Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 9, No. 3, March 1964

Just Following Orders by George Snyder

One of the more obvious blessings of bureaucracy is the absence of personal responsibility for corporate action. To accept or reject an urgent request, therefore, rarely disturbs a dutiful middleman.

It was already growing dark when Joe Bents drove away from the lights of Los Angeles. He glanced at the girl next to him, while he tooled the car through traffic towards the freeway.

She sat stiffly, next to the door, her face expressionless. It was a nice face, fine-boned and pretty. The white party dress was torn across the shoulder, revealing ugly black and blue marks on the soft white skin. The only sign of fear was the handkerchief she kept twisting around her fingers. She looked at Joe.

“What kind of man are you?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Joe said nothing. He reached out and turned on the car radio. It would begin now. The call for decency first, then the begging, and finally, the offering. Women were such cowards when it came to dying.

“Is this how you get your kicks?” she asked.

Joe kept his eyes on the road. “Look lady,” he said, “anything you got to say, you should have said to Lou. I don’t want to hear it. I’m just following orders.”

“Lou’s orders?”

Joe was on the San Bernardino freeway, heading east. Traffic was thin and he let the car cruise at sixty. Lou had said to find an out-of-the-way place. “Make it look like an accident, but get the money first.” That was all Joe knew about it. He looked at the rear view mirror. The headlights were still with him.

“How many women have you taken for rides?” she asked.

Joe kept his eyes on the road, saying nothing.

“Funny, you don’t look like a killer.”

He looked at her. “Kind of gabby, aren’t you?”

“You have a name?” she asked.

What difference could it make? If it made her feel better to talk, let her. He had to get the money first anyhow.

“Joe,” he said. “Joe Bents.”

Her voice was less shaky. “Funny, you don’t look like a killer.”

“You said that.”

She stopped twisting the handkerchief. She was relaxing. “How does it feel to be called a killer?”

Joe shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me one way or the other. If it makes you feel better to say it...”

“Anything to make the victim comfortable, is that it?”

“Look, lady. It’s nothing personal. I’m...”

“I know. You’re just following orders. And stop calling me ‘lady’! I have a name.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Constance White. My friends call me Connie. You, Mister Executioner can call me Constance.”

The city limits were behind them, and the freeway was almost deserted. They were going past Monterey Park. Joe noticed the headlights had dropped back. He studied the girl next to him.

The nyloned legs coming out of the party dress were long and slim. The waist seemed so small, Joe knew he could completely surround it with his hands. The breasts weren’t large, but high and proud. But the face — the face was outstanding. Long black hair, hanging to her shoulders, contrasted with bright red lipstick and green eyes. What a waste, Joe thought.

She knew he was openly admiring her. “If I went to bed with you, would that make any difference?”

“No,” Joe said, “you’re kind of shopworn.”

“Thanks a lot, gentleman!”

“Forget it. I’m sorry.”

She went back to twisting the handkerchief. “How much is Lou paying you?”

“You can’t match it.”

A district. His payment was going to be his own district. He’d worked his way up from messenger for a small bookie, to this. And now he was getting his own district. But it was only the beginning. He wanted all the districts; he wanted Lou’s position.

No, this dark-haired beauty could hardly match it.

The freeway had run a straight line from Monterey Park to the outskirts of El Monte. Now it began a series of slow curves and slight up and down grades. Joe checked the mirror. The gap had closed, and the headlights were still with him.

Constance turned around in the seat, looking back. “Someone’s following us,” she said.

“I know.”

“Is this part of it?”

Joe nodded. “My ride back to Los Angeles.”

She sat down again, and stared at him. Then she buried her face in her hands, the small shoulders jerking with sobs. “Please,” she cried, “please don’t do it!”

Joe kept his eyes on the road. “Knock it off,” he said.

She jerked her head up. “So strong! So brave! aren’t you? All right, I admit it, strong, brave gentleman! I’m afraid to die! I want to live! I’m young, I’m not bad to look at! There’s no reason for me to die!”

“Lou thinks so.”

“You know why? You know why Lou thinks so?”

“I don’t want...”

“Because his pride was hurt. Because I took what belonged to me and tried to get out of his gutter! That, executioner, is why I have to die! Two years with an animal like that was just too much for me!”

“Look, Connie. I don’t look for reasons. I’m just doing a job.” She moved close to him, putting her hand on his arm. “You called me Connie. Why?” Her voice was soft.

“Slip of the tongue.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re human after all. Do I disgust you that much? Am I that revolting to you?”

She was fishing for compliments. Why not? “You’re very easy to look at. Another time, another place — I might even have made a play for you.”

She was close, pushing herself against him. “It doesn’t have to be here and now, Joe. You could change it. You could make it another time and place!”

“What about Lou?”

“We could go to Mexico. Ever been to Mexico, Joe?”

“No.” Maybe now she was getting to the money.

She snuggled even closer. “I’d be good to you, Joe. I’d be so good to you.”

“Mexico, huh.” He wanted her to think he was considering it. “But it takes money. Lou’s boys would be looking for us, even in Mexico.”

“I have money!”

Joe smiled. “I don’t mean nickels and dimes, baby. I mean big money. Enough to keep us moving until Lou either gets it, or cools off. You got that kind of money?”

“Does a hundred thousand dollars sound like nickels and dimes?” Joe let a whistle escape through his teeth. No wonder Lou wants this chick dead. “You got that kind of money?”

She nodded.

“Where?”

She slid away from him to the opposite door. “Very cute, killer! And it almost worked! That ‘other time and place’ almost had me convinced. Lou told you to get the money first, didn’t he?”

“I don’t get it.”

“Oh, come off it, killer! Connie’s been around. I lived with that crumb for two years. He wouldn’t get rid of me without getting the money first. It’s my life insurance, baby. As long as it’s my secret, I keep breathing!”

Joe tried to control his anger. “I know you won’t believe it, but I was seriously considering Mexico.”

“I’ll bet you were.”

They were climbing Kellogg Hill. Traffic was almost nonexistant as the car pulled out of the Los Angeles basin. The headlights were still with them, but there was something about the following car that puzzled Joe, something that seemed out of place.

At the top of Kellogg Hill, Joe could see the dormitory buildings of California Polytechnical College. He eased up on the accelerator as the car descended into the Pomona Valley.

The concrete ribbon of freeway passed over the outskirts of Pomona, and Joe read the turn-off signs as he passed them. He found the street he was looking for and turned the car down the ramp, off the freeway.

The girl had been silently sitting by the door, twisting the handkerchief and biting her lower lip. When Joe braked for the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, she pulled the door handle and pushed her weight against it. The door flew open. She was almost out — her foot had touched the asphalt — when Joe reached out, catching her by the wrist, and yanked her back into the car. He slapped her twice across the face.

“Don’t try that again!”

Red handprints appeared on her cheeks. She buried her face in the handkerchief and cried.

The following car was coming down the ramp as Joe turned left on the deserted road. He kept his car at fifty until the road began to climb in a series of curves, into the foothills. He turned to the girl. “Lou said you have a cabin up here, a Christmas present he gave you.”

Her head jerked up from the handkerchief, and she stared at him. Her eyes were bloodshot with tears, and for the first time since they left Los Angeles, Joe saw that she was completely afraid. Her face turned pale and she began to shiver. She turned her head from side to side while small animal sounds came from her throat.

Joe knew where the money was! “The money’s in the cabin, isn’t it?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. The life insurance was gone.

The road was twisting and steep. Joe pulled a pencil-sketched map from his coat pocket and, with one hand, unfolded it. The dirt path would be coming up pretty soon. He looked in the rear view mirror. The headlights had dropped back, and he only caught glimpses of them rounding curves. He tried to put his finger on what was wrong with the car behind him. It had been on the freeway. A passing car’s headlights bad flashed over the following car...

He saw the dirt path. It was barely wide enough for a car. He turned onto it, dropping the gear selector into low range. It was steep, but the powerful motor pulled the car easily to the top.

There was a large, tree-covered plateau. The log cabin was to the right of the road, just visible through the trees.

Even before he could stop the car, she had the door open and was stumbling, then running into the woods. The dress flew behind her, revealing flashes of white thighs.

Joe jammed on the brakes, throwing the gear selector into park. He was out of the car, his eyes never leaving the flashes of white, trotting in the direction she went.

He heard her hysterical sobbing up ahead as she crashed through branches. He trotted easily, ducking low branches and sidestepping trees. He wasn’t worried. With that dress and high heeled shoes, it would just be a matter of time before she either twisted an ankle or tripped herself.

She gave out a short scream. Then the crashing stopped and all Joe could hear was his own noise. He stopped and listened. There was a crack of splitting wood up ahead. He moved slowly towards it, stepping very cautiously.

She came from behind a tree, swinging a branch. Joe took the blow full force on his left ear. It was a good shot, but the branch wasn’t big enough to hurt a dog. Then she was on him, scratching, kicking. Joe slapped her with his left hand. She staggered. Then he swung from the shoulder with his right. She stiffened, and crumpled to the soft grass.

Joe stood over her, panting. His ear was bleeding, and he felt the sting of fingernail cuts on his cheek. Six women had died under his hands. There had been the usual tears, offerings, and hysterics. But none had given him nearly the trouble this one had. He hoped Lou appreciated what he was doing. Maybe one district wouldn’t be enough payment.

Joe picked her up, surprised how little she weighed, and carried her to the cabin. The rotted door splintered open after the second kick, and he carried her to the one couch in the sparsely furnished room.

It was chilly and damp. Joe got a fire started in the natural rock fireplace, lit a lamp, and then began searching for the money. The place only had two rooms, and being furnished the way they were, he soon covered all the obvious hiding places. He was thinking how cheap Lou was with his Christmas presents when a moan came from the couch.

Constance slowly sat up, pulling the dress to her knees. Her right eye was beginning to swell. She looked at Joe. “You had the chance. Why didn’t you...?”

Joe pulled an old wooden chair opposite her and sat in it. “It’s coming, sweetheart. It’s coming.”

She ran her fingers through her dark hair and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t even care any more.”

“Look, sweetheart. You know it’s coming, I know it’s coming. As long as Lou is the big man, I have to follow orders. It won’t always be that way — I’ve got plans — but it is that way now. Six months ago if you’d offered me a hundred grand and you, I’d have jumped at it. But I got a district now, and I’m moving up, and all because I follow orders. So, it’s up to you, baby. You can have it quick, and feel nothing; or you can have it slow and painful.”

She looked puzzled. “But I...”

“The money, sweetheart. The money!”

A look of disbelief came over her. “But I thought... don’t you already have...?” she started laughing hysterically. “You stupid, ignorant slob. The fireplace — the money was in the fireplace!”

Joe jumped out of the chair to see flaming thousand dollar bills drop into the crackling flames. The laughing grew louder. He tried to pull out some of the scorched bills, but the flames leaped at him, singeing the hair on his arm. The high female laughter was breaking his eardrums! He had to shut her up! He crossed the room and grabbed the slender white throat with his left hand. Then he began pounding his right fist into the laughing face. The sound kept ringing in his ears. Even after the laughter had stopped, he kept pounding.

He stopped and let the limp form slide to the floor.

Panting and sweating, he flopped onto the couch and waited for calmness to return.

The rest was fairly simple. He loaded her into the front seat of the car, backed down the dirt path to the road, and shifted her into the driver’s seat. Then, after carefully wiping all his fingerprints from inside the car, he started the engine. He pushed the cold, slim foot onto the accelerator until the engine was screaming. The car was aimed at the six-hundred-foot drop bordering the road. Standing as far away from the car as possible, he reached inside and hit the gear selector into “Drive”. Engine screaming, back wheels spinning, the car lunged forward. It hit the edge, and for an instant seemed to be suspended. Then it dropped, bouncing once and exploding, the pieces falling into the dry rock valley.

It was done.

The headlights went on, and Joe waited for the black sedan to pull alongside him. When the car stopped, Joe saw what it was that had puzzled him. The lights of the passing car on the freeway had showed three shadows inside the car. Joe had expected only Nick, the driver. Why would Lou send three men just to drive him back to Los Angeles?

“Did you get the money, Joe?” Nick asked. He was a blond-headed kid who always smiled.

“It’s gone,” Joe said. “She burned it.”

“That’s a shame,” Nick said. The back doors of the sedan were opening. Joe saw the punched-in faces of the two goons getting out.

“What is this, Nick? I told you she burned it!”

“I know, Joe. I know. And I believe you. But it doesn’t make any difference. Sure, Lou will be disappointed, but it just doesn’t make any difference. You gotta go.”

The goons were coming towards him, backing him to the cliff.

“Please,” Joe said. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

Nick smiled. “No deals, Joe. Lou says you got plans, big plans, plans that maybe don’t include him. He says maybe you’re gettin’ too big. Sorry, Joe, but you understand, don’t you? It’s nothing personal. We’re just following orders.”