1977 - My Laugh Comes Last (21 page)

I looked at him in disgust.

‘You would swear to anything to save your rotten image.'

I stopped the tape recorder and pressed the rewind button.

'At least, I have a chance, but you haven't. I am now going to the police. With this tape, and the other tapes I have I stand a chance. I lifted the spool off the sprocket and dropped the spool into my pocket. 'This is the end of your road. I'll leave you the gun.'

'Wait, Larry!' There was a desperate urgency in his voice. 'We can still fix this. All I ask you is to hold everything until tomorrow. We two, together, can work a way out of this mess.'

I regarded him.

'In another few hours, long before tomorrow, four men will die of suffocation. Do you want that?'

'Don't you see, son? A madman, and three enemies of society! Who cares what happens to them?' He pounded his fists on his desk. 'With them out of the way, there are no witnesses. If they haven't broken into Marsh's deposit box, then it doesn't matter. If they have found the photographs, I know the shape of the envelope. I'll be there when Manson opens the vault, and I'll get the photographs! Larry! I raised you from nothing! Be grateful! Do this for me!'

The sound of a car starting up made both of us stiffen.

'What's that?' Brannigan demanded.

'No witnesses? At a guess, I think Glenda has been listening to what you have been saying, and she is now on her way to try to rescue Harry.'

He got unsteadily to his feet.

'Stop her!'

He lurched to his feet, gun in hand and jerked open the front door.

His Cadillac was racing down the sandy road. Brannigan raised the gun. I caught hold of his wrist, and forced the gun down.

'This is the end of the road for you,' I said. 'Now it's your chance to play god with God,' and I left him, and began my long walk back to my car.

The teenager was swinging on the gate as I approached.

'Hello,' she said, with her impish grin. ‘Did you see her?' She hung on to the gate while she lifted her hair off her face. 'She went by just now.'

The distant snap of gunfire came over the sound of her childish voice, over the slap of the sea on the beach, and over the screech of the gulls.

I paused.

She cocked her head on one side.

‘That was a gun,' she said. 'Someone shooting! How exciting!'

I thought of Brannigan. I thought again of all he had done for me. I thought of his ruthlessness. A bullet through a head can solve every problem.

‘You've been watching too much television,' I said, my voice husky, and I walked on to my car.

On the drive back to Sharnville, I banished Brannigan from my mind. As I got into my car, I hoped the sound of gunfire I had heard meant he was free of his wife, free of his ruthlessness, and that the credit and debit balance of his life would add up on the credit side.

I now had to think of myself. I had some five hours before the air in the vault became exhausted. Before I alerted the police, I had to talk to Manson. He was now my last hope.

Driving along the highway, I glanced at my watch. The time now was 13.00. I had no idea how Manson spent his weekends. I imagined he was the kind of man to spend his off days with his wife and his two children, probably pottering in the garden.

Seeing a cafe-bar, I pulled up and shut myself in one of the telephone booths. I didn't want to waste time driving out to Manson's home, which was on the east side of Sharnville, only to find him out.

I dialled his number and listened to the ringing tone, then just as I was beginning to think he was out, there was a click, then Manson said, 'Who is this?'

'Larry Lucas.'

'Oh, Larry.' His voice lifted a note. 'Hold a moment.' I heard him say something indistinctly. He probably had his hand over the mouthpiece. 'Will you come out here quickly, Larry?'

From the urgency in his voice, I knew Glenda had played it smart. I should have thought of Manson.

'Hostage, Alec?' I asked quietly.

'Yes. Just come out here. Don't do anything. You understand? Just come.' The strain in his voice came over the line.

'I'm on my way,' I said, and hung up.

I could imagine the scene: Manson, his wife and his two kids facing a gun held by Glenda.

I hesitated. Should I alert the police? Don't do anything.

There had been a desperate plea in Manson's voice.

I remembered Glenda as she threatened me with the gun: You are going to get Harry out of that vault! If you don't, I'll kill you! I remembered the vicious, murderous glare in her green eyes.

This wasn't the time for the police.

Leaving the cafe-bar at a run, I got into my car, and headed fast down the highway. At this hour, most people were on the beach or in restaurants, so I had a clear run, but I took no chances. I kept just within the speed limit, but only just.

As I pulled into the drive leading to Manson's house, I saw Brannigan's Cadillac parked by the front door, then I knew for certain that Glenda was in the house with a gun.

I got out of my car, and walked fast around the Caddy, and up to the front door which opened as I arrived at the top of the steps.

Manson stood facing me. We stared at each other. I found it hard to recognize this tall, thin man, wearing a blue cotton shirt and white slacks: the man I had come to regard as an efficient, impersonal banker. Before me, was a terrified, sweating wreck of a man whose mouth twitched, whose eyes were dull with shock.

‘For Christ's sake!' he shouted at me. 'What's happening? This woman is threatening to kill my children! She wants me to open the vault! I've told her over and over again, I can't do it until Monday morning!'

'But you can, you sonofabitch!' Glenda cried from the living-room doorway. 'Come in here!'

Manson, trembling, moved to one side, and I walked into the living-room.

I was confronted by the scene I expected.

On the big settee was Monica Manson, her arms around her two small children. I had met Monica at the occasional banker's cocktail party. She was a nice, housewife type: entirely suitable for Manson. The two children, a boy and a girl, looked scared. The girl was crying.

Glenda backed away. She was holding a small automatic rifle that could be deadly at any range. She looked devilish as she glared at me.

‘You're opening the vault!' she shrilled. "You're going to get Harry out!' She turned to Monica. 'If you want to see your fink of a husband alive, do nothing! You alert the cops, and I'll blow his goddamn head off!' She swung the gun to cover me. 'Let's go!' The gun moved to Manson. You too!’

Then I realized she was making the same mistake that Klaus had made when he had joined in the bank raid. If Glenda had used her head, she would have realized her position was unassailable if she stayed with Monica and the children. Threatening to kill them would have given me no room in which to manoeuvre. I would have had to open the vault, but she was so worked up, she didn't seem to realize she was throwing away her trump card.

Not giving her a chance to change her thinking, I caught hold of Manson's arm and half dragged him out into the hot sunshine.

'Leave this to me! Say nothing!' I whispered urgently as I heard Glenda scream at Monica not to do a thing.

I was now calmly cold. Poor Manson was in such a state, I had to hold on to his arm to steady him.

"We'll use my car,' I said to Glenda. ‘ I have all my tools in the trunk.'

'Listen, smart ass,' she said, 'you try anything tricky with me, and I'll blow his goddamn head off! You drive. He sits with you! Get moving!'

We got in the car; Glenda at the back, the gun barrel nudging Manson's neck.

'Hurry it up, damn you!' she screamed at me.

I drove fast to the highway, and headed for Sharnville's Main Street.

'Glenda, listen to me,' I said quietly. 'I'll get Harry out, but this is the end of your road and his. Brannigan shot himself.'

I heard Manson catch his breath sharply, but he had the sense to keep silent.

'It could still be a long road, you sonofabitch,' Glenda said. 'I don't give a damn about Brannigan. There's only one man in my life, and that's Harry! If we're going, we'll go together, and this fink and you'll go with us! Make no mistake about that!'

I slowed as we approached Main Street. Looking ahead, I saw the bank guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder, standing outside his sentry-box. There were few cars on the street: not more than a dozen people were wandering aimlessly, shop window gazing.

I pulled up in front of the bank.

The guard straightened, peered, then recognizing Manson, he gave him a salute, then he saw Glenda's gun. His round, middle-aged face turned the colour of mutton fat.

He clawed at his gun. The hammering sound of the automatic rifle exploded in my ears as Glenda shot him.

'Out!' she screamed. 'Get the bank open!'

Shocked, I slid out of the car, ran around, opened the trunk and grabbed up the plastic sack. My hands were shaking as I found the neutralizer, aware people were shouting. As I pushed the button on the neutralizer, and as the bank doors swung open, I saw a cop come running down the street, gun in hand. He paused, stared at us, recognized Manson, then saw Glenda's gun. He fatally hesitated as she fired a short burst at him. He went down, clutching his chest.

'Get in!' she screamed, and herded Manson and me into the bank. 'Shut the doors!'

I flicked on the neutralizer, and the bank doors closed.

'Where's the vault?' she demanded.

'Over there,' and I pointed.

She ran through the invisible alarm beam to the vault doors. By breaking the beam, she had unwittingly alerted the Sharnville station house, the Federal Bureau's local office and the Los Angeles police. Within minutes, every available policeman in the district would be surrounding the bank.

She hammered on the vault door with the butt of her gun, screaming, 'Harry! I'll get you out! Hear me, Harry!'

I grabbed Manson's arm and hissed to him, 'When I say run, run like hell and hide!'

Glenda spun around, glaring at me.

'Open up or he'll get it,' and her gun shifted to Manson.

'To open the vault, the lock releases are on the second floor,' I said, and moving to the elevator, I used the neutralizer.

The elevator doors swished open, and I stepped inside.

For a brief moment, she hesitated, then shoving Manson forward into the cage, she followed him.

Another mistake! If she had stayed with Manson in the bank's lobby, I would have been hamstrung.

This was an automatic elevator. There wasn't a lot of room. While she was shoving Manson against the side of the cage, I pressed the second floor button, and then the fourth floor button.

This was a deadly risk, but a good chance.

The doors closed, and the elevator rose swiftly to the second floor, stopped, and the doors opened.

This was my moment of truth!

My heart was pounding as I watched Glenda back out of the elevator, covering Manson and myself with the gun.

'Come out!' she shouted.

The opening of the elevator cage was narrow. Before Manson could move, I stepped in front of him, moved out of the cage and stood, blocking the entrance.

'Get out of the way!' Glenda screamed, suddenly sensing she had been outwitted.

'Glenda! It's either Harry's life or my life,' I said. 'Shoot me, and Harry dies too.'

As I heard the elevator doors close, I shouted, 'Run!'

‘You bastard!'

Was she going to shoot? Sweat ran down my back as we faced each other.

'Glenda! I'll open the vault! I'll get Harry out!' I shouted at her.

She looked to right and left, fury, frustration and fear contorted her face. Then seeing the stairs at the end of the corridor, she turned and began to run blindly towards them with the futile hope of catching Manson, her only hostage.

I overtook her in ten long strides, and brought her down, my arms around her waist. The gun flew out of her hands as she thudded to the floor.

She lay there, stunned, while I picked up the gun. Her hands covered her face, and she began to sob.

Over the sounds of her sobbing, came the sound of police sirens as police cars converged on the bank.

***

Captain Perrell of the L.A. police, who had arrived by helicopter, sat behind Manson's desk.

Manson and I sat facing him.

Deputy Sheriff Tim Bentley stood behind Perrell.

Perrell was very much in charge. He was a man who first got his facts right, then made quick decisions.

When I had opened the bank doors, and had let him in with a flock of policemen and plainclothes men, he had asked abruptly what was going on. He eyed the automatic rifle I was holding, and a plainclothes man sidled up, and took it away from me.

'There are four dangerous men trapped in the vault,' I told Perrell.

He absorbed this information without a change of expression.

‘There is a woman on the second floor. The gun is hers: she is one of the gang,' I went on. 'She is unarmed, but dangerous.'

Perrell snapped his fingers, and two plainclothes men, drawing their guns, started up the stairs.

I felt a chill around my heart. I had loved Glenda. Maybe there was still a shred of love left.

'These guys in the vault armed?' Perrell demanded.

"Yes, and one of them is a moronic, vicious killer. They are all highly dangerous.'

'Right. We'll go up, and take a look at this woman.'

There was drama on the second floor as we emerged from the elevator. One of the plainclothes men was peering around the door of Manson's office. The other was preparing to move in.

'Hold it!’ Perrell snapped.

'She's out on the ledge,' the taller of the cops said. 'She's ready to take a dive.'

Through the open window of Manson's office, we heard a loud moan of excitement from the crowd below.

Perrell moved cautiously into the office. I followed him.

Glenda was leaning against one of the windows, her back to us. She was looking down at the crowded street.

'Let me talk to her,' I said urgently, and pushing by Perrell, I slowly approached the big open window through which she had climbed.