Death of a Pusher (10 page)

Because there wasn’t anything else to do while we waited, I tried to figure out how the getaway after the payroll robbery had been worked. The suitcase, I was reasonably sure, contained the loot, probably also the costumes the bandits had worn and the shotgun handled by Kuzniki. Since Connie had brought in the suitcase, it had presumably been transferred to her somewhere along the getaway route. And since the two men had showed up here separately, they had probably split up after the transfer.

Another example of Cas Kuzniki’s detailed planning, I thought. Within minutes of the robbery the bandits had separated and were merely two lone men in ordinary business suits with nothing on them to connect them with the robbery. Then, unobtrusively, they rejoined at Kossack’s apartment.

I could imagine how it must have happened. As one drove the car away from the holdup scene, the other crouched in the rear seat, transferring the money from the payroll bags to the suitcase, stripping off his painter’s cap, stocking mask, gloves, and coveralls and packing them into the suitcase as well.

Finished, he probably called to the one driving who screeched to a momentary stop in some alley long enough for them to change places. By the time the second man had crammed his costume into the suitcase, most likely hiding the shotgun inside it, too, they would be near the rendezvous point.

Kuzniki had mentioned a panel truck, so presumably that was what Connie had been waiting in. By now the getaway car would have reduced its speed to the legal limit, since the farther it got from the robbery scene, the less safety there was in speed and the more there was in becoming inconspicuous. Probably the panel truck had been parked in some alley, where observation was unlikely. There would have been a momentary halt alongside it as the man in the back of the getaway car stepped out, swung the suitcase into the back of the truck, and climbed back into the car. Both vehicles would then instantly move on, but at the alley mouth the getaway car would turn one way, the panel truck the other.

Blocks away from the transfer point, the getaway car would stop again to let the man in the rear get out, probably near a streetcar or bus line. A few blocks farther on, the driver would pull into a parking place, get out, and walk away. The getaway car, of course, would be a stolen one.

I imagined that within ten minutes of the holdup the two bandits had become inconspicuous bus or streetcar passengers, many blocks apart from each other, and with nothing on their persons to connect them with the robbery.

The code knock came at the door, and Kuzniki let Connie back in.

Closing the door behind her, he said, “Bring the suitcase out here.”

As the blonde went into the bedroom, I said, “I think you’re making a mistake, Cas. Why don’t you just tie us up and leave us here? With the cops looking for me at headquarters, it’ll be hours before they get around to looking here. You could be clear out of the state.”

“I like this state,” he said.

Connie carried the suitcase into the front room and set it down.

“You can carry it, Matt,” Kuzniki said. “It’ll keep your hands occupied, in case you get any ideas.”

Marvin Johnson said in a trembling voice, “Why don’t you let me go, mister? I swear I won’t call the cops or anything. Honest.”

“Get on your feet,” Kuzniki told him.

Johnson reluctantly rose from the sofa. I stood up, too.

I said, “The cops won’t buy this, Cas. They might if I was the only one to disappear. But with the hotel desk clerk also mysteriously missing, they’ll never turn Charlie loose. Your best bet is to tie us up and run.”

The blonde said worriedly, “He’s got a point, Cas. Aren’t the cops going to figure Fatty’s disappearance is tied in with this guy’s?”

Kuzniki looked thoughtful. After a moment he said, “Thanks for the suggestion, Matt. Take off your necktie.”

I was a little surprised, but mostly I was relieved. Obediently I stripped off my necktie and handed it to him.

“Tura around and cross your wrists behind you,” he ordered.

When I obeyed, he said to the blonde, “Tie his hands.”

She did a thorough job of it, though it wasn’t as thorough as she thought. I tensed my muscles to make my wrists swell as much as possible. When she finished and I relaxed them, there wasn’t enough slack to free my hands, but at least the necktie was loose enough not to interfere with the circulation.

Kuzniki told me to sit back down on the sofa. Then he drew my gun from his coat pocket and handed it to Connie.

“Keep him covered,” he said. “If he tries anything, shoot. You got the guts to?”

“Sure,” she said, staring at me coldly. “He’ll stay put.”

Expertly she broke the gun to check the load, then snapped the cylinder home again. She trained the gun on me.

“I’ll be back,” Kuzniki said. He motioned the desk clerk toward the door. “You live here, Fatty?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “I have an apartment on the first floor.”

“You got a wife?”

“No, sir. I live alone.”

“That makes it easier,” Kuzniki said. “I was afraid I was going to have to use that rest room again. Lead on to your apartment.”

“Hey,” I said. “What you planning to do?”

In an easy tone Kuzniki said, “Did you think I’d leave you jokers tied up in the same apartment, where you could pick at each other’s knots?”

His tone struck me as too easy. The fat man started to look relieved, but I didn’t have his faith in the word of bank robbers. And I didn’t like the subdued glitter in Kuzniki’s eyes.

I began to suspect my suggestion had been a mistake. But since the only way to undo it would have been to talk Kuzniki back into his original plan of taking both of us off and killing us, I decided not to compound the error by opening my mouth again.

Kuzniki opened the door a crack to check the hall, then pulled the door wide and motioned the fat man through. The door closed behind them.

I said to the girl, “What’s he have in mind?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Cas? He’s gonna tie Fatty up in his own apartment. You heard him.”

“I heard what he said. He was thinking something else.”

“Could be,” she said indifferently. “He’s a smart one.”

“Too smart for Charlie,” I said. “You know he’s going to ditch you and run off with the whole loot, don’t you?”

She smiled disdainfully. “You tried that on Charlie. It won’t work on me either.”

If I had been certain that when Kuzniki returned he would merely bind me a little more thoroughly, put a gag in my mouth, and walk off and leave me, I might have been content just to sit and wait for him. But the more I thought about that glitter in his eyes, the less I liked it.

I said, “I don’t think you’d really shoot me if I made a break. I think I’ll just get up and walk out, tied hands and all.”

I started to get up from the couch. The hammer of the pistol clicked back. Looking at her, I saw her finger begin to whiten on the trigger.

I sank back into position. Carefully she lowered the hammer again.

“Now that that’s settled, what would you like to talk about?” she asked sardonically.

“Nothing. I think I’d rather talk to Cas.”

The burly bank robber was gone about fifteen minutes. When the code knock finally sounded and the blonde opened the door, he was alone.

Without bothering to close the door behind him, he said rapidly, “Stow that gun in your bag and go on ahead, Connie. O.K., Matt, on your feet.”

“So I’m going with you after all?” I said without moving.

He took out his automatic. “Yeah. It would be simpler for you to walk, but I’ll carry you over my shoulder dead if you insist.”

I guessed he was big enough to do it. Rising, I said, “I can’t carry the suitcase with my hands tied.”

“Never mind the suitcase. I’ll handle it. Just stay ahead of me.”

I walked out into the hall. Kuzniki followed with the suitcase in his left hand and the automatic still in his right. He set the suitcase down in the hall long enough to click the door shut behind him.

Connie was at the head of the stairs, looking down. Motioning us forward, she moved down the stairs. By the time we reached the top step, she was on the landing, peering down into the lobby. She motioned us down again.

The lobby was deserted. I had the bitter thought that the Axton must be a dull place to live. Cas Kuzniki had been herding people all over the place at gunpoint without running into a single tenant. Then I realized there was nothing very remarkable about this. The apartments at the Axton were so small that most were occupied by single people, who at this time of day would all be at work.

Apparently everybody in the neighborhood was at work. Or rather, I corrected myself, at lunch near wherever they worked, for it was about a quarter of one. If there had been any restaurants in the block, the street probably would have been crowded, but there was nothing but apartment houses. We waited inside the door as Connie opened the back of the panel truck. When she motioned us out, there was one lone pedestrian a half-block away with his back to us.

As we started across the sidewalk, Kuzniki thrust his gun in his pocket, but kept me covered through the cloth. I climbed into the truck, which was empty except for a jack and some tire tools lying on the floor. Heaving in the suitcase, he climbed in after me and drew his gun again. Connie closed the rear door and went around to the cab.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Kuzniki said, turning the suitcase flat and seating himself on it with his back against the rear door.

That left me with the floor to sit on. I settled myself against the back of the cab seat on a flat tire iron.

Starting the engine, Connie said over her shoulder, “Where to?”

“Head east to the river road, then south,” Kuzniki said. “We can’t do anything until after dark, so take your time.”

By “do anything,” I assumed he meant kill me and dispose of my body.

Maybe there was a description out on the panel truck and we would be stopped by cops, I thought hopefully. Then I decided there wouldn’t be, because the truck probably wasn’t stolen. Kuzniki wouldn’t risk having the transfer car on a job stopped on routine suspicion, so undoubtedly either he, Kossack, or Connie had a legal right of possession. Possibly it was rented.

I strained at my bonds, but couldn’t feel any give. The tie was wool, which inclines to stretch, but it was wound around my wrists several times. It was knotted at the top of my wrists, where I couldn’t reach the knot.

Connie called back to Kuzniki, “What about the desk clerk?”

“He hung himself in his apartment,” Kuzniki said casually.

I felt my stomach lurch. If I had kept my mouth shut, the man might still have been alive. Not that he’d have anything but death to look forward to, but at least he wouldn’t be dead yet.

Connie said dubiously, “Think the cops will swallow it as suicide?”

“He left a note. Not much of one, because I didn’t want him to know what he was writing. All it said was, ‘Sorry it has to be this way.’ But it’s in his own hand. I think they’ll buy it as a coincidence having nothing to do with Matt’s disappearance.”

The poor scared fat man, I thought. I could imagine him trembling under the bank robber’s gun, writing what he was told and hoping its purpose wasn’t what he suspected. For despite Kuzniki’s comment about not wanting the man to know what he was writing, he must have suspected. I suppose that in his hopelessness he obeyed the order to write simply to stretch out his life a final few seconds.

I was sitting squarely on the tire tool, its end protruding from behind me like a short tail. I worked a piece of the necktie under it and strained upward. The cloth seemed to stretch, but when I relaxed, the tie didn’t seem any looser. I tried again.

The truck turned right. Shortly afterward, it began to pick up speed, and I realized we must be beyond the city line.

Connie called, “You know, we never had any lunch, Cas. Think I could risk stopping somewhere for sandwiches?”

“No,” he said in a definite tone. “We’ll eat late tonight.”

“I haven’t had any lunch either,” I offered.

He merely gave me a brittle smile.

Again I pulled my arms upward away from the tire tool. This time when I relaxed, the tie had definitely stretched. Not quite enough, though. I still couldn’t slip it over my hands.

After a time Connie said, “How far you want me to drive?”

“How much gas you got?” Kuzniki countered.

“Full tank.”

“Then just keep going until dark. After our friend leaves us, we’ll gas up and keep going south to a hideout I know.”

At this time of year it wouldn’t be dark for another seven hours, which would put us in the next state even if we only averaged forty miles an hour. Apparently Kuzniki meant to plant me somewhere far enough from home so that I’d never be found.

It was hot in the back of the truck. I could feel sweat running down my arms. Periodically I kept tugging my bound wrists upward and away from the tire iron. The necktie grew damp from my sweat and stretched a little more. It still wasn’t quite enough. Kuzniki was directly facing me, so I couldn’t put my full effort into it. If my face had started to redden with strain, he would have made me turn around so that he could check my bonds.

We had been riding about a half-hour before I managed to stretch the necktie enough to free my hands.

I gripped the tire iron, shifted position slightly, and drew it from beneath me. The movement caused Kuzniki to raise the gun from his lap and center it on me. When I remained still, he seemed to decide I had just been trying to get more comfortable, and the gun dropped to his lap again.

There was a small window in the rear door, too high for me to see anything through except a stretch of sky. Kuzniki’s head was even with it, however, as he was elevated by the suitcase he sat on. I sat a little more upright and stared curiously at a cloud passing by the window.

When Kuzniki gave me a sharp glance, I immediately shifted my gaze downward to my lap. A moment later I glanced at the window again and let an interested expression form on my face.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, and turned my gaze aside.

He didn’t bite. Instead of turning to glance out through the window, he called, “You watching your rear-view mirror, Connie?”

“Sure. Why?”

“What’s behind us?”

“A car about a quarter of a mile back with a guy and a girl in it. We just passed them.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing I can see.”

Smiling faintly, I flicked my gaze at the window again, then immediately away. This time I didn’t even see the cloud. There was only clear sky.

Centering his gun on me, Kuzniki quickly turned his head to glance back through the window. I doubt that he considered the maneuver particularly risky. Presumably my hands were tied behind my back and I was seated, with my legs awkwardly spread out before me, several feet away from him.

I whipped the tire tool from behind me and threw it pry edge first, as you would hurl a knife. He started to turn his head back just in time to catch it squarely in the left eye.

His body recoiled backward, and his full two hundred and fifty pounds hit the rear door, snapping the catch. The door flew open, and he went out head over heels, his arms outflung and blood gushing from the ragged hole where his left eye had been.

I grabbed the handle of the suitcase just in time to keep it from following him.

Possibly Connie wouldn’t have known anything was wrong behind her if the door hadn’t banged shut again, then sprung open a second time. This time it stayed open, and through it I could see Kuzniki rolling over on the concrete road in what was probably his second backward somersault. I really didn’t have my attention on him, though. I was clawing at the suitcase snaps.

I felt the truck slow, and Connie called over her shoulder, “What happened?”

When there was no answer, she braked and began to pull off the road. I had both snaps of the suitcase open now, but the thing was locked. Miraculously, the tire iron hadn’t followed Kuzniki out the back door. Grabbing it up, I shoved the pry edge under the hasp of the lock and jerked. The lock snapped open just as the truck came to a full stop and the blonde twisted around to peer in the back.

Then it was a contest of speed. Connie clawed open her handbag for the revolver in it while I threw up the suitcase lid. Charlie Kossack’s gun and shoulder holster lay on top of a folded pair of tan coveralls. Inside there was also a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun.

The shoulder harness lay on top of the pistol, and I wasn’t sure I had time to fling it aside. I grabbed for the shotgun.

The blonde’s hand was coming out of her bag when I rested the twin barrels on the top of the seat, the muzzles inches from her head and said, “Uh-uh.”

She froze in position. The gun dropped back into the handbag, and the handbag fell to the seat. Shifting the shotgun to my left hand, I reached down with my right, plucked the gun from the bag, and thrust it into my hip holster. Then I tossed the shotgun back into the suitcase and slammed the lid. Connie was reaching for the door handle when I grabbed her under both arms and dragged her over the back of the seat. She came over face up, making a three-point landing on the metal floor of the truck.

I don’t think the jar hurt her feet, but the third point she landed on brought an indignant “Ouch!” from her.

“You shouldn’t have tried to run,” I said, pulling her to her feet. “You would hurt a lot more if I’d had to shoot you there.”

Pushing her to the rear door, I jumped down and dragged her after me.

Two hundred yards back, a car had stopped on the shoulder alongside the sprawled figure of Casmir Kuzniki, and a man was just getting out from behind the wheel. I figured that was too far for us to walk.

The truck door’s rear lock was broken so that the door wouldn’t latch. Letting it hang open, I marched Connie to the cab’s left door, pushed her under the wheel to the far side and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You don’t have to be so rough,” she complained.

“I lose my chivalry with gun molls,” I said. “Give me any trouble and I’ll backhand your head off your shoulders.”

She understood that kind of talk. She probably was used to hearing it from the kind of men she went with. She sat quietly with her hands in her lap as I made a U-turn and drove back to where Kuzniki lay.

I parked on the right-hand shoulder and dragged the woman along by the arm when I crossed the road, feeling no desire to have to chase her down across country. Kuzniki had completed his final somersault by landing on his face, and the back of his head was a flattened and bloody pulp. He must have hit head down when he fell from the truck, killing himself instantly.

The face of the driver who had stopped was a pale green. He was only about twenty years old, and a girl of about the same age still sat in the car. He wasn’t doing anything about the dead man. He was just standing there staring down sickly.

I said, “Don’t grieve about him. He would have ended up in the gas chamber anyway.”

He looked at me without understanding.

Glancing at Connie, I saw she was as green as the young man. I knew she wouldn’t try to run, for the moment, at least no farther than to bend over the ditch edging the shoulder. Releasing her arm, I stooped to pick up and pocket the automatic lying in the road, then dragged the body by the feet over to the shoulder.

A state patrol car drove by at that moment, made a U-turn, and came back to see what the trouble was.

It was three-thirty P.M. when I turned Connie and the suitcase over to Robbery Division. She had clammed up so completely during the drive back to town that I still didn’t know her last name. She had no identification on her and she wouldn’t tell me. I left the problem of finding out who she was to the Robbery Division cops.

From Robbery I went to Homicide to report the rigged suicide of Marvin Johnson. This held me up some more, so it was nearly four when I finally walked into Vice, Gambling, and Narcotics.

Captain Spangler, Lieutenant Wynn, Hank Carter, and Carl Lincoln were standing in a circle around someone seated at a corner table. When I pushed into the group, I saw it was Charles Kossack. He glanced up at me, and his was the third face I had seen turn green that afternoon.

I said, “Hello, Charlie. How’d your story go over?”

Before he could answer, Lieutenant Wynn exploded, “Where have you been, Sergeant? What do you mean leaving a suspect unattended in the squadroom and wandering off for hours?”

“I guess it went over,” I said to Kossack.

“I’m speaking to you, Sergeant!” Wynn yelled. “And where’s your necktie?”

I guess it was the last question that did it. Suddenly I was fed to the eyebrows with Robert Wynn. I turned to face him and I felt my nostrils flare. But before I could open my mouth, the captain said, “Rudowski!”

When I glanced at him, he shook his head. “Don’t say it. What happened?”

I looked back at Wynn and saw his face had smoothed. Now that Spangler had taken over the inquisition, he wouldn’t dream of intruding with any more questions of his own.

My anger died. “I accidentally walked into the hideout of the pair that pulled the Whittington payroll robbery,” I said. “Kossack here and our old friend Cas Kuzniki. They decided to take me for a ride, but first they had to rig an alibi for Kossack because Lieutenant Wynn knew I was moving in to pick Kossack up. So they thought up the bright idea of having him drive my car down here and letting a squadroom full of dumb cops be his alibi.”

Everyone stared down at Kossack. If he had been a turtle, his head would have disappeared.