Ed McBain: King's Ransom

Jeff suddenly scrambled off the bed and rushed to where Kathy was standing, burying his head in her sweater, throwing his arms around her waist. Like a jealous suitor, Sy shouted, “Get your hands off her!”

Kathy pulled the boy closer. “That’s enough, Sy.”

“What’s enough? Who the hell are you—What the hell are you saying to me? You’re telling me? There ain’t a skirt alive who can tell me what to do!” He seized Jeffs arm and tore him away from her, flinging him across the room. “There!” Sy said. “How about that? How about that, you two-bit slut?” and Kathy slapped him with all the power of her arm, her shoulder, and her outstretched palm.

His hand flashed to his face. Slowly he lowered it. “You want to play, huh?” He said. He reached into his pocket, and the knife came into view, the blade opening almost before it had cleared his pocket.

“You’re finally ready to play, huh?” he said, and he swiped at her with the knife, forcing her to back away from him. He followed her across the room, slashing at her with the knife, not intending to cut her, simply toying with her, forcing her back until she collided with the door, and then he crouched before her with the knife swinging in front of his body in a wide arc.

“Sy, don’t…”

“Don’t what, baby? Don’t cut you? Baby, would I cut you?” he said, and he lashed out with the razor-sharp blade, catching Kathy’s sweater with the tip, drawing it away from her body, and then suddenly ripping upward with the knife, slashing the sweater up the front toward the neck.

“Sy!”

Again he slashed, using the knife with the precision of a duelist, ripping at the sweater, exposing her brassiere. She tried to cross her arms over her breasts, but the knife flashed again, and she pulled her hands away from her body, the sweater hanging in tatters over the white brassiere.

Sy grinned. “Now the bra,” he said.

Her hands moved instantly, instinctively, to cover her breasts. He thrust out with the knife, and she pulled her hands back again, gasping uncontrollably now, waiting for the rip of steel that would sever the cotton bra.

“We’re gonna let them beauties free,” Sy said, and he moved closer with the knife. “Keep your hands down. I’d hate like hell to cut you! We’re gonna let them big ripe…”

The boy seemed to materialize from nowhere. He landed on Sy’s back with the ferocity of a wildcat, clawing, pummeling, punching, pulling at Sy’s hair in a frenzy of unleashed anger. Sy straightened up, surprised, and then swung about and tried to shake the boy loose as Kathy ran for the door. He reached behind him for a grip, clutched at the boy’s trousers and tore him loose, flinging him halfway across the room. Kathy, at the door, was fumbling with the lock. He reached her in two bounds, caught her arm, and pulled her to him, the knife tight in his right hand.

“Maybe you just better relax, baby,” he said. “Maybe you’ll like it better that—”

The three knocks sounded on the door. Leaning against the door as they were, Sy and Kathy recoiled sharply from the minor explosions against the wood.

“It’s Eddie,” Kathy whispered, and she said the words like a prayer.

Sy backed away from her instantly. “Put your coat on. Hurry up!”

She moved away from the door rapidly, took her coat from the bed, slipped into it and buttoned it to the throat.

“You mention a word of this to Eddie,” Sy said, “and the kid is dead. You hear me? The kid is dead.”

Kathy nodded dumbly.

Sy went to the boy and sat beside him. “Okay,” he said. “Open it.”

Kathy stepped close to the door again. “Eddie?” she said.

“Yeah. How about it? Open up, will-ya?”

She opened the door. He stepped into the room quickly, closing the door behind him and locking it. “Jesus, what took you so—” he started, and then he saw Kathy’s face and knew instantly that something was wrong.

“Welcome home, hero,” Sy said nonchalantly. “You get the milk?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. He carried his package to the table. Kathy began unpacking it silently. Eddie watched her. “Hey, what’s the matter here?” he said.

“Nothing,” Kathy said. “Everything’s fine, Eddie.”

“Kathy and I just had a little spat, that’s all,” Sy said.

“What about?” Eddie asked. He looked at his wife again. “What are you wearing a coat for?”

“I’m… It got chilly in here.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“She doesn’t like the idea of the whole damn job,” Sy said. He shrugged. “I shouldn’ta flown off the handle, I guess. I’m sorry, Eddie. You run into any trouble out there?”

“No. I didn’t see a single cop the whole time I was on the road.” He looked at the pair suspiciously again. “This is no time to be squabbling,” he said ineffectively. “I mean, what the hell.”

“I said I was sorry,” Sy said.

“Yeah. Well.” Eddie shrugged.

“I’ll make you some hot chocolate,” Kathy said to Jeff.

“Tune in the monster, Eddie. Let’s see what’s happening out there.”

“What time is it?”

Sy looked at his watch. “Little after nine. I should leave by about nine-thirty, just to make sure.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said from the receiver. He threw a switch and began tuning the set. “I still don’t know what you two had to fight about. We’re almost near the end now, and you…”

“… POSSIBLE LICENSE PLATE RN 6120. THAT’S …”

“Jesus, lower that, will you?” Sy shouted over the sudden roar from the radio. Eddie quickly turned down the volume.

“… a 1949 Ford sedan, gray, possible license plate RN 6210 .”

“Wh—?” Sy said.

“Once more for the West Coast,” the police dispatcher said. “Car used in the Jeff Reynolds kidnaping may have been a 1949 Ford sedan, gray, possible license plate RN 6210…”

“They know the car!”

“Don’t get excited!” Sy snapped.

“And I was driving it! Even with the changed plates, they could have—”

“Relax! For Pete’s sake, don’t panic!”

“They coulda picked me up. I coulda—Hey! How we gonna… ? Sy, the car figures in our plan. How we gonna use it now?”

“I don’t know. Take it easy now.” Sy began pacing the room.

“What are we supposed to do? We can’t let all that money go!”

“No. No, we can’t. We won’t have to. You said the roads were clear from here to the grocery store. Okay, chances are they don’t have road blocks everywhere, how could they? Okay, that radio is gonna tell us just where they do have the road blocks! It’s just a question of listening all over again, and taking down the information this time.”

“Sy, that don’t sound safe!”

“What the hell are you worried about? It’s me who’ll be driving the car.”

“Still…”

Sy looked at his watch. “We got about a half hour. Let’s hope they give a lot during that time. Because whether they do or not, that car leaves here at nine-thirty. And you better be ready to do your share come ten o’clock.”

“Sy, if they get one of us, the whole damn job’ll…”

“Don’t you worry about me, kid,” Sy said. “Nobody’s gonna get this boy. Not when five hundred thousand bucks is riding on his back.”

“… corner of Agatha and two-one-oh… ”

“Shhh,” Sy said.

“… to relieve Car 108 in road block. You got that, 112 ?”

“This is 112. Roger.”

“Good,” Sy said, nodding his head vigorously. “Spiel it out, boy. Keep spieling it out.”

* * * *

13

At ten o’clock in the morning, the front door of Douglas King’s house opened. Douglas King, wearing a dark overcoat, black Homburg and pearl-gray gloves, stepped out of the house. He was carrying a brown carton stuffed with newspapers. He walked to the side of the house, looked briskly about him, went directly to the garage, pulled up the overhead door, entered the black Cadillac parked there and started the engine. He let the engine idle for several moments and then pulled the car out of the garage, executed a turn, and drove up the driveway to where the twin stone pillars flanked the road. He turned onto Smoke Rise Road and glanced into the rearview mirror. There was not a car or a person in sight. If anyone was watching his departure, that person was certainly well hidden.