Richard Marsten: Vanishing Ladies

The lone headlight appeared magically behind me, like a Cyclops’ eye in a black-masked face. I heard the wail of the siren, and I kept my foot pressed to the accelerator because now I knew that Ann was in serious trouble and nothing was going to stop me, not Planett and his flunkies, not the state cops, not the militia.

He pulled alongside on his motorcycle.

‘Pull over!’ he shouted.

‘Screw you!’ I shouted back.

The state academy had trained him well. He pulled his gun from its holster and yelled, ‘I’ll fire in three seconds!’

I jammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a skidding halt. The motorcycle pulled in beside me. By the time Fred got off the seat, I’d rolled over, yanked the .38 from my pocket, and pointed it straight at his head. He looked up into the muzzle of the Smith and Wesson. His own gun was in his hand, ready. We faced each other across the narrow blued barrels.

‘Have you had to fire that since you’ve been a cop?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘Have you had to fire that gun?’ I shouted.

‘No.’

‘Neither have I. One of us’ll have to in the next few minutes, Fred. I’m not going to jail again, and I’m not being stopped. Now how about it?’

The rain started. The thunder blasted the sky, and the lightning crackled in yellow-white luminescence. The drops were huge and heavy. They poured down in buckets, and we stood facing each other over the guns.

‘You’re a crazy bastard,’ Fred shouted over the roar of the thunder. ‘Why didn’t you get out of this when you still could?’

‘I still can,’ I said. ‘No more bullshit, Fred. Either you turn your bike around and head in the other direction, or I start blasting.’

‘You wouldn’t shoot,’ he said. ‘You’ve got nothing to gain by—’

‘NO MORE BULLSHIT!’ I shouted. ‘Get on that bike and take off!’

‘You crazy bastard! Do you think you can buck all of us? Do you think-?’

I fired.

I caught him in the shoulder, and the slug spun him around, and then his own gun went off into the air, and he crumpled to the pavement alongside his bike, the headlight still peering wakefully into the darkness. I didn’t even look at him. I slid over behind the wheel. I didn’t put the top up. I threw the car into gear and started off again. My hands were shaking. My foot was trembling on the gas pedal. The rain whipped the windshield, poured steadily into the car. I almost missed Handy’s log cabin. My foot leaped to the brake pedal, and the wheels screeched and skidded, and I held the wheel tightly until the car side whipped to a stop. I backed up and climbed out, leaving the motor running. I was drenched. I went to the door of Handy’s cabin. This time, all the lights were out. I banged on the door with the butt of the .38.

‘Who is it?’ Handy called from inside.

‘Colby! Open this goddamn door!’

‘Just a minute, just a minute.’

I waited. I rapped again to hurry him up. I was ready to shoot the door off its hinges when suddenly it opened. Handy was in pajamas and robe. I didn’t bother with polite cordialities.

‘Where’s Ann Grafton?’ I said, and then I shoved the gun into his belly.

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Handy said. ‘Banging on the door at this hour of the morning! Waving a gun around as if...’

I pushed him into the room and slammed the door behind me.

‘Where’s Ann?’ I said.

‘I don’t know where the hell she—’

‘Two men have been shot with this gun, Handy. One is dead, and the other’s lying wounded in the middle of the highway. Do you want to be number three?’

‘Don’t threaten me, Colby,’ Handy said calmly. ‘Guns don’t scare me.’

What does , Handy? Look, I’m nervous. I’m overwrought. I’m tense. I’m soaking wet. This is liable to explode with no effort at all. Where s Ann?’

‘I don’t know,’ and he started to turn his back on me.

I spun him around. ‘You do know, you spineless bastard! You’ve known from the beginning. Where is she?’

Indignation flared in Handy’s eyes. ‘Don’t say that again, Colby.’

‘Say what, Handy? I said a lot of things.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘The spineless part? Is that what troubles you?’

‘I warned you not to...’

‘What the hell are you, if not spineless? When’s the last time you stood up straight? When’s the last time...?’

‘Don’t go bucking a machine, Colby! Only a fool bucks a machine.’

‘What machine? A sheriff and a couple of deputies? A hick state trooper on a motor bike? A couple who run a whorehouse? Is this your big machine?’

‘What difference does it make how big the machine is, if it runs the town?’

‘Are they what you’re afraid of? Somebody told me you used to have spunk. Said you used to be a fighter. What the hell happened to you? Did you get too interested in the big payoff?’

‘It’s not that. I don’t need the money. I—’

‘All right, Handy, listen to me. I know a girl named Lois was killed. I know she was buried by Barter and Hezekiah. I know Ann was taken on a train to Davistown this morning, and I’m pretty damn sure I know why/

‘They’ll let her go,’ Handy said. They said they’d let her go.’

‘Will they? A cop friend of mine went out to that motel early tonight. From what Hezekiah said, they tumbled to him. They’re probably holding him, too. Do you really think they’ll let him and Ann go? Damnit, Handy, they’re trying to cover a murder!’

‘I... I don’t know what to think.’

‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘You saw Hezekiah tonight?’

‘For the last time. He’s dead. A man named Johnny Simms killed him. He killed him because he found out about Lois. He was going to marry that girl, Handy.’

‘How’d this get so complicated?’ Handy asked.

I didn’t answer.

‘How’d it get so complicated?’ he asked again. ‘It was simple. It was... well, what harm were we doing? Who were we hurting?’ He looked into my eyes. ‘Who was I hurting, Colby?’

‘Yourself,’ I answered.

Handy lowered his head and his eyes.

‘Where is she, Handy?’ I asked.

He heaved a great sigh. ‘At Joe Carlisle’s place,’ he said. ‘In Davistown.’

‘Where?’

He hesitated for a long time, and then he stood erect, with his shoulders back, and he said, ‘I’ll take you there. Let me dress.’

‘Throw on a coat,’ I said. There may not be time for you to -

‘All right,’ he answered.

‘Get a blanket, too,’ I said. ‘My front seat is a little damp.’

Handy went into the other room. When he returned, he had taken off the robe and put on an English-cut raincoat. He was carrying a plaid blanket over his arm. We went outside. The rain had let up a little. I put up the top, spread the blanket over the soaked leather seat, and then pulled away from the cabin.

‘A man’s got to do the right thing eventually,’ Handy said.

‘If he’s a man,’ I answered. ‘Which way?’

‘Straight through Sullivan’s Corners. I’ll show you from there.’

‘Is it a long drive?’

‘About a half-hour. Be careful in Sullivan’s Corners. We wouldn’t want to run into Planett.’

‘Planett is out of commission. So’s Fred. The machine is breaking down, Handy.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ he said. He paused. ‘I offered to take you to Davistown before I knew that, Colby.’

‘Yes.’

‘I was only reminding myself,’ he said.

We drove through Sullivan’s Corners.

‘Straight ahead,’ Handy said, ‘to the next stop light. Then make a right. That road leads into Davistown.’