Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

For a second the yard was silent, the small white bungalow dreaming in the sun. Then the screen door slapped open and a burly man in gray ran out and down the steps. He started to demand explanations of the driver, and then he noticed the rifle in Post’s hands, noticed the battered face and the wide-eyed girl. He fumbled at the flap over his revolver and said, “Drop that gun, you!”

“Now you just take it easy, Bobby. This here fellow’s a friend of mine. He and his girl’ve just got a little explainin’ to do to the law. No call for you to get so official. You might get him excited and he might shoot somebody.”

Post climbed out of the car and handed the rifle to the trooper. Nan stepped out with great hauteur, which disappeared at her first limp. Post looked back and saw the camera on the floor of the car. He knew that somebody would get official and have the film developed. His own testimony might be discredited because of the killing he was wanted for. He reached in and pulled the camera out. Before the trooper could snatch it, he slammed it hard against the fender of the car. The bent metal sprung open and he tore the roll of film out.

“What did you do? What was that?” the trooper demanded.

“Half a million bucks’ worth of film. Why? Let’s get this over with.”

They walked into a narrow hall. On one side was a standard living room, with overstuffed furniture. On the other side was a small bare room in one end of which was a desk with a high railing in front of it. The trooper waved them into the bare room, shut the door and hurried around to sit behind the desk. He opened a notebook, licked a pencil stub and looked up expectantly.

First the driver, who turned out to be a Mr. Benz, told about the rifle and the story about Meridin Lake.

Nan interrupted him. “Please, we’re wasting time. My father’s back at the lake and he’s been beaten up and he’s being held by blackmailers. He’s Thomas Finley Benderson, owner of Benderson Shipbuilding. Unless you do something quickly, you’ll spend the rest of your life explaining why you didn’t. This man rescued me and brought me out. That’s why he has the rifle. Now get on the ball and quick.”

The trooper spent three stupefied seconds staring into the cold gray eyes, and then he grabbed the phone. It took him five minutes to get his call through to a trooper station in a town forty miles away.

They listened to his conversation. “Carl? This is Bobby. Is Gloria in shape?... Good. Hop over to Meridin Lake.” He held his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “How many of them are there?”

“Two of the gang and my father and another two people they’re holding.”

He talked into the phone again. “You and the new guy ought to be enough. Blackmailers or something holding three people there. Round ’em up. Leave the new guy and you fly back out with a man named Benderson, an old boy. Fly him down to Main Lake and shove him in the hospital if he needs it. If the radio’s working again, you might keep in contact with station eleven and let them send me the dope on the tape. Got Benderson’s daughter here and she’s anxious.”

He hung up and leaned back in his chair, smiling in appreciation of his own efficiency. “Gloria’s a float plane we use up here for search jobs. Carl’ll be in there in a half hour or so. Quicker than we could make it. Now you two just go on in the other room and sit tight until I get a report.”

Mr. Benz smiled at them as he left. At the door he turned around and said, “You’re too anxious to use that gun, Bobby. Get you into trouble sometime.” The trooper growled at him.

Nan and Post sat across from each other in the quiet sitting room and listened to the loud tick of the clock on the mantel. He looked at the open window and wondered how far he could get before being picked up. It was tempting. Her obvious honesty had relaxed the vigilance of the trooper.

She glanced up and saw him staring at the window. She caught her underlip between her teeth and shook her head. “No, Walker. I’ll get you off before he finds out. Wait.”

At last the trooper stuck his head in the door and waved a paper. “Got it.”

Nan jumped up and met him at the door. Post walked over to where he could see her face as she read. She turned white and swayed. They each took her arm and led her over to the couch. Post snatched the paper out of her hand and read it.

“Everything as reported. Leaving Carmody guarding two prisoners. Benderson okay. No hospitalization needed. Taking him back to eleven. He wants to see daughter. Will go back in and leave two more men to take prisoners through woods. Wheeler.”

He looked down at her and she was smiling up at him.

Then she turned her head and looked at the trooper. “Mr. Post has been very nice to me and he’s in a hurry. Couldn’t you people take a statement or something from him and let him go? He didn’t have anything to do with all this.”

The trooper rubbed his chin. “Why, I guess so, if Mr. Post lives close enough so that he can get back here if we need him. Sure, miss. I’ll do it.”

She smiled up at Post again and there was pity and farewell in her eyes. He stood looking down at her and suddenly it was as though a curtain had rolled back in his mind. Suddenly he had pride that was stronger than his fear. He knew that he couldn’t start running. It was too late to run, even though she had given him his chance.

“I don’t think that’s so good, Trooper. You see, you didn’t take my name. It’s probably in your wanted files. I’m Walker Post. They want me for killing a man in a fight in a bar about a week ago. I killed a man named Victor Hessler. Also, there were three of the gang up there. I shot one through the head as he was swimming across the lake. Maybe you better keep me around.”

The trooper opened his mouth and left it open. He shut it slowly and said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Wait till I see Benz.”

Ten minutes later Post sat on the edge of a bed in a small bedroom in the back of the bungalow. The windows were barred. The door was locked. It looked solid. The trooper had told him that it was temporary until he could be transferred to one of the customary places. He slipped out of his clothes and stretched out on the bed. He felt peaceful and relaxed.

He awakened several times during the late afternoon and early evening, but no one came in to tell him what was happening. He heard many people moving around and heard voices he couldn’t identify.

A strange trooper brought in a plate of food and a pitcher of water at seven o’clock. He didn’t volunteer any information and Post didn’t ask for any. There was nothing else he had to know. He didn’t let himself wonder how long his sentence would be. He ate and then stretched out on the bed.

He awoke with a start and saw that it was morning. The door was open a crack and somebody was pounding on it.

He recognized Nan’s voice saying, “Hey! Are you decent?”

“Just a minute,” he answered, and pulled on his shirt and trousers. He walked to the door and pulled it open. She stood there smiling at him. He stepped back and she walked in and sat on the bed. He stood beside the window.

“You fixed yourself up nicely, didn’t you, Walker?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t seem to be much point in doing anything else. Call it corny. Just say I was paying a debt.”

“To whom?”

“Maybe to myself. Maybe to you.”

“Why to me?”

“If I hadn’t gotten in this jam, maybe I would have asked you to let me come and see you in a year. I need another year to burn this black cloud off my mind. Maybe because I can’t do it now, I’ve got the courage to tell you. I would want to get a job on a construction gang or in the woods. Work each day until I dropped. In a year I’d be okay. I know that now. I found out too late.”