The Seven File

Five

There was pain first, a heavy throbbing ache below his heart, and then the confusing memory of an old dream that had haunted his childhood: he had angered and disappointed Duke in some way. That was always the essence that filtered into his consciousness, an oppressive despair at having forfeited his brother’s approval.

There was no reference point for his slowly turning thoughts, only the isolated memory of the dream, and the odd sense of confusion. But why confusion? The dream was a familiar weight, a familiar fear...

“Get up!” Duke said. “Come on, move!”

“All right.”

“Move, I said.”

“All right.” He was lying on his left side, his knees drawn up toward his chin. As he rolled onto his stomach the pain below his heart spread toward the small of his back. He gasped softly, trying to lift himself on his elbows.

“You’re not hurt,” Duke said.

Hank opened his eyes and brought them into focus with a painful effort. Duke and Grant were looking down at him, and behind them stood two women; a dark-haired girl and an older woman, a blonde. The blonde held the girl’s arms behind her with soft but competent-looking hands. They were watching him, too — everyone was watching him.

“Get on your feet!” It was Grant speaking, his voice thick and ugly with anger.

“He’s not faking,” Duke said. “I tagged him pretty good.” His tone was judicious, faintly amused. “He forgot his manners in the army. Can you imagine that? What the hell are they doing to these kids of ours?”

“I’ll give him a refresher course,” Grant said.

Duke began to laugh. “I’ll have to hold him for you then. He suckered you real good. He’s got a nice right, hasn’t he?”

“Sure, he’s got a nice right,” Grant said. Duke’s laughter had brought a rush of angry color into his cheeks. “So we’d better fix it.”

Hank twisted convulsively as Grant’s steel-capped heel came down on the back of his outstretched hand. He couldn’t pull himself free; Grant ground his weight down slowly, viciously, driving the steel cleat like a knife against tendons and bone.

“A nice right,” Grant said, “but he won’t use it on me again.”

Hank put the other fist against his mouth. Tears started in his eyes, and he began to tremble as a cold, sickening sweat squeezed out of his body. But he didn’t cry out; the only thing that gave him away was his rapid, tortured breathing.

Duke said, “Well, you asked for it, kid,” in an indifferent voice.

And then the girl cried furiously, “Stop it, stop it! Leave him alone!”

The older woman said, “Now, dearie, just keep nice and quiet. It’s nothing for you to get excited about.”

“What kind of men are you?”

“I may have to show you, baby,” Duke said gently.

Hank raised himself up on one elbow; his right hand was numb now, but a fiery little pulse was starting to hammer beneath the smashed bone. It was going to get worse fast...

“Now let’s everybody relax,” Duke said, putting his hands under his brother’s arms and lifting him easily into a chair.

“His friends are waiting for him,” Grant said. “They’ll start wondering about him pretty soon.” He was controlling himself with an effort; an undercurrent of tension trembled in his voice.

“That’s why we should all relax,” Duke said. “We’ve got to do some thinking. Snap to, kid. That’s better,” he said, and Hank looked up at him with dark, staring eyes. “Well, it’s the old story.” Duke said. “You get in my way and you get hurt. You thought that was all changed. Big army hero, and everything.” There was no anger in his voice; he sounded faintly amused. “You’re a real square. Slugging Eddie, trying to call the cops. Who do you think you are? A boy crime-fighter or something, for God’s sake?”

“Let’s get on with that thinking,” Grant said. “What are we going to do with him?”

“Sure, sure,” Duke said. He looked at Hank’s hand, studying the broken skin, the blood, the deep, thickening bruise above the knuckles. Finally he turned and limped slowly to the middle of the room. He stood there with his hands on his hips, frowning as he stared from his brother to the girl. “You two listen good, now,” he said. His mood had changed again, and his big, dark face was hard and cold. “You got the same stake in this deal that we have. Your lives. If we make a slip, we die. You make a slip, you die. Get that straight. Hank, I’ll drive you to the airport. You tell your friends you hurt your hand changing a tire. You can’t go fishing with one hand. You got that?” His voice sharpened. “Speak when I talk to you.”

“I’ve— I’ve got it.”

“Look at this girl. Look, I tell you.”

Hank moved his eyes slowly to the girl. She had been crying, he saw; her eyes were dark and swollen, and her face streaked with tears. She was slender and small, with long black hair that fell like a shadow across one pale cheek. The woman behind her was softly, unimportantly pretty, with an expression of patient worry on her face. She held the girl’s arms in a grip that was expert and efficient; if the girl struggled she would only hurt herself.

“Take a good look,” Duke said. “She’s the baby’s nurse. The baby is upstairs, a real cute little girl. Think of them at the airport, kid. You make a mistake out there and they die. Get it? You try to pull something funny and they’re through, finished.”

Hank stared at the girl, conscious of the laboring stroke of his heart in the stillness of the room. A wind from the river banged the sides of the house with heavy blows, and the sudden crack of a burning log was sharp and loud against the silence. She was very frightened, he saw; the threat to the baby had done it. And he saw the appeal in her eyes. “Don’t hurt her,” she said, smiling shakily at Duke, like a child trying to buy the favor of a bad-tempered adult.

“It’s up to him,” Duke said, nodding casually at his brother. “If he convinces his friends — well and good. If not—” He shrugged his big shoulders, not bothering to finish the sentence.

It was the old trick, Hank thought with weary despair. Duke never accepted responsibility; if anything got in his way that wasn’t his fault. Hell, he couldn’t stop. People should know that.

“You both got a job to do,” Duke said, staring at the girl. “Remember that. Either of you make a mistake and that kid dies.”

“I can get rid of my friends,” Hank said. He saw the swift hope kindling in the girl’s eyes, and he wondered; what kind of a fool is this? Doesn’t she know there’s no hope?

“Fine, kid,” Duke said. “I knew we could count on you.”

“You won’t make it,” Hank said, staring at him. “You can kill us all but you won’t make it.”

Duke smiled slowly. “You’d better pray that we do. You’re in this, right up to your neck. You had a gun on me, remember? And you knew this was a kidnaping. You could have shot me and called the police. So you’re as guilty as we are.”

“I couldn’t shoot you,” Hank said. The eight years of freedom were over, he knew. He was caught again in the hopeless web of fear and guilt, love and hate. Duke was always with him; he could never put down the burden of that dark presence.

“Why not?” Duke was grinning but his eyes were sharp with bitter mockery. “Because we’re brothers? That’s a cute one. Supposing you try to cross me up. You think I won’t shoot?”

“Sure, you’ll shoot,” Hank said, swallowing the dry pain in his throat. The girl was staring at him with another expression now, and he felt the guilty color rising in his cheeks.

“Let’s get rolling,” Duke said. “Come on, kid. Move.”

Grant came with them to the door. “You want me to go along?”

“Hell, no.” Duke’s tone was amiable, but there was a challenge in his eyes. “You need some rest, I think.”

“Rest, that’s good. I can’t go back to New York now. You know that, I guess?”

“Why not?”

“You and Belle can’t handle your brother and the nurse. We’ll have to let Creasy pick up the money.”

Duke smiled gently. “Don’t you want to go back, Eddie?”

“That’s not it. You two can’t stay awake every minute.”

“We’ll talk about it when I get back.”

“Creasy knows the pickup plan perfectly. There’s nothing to it.”

“You trust him, eh?”

“Yeah. Sure I do.”

“All right.” Duke’s smile was gone; he was studying Grant with a skeptical frown. “While we’re away take a look around for guns, knives, pokers, that kind of stuff. I want ’em all locked up. And nail the upstairs windows shut. Every room. Understand? This joint is going to be a jail, so make it a maximum security job. You should know how to go about that.”

“Sure, I’ll get at it. Don’t be gone any longer than you have to.”

“I thought the kid and I might stop for a few beers.”

“Cut the clowning,” Grant said, in a voice tightening with strain. “This isn’t a comedy hour.”

“Relax, relax,” Duke said, patting his shoulder. “Do some push-ups. It’s only Saturday morning. Nobody knows the kid is gone yet. We don’t have to start worrying until Sunday afternoon. That’s when the Bradleys get home...”