sure, sure, and naturally you wouldn’t guess that I’d want to buy a bottle. Where’s the nearest place I can get one?”

“Jamestown. That’s about twelve miles from here.”

“What a crazy mixed-up state,” Duke said. “One town is dry, the next sells booze. Just the kind of place you’d pick to settle in. Well, I can make a liquor run in half an hour.”

“The rum won’t kill you,” Grant said.

“That’s for sure. I’m not drinking it.”

“Then stick to water,” Grant said sharply.

Duke looked at him for a second or so, and then he smiled easily. “Water won’t do, Eddie.”

“You’re not going back into town, get that straight.” Grant stood facing Duke, his hands swinging free and clear from his body. “We may be the hottest guys in the country right now. We aren’t taking any extra chances.”

“Sure, but we don’t have to go out of our way to be miserable,” Duke said. “Wearing hair shirts and eating bread and water isn’t going to help.”

“We aren’t going to argue about it,” Grant said.

Duke smiled slowly, and an uneasy little silence settled on the room. “Maybe we are, Eddie. Maybe we’ll have to.”

Hank stood perfectly still, not looking directly at either man. He had seen what was coming; Duke wanted to run things, not because he thought he was better qualified than Grant but simply because he was bored. And if Duke took over, Hank knew that they had a chance...

“You’re not being smart, Duke,” Grant said. “If you were, you’d see I’m right.”

“Brains are your department, eh?”

“Yeah, they’re my department,” Grant said, his voice rising suddenly. “You don’t think. You’ve got nothing to think with. Steaks, idaho potatoes, cigars, booze. You must have been about as inconspicuous as a drunk elephant on Main Street. We’re hot. Do you know what that means?” He took a step toward Duke, trembling with rage. “If we’re picked up we’ll be dead three weeks later. That’s what it means. But you act like you’re the advance party for a convention of picnickers. You got to have this, got to have that. Can’t drink rum. Can’t eat canned food. You think a few days off steak will stunt your growth?”

“I told you wearing hair shirts isn’t going to help.” Duke was smiling, seemingly amused at Grant’s anger. “You got to relax, Eddie. No sense in making it hard for ourselves.”

“We’ll relax when this is over. I planned this job for six months and you’re not going to louse it up.”

“We wouldn’t have the kid if it weren’t for me,” Duke said. “Remember that.”

“Sure, and we wouldn’t have the nurse if it weren’t for you,” Grant yelled. “You woke her up and brought her along. You put all our necks on the block. Isn’t that the way it was?”

Duke was still smiling, but his eyes had become wary. “It’s your story, finish it.”

Grant knew he had made a dangerous mistake, but he was too furious to care; unless Duke were kept in line they might pay for his foolishness with their lives. “You’re going to do what I tell you,” he said, in a low. trembling voice. “I’m not going to the chair because you want a certain kind of booze to drink.” Grant’s anger was almost choking him; Duke seemed determined to behave recklessly stupid. Crazy... Belle had seen it. And his own brother knew it. “Get this,” Grant said, staring at him. “We’re staking our lives against two hundred thousand bucks. We’re not after a prize for catching a goddam fish. This is the biggest job you’ve ever been cut into. And I’m running it. Don’t ever get any different idea.”

“Sure, you’re the boss,” Duke said. “The big wheel. So let’s don’t argue about that any more.” He was smiling faintly, but Hank could see the pressure building in him; his eyes were sharp, and his big body was ominously passive and slack. “But what’s all this about catching fish?” he said gently.

“What do you mean?”

“You said we weren’t after a prize for catching fish. Why did you bring that up?”

It had slipped out, Grant realized; he didn’t remember saying it. He made an irritable gesture with his hand. “I forget. It’s not important.”

“We were talking about that muskie Duke caught,” Hank said casually. “It was probably on your mind.”

“Don’t worry about what’s on my mind.”

Duke looked sharply from Grant to his brother. “How come you told them about the muskie?”

“I forget,” Hand said, smiling faintly. “We were talking about you, and something must have reminded me of it.”

“Talking about me?” Duke turned back to Grant, his eyes puzzled and irritable. “That’s great. I’m out getting us something decent to eat and you haven’t anything better to do than sit around bum-rapping me. Yeah, great.”

“Don’t get excited,” Grant said. “It was just passing the time.”

“I was explaining to Grant that you’re really pretty smart,” Hank said.

“He’s a cute one,” Grant said to Duke.

“You need him to tell you I’m smart, eh?”

“I tell you it wasn’t anything.”

“Okay, okay,” Duke said, looking at his brother. “You want trouble, eh? Making up stories about your big, bad brother.”

“Making up stories? Ed Daley would like that.”

“I ran him down by accident. Everybody knows that.”

“Everybody knows that’s your story,” Hank said.

“You’ve taken your lumps.” Duke said, frowning slightly. “I’d think you’d be tired of it. But keep yapping and you’ll get hurt again.”

“Don’t waste time scaring me,” Hank said. “You can’t worry a man in a death cell by telling him he can’t have cream in his coffee. Do what the hell you want, Duke.”

Duke stared at him, still frowning; for an instant he seemed honestly interested in his brother. “We don’t have to kill you,” he said slowly. “Don’t you realize that? When this job is over we’ll turn you loose. You can’t go to the cops. You’re in this deal, kid. Get used to that idea. Relax and take it easy.”

“Let’s everybody relax,” Belle said in an uneasy little voice. “We’ve got a nice lunch today. Isn’t that something to be grateful for?”

Duke looked at her and shook his head slowly. “Don’t ever change. Promise me that.”

“You’re still worrying about your whiskey. I could go to town, if that’s all you want. Would that be okay, Eddie?”

Grant rubbed his forehead, and then he said, “Judas Priest!” in a harsh, explosive voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means nobody’s going to town,” Grant said, staring at her. “What in hell do you think we’re talking about? Don’t you ever listen, for Christ’s sake?”

“Sure, I listen. You didn’t want Duke to go—” She stopped and wet her lips. “But he — he’s conspicuous.”

“And you think you’re the type who’s just lost in a crowd?” Grant’s eyes were mean and ugly as they moved slowly down to her high-heeled sandals, then back up to her shining blonde hair. “Well, think again. This is a nice quiet little town. Full of nice quiet little people. They’d think you were in town trying to bring back burlesque.”

A painful flush of color had come up in Belle’s cheeks. “I look respectable,” she said. “I’ve been in towns like this before. Lots of times. And I never attracted a crowd. People didn’t stop on the sidewalks and stare at me.” Her voice was trembling slightly. “I’ve got a son who’d like to hear you talking this way. It would be nice for him. wouldn’t it?”

“All right, all right,” Grant said. “Let’s knock it off. Get with lunch, okay?”

Belle hurried into the kitchen, fighting back her tears. She felt as if her whole body had been assaulted and bruised — he could hurt her without even trying to, she thought bitterly. The fact that he didn’t try to made it worse. All men know that trick. They were born knowing it.

She took the bottle of rum from the pantry and poured herself a long drink. Why shouldn’t I? she thought. He doesn’t care what I do. I’m like a dumb animal as far as he’s concerned. A pat on the head, a kick in the ribs — neither gesture had any feeling in it.

Duke limped into the kitchen a little later and she raised her glass to him. “First today.”

He didn’t bother to answer her. Filling a tumbler with rum, he turned back into the living room. “Laughing boy,” Belle muttered, and raised her glass.

As Duke settled himself into a chair the stairway door opened and the nurse stepped into the room. “How’s the kid?” he said.

“She’s asleep, but she feels quite cool. I’m just going to heat her bottle.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, she seems better.” She waited for him to continue, but he was obviously bored with the subject; picking up a magazine, he began to leaf through it, occasionally reading a title aloud in a flat, listless voice. The nurse turned, met Hank’s eyes briefly and walked into the kitchen.

“This’ll send you,” Duke said. “How To Keep Your Wife’s Love After Forty. You need a little help in that department, Eddie?”

Hank stood up and Grant said, “Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d shave. Okay?”

“Yeah — go ahead.”

As Hank started up the stairs Duke said, “There’s the old man’s training for you. Clean minds in clean bodies.”

“He sounds real interesting,” Grant said.

Duke dropped the magazine on the floor and took another long swallow from his drink. He felt the rum burning in his stomach, and then the sensuous heat moving slowly and pleasurably downward, warming his belly and his loins.

“We’ll get the news from Creasy in a few hours,” Grant said. He sat forward on the edge of the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “We’ll know if the Bradleys have the dough. After that there’s nothing but the pickup.”

“They’ll have it,” Duke said. “They want the kid back.” He lit a cigarette, then settled himself comfortably in his chair and flipped the burnt match in a high and accurate arc toward the fireplace. From where he sat he could watch the nurse working at the kitchen sink. It was a pleasant sight; a square of sunlight struck the wall beside her and its reflections gleamed like tiny jewels in her silky black hair. She wore a white silk blouse with short sleeves, and a skirt that fitted her neat waist and hips without a wrinkle — sprayed on, he thought, smiling faintly.

“I wish to hell we didn’t have to let Creasy handle the pickup,” Grant said.

Duke noticed that she had changed her pumps for slippers — high heels were probably too noisy in the baby’s room. That must be it. His thoughts drifted around her pleasantly and languorously. She wasn’t sexy. You couldn’t call a blouse and skirt a sexy outfit. But something about her got to him.

“Creasy’s a sharp little character,” Grant said.

“Sure he is,” Duke said.

“And the pickup plan is perfect. Even if the cops were in on this they couldn’t cover it.”

Duke was staring at the girl, his lips curving in a smile, his eyes soft and sleepy.

“But I’d rather be there myself,” Grant said. “I’m going stale here.” He flexed his arms and shoulders and drew in his stomach. “Too many starches, too much sitting around. I’d like to spend some time on a beach. Get a tan. You ever notice how a few days in the sun makes you look younger?” Grant fumbled for his cigarettes. “Look, Duke, you think Creasy can handle the pickup?”

“What?” Duke was paying very little attention to Grant: his worried voice was nothing but a droning accompaniment to Duke’s lazy thoughts.

“You think Creasy can handle it? Hey! Are you asleep?”

“No, just dozing. Yeah, Creasy’s all right.” The nurse was measuring something into a spoon and with her arms raised he could follow the soft curve of her breast against the silken blouse. He remembered the time they had been together in the Bradleys’ bedroom. Everything came back to him with a curious vividness; he could close his eyes and see the cool, spacious room, the uncompromisingly suggestive pinks and blacks of the color scheme; he could almost feel the thick nap of the carpeting under his shoes, and smell the faint but compelling scent of the perfume that permeated the air. And she had been clean and sweet in her white uniform, chatting away innocently with him, unaware of his sudden, reckless need for her...

“Duke? You think Creasy will get ideas about an extra slice of the money?”

“Why not?” Duke said irritably. Grant’s voice was becoming a nuisance, a nagging interruption. “People always get ideas. That’s why they’re always in trouble.”

“That’s all he’ll get then — ideas,” Grant said.

When she had come into the nursery (almost taking him by surprise) he had caught her from behind — an arm around her body and a hand on her mouth to cut off her screams. She had fought and squirmed like a wildcat. Duke took a slow sip from his drink. The slim light body straining against him had been very exciting: he remembered that he had almost been sorry when the fight went out of her.

Duke put his glass down and sat up straight in his chair.

“You bring any cards?” he asked Grant.

“No, I wasn’t planning to stay, you know.”

“You picked the nice end of the deal. Waiting in New York wouldn’t be so bad. You could at least get a drink and the papers.”

“We won’t be here much longer.”

“Great,” Duke said. He could feel a restless ferment in his breast. The need for whiskey, the conflict with Grant, the wait that stretched ahead of him — it all seemed to be churning inside his head.

The girl left the kitchen and started up the stairs. She wasn’t wearing stockings, he noticed; the fine down on her legs gleamed brightly as she stepped through a splash of sunlight. Her skin was very white. He watched her as she went up the stairs, studying the fluid swing of her hips and the delicate muscles drawing together in the backs of her slim legs. Innocent, hell. She knew what she was doing, he thought as his turbulent, illogical anger suddenly found a channel deep enough for its pounding violence.

“I’m going up to keep an eye on my brother,” he said to Grant. His voice was casual and Grant didn’t look up from the magazine he had been leafing through. “Good idea,” he said, turning a page.

Hank heard his brother’s heavy limping footsteps as he was drying his face awkwardly with his one good hand. He put the towel over the rack and then stood completely still, following Duke’s progress along the hallway. A door opened, creaking faintly through the silent house, and he knew from the sound which room Duke had entered — the one the nurse and child were using.

Hank stepped into the hall and stared at the closed door of the nurses’s room, caught in a paralyzing inertia. It was the fear of Duke that held him, the fear that had been part of him all his life; like the color of his eyes and skin, it was something that would never change. And with the fear there was guilt. Together they formed a ruthless twisted syllogism: Duke deserved the breaks, so keep out of his way and let him have everything he wanted — if you had this beaten into you a sufficient number of times it began to make a crazy kind of sense...

And then he heard a cry from the nurse’s room. The sound was smothered abruptly, but by then he was moving down the hallway, his paralysis snapped by the desperation in her voice. He wasn’t aware of his decision until the door opened under his hand and he saw them struggling together in the middle of the darkened room. Duke held her against him with one arm, his free hand forcing her head back at a sharp angle. She was helpless against his effortless strength; her arms were locked against her sides and her slippered feet churned futilely in the air.

“Let her go!” Hank said.

“You goddam fool.” Duke stared over his shoulder at him, his eyes gleaming and furious in the darkness. “Beat it, get moving!”

“Let her go!”

Duke swore savagely and released the girl. She stumbled away from him, and he turned on Hank, still swearing, and struck him viciously across the face with the back of his hand. Hank staggered under the power of the blow, and Duke moved after him, and said, “Get your fists up, kid.”

Hank looked away from him, his injured hand hanging limply at his side. He felt a stinging pain in his mouth, and then the sticky warmth of blood on his lips.

“No?” Duke said. “Take a beating and then turn around to be kicked in the tail. I had a hound like that once and I shot him.” Turning slightly, he glanced at the girl. He was breathing heavily but there was a little smile on his lips; the instant of violence had purged most of his anger and frustration. “No point in being upset,” he said. She was looking at the floor, her pale face in shadows, but he saw that her lips were trembling. “My brother always butts in where he isn’t wanted. Next time there won’t be any interruptions. That’s a promise, baby.” He moved toward the door, staring at Hank. “There hadn’t better be any interruptions, kid.” He stood for a second or so, watching both of them, and then he shrugged his big shoulders and walked out of the room.

“Are you all right?” Hank said.

“Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?” Her voice shook with anger and contempt.

“Stop thinking about that. It won’t help.”

“Nothing will help. They can’t let us live. It’s just a matter of time before they kill us.”

“That’s right, a matter of time,” Hank said. “But time is working for us, not them.” He took a step toward her. “Listen to me; they’re kidnapers. You know what that means? They’ll be dead within a month if the police get hold of them. And they know it. Every second we stay alive puts more pressure on them.” Hank glanced toward the closed door; he heard a footstep on the stairs. “They can’t afford one slip, one bad break. This isn’t Siberia. There are hikers, picnickers in these woods. I’ve got friends in town who might drop by. If the police are in on it, there are hundreds of men looking for you and the baby. A knock on that front door could put them straight into the death cell. And they’re sweating that out.” He gripped her shoulder with his good hand. “Hang on,” he said, in a low, urgent voice. “You’ve taken what they’ve handed you so far. You’ve got to keep taking it. Can you do it?”

She stared at him. and he saw the fear and doubt in her eyes. “Don’t you want to fight?” he said harshly. “Don’t you think I’ve got enough guts to help you?”

“No, it isn’t—” She turned swiftly from him and opened the door of the closet. A thin edge of light touched the clothes that hung there, his jackets, suits, odd slacks. “I saw this,” she said, putting her fingers on his army blouse. The gaudy rows of campaign ribbons and decorations gleamed in the ray of sunlight. “Don’t they mean something?”

“Maybe,” he said, staring at the three rows of ribbons. “Maybe they did.”

“I think they did,” she said.

A step sounded in the hall and the door swung inward. Grant stood there, staring at them with ominously alert eyes. In his right fist he held a gun. “Downstairs, you,” he said to Hank. “And keep away from her. This isn’t a college house party. You get out of line again and I’ll bust your other hand wide open. Remember that, Junior. Now move!”