Brett Halliday - Win Some, Lose Some

“You’re still thinking about money?” Pam said with scorn. “Jack, you’re insane.”

“A better word would be stubborn,” Downey said. “Everybody knows that about me. Once I take hold of a thing, I never let go.”

“We’re all still alive. That’s more than can be said for some people. Let’s go our separate ways.”

“Can’t do that yet,” Downey said plausibly. “We’re going to be traveling in the same car. Werner, how’s the arm?”

“I’m O.K.”

“I thought I’d suggest, as soon as we hit a road, why don’t we find you a place to sit down, and we’ll go get the car and come back for you? No sense in us all walking.”

“I don’t want to feel left out.”

“Suit yourself.”

Werner had pocketed his gun, but he kept his hand in that pocket. Downey did the same, until he persuaded himself that everything was cool. Reaching the road, they turned east. Sooner or later they would be bound to see signs.

“Now why should anybody want to set that trailer on fire?” he said. “Because they knew Canada was in it! Are you following me this far? He’s stepped on so many faces, the town’s full of people who’d like to see him burn.”

They were listening, at least. If he was this tired at the start, how would he feel at the finish? They could droop along and admit that their feet hurt. But he was the noncom, he had to pretend.

“We could go home and get some sleep,” he said, “and by the time we woke up, everything would be buttoned up tight. Damn it, this was a great idea of yours, Werner. I for one don’t want to give up just because we had a little setback here.”

“A little setback,” Werner repeated in an amazed voice.

“Not so little, I guess. Here’s what I was thinking. We’ve got the letter ready. Let’s go ahead and send the fucking thing. When the wife gets it, she’ll call a committee meeting. One man on that committee is going to know there’s no point, because Canada is out on the Interstate in a burnt-out trailer. But he can’t say so without giving it away. They’ll go ahead and collect the money-”

“First making sure he’s alive,” Pam said.

“That’s where you’re wrong. With a number that big, they won’t deliver the money until they’re sure he’s alive, but they’ll collect it. They’ll have it on hand. One million cash. Now they’re disorganized. Their security won’t be of the best. Do you see what I’m driving at? It’s a police matter. I’ll be in on it. I’ll see how they act, and I’ll keep in touch with you guys so you can move on a minute’s notice. Who the hell knows? Maybe I’ll give you a call and tell you to put on the masks. We won’t go for the guy this time, go for the money.”

He was forcing it. He didn’t believe himself it would happen. Enough was enough.

He had guessed about ten miles. It was more like fifteen. Dawn was about due by the time they sighted the car. Several times, approaching headlights had made them dive for the side of the road. Toward the end, they were hopelessly lost. He couldn’t keep talking the whole time, but he thought he finally convinced Pam. Werner, probably not. He had to keep an eye on that boy.

“Nick, Nick.” Greco pulled him out from under the water wagon and came down beside him. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Greco had to feel an effect from the way Nick was looking at him. It was touching. Nick had gathered some bean plants and was pressing them to the wound. It was no substitute for regular bandages. If Greco attempted to carry him, he was going to get blood and slime all over his clothes. Nick’s acne stood out as though it had been stippled on. The medal on his chest winked in the firelight.

He tried to make it a real smile. “Think I broke the ankle.”

Greco looked. A foot usually sticks out in the shape of an L. This was more of a W.

“Uh-oh. You won’t do any walking on that.”

“I took care of their Goddamn water for them, didn’t I?”

“Nick, the way you skinned up on that thing-”

Indeed, thanks to Nick’s exploit, they had accomplished what they had set out to accomplish. Greco felt a pulse of affection for the goofy kid. Nothing faggish about it, it was more of an army thing, one soldier to another. That didn’t help with the main problem. The nearest hospital was Miami, and they sure as hell were in no condition to hitchhike. How would they answer the questions when they got there?

The soggy mass on Nick’s stomach shifted, and if Greco’s own stomach hadn’t been somewhat uneasy by now, he could have looked inside and seen what his friend had eaten for supper. Nick was getting paler by the second. Greco could see he would have to do all the work. He folded the limp body into sitting position and tried to lift. It was too slippery. Nick was unable to give him any help at all.

Greco was casting about for some marvelous solution. He couldn’t come up with one. It would be hard enough to get out of this himself without being held back by a gut-shot cripple who from the look of it was going to die anyway. Even if he had an ambulance waiting, which he didn’t, Nick would be out of the picture before they were halfway. And leaving him here wouldn’t be much better. They’d get his fingerprints and check the hotels. They’d signed in at the Doral under their right names, which had probably been dumb. DeLuca? He wouldn’t even help with the lawyer.

He smelled Nick’s burned hair, and that gave him the idea. He had somehow managed to hoist his friend up on his one good ankle. Nick was already close to collapse, and they hadn’t gone anywhere yet. He tried to get his weight distributed properly, but Greco thought, why bother?

The two had gone to the same high school. Greco let Nick tag along on a couple of small deals. He sponsored him, in a way. Nick had a brother who dealt, and he could always get whatever he wanted for parties. They’d been having such a great time in Miami.

“Have ourselves a ball with that money,” Nick said feebly when Greco stopped to get a less slippery grip. “Mexico-” Trying to smile, he said it again like the Mexicans. “Meh-hico.”

True, there had been some stoned talk about taking the girls to Mexico City after DeLuca paid them off. It wouldn’t happen now. Greco started moving again, and when Nick understood, he whimpered in disbelief. Greco ran him straight at the fire. It was too hot to go all the way. About four feet from one of the sprung panels, he dug in and let go, giving Nick a hard final push combined with a lift.

It was a terrible look that Nick gave Greco, and at the last moment he was screaming. He went inside in a shower of sparks. Greco would remember that look and that scream, but it was just something he would have to learn to live with. He was doing his friend a favor, as well as himself, getting it over in an instant instead of leaving him to die slowly in pain.

A car was slowing on the highway. Greco ran toward it, and when he got within negotiating distance, he took out his gun. He must have been fairly wild-looking by now. There were two people inside, a kid at the wheel and the thin, jangly looking man Greco had forced out of the Dodge van. He waved his weapon, and they both got out.

“Not again,” the thin man said. “What happened to everybody?”

Greco couldn’t have answered that question even if he had wanted to. As soon as the car was empty, he jumped in and took off.

The van was moving erratically between lanes. Shayne, in the pickup camper, closed with it rapidly, flicking his headlights. With a competent driver and its initial advantage, the van could have outrun them, but whoever was at the wheel was having all he could do to stay on the highway. As Shayne came into position, he saw that it wasn’t somebody hijacking Canada, it was Canada himself.