Come Easy, Go Easy (10 page)

All she had to do was to reach out for the telephone, and I'd be on my way back to Farnworth within the hour.

I could imagine the welcome I would get there. I could imagine the gleeful, sadistic grins of the prisoners as I was marched across the tarmac to the Chiefs office. I could imagine them, listening and nudging each other, as they waited for my first yell of pain.

I crumpled the newspaper between my hands, then I went over to the stove and dropped it in.

So I was on the run again. I had to get out of here. But how? I was one hundred and sixty-five miles from Tropica Springs. Once she had told them I had been here, Tropica Springs would be the first place they would look for me. I didn't dare double back to Oakland. I would have to get to Tropica Springs and then go on from there. At least I had five hundred dollars. With that money I could take a plane to New York . . . five hundred dollars? I felt cold fingers squeezing my heart. I had given my getaway stake to Jenson not half an hour ago! Now I would have to ask him for it! What would he think? Anyway, how could I walk out of here in daylight without him thinking I had gone nuts?

I was in such a panic I could scarcely breathe.

Then the kitchen door swung open and she came in.

She looked at me: a searching, jeering, probing expression in her green eyes.

"Haven't you put the groceries away yet?" she said,

"I'm putting them away."

I began to pick up some of the cans.

You bitch! I was thinking. Have you called the police? What have you done?

She began to put the chickens in the freezer. She hummed under her breath as she worked.

It wasn't until I had put the groceries in the cupboard and she had packed the last chicken into the freezer that she said suddenly, "It's time you and I had a talk. It's your night shift tonight, isn't it?"

I faced her. "Yes."

"When he's asleep I'll talk to you."

That told me she hadn't called the police. She was going to make terms. I began to breathe again.

"Anything you say."

"Run away, Mr. Chet Carson," she said. "I can manage very well without you."

Well, there it was. She had me over a barrel, but at least I had a little time before the axe fell.

I looked her over: aware of her body under the halter and the shorts.

"Anything you say."

She smiled.

"That's right, Carson. From now on—it's going to be anything I say."

As I walked out into the lunch room, the Greyhound bus arrived and from it spilled thirty hungry customers.

The three of us slaved. Jenson and I handled the lunch room. Lola slogged in the kitchen. Every one of the passengers took the lunch. When I wasn't handing around the lunches, I was rushing out to serve gas.

I'll say this for Lola: the way she kept the food moving out of the kitchen was really something. No one had to wait. Everyone had what they wanted.

Finally, when the bus moved off, we were all pretty bushed.

Jenson grinned at me as he mopped his face.

"This is a record, Jack," he said. "We've never done this before. Without you we would never have made it. Thirty lunches! Before—they had to do with a snack."

"It was the cook," I said.

"Yeah! What a wife! Well, anyway, we three made it. Now look, Lola and me will fix the dishes. You sit out here and take care of the pumps. You've got the night shift. No point in killing yourself."

In an ordinary way, I would have done my stint, but I couldn't face working close to her. I wanted time off to think. Now the rush was over, I had the bile of fear in my mouth again.

When he had gone into the lunch room, I sat down and lit a cigarette. I was just starting to relax when I felt someone watching me.

I looked over my shoulder.

Lola had come out onto the veranda. She was staring at me, her green eyes glittering.

Jenson had come to the open window, a stack of dishes in his bands. He looked worried.

"What's this patsy think he's doing?" Lola shrilled. "Doesn't he work here any more? Have I got to do all the work?"

"Look, honey," Jenson said pleadingly, "he's on night shift …"

"I don't give a damn what he's on." To me, she said, "Go in and clear the dishes! If anyone is going to loll around in a chair it's going to be me! Now get in there and earn what we're paying you."

"Hey, Lola!" Jenson said, his voice sharpening.

I was on my feet and moving towards her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Jenson: just as you say."

"Lola! Quit talking to the guy like that! I told him to take care of the pumps," Jenson said, leaning half out of the window.

"Don't I get any consideration around here?" she screamed at him. "It seems I'm good only for slaving in a stinking hot kitchen and going to bed with you!"

She ran off past me and over to the bungalow. She went inside and slammed the front door.

Jenson put down the dishes and came out. He looked bad: his face sagging.

"She's worked herself into the ground," I said. "She's tired. Women get like that. They blow off. It doesn't mean a thing. Tomorrow she'll be fine."

He rubbed his jaw, shaking his head and frowning.

"You think so, Jack? I've never heard her speak like that before. You think I should talk to her: soothe her or something?"

I couldn't tell him the whole thing had been an act. She was making sure she would sleep alone this night so when he was asleep she could come out and talk to me.

"I'd leave her alone, Mr. Jenson. It's my bet tomorrow she'll be okay. She's tired. How about you and me fixing these dishes?"

He put his arm around my shoulders.

"You're a good guy, Jack. Most guys would have blown their top to be spoken to the way she spoke to you, I was ashamed. Like you said—she's tired. I'll talk to her about it tomorrow, doesn't seem to realise what a help you are around here."

"Forget it," I said. "Let's get to work."

It took us until after seven o'clock to clear up the kitchen, what with serving gas, serving snacks and a couple of repairs that came in. There was no sign of Lola until past four o'clock, then as I heard a car engine, I looked out of the window. She was driving off in the Mercury, wearing her green dress. The car was heading for Wentworth.

That scared me. Was she going to the police?

I told Jenson.

He grimaced.

"She's done this before when we've had words. She always goes to the movies. She's crazy about the movies. She won't be back now until after eleven. Well, we'll have to manage on our own, Jack. Can you cook?"

"Why not?" I said. "Anyway, I can fix chickens."

It was while I was preparing the chickens and he was cutting sandwiches that he let drop the hint that he wasn't all that happy with Lola.

"Of course she's young," he said, slicing away at the loaf. "My first wife was different. She and me went to the same school together. We grew up together. She was my age when she died. This one's wild. I'm not saying she doesn't work—she does. She works like hell, but Emmie—that's my first wife—would never have spoken to you the way Lola did just now. She would never have driven off like that without a word. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't be tougher with her. Sometimes I'm tempted to smack her behind when she hits the roof. Maybe I should."

As dangerous as slapping a rattlesnake, I thought, but I didn't say so.

"I've often wondered where she came from. She never would tell me. She's hard, Jack. She must have had a pretty hard life. It worries me, too, the way she goes into Wentworth on her own.

When you came, I planned she and me could do a movie once or twice a week, but she won't go with me. When I suggest it, she has a headache or she's too tired. I sometimes wonder . . ." He broke off, shaking his head. He walked heavy footed to the cupboard to get more butter.

"You wonder what?" I said, feeling sorry for him.

"Never mind." He began buttering the bread. "I guess I'm talking too much."

I let it go, but I had an idea what he was wondering about. He was wondering if she had found some guy younger than himself. He was wondering if she were cheating.

Around eleven o'clock the traffic fell away. Jenson and I had run the lunch room together. My fried chicken had been a success. We had served ten dinners which wasn't bad. At eleven-fifteen the Mercury pulled up outside the bungalow and Lola got out.

She went straight in and we heard her bedroom door slam.

Jenson shook his head.

"Maybe I'd better talk to her."

"I'd leave it," I said. "She'll be okay tomorrow."

"Well, okay. Maybe you're right." He still looked worried. "I guess I'll turn in. We're all clear now, aren't we?"

"Everything's fine," I said. "Goodnight, Mr. Jenson."

"Goodnight, Jack."

I watched him cross to the bungalow. The light in her room was on, but it snapped out as he opened the front door. The light in his room, which was next to hers, went on.

I came out onto the lunch room veranda and sat down in one of the basket chairs. I was feeling scared, worried sick and tired. I lit a cigarette and settled down to wait. I knew she wouldn't come out here for some time: I had a long wait ahead of me.

I imagined her in her dark bedroom, waiting for Jenson to go to sleep. I wondered what she was thinking about and what she was planning.

If I had had my money, instead of giving it to Jenson to take care of, I would have cleared out now. I would have bribed the first trucker to come in for gas to take me into Tropica Springs. But without money, I was sunk.

The hands of my wrist watch showed one-forty. For the past half-hour there had been no trucks coming through. I had been sweating it out for over three hours—waiting for her.

Then suddenly I saw her come out of the bungalow. She moved languidly. She was wearing a white shirt and a full, light coloured skirt. Tight at the waist and flowing out over her hips. She was certainly dressed for the occasion.

I was sitting in the basket chair in the shadows and I watched her come, my heart thumping. I had a cigarette between my lips. So she could tell where I was, I drew on the cigarette, making a little red spark in the darkness.

She came slowly up the steps and sat down in a basket chair near mine.

"Give me a cigarette," she said.

I handed her my pack and my lighter. I couldn't bring myself to light her cigarette. I wasn't going to be that much of a slave to her.

She lit her cigarette, then returned me the pack and the lighter. Her fingers brushed mine. They felt hot and dry.

"You puzzled me," she said. "I was sure you were a phoney, but I didn't guess you were the escaped safe robber. You're quite a celebrity."

"What's it to you who I am so long as I do my job and make money for your husband? Why should you care?"

"I have to think of myself." She stretched out her long legs, sinking deeper into the basket chair. "I could get into trouble with the police unless I tell them you're here."

"Are you going to tell them?"

"I haven't decided yet." She drew on the cigarette. After a long pause, she went on, "It depends on you. They said in the newspaper that you worked for Lawrence Safes."

I looked in her direction. I couldn't see her face. She was sitting in the shadows.

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Everything so far as I'm concerned. Carl has a Lawrence safe. I want you to open it."

So Ricks had been right. She was after Jenson's money.

"Is there something in it that you want?" I said. "Why don't you ask him for it?"

"Don't be funny!" She moved irritably. "Remember what I said this afternoon: from now on, you're going to do what I say or else . . ."

"Doesn't he give you enough? What do you want to steal his money for?"

"If you don't open the safe, you'll go back to Farnworth." She crossed her legs, adjusting her skirt. "I've heard about that jail. They're tough there. They'll know what to do with you once they get their hands on you. Are you going to open the safe or are you going back to Farnworth?"

"So Ricks was right. You are a tramp and you are after your husband's money."

"Never mind what Ricks said. Are you going to open the safe?"

"Suppose I do open it—what happens then?"

"I'll give you a thousand dollars and a twenty-four hour start to get away."

She had certainly dreamed up a nice little plot. I opened the safe. She collected a hundred thousand dollars. She gave me a thousand and I went on the run. Jenson would find the safe empty and I would be missing. The finger would point to me. Once the police had my description, they would know I had opened the safe and they would automatically jump to the conclusion that I had the money. It would never occur to anyone to suspect her. All she would have to do was to hide the money somewhere and wait. If they caught me and I told them she had forced me to open the safe and she had the money, it would be my word against hers. Jenson was too crazy about her to believe me. When the uproar had quietened down, she would take the money and disappear. It was a sweet little plot, and it could succeed.

"Do you know what he plans to do with the money you want to steal?" I said, looking towards her. I couldn't see much of her: just two hostile voices talking in the dark. "He plans to go on a trip around the world. It's something he has been saving for for thirty years and he plans to take you with him: everything first class. Don't you want to go on a trip around the world?"

"With him? With that fat, old fool?" The note in her voice was vicious. "I don't even want to go to Wentworth with him."