1963 - One Bright Summer Morning (13 page)

Later still, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

K
ramer sat in a lounging chair, a cigar gripped between his teeth. Behind him stood Moe Zegetti. Opposite him, in another lounging chair, sat Vic Dermott.

From where he sat, Vic could see through the window across the patio to the garage. The garage doors were open. Riff was working on Vic's Cadillac. He had already replaced the sparking plugs. He was now removing the licence plates and replacing them with plates Kramer had brought with him.

The time was some minutes after nine o'clock.

Kramer said, “You'll reach Van Wylie's place around eleven o'clock. You know what to say. You have to convince him that if he doesn't pay up without fuss he'll never see his daughter again. I'm not fooling. If something turns sour, I'll bow out and leave you all to the Cranes. Understand?”

“I understand,” Vic said.

“He'll try to find out who you are,” Kramer went on. “If he does find out and traces you here, there'll be a massacre.” He leaned forward and pointed a thick finger at Vic. “The Cranes don't surrender. They'll kill your wife, your baby and the Van Wylie girl and then they'll fight it out to a finish.”

Vic didn't say anything.

“So it is up to you to convince Van Wylie to give you the cheques. When you have them, you will drive to San Bernadino. You'll go to the Chase National Bank and cash the first one. You will then drive to Los Angeles and go to the Merchant Fidelity Bank and cash the second cheque. You'll put up for the night at the Mount Crescent Hotel. I've reserved a room for you in the name of Jack Howard. At eleven o'clock, I'll telephone you. If there are no snags you will go to the Chase National Bank in L.A. and cash the third cheque. From then on you'll drive up the coast, cashing cheques from the list you have. You will finally arrive at Frisco. I'll be waiting for you at the Rose Arms Hotel. You'll hand over the money to me and then you are free to return here. By the time you get back, Miss Van Wylie will have been released and the rest of my people will have gone. From then on, you say and do nothing. To you, this has never happened. But if you start acting smart and imagine you can give us away to the Feds, one day someone will arrive at your home and he will wipe you, your wife and baby out. That's a promise. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Vic said woodenly.

“Well, that's it . . . don't say you haven't been warned.” Kramer got to his feet. “The car's ready. It's time you got off.”

Vic stood up.

“My wife is afraid of being alone. What guarantee have I that nothing happens to her while I am away and while you're not here?”

“My dear fella,'' Kramer said with his expansive insincere smile, “you have nothing to worry about. He's here.” He waved to Moe. “The Cranes may be a little wild, but our friend here can control them. Anyway, so long as you do as you're told and Mrs. Dermott doesn't attempt to run away, there is no possible danger to her or your baby.”

Vic had to be content with that.

His bag was packed and he was ready to go. He dreaded saying goodbye to Carrie but when he walked into the bedroom, he found her calm and she even managed a smile.

“It's all right, Vic,” she said putting her arms around him. “I'm over my fright now. I know it's the only thing for you to do. Don't worry about me. I'll manage.”

“I'll get back as soon as I can,” Vic said, fondling her. “It'll work out all right. This is something we'll talk about for the rest of our days.”

Kramer came to the door.

“Ready to go, Mr. Dermott?”

Vic kissed his son, kissed Carrie, looked long and earnestly at her, then pulling away from her and picking up his bag, he followed Kramer to the front door.

Lifting Junior from his cot, Carrie sat on the bed, her heart cold and frightened, and hugged the baby to her.

* * *

On the highway leading to Arrow Lake, Kramer, who had been following Vic's Cadillac in his hired car, tapped his horn button, waved his hand, then branched off on to the secondary road that led to his hotel. Vic saw him go in the driving mirror and continued on his way until in his turn, he turned off the highway and headed for the Van Wylies estate.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up the electrified gate, got out of the car and went across to the telephone box. A man's voice answered as soon as he had lifted the receiver.

“A caller here for Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said. “He's expecting me. It is to do with Miss Van Wylie.”

“Come right on up,” the man said curtly.

As Vic replaced the receiver, he heard a click and saw the gate swing back. He got in his car and drove up the twisting drive until he finally reached the main entrance to the big house.

Merrill Andrews was waiting at the top of the steps. He and Vic regarded each other as Vic came up the steps. Andrews was startled to see such a man as Vic. He was expecting some thug: not only surprised, but puzzled as he had a sudden idea he had seen this man somewhere before.

“My business is with Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said.

“This way,” Andrews said and strode across a big lobby, through a room lined with books and out on to a paved patio where John Van Wylie was waiting.

As Vic came into the strong sunlight, Van Wylie, dressed in a white shirt, black riding breeches and polished knee-high boots, turned to stare at him. With a flick of his hand, Van Wylie dismissed Andrews, then walking to the garden table, he took from a box a cigar which he lit before saying, “Well? Who are you and what do you want?”

“You and I, Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said quietly, “are in the same position. We both have people we love in danger. My wife and baby are in the hands of the men who have kidnapped your daughter. I am more concerned with their safety than I am with your daughter's.”

Van Wylie studied Vic for a long moment, then he waved to a basket chair. “Sit down . . . you talk. I'll listen.”

“These people have picked on me to persuade you to part with four million dollars,” Vic said, sitting down. “Yesterday, they arrived at my house with your daughter and took over. If I don't get the money from you, they intend to murder your daughter, my wife and baby. These people don't bluff. I have seen them . . . you haven't. There's a young thug with them who could be capable of any cruelty. I think he has already murdered my servant.”

“Where is your house?” Van Wylie asked.

“I have been warned that if I tell you who I am and where I live, my wife and baby will suffer,” Vic said. “This is no idle threat. I can tell you nothing about myself: all I can tell you is that if you want your daughter back unharmed, you must give me ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand dollars each cheque.”

Van Wylie turned away and walked to the end of the patio, blowing a stream of cigar smoke through his nostrils.

Vic waited. After a few moments, Van Wylie turned and came back.

“I guess you realize you're making yourself an accessory to a capital crime?” he asked, standing over Vic and glaring at him. “When this is over and the police move in, you could land up in the gas chamber.”

“I don't give a damn if I land up the middle of the Pacific,” Vic said quietly. “All I'm concerned about is keeping my wife and kid safe.”

Van Wylie was now staring at the livid bruise down the side of Vic's face.

“How did you get that?” he demanded, pointing.

“From the young thug I told you about,” Vic said. “He wraps a bicycle chain around his fist and then he hits you . . . it's some sock.”

Van Wylie took the cigar from his lips, stared at it in disgust and then dropped it into the ashtray.

“This thug,” Vic went on, “is capable of driving his chained fist into my baby's face or into my wife's face or even into your daughter's face. You have plenty of money. So let's have it! Ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand. I don't see any reason, except pride, why you are hesitating. If your daughter gets a punch in the face from this thug, she won't have much face left. I'm not just talking, Mr. Van Wylie, I am giving you the stark facts.”

“How do I know, if I give you the money, I'll get my daughter back?” Van Wylie asked, putting his blunt, powerful hands on the table and leaning forward to stare at Vic.

“You don't know: as I don't know when I get back, I won't find my wife and baby dead,” Vic said, “but that's the way it is. You have plenty of money. If you want to gamble on getting your daughter back, you have the answer.”

“I haven't the answer,” Van Wylie said and sat down in a basket chair opposite Vic's. “I can give you the money, but I still don't know what I'm buying.”

Vic made an impatient movement. He didn't say anything.

After a pause, Van Wylie said, “You have seen my daughter? She's all right?”

“Yes, I've seen her, and as far as I know right now she is all right.”

“Tell me about these people who have kidnapped her. How many are there?”

“My business with you is to persuade you to give me the ransom money,” Vic said. “I have been warned to give you no information. All you have to do is to decide whether you are paying up or whether you are going to leave your daughter in the hands of these people. That's all.”

Van Wylie stared at him, his hard eyes probing, then he nodded and got to his feet.

“Wait here. I'll fix it.”

He walked quickly across the patio and into the study where Andrews was waiting.

Van Wylie issued his orders and Andrews got busy on the telephone. He spoke to the manager of the California and Merchant Bank. The manager, sounding a little startled, said he would have the certified cheques ready in an hour.

“This guy isn't one of them,” Van Wylie said as Andrews replaced the receiver. “They are using him as their stooge . . . smart. He has a wife and baby. They've moved into his house with Zelda. He has to collect the money. If there is a slip up, they'll take it out of his family.”

“I've seen him before,” Andrews said. “I'm trying to remember who he is . . . someone: a personality. I think he's to do with the theatre.”

Van Wylie sat on the edge of the desk. His small hard eyes were bleak as he looked at Andrews.

“They've knocked him around. Did you see the bruise on his face? These punks aren't made of custard.” He leaned forward. “Where have you seen him before?”

“I don't know,” Andrews said. “But I'm sure I have seen him. He's someone who's been in the news.”

“That helps a lot, doesn't it?” Van Wylie said, a snarl in his voice. “You think! I want to know who he is!”

Andrews walked over to the window and stared out.

Where had he seen this man before? Why did he connect him with the theatre? Was he an actor? He was still standing there, digging into his memory when Van Wylie with a snort of impatience went back to where Vic was waiting.

* * *

Moe was like a flea on a hot stove. He couldn't relax: he couldn't concentrate: all he could think about was his mother. What was happening to her? he kept asking himself. Was she any better? Was she dying? From time to time, he looked longingly at the telephone, longing to pick up the receiver and call the hospital, but he knew such a call could spell disaster. If by chance Van Wylie had alerted the Feds and they traced the call to Wastelands, his chance of gaining a quarter of a million dollars would go up in gunsmoke.

But he had to know!

Zelda and Carrie were together with the baby in the bedroom. He could hear them talking. The Cranes were lolling in the sun, drinking Cokes and looking through the comics

Riff had found in the ranch house. The setup seemed peaceful enough. Moe struggled with the temptation. He knew he would be going against Kramer's orders, but he had to get to a telephone where he could talk to the hospital and find out how his mother was. He just couldn't go on waiting and hoping. He had to know!

The nearest call booth was at Boston Creek, a twenty-mile drive. If he drove fast, he could go and return in just, over the hour. What could happen in that time? Sweating, nervous and anxious, he got to his feet. He had to go!

The Cranes looked up as Moe came out of the ranch house and headed towards them.

As Moe reached them, he said. “I've a little business to fix. I'll be right back. You two stick around. There's to be no trouble. Just see the two girls remain right where they are.” He looked at his watch. “I'll be back in an hour.”

“Sure,” Riff said and grinned. “We'll be here when you get back. We have no place to go.”

Moe stared suspiciously at him.

“You stay right here,” he said. “I'm not having any trouble.”

“Who's talking about trouble?” Riff said, stretching his powerful frame lazily. “Me . . . I'm enjoying myself. You shove off. We can take care of everything.”

Moe, suddenly uneasy as he saw the sneering expression in Riff's eyes, hesitated, but when the Cranes picked up their comics and seemed to forget him, he turned and walked to the garage. He got into the car he had come in, gunned the engine and drove down the dusty drive to the highway.

As his car disappeared in a cloud of dust, Riff dropped his comic, stretched elaborately and then got to his feet.

Chita looked at him.

“Where do you think you're going?” she asked, her eyes suspicious

“Belt up!” Riff snarled. “I'm going to stretch my legs. What's it to you where I go?”

“Skip it, Riff! Sit down! I know what you're planning to do! You cut it out! We're in this racket for ten thousand dollars! You're not going to foul it up!”

Riff grinned at her. “You dope! Can't you see it's fouled up already? I'm going to get me a little fun. You stick here. I won't tell you twice.”

“Leave the girl alone!” Chita said, but she didn't move.

Her brother's vicious expression warned her that if she stood up, he would hit her.

“Screw you!” Riff said and hitching up his leather trousers, he swaggered towards the ranch house.

* * *

If there was one thing Zelda disliked more than another, it was babies. To her, babies were noisy at one end and wet at the other. To her, they were revolting little animals who always attracted more attention than she ever received, even though she was the third richest girl in the world. Bring a baby on the scene and everyone seemed to forget about her. She hated babies!