Джеймс Кейн - The Enchanted Isle

“No, just out, not in.”

“What’s the difference, if I may ask?”

“Out means I just ride you around, to get you away from this house. In would mean in to jail.”

“Like in protective custody?”

“Something like that, yes.”

But Steve was there and got in it, of course. He asked, “What’s the idea? Why?”

“Rick Davis is why. He’s back.”

“Oh? How do you know?”

“They found his car.”

“Car? He didn’t have any car.”

“Now he has, one that he stole or that somebody stole, with California plates. They found it down the street, on the old Hot Shoppe parking lot.”

“How did they know it was his?”

Until then he’d been pleasantly shifty, like to tell no more than he had to. But now he seemed to change his mind. After studying Steve he said, “OK, hold on to your hat.”

“I’m holding it. Shoot.”

“By the money that was in it.”

“You mean they got it back?”

“All of it except, of course, the five grand they knew about that Mandy found on the floor of the getaway car when they switched and split up with Rick at Mondawmin Center.”

“How much, actually?”

“Hundred and fifteen grand.”

“Then, I was of real help, wasn’t I?”

“I’ll say it was real, Mandy, plenty.”

By now he was enjoying the sensation he’d caused and really wanted to talk. He went on to explain “how the job was done right here by the Hyattsville police, after they called us about it.” He said, “Even if he was watching, which they think he was not, he’d hardly have known his car was being worked on.” He told how they got their locksmith, the one near the county building, to come and bring his depth gauge, whatever that was, to take a reading with it of the car, of the lock on the trunk of the car, then go back to his shop real quick and file a key. Once they had that they opened the trunk, and, sure enough, there was the suitcase, which they opened with the keys I had turned in. Soon as they had the money, they put phone books in the suitcase, locked it up like it had been, and then locked the trunk, so everything was just as it had been when he came back to the car. Then they posted their stakeout to wait until he would come.

But Steve wasn’t done with him yet. He went to the table drawer and took out his gun, a blue one, pretty big, and showed it to him. Then he got out two papers in envelopes, one his permit to carry it, the other his certificate, from the Silver Spring Small Arms Range, of how good he could shoot. He said, “OK, Mr. O’Brien, look them over. There’s a gun good as yours, and there’s my certificate that says I shoot good as you do. Then, why can’t I protect her? Why must you take her away?”

“This girl means a lot to you?”

“She means everything to me. I love her. I’m practically a father to her.”

“Then, get with it. Her life is in danger. I don’t care how good you shoot; she could be killed, before you could draw, before you could even take aim, by a shot through the window, or some other cockeyed way. But if she’s not here...!”

“I got it now. OK.”

“The stakeouts are on everywhere, outside this house, outside his parents’ house, around the car. And the dragnet’s on too, with two officers going around with kids who know him by sight, to lunchrooms, stores, and bars. We’ll get him, but until we do, let’s watch out for her.”

“I said OK. So OK.”

“Then, OK.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Till we get him.”

“That could go on quite a while.”

“Not like the grass on her grave.”

“How about dinner?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. It’s not dinner time yet.”

Steve looked at me, then took out his wallet and slipped me a twenty-dollar bill. He said, “When dinner time comes, ask Mr. O’Brien if he’ll have dinner on me.” He thought, then slipped me ten dollars more. “And ’stead of riding around, a picture show might be better. If you invite him he might accept.”

“OK, Steve, I will.”

I kissed him and whispered, “I love you,” the last words on this earth I ever said to him, and I’m glad they were the ones, the last ones he heard from me.

We got in Mr. O’Brien’s car, which had no police markings on it, and commenced driving around. But that wasn’t too much fun, so I remembered what Steve had said and asked would he like to see a movie, “as Steve’s guest, my foster father.” So he said OK, and I figured out he had no way to charge it up as expense and at the same time didn’t care to spend his own money on a girl who meant nothing to him. Then we parked and walked to the Riverdale Plaza, and the picture was Fool’s Parade. But we didn’t like it much and walked out, when from the booth in the lobby I called Steve to find out how things stood. But who answered was Mother, as she’d driven over again, like the day before, to keep company and help out marking time. And she was all excited I’d called, telling me stay away, that the officers felt my life was in danger, so I mustn’t attempt to come home until Rick was caught. That I already knew, but I thanked her and asked when Mr. Wilmer would get home. She said he was flying back next day, “when I hope this whole thing will be over, and we can relax and be happy.”

“You heard about the money?”

“Oh my, and was that a relief. Because to get immunity for you, he had to pledge to make good the whole shortage, the heist as everyone calls it. And, Darling, he’s very well off, but a hundred and twenty thousand would have been a terrible blow, even to him. But five thousand isn’t so bad.”

“Have you told him?”

“Oh, yes, I called him at once.”

She asked where she could reach me, and I said, “You can’t. I’ll be moving around with the officer. I’m in a theater now, calling from the lobby, and where we go next I don’t know. But I’ll keep in touch. I’ll be calling you.”

“OK, but not before nine. I’d say around ten would be better. Steve has asked me to dinner, and he’s been so nice in this thing, to you and Ben and me, that I want to act friendly to him. And besides, by ten it could all be over. The police think Rick will wait until dark and then make his move against you, or try to.”

“OK. Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“What did you say, Mandy?”

“The surprise — can’t you give me a hint?”

“Oh, Darling, don’t spoil it for Ben. It means so much to him. I promise you it’ll be big, and I think you’re going to like it.”

“Then, OK.”

“At ten? You’ll call?”

“Yes, Mother. I love you.”

And those were the last words I said to her, God rest her pretty, sweet soul.

It said in the afternoon papers that Esther was out on $1,000 bail, and I called her, after looking the Davises up, fortunately remembering their name, John P., from the piece that came out in the paper. I wanted to tell her I had no hard feelings, that I understood she’d been put, made to do what she did by Rick. But once again I was calling one person and another came on the line. It was a boy’s voice kind of muffled, the way people speak when they don’t want to say who they are. But all of a sudden I knew who it was. I said, “Rick, what are you doing there?”

Then he commenced cussing me out, saying awful things to me, so filthy and mean and obscene I can’t write them down. I couldn’t make myself. I said, “Rick, you stop talking like that! Stop saying such things to me.”

“Listen, bitch, saying’s just the beginning. The rest of it’s what I do! I’m going to get you if it’s the last thing I do on this earth! Do you hear me? Are you listening?”