1971 - Want to Stay Alive (3 page)

He tossed his cigarette butt into the canal.

“That’s the photo. What’s this you said about two thousand dollars?”

“So you’ve killed two men.” Poke stared at him. “If you join up with me there will be other killings. That bother you?”

“I don’t want to stick my neck out,” Chuck said after a long moment. “Tell me about the money.”

“That will be your cut.”

Chuck drew in a deep breath.

“What’s the racket then?”

“Something I have been planning for months: an idea that will work, but I can’t handle it alone. Tell me about this girl you have with you. I could use her too.”

“Meg?” Chuck shrugged. “She ran off from home. She’s a good screw. I don’t know anything else about her.”

“I could use her.”

Chuck’s little eyes narrowed as he thought. Then reluctantly, he shook his head.

“She wouldn’t dig for killing.”

“I want a girl. It’s part of the plan. Could you sell her the idea?”

“How the hell do I know? I don’t know what you’re talking about! What’s this racket?”

Poke stared at him. The glittering black eyes continued to worry Chuck.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“What do you mean? Of course I want to know!”

“You said just now you didn’t want to stick your neck out.”

“For two thousand dollars, I’ll stick my neck out. What is it?”

Poke continued to stare at him.

“If I tell you and you change your mind and don’t want to go along, you won’t leave here alive. This is something I’ve been planning for some time.

Once I’ve told you, it won’t be my secret, will it? You’re either in or you’re dead.”

Chuck saw there was a blunt nosed gun in the Indian’s hand. It had appeared like a conjuring trick. He flinched back. Guns scared him.

“Make up your mind.” Poke stared down at the gun. “If you want out, get up and go and I’ll find someone else. If you want in, you’d better not change your mind.”

“What’ll it be worth to me?” Chuck said to gain time.

“I told you. . . two thousand dollars.”

“And these killings . . . how safe will they be?”

“There will be three . . . they will be safe. I’ve got it planned. I don’t stick my neck out even though my cut will be bigger than yours.”

Two thousand dollars! Chuck thought what he could do with all that money.

“I’m in . . . go ahead and tell me,” he said.

Poke put the gun back in his hip pocket.

“And the girl?”

“Leave her to me. I’ll talk her into it.”

“Fear is the key that opens wallets and handbags,” Poke said. “I have found a formula for fear.”

Looking at the expressionless brown face, the glittering black eyes and the Indian’s unnatural stillness, Chuck suddenly had the urge to stop him telling him more. Then he again thought of the money.

A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and dripped into his chin.

He listened as the Indian talked and as he listened he realised the Indian was on to a soft touch.

“We need a target rifle,” Poke concluded. “There’s a gunsmith in Paradise City. It’ll be easy. When we have it, we’re in business.”

“You know the City?” Chuck asked.

A strange, bitter smile crossed Poke’s lips.

“Yes. One time it was where I lived. Yes, I know it.”

Chuck was curious. He had told this Indian about himself. He felt entitled to be told in return.

“Did you work there?”

Poke got to his feet

“I’m going now to buy the car.” He stared Chuck. “You’re in?”

Chuck nodded.

“I’m in.”

“Talk to the girl. If you’re not sure of her, we leave her. We can find some other girl.”

“Okay.”

Chuck watched Poke walk away towards the highway, then picking up his towel, he went uneasily back to the derelict house.

***

It was after Meg had bathed in the canal and was drying her hair that Chuck came to sit with her on the bank.

Half an hour ago, she had been waiting anxiously for him and had asked immediately if Poke was going to take them with him in the car.

“Have a wash,” Chuck had said. “We’ll talk later.”

Now as he sat down beside her, she repeated the question.

“Are we going with him?”

“I am,” Chuck said, not looking at her.

Meg dropped the towel. She felt a clutch of fear that turned her cold.

“You are? What about me?”

Chuck plucked a handful of grass and tossed it into the air.

“Maybe from now on you’ll be better off on your own.”

“What do you mean?” Meg got up on her knees. “You’re not walking out on me?”

Seeing the panic in her eyes, he hid a grin. He lay back, resting his head on his hands as he stared up at the blue sky.

“Look, baby, I’m sick of living this way. I want money.” He took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You want one?”

“Chuck! You’re not aiming to leave me?”

He lit the cigarette, taking his time.

“Just listen, will you? To get real money, you have to take risks,” he said finally as she knelt at his side, watching him fearfully. “I don’t want you to get involved, so maybe it’d be better if you and me parted.”

Meg closed her eyes.

“You mean you don’t want me anymore . . . you’re sick of me?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?” Chuck drew in smoke and let it drift down his nostrils. “Can’t you listen? I’m thinking of you. I like you so why get you mixed up in something dangerous? I don’t want to lose you, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with this so we’d better part.”

“This? What do you mean . . . this?” Meg’s voice became shrill.

“Poke’s onto a smart racket. He needs me and he also needs a girl.” Chuck was pleased with the way he was handling this. “It could get rough. It could land you behind bars for twenty years.”

Meg turned cold. So they were planning something criminal! She had been with Chuck now for two months and although he had often talked of stealing, he had never done it. She had had the idea if she had encouraged him he would have done it, but she had always begged him not to do it in spite of them both being hungry at times. She realised this Indian had influenced Chuck. By his talk, he was pushing Chuck over the edge.

“Chuck!” She caught hold of his hand. “Let’s go! Let’s leave before he comes back! He’s sick in the head. I know he is. We’ll get a job somewhere together. We’ve managed fine so far. I’ll work for you . . . I . . .”

“Oh, shut up!” Chuck snarled. “I’m joining him so don’t start that sob stuff! You go and get a job . . . if that’s the way you like it. Do you want to stay out in the sun picking goddam oranges for the rest of your life - If you do . . . go ahead!”

Meg saw it was hopeless to persuade him. She drew in a shuddering breath of despair. An orange picker? What else unless she went home! She thought of her parents, three meals a day, routine, getting up, going to her father’s office, typing, going to bed, getting up, going to the office.

“Would you get twenty years too?” she asked.

Chuck crushed out his cigarette.

“Oh, sure, if it turned sour which it won’t, but I don’t give a damn. I want quick money and this will be quick money! Poke says he’ll pay you five hundred to do this job. He thinks you’ll do it, but I said you wouldn’t. I said it wasn’t your style.” He scratched his beard. “I said you hadn’t the guts/”

The money meant nothing to Meg, but being left on her own did. After two months with Chuck, she couldn’t imagine life without him.

“What will I have to do?”

Chuck turned his head so she shouldn’t see his smirk of triumph.

“What you’re told. Look, baby, the less you know about this the safer for you and for me. You can come along with us if and only if you do what Poke tells you without asking questions and without arguing. You get five hundred. When it’s finished you and me can go off to Los Angeles.”

“But, Chuck, this isn’t fair! Can’t you see that? I don’t know what I’m walking into!” Meg beat her clenched fists onto her knees. You say I could go to prison for twenty years and you won’t tell me. . . it’s not fair!”

“Oh, sure, but that’s the proposition.” Chuck got to his feet. “Take it or leave it, baby. Think it over. Poke and I leave in about half an hour. It’s up to you if you come with us.”

He was sure now he had her on the hook.

As he moved away, she said, “Chuck . . .”

“What is it?”

“Do you trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone, including you,” Chuck said. “I never have, but I do know he’s on to a soft touch. I do know he and I are going to make some fast money and that’s all I care about. You have half an hour.” He stared at her. “And remember, baby, once you’re in, you stay in . . . there’s no out . . .understand?” and he walked away.

Meg sat for a long time staring at the glittering water of the canal. Poke frightened her. She knew he was evil and a little mad. She knew she would lose Chuck if she said no. After all, she told herself finally, if things got too rough she could end her life. Her life was the only thing she really owned.

The only thing that really and truly belonged to her. Enough pills, a razor blade across her wrists and it would be finished . . . anything was better than to be left here without Chuck and without money and on her own.

She got to her feet and started back to the derelict house. Chuck had packed his rucksack and was sitting on the top step, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked at her, the smoke making his little eyes squint.

“I’ll pack,” she said. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re going to do what you’re told . . . no questions?”

She nodded.

Chuck’s grin was suddenly warm and friendly. “Fine. You know something?”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t want to have lost you.”

Meg felt tears rush to her eyes. This was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. The way her thin, white face lit up told Chuck he had said absolutely the right thing. He got up and she ran into his arms. He cupped her small buttocks and pulled her hard against him.

“Oh, Chuck . . . will it work out?” He could feel her trembling. “I’m scared. That Indian . . . he’s crazy . . . I’m sure he is.”

“You leave him to me, baby. Go and get packed.”

Twenty minutes later, Poke Toholo pulled up in front of them in an old Buick convertible. Although a little bartered, its chrome work gleamed. It was an anonymous car: dark blue with a dark blue top and faded red leather seats: a car you wouldn’t notice among the thousands of cars that rolled along Highway 4.

Seeing Chuck and Meg sitting on the steps, their rucksacks packed told him Chuck had played his cards right. He got out of the car and joined them.

“Okay?” he said, looking at Meg.

She nodded, feeling herself shrink inside as she met the black, glittering eyes. He turned to Chuck.

“Our first stop will be Fulford. You’ll get rid of that beard and get your hair cut. When we reach Paradise City we’re all going to look like three respectable people on vacation. You’ve got to get your clothes washed.”

Chuck grimaced. He was proud of his long hair and beard.

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Anything you say.”

Picking up the two rucksacks, he went with Poke to the car.

For a long moment, Meg sat there, feeling the sun on her face, then as Poke started the engine, she lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug and joined them.

TWO

D
etective 1st Grade Tom Lepski stroke into the Detectives’ room at Paradise City’s Police Headquarters like a man ten feet tall. His promotion from 2nd Grade had come through the previous day: a promotion he had been sweating for for the past eighteen months. The news had come in time for him to arrange a celebration. He had bought Carroll, his wife, an orchid, taken her to an expensive restaurant, got a little drunk and completed the evening to his satisfaction: Carroll had put out her best performance since their honeymoon night.

Lepski, tall, lean with steely blue eyes was an ambitious, shrewd cop whose opinion of himself was slightly higher than his actual achievements.

Sergeant Joe Beigler, the doyen of the Detectives’ desk, was catching the early morning stint. He leaned back in his chair when he saw Lepski and said with heavy sarcasm, “Now, the City’s safe. Take the chair, Tom. I’ll go feed my face.”

Always oblivious of sarcasm, Lepski shot his cuffs and moved to Beigler’s desk.

“Relax, Sarg. I’ll handle anything that comes up. Any news of Fred?”

Sergeant Fred Hess, Homicide division, was in hospital with a broken leg.

If he hadn’t been the main stay of the division, the breaking of his leg would have been one of the big laughs at headquarters. Hess had a six-year old son, Fred Hess junior, known in the district as the Monster of Mulberry Avenue where Hess lived. The kid had tossed a kitten, owned by a sour old spinster, up a tree just for the hell of it. Hess, rather than face the spinster and feeling responsible, had climbed the tree to rescue the kitten, watched by admiring neighbours. A bough had broken and Hess had descended to the ground with some violence, breaking his leg. The kitten, of course, had come down on its own steam and Fred Hess junior had stood over his groaning father, grinning his death’s head grin, asking what the fuss was all about. It was only by fleetness of foot that saved him from a clip on the ear, thrown at him by his infuriated father.

“Fred?” Beigler grinned. “He’s disgracing himself. The nurses are complaining about his language, but he’s mending. He should be up and out in a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll call him,” Lepski said. “I don’t want him to worry. If he knows I’m handling his job, he’ll relax.”

Beigler looked alarmed.

“Don’t do that. We want him back quick. A call like that could harden his arteries.”

As Beigler left, Lepski looked over at Detective 2nd Grade Max Jacoby who was hiding a grin.

“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “Do you think Joe’s jealous of me?”

“Who isn’t, Tom? Even I envy you.”

“You do?” Lepski was pleased.