Cat Pay The Devil

23

C harlie’s whole body was sore from the battering Cage gave her, and from bumping along in the Jeep; her face felt bruised and raw where he’d struck her, hit her three times for trying to roll out of the vehicle. And then when it blew a tire and skidded on the narrow trail, jamming hard between two trees, she’d prayed it was stuck. She’d thought at first the sharp report was a gunshot, it had sent her ducking down, filled with hope-but it was only the tire exploding when the wheel hit a deadfall. The men’s rage would, under other circumstances, have been amusing. They were near hysteria by the time they got the wheel off, then found that the spare had no air, that it, too, had a hole in it. The situation was entertaining, but turned heart-stopping when they grew so enraged that she didn’t know what they might do to her.

But they hadn’t taken it out on her. They had sworn and argued, then at last had set about patching the spare, irritably bickering. Now, bumping along again, she was terribly hot and thirsty, her sweaty T-shirt plastered to her, the too-tight ropes burning into her. The worst discomfort was the gnats; millions of gnats had found her, and were feasting. Their bites made her wild with itching, and she couldn’t scratch. Her last thread of composure was almost gone. And she was ashamed, so ashamed that her disappearance would have Max frantic, would cause all kinds of trouble. Ashamed that she hadn’t been watchful, that she’d let her guard down, had come out of the house completely unprepared for a prowler. She knew better. After several previous threats to Max, she knew better than to become complacent. She had stepped out thinking the dogs were barking at nothing or at some small wild animal; and now Max would have to deal with the trouble her foolishness had caused. Worst of all, she knew he’d come after her, that she’d put him in unnecessary danger.

No matter how she twisted and worked at the knots, she’d not been able to loosen one. With her feet tied, and her hands tied behind her, even if she’d been able to roll off the Jeep, she couldn’t have run, couldn’t get away, could only hop stupidly, like a trussed-up chicken.

When the men had finally gotten the spare tire patched and on the wheel, and had taken turns pumping up the tire with an ancient hand pump, they’d shouldered and fought the Jeep out of the trees and moved on again up into the pine forest. The woods were black as midnight, the headlights dim. She lay helplessly bumping along again on the dirty metal floor trying to understand what this was about.

She knew Cage’s name, the other man had called him that, receiving a vicious blow across the mouth, a strike that had made him spit blood. Cage Jones-the man Wilma had gone up to the city to testify against. In some way, this whole thing was about Wilma; that knowledge riveted her with fear. Was this retribution against Wilma, for her damning testimony? What else could it be?

Early in the evening, when she brought the dogs and horses in from pasture and fed them, she’d been imagining Wilma on her way home down 101 in the heavy afternoon traffic, her car loaded with boxes and bags of new clothes and early Christmas presents. She’d thought that when she and Ryan got back from their ride, if there was no “getting home” message from Wilma, she’d give her aunt time to unpack and have a cool shower, a drink, and some supper, then she’d call her and they could talk about Wilma’s weekend.

Tending to the horses, then going in the house to fix sandwiches for herself and Ryan, she’d amused herself imagining what Wilma had bought. New jeans, of course. New sweatshirts. But she hoped something frivolous, too. When the dogs began to bark, she’d stepped out on the porch, stood in the falling evening listening. Deciding maybe there were raccoons in the barn again, or the fox who often came to sneak dog food and that enraged the mutts, she had just slipped into the barn to see-

It happened so fast. She was grabbed from behind, the dogs going crazy, the horses plunging in their stalls. She was swung around hard, losing her balance, to face a huge man.

He had clamped his meaty hand over her mouth so she couldn’t yell, had dragged her out behind the barn and tied her up and gagged her, and then thrown her in the Jeep. There was a second man, thinner. Neither spoke until they’d driven for some time and were well away from the stables, up the narrow trail. She’d leaned up to look over the back, trying to see behind them, hoping uselessly that someone had seen them and followed. But every time she tried to look back, Cage reached around from the driver’s seat and knocked her down.

And who would have seen? She’d been alone at the ranch. There was no one to know she was missing, or to know what had happened. She’d bounced along miserably on the hard metal floor, through the darkening woods, with Cage watching her so closely, against any attempt at escape, that she just about lost hope. Until the tire blew and her hope rose again.

But that hadn’t lasted long and they were off again, she still steaming at her helplessness, at her inability to help herself.

But now…Did she hear something behind them? The faintest noise? Stealthily she slid up again along the side of the Jeep to sneak a look. The sky straight above them was still silver, but the dense woods through which they rumbled were so dark that surely Cage, looking back from the driver’s seat, could no longer see her clearly. Far back down the trail, she thought she glimpsed a flash of light. She saw it for just an instant, saw it again, flicking, then it vanished. Had she heard, above the Jeep’s rattling and grinding, another sound? A distant door close, an engine start?

She tried to judge how far they had come. They’d been climbing constantly, the Jeep’s engine straining, climbing very steeply in some places. When she could see through a gap in the trees, beneath the lighter evening sky, the black hills fell away, but then they were gone again, hidden by the pine forest.

There wasn’t much up this trail but forest, and patches of open hills. Some scattered old houses far up, a fallen fence line. And, nearly straight ahead, this trail would pass close to the Pamillon ruins.

Was Cage headed there? Did he mean to dump her there? Kill me and leave me under the fallen walls or in some caved-in cellar, where no one will find me? Leave me there to get back at Wilma? Certainly Cage hadn’t kidnapped her for a ransom. He wouldn’t get much, she thought ruefully, she wasn’t some heiress worth millions.

Oh, but Max would pay. He’d pay with the ranch, the horses, the cars, and every smallest thing he owned, go into debt for the rest of his life, if that was the only way to save her-except that Max was too clever for that, Max would never be so foolish, he was far sharper than these two cheap crooks, he would never let them twist him around.

Wouldn’t he? To save my life?

And she knew he would.

Was this revenge against Wilma? Did Cage think he could make Wilma suffer far more if he killed her niece? Or, she thought, could Cage want something from Wilma, something besides revenge? Am I a hostage? Is this some kind of trade? But trade for what? Certainly he can’t buy his freedom from the law with a hostage. The U.S. courts don’t make that kind of bargain.

This was all too unlikely, too bizarre. It had been such a peaceful afternoon, she’d so been looking forward to a quiet ride, to spending some time with Ryan. And then…everything had gone to hell.

The sky was going dark now. Cage, still grousing over the flat tire, which was all Eddie’s fault because it was Eddie’s Jeep, hadn’t glimpsed her peering over the back. She caught her breath when she saw another light, a flash as brief as a firefly, one pinprick, then gone. But then another, farther down the hills, where she thought their ranch lay. Then the trail behind them was hidden by a thick stand of pine. The Jeep came up over a rise and dropped down again, and Cage swung around in the seat, turning his light on her; he caught her looking, and before she could duck, he smacked her in the face so hard he sent her sprawling. She lay unmoving, hurting, detesting Cage Jones. And thinking about the lights.

Someone was at the ranch or was approaching it. Or did those lights belong to someone following the Jeep? Ryan must have arrived by this time and found her gone. Found the door unlocked, the tire tracks, the animals upset. If she had, there’d be cops all over, and Max would be following their tracks.

They topped the rise and turned, bumping over rocks. She glimpsed broken stone walls, they were in the ruins, the old Pamillon estate. Did Cage mean to kill her here? She had to get away, get back down the trail to Max-If Max couldn’t get a vehicle up that trail, he’d follow her on horseback. Not alone on horseback, Max, please. They’re both armed. Please…There was a shotgun between the front seats, she’d seen it when they threw her in the Jeep, and Cage had a handgun.

Stop it, she thought. Max is no fool. If he comes on horseback, they’ll never see him, never know he’s there. Twisting her hands in ways she hadn’t thought they’d bend, she again tried desperately to free herself; she felt blood flowing, making her hands slick as she tried uselessly to undo the knots. Cage pulled the Jeep deeper in among the fallen walls, stopped, and killed the engine.

The Jones house had been dark when Greeley arrived back there, though it was only an hour since he’d left, since he’d seen them cats tossing the place. What the hell were they doing? What were the little sneaks looking for? They couldn’t know what this was all about. Approaching the Jones’s front windows, he could see no light now. Had Lilly gone to bed? Not until he stepped around the side of the house did he see that one lamp was burning low, just about where Lilly had been sitting earlier. Was she still in that same chair, mindlessly knitting away? Moving around to the front porch again, he rang the bell, hoping she might be in a better mood this time around. Hoping to hell them cats was gone, dirty, nosy varmints.

Well, he was damn glad to be shut of that cop, rousting him out of Mavity’s place like that. As if a cop had that kind of rights. Like some Gestapo bully. Stateside cops were as bad as them Panamanian La Guardia, didn’t give a damn for people’s rights. Unless you lined their pockets. In Panama, if you didn’t buy your freedom, the Guardia’d just as soon shoot you. Cheaper than feeding you, in jail. Well, hell, it made no difference. You get thrown in a Panama jail, only way out is in a pine box-if they bother to put you in a box, if they don’t just throw you to the sharks.

He’d stayed in that motel patio, after that cop followed him from Mavity’s, until he was sure the rookie was gone. Watched him drive away, talking on the radio like he was heading on another call. Watched him as far as he could see the cop car, then he’d retrieved his own car and headed up the few blocks to Lilly’s place. Oh, he’d checked in to the motel, all right. Waited till that cop called them, then said he’d changed his mind.

He didn’t know how he was going to convince Lilly to let him stay, but he’d figure it out. Once he got settled in one of them upstairs bedrooms, he could search the house at his leisure, do it while she slept. Do it before Cage got back. Sure as hell this would be his last chance before Cage barged in here to get the stash.

If Cage got it first, he’d turn right around and head back to the city, to the same fence. And once that fence started moving Greeley’s own share to collectors, the feds would hear about it and them bastards’d have the dogs out.

He rang the bell again, fidgeting. What the hell was Lilly doing? At last he heard her padding to the door and he had to think how best to con her. She wasn’t an easy woman. So far, she sure hadn’t been what you’d call cordial.

He’d thought of phoning her first, asking real nice if he could stay there a day or two, that his sister had a problem with the apartment he was in. Maybe tell her the water pipes broke? But Lilly’d of hung up on him, sure as pigs had curly tails. He’d thought of pretending to be Cage, telling her to give Greeley a room, but their voices were too different, no way he could pull that off. He heard the knob turn, and she opened the door with the burglar chain on, peered out through the little crack at him. One good lunge with his shoulder and he could break that puny chain, send the door flying. Instead he gave her a big smile. “It’s me, Lilly. I come back. I…I have a kind of a problem. You think I could come in? Come in and maybe tell you about it and maybe get warm for a minute?”

“It’s still ninety degrees, Greeley.”

“Well, it’s a lot hotter in Panama,” Greeley said pitifully. “My blood’s thin. And I sure do need some help. For old times’ sake?”

“What old times?”

“It’s Mavity,” Greeley said. “Something happened to her apartment where I was staying. She’d rented it and those folks showed up early to move in, and I had to leave. She didn’t have no more room; I just need me a place to stay for the night. Until I can get a motel, until the tourists go home. Motels are all full, I got me no place to sleep.” He hoped to hell she didn’t check. “I’d be gone again first thing in the morning…”

She stood scowling down at him for a long time. They were the same height, but with him standing a step down on the porch, she was some taller. She looked real sour at being disturbed, sour and stubborn. He could have been starving or sick, she would have looked just as mean. When she shut the door, he thought that was the end of it, that he’d lost the first round.

But she’d only closed it to slip the chain. She opened it again, still scowling. She stared at him for another long minute, then stepped back, opening it wider. He gave her a pitiful, grateful look and moved inside, doing his best not to grin. He thought of going back to the car to get his duffle but was afraid she’d change her mind and lock the door. There wasn’t nothing in it he really needed.

She didn’t ask him into the living room, didn’t ask him to sit down. She led him along the hall to a little bedroom on the first floor. “You’ll have to use the guest bath,” she said, pointing back toward the bath near the front door. “I’ll set out a towel. You’ll find sheets in the top drawer of that dresser. When you leave in the morning…” She gave him a hard look. “What makes you think you can get a motel tomorrow if they’re all full tonight?”

“I made me a reservation,” he lied. “It’s Sunday night, some of them tourists don’t leave till Monday morning. I got me a room for then, all fit and proper, soon as they’re made up, so I won’t burden you.”

Looking unconvinced, Lilly turned and left him.

He found sheets in a drawer, and spread them on the bed, listening hopefully for the sound of Lilly going upstairs to her room. He waited for a long time, but when he went to use the bathroom, the reading light was still on in the living room and he could hear the clicking of her knitting needles, could see her seated shadow reflected against the wall between two devil masks, her shadow hands twitching and jumping as she cast on stitches or whatever the hell knitters did.

He had to brush his teeth with his finger and lavender hand soap. Didn’t know why he bothered. The towel she’d left him was thin and had a hole in one corner. Why the hell didn’t she go on to bed? Returning irritably to the fusty little bedroom, he fidgeted and stewed, sat on the bed with the pillows behind him and thought about Cage’s stash.

He and Cage had brought most of it up from Central America packed in boxes of old books that were heavy. And the boxes stacked in with furniture, in one of them big, metal overseas containers. They’d had a regular mover in; that was when Sue left Greeley and he’d given up the apartment.

When they got back to the States and the stuff was delivered to where Cage was staying in the city, they’d made sure it was all there, then tossed the books in half a dozen Dumpsters. Sold the furniture. Cage said maybe some of them books was valuable, but how valuable could a bunch of old musty books be?

They’d waited a long time, years, for gold to hit eight hundred again, because that should nudge their prices up, too, but it never got that high. Inflation was up, though, and that was good. Then finally they’d lost patience and started making plans. Cage was inside at the time, he wrote that when he got out, they’d do it. If Greeley’d fly up, get his half wherever he had it, Cage’d take him to the best fence. Greeley never was much good at that part of it. He’d been good at making the heist, real good, and Cage owed him that, big-time.

Gold was what all them Latin American countries had been about, back in history, gold that brought them Spanish ships, had nothing to do with saving souls. Inca idols of solid gold near as big as a house, a whole garden made of life-size gold figures and animals, hard for a fellow to believe. Made what he and Cage brought back look like peanuts-but it was still worth plenty if they’d got full price. Fence, and his dealers, everyone took their damn cut.

Still, though, he’d have enough to set him up real nice, all he’d ever want. No more diving; he was tired of working for Panama. Buy him a nice little finca up in northern Panama, couple young Indian girls to do the cooking and warm his bed, a pretty nice retirement.

Sitting on the bed, he waited for over an hour, fidgeting, until he heard Lilly go up the stairs. When he looked out, the living room was dark. Standing in the hall he saw a faint light upstairs, from a room to his left. Returning to his room, he listened for some time more as she moved around above him getting ready for bed, listened to the water running in the upstairs bath. Didn’t like to think of that old turkey naked in the bath. Listened until the water gurgled out of the tub, and finally there was silence, sweet, unbroken silence. When he peered again up the stairway, all was dark above. He hoped she was a sound sleeper. Hoped to hell she didn’t come sneaking down and catch him. Because if Cage knew he’d searched the house, Cage’d kill him.

But by the time Cage found his stash gone, he, Greeley, would be where Cage wouldn’t ever find him. He sure wouldn’t find him through the Frisco fence. Greeley wouldn’t use him again, he had another contact, had lucked on to that one and had managed it all right; kept that guy under wraps, staked out and waiting. A short layover in Miami, sell the stuff and get his cash, and he was out of the States, where Cage’d never come looking.