Come Easy, Go Easy (17 page)

"He'll be back for more money."

She began placing the cutlets on a dish.

"Oh, quit worrying. I can handle him."

Two weeks went by and we saw nothing of Ricks. We were busy all the time. A number of people asked for Jenson, but they all accepted the story that he was fixing up another filling station in Arizona. Two or three of them did give Lola and me curious stares, and I could see they were wondering what we were up to alone together. This didn't worry Lola, but it certainly worried me.

We now had a set routine. We both kept the lunch room and the pumps running until one o'clock, then we locked up and spent the rest of the night together in the bungalow.

I didn't like the idea of sharing Jenson's bed with her, but physically, she was so exciting I couldn't resist her. There were times, as we lay exhausted from our violent love-making, when I thought of Jenson in that hastily dug grave, and cold sweat would break out on my body. No such qualms of conscience ever assailed: Lola. Jenson was dead. To her, he had never existed.

During those two weeks, it gradually dawned on me that I was falling in love with her. Maybe this was inevitable the way we were living together. From the moment I had first seen her, she had attracted me. Now that we had blunted the edge of our desires, I found myself settling down to a husband-and-wife association with her. This was something that grew during the days I spent with her, and with its growth, my suspicions of her began to fade.

Every now and then it came into my mind that I was playing into her hands, and I would jerk myself alert, but she didn't mention the money nor suggest that I should open the safe, and I soon slipped back into the comfort and the excitement she offered me.

Finally, I began to believe that my love for her was influencing her, and she was as much in love with me as I was with her. I even began to hope that we could remain here together, run the place as Jenson and she had run it, and forget the past.

The time I liked best with her was the half hour before we got up. We would lie side by side in the big bed, watching the sun climb above the mountains while we discussed the day's work, the day's menu and what provisions we would need.

One morning as we lay side by side in the bed, she said suddenly, "Don't you think we should get someone to help out here, Chet? It would be fun to have a night off now and then, wouldn't it? Do you like dancing? We could go to Wentworth and dance. Let's get someone."

I stretched lazily. The idea was tempting, but I knew it would be too dangerous.

"We can't do it, Lola, not yet. If we went together to Wentworth, the gossips would start. Besides, we couldn't have anyone living the way we are living. We must wait a couple of months, then after we have put out the story he isn't coming back, we can do something about it, but not before."

She slid one long, bare leg out of bed.

"I'm getting terribly tired of being chained to this place."

"Hang on a little longer. We'll fix something."

She got out of bed.

I watched her cross the room for her wrap. This moment gave me pleasure to see her, naked, moving across the room, showing off her beautiful body with that liquid grace most Italians have: heavy, sensual, and provocative.

"All right. I'll wait." She put on the wrap. "Will you do the marketing for me this morning? I have a batch of pies to make. I can't spare the time to go into Wentworth, but there's a lot we went I can look after the pumps while the pies are baking."

I very nearly fell for it, then into my mind came a sudden suspicion. Was this an excuse to get me out of the way? It wouldn't be impossible for her to get a safe man from Tropic Springs to come over and open the safe. She could be gone with the money by the time I got back from Wentworth.

I looked at her.

She was combing her hair, humming under her breath. She was relaxed, but I knew that meant nothing after seeing the way she had handled Ricks.

"I don't think I'd better go, Lola," I said, trying to make my voice sound casual. "The less I'm seen in Wentworth the safer it is for me. Can't you start the pies and leave me to look after them?"

I watched for a change of expression, my heart thumping. I watched for some hint to confirm my suspicions.

She put the comb down, shrugging. "All right, if you swear you will look after them," she said and came and stood at the foot of the bed, looking questioningly at me. "You really think it isn't safe for you to be seen in Wentworth?"

"I'm not taking any chances."

"You're right. I wouldn't have anything happen to you."

"That's nice to know."

"I mean »hat, Chet." She smiled at me, and then she said, "I love you."

I slid out of bed and grabbed her.

"I've been waiting for you to say that," I said. "I'm crazy about you too."

She held me tightly.

"I'm happy with you, Chet. I never thought I would be happy with any man, but I'm so tired of this place. There's nothing to do except work: nowhere to go. I'm sick to death of it."

"Stick it a little longer, then we'll go somewhere else. I want to get away too, but we just can't walk out and leave the place and it's too early to attempt to sell it."

"Well, all right." She moved away from me. "I'd better start those pies."

While I was dressing, I thought about what she had said about loving me. I was feeling right on top of the world. I was sure I could trust her.

I went over to the lunch room and got the coffee ready while she fixed the pies.

"Chet . . ."

She turned to look directly at me.

"What do you plan to do? I don't mean now, but in the future. Have you thought about it?"

"I've thought about it. How would you like to marry me for a start?"

She smiled at me.

"I'd like that, but wouldn't we have to prove he was dead?"

"We can't do that. We'll have to think of a way to get away from here without running into trouble. I keep thinking, but it foxes me. Once we do get away from here, we can get lost. We could marry then. How would you like to run a place like this, in Florida?"

"I wouldn't mind. You mean we'd use the money in the safe to start a business for us both?"

This was the first time she had mentioned the money in the safe. It was casually said, and I looked sharply at her, but she was looking straight back at me and she met my eyes without flinching.

"That would be the idea."

"With all that money we could have a wonderful place, couldn't we, Chet?" Her eyes lit up. "Let's do it soon."

"We have to find a way to get rid of this place, Lola."

"There must be a way."

A truck pulled up at the gas pumps and I went out and serviced the truck.

When I was through, the trucker said he would have breakfast, and after he had gone, other truckers arrived. I didn't get a chance to talk any more with Lola. As soon as she had put the pies in the oven, she got changed and told me she was going.

"I'll be back by lunch time. Don't forget the pies."

I watched her drive away, then went into the kitchen to wash up the various breakfast things.

I was feeling pretty good. Now the subject of the money had come out in the open my final uneasiness that she was putting on an act disappeared.

I had to concentrate in earnest on how we were to leave Point of No Return so that no one would suspect anything was wrong.

But the more I thought about it, the tighter the trap became. We couldn't sell the place as it was in Jenson's name. We couldn't give out that Jenson was dead. We couldn't sneak away and leave the place deserted. The police would move in, and it wouldn't take them long to find Jenson's body, then there would be a murder hunt for both of us.

The more I wrestled with the problem the more complicated it became. Then I saw suddenly there was no safe way out. We were in a trap and the doors of the trap were shut. If we hoped to remain safe, we had to stay on in this isolated place for keeps. We just didn't dare leave.

While all this was going on in my mind, I was pacing up and down in the lunch room. The sound of a car pulling up made me look out of the window. I was in time to see Ricks get out of his battered car, followed by his dog. He shambled into the repair shed.

With my heart thumping, I went across to the shed fast.

I found Ricks wandering aimlessly around, looking at the tools. His dog kept close to his heels, and as I came in, the dog cringed, moving even closer to its master and looking at me mournfully with its bloodshot eyes.

"What do you want?" I said, making my voice hard and tough.

Ricks paused and squinted at me, shoving the dog away with his leg.

"You heard from my brother-in-law?"

"No."

'Is she around?"

"If you mean Mrs. Jenson . . . she's in Wentworth this morning. What do you want?"

I saw the dog suddenly turn its head and stare at the work bench that stood over Jenson's grave. It moved forward to the bench and began sniffing at the ground.

I felt sudden chills start up my spine.

"I'm still without my pension," Ricks said. "I'm running out of money."

"I can't help that."

Tentatively, the dog began to scratch at the ground, then finding the ground loose, it began to dig in earnest.

Ricks turned and stared at the dog.

"Well, I'll be darned! I've never seen Caesar do a thing like that before." He moved forward and gave the dog a solid kick on its rump, sending it squealing to the door of the shed. "I'm down to my last buck," he went on to me. "How about lending me something? As soon as I've got my pension I'll pay it back."

As he talked the dog crept back again, looking furtively at its master, then it began to dig again.

"Watch your damned dog!" I shouted, and picking up a block of wood, I threw it at the dog, sending it yelping once more to the door.

Ricks glared at me.

"That's no way to treat a poor dumb animal! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Get out of here! You and your damned dog!" I snarled.

Ricks was now staring at the hole the dog had dug, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Have you been burying something there?"

I felt cold sweat break out on my face.

"No . . . come on! Beat it!"

Instead, he shambled over to the hole and knelt down, staring at it.

"Well, someone's been digging here." He pushed his dirty, claw-like hand into the loose earth. As if it recognised co-operation, the dog came up, wagging its tail and whining, then it began to dig again.

Impatiently, Ricks shoved it away.

"Maybe Carl has buried his money here," he muttered. "He would be fool enough to do just that. How about taking a look? Got a spade?"

I was now in a hell of a panic. I moved forward and there must have been an expression in my eyes that told Ricks I meant trouble. He straightened up hastily and backed away.

"Okay, okay, fella, no need to get mad," he whined, still backing away, his dog following him. "Just a thought that dropped into my mind. Think nothing of it."

"Get out and stay away from here!" I shouted at him, "Go on! Get out!"

"How about lending me five bucks?" he whined, still backing away, he was now out in the hot sunshine.

"You're getting nothing out of me," I said, moving after him. "Beat it!"

By now he was close to his battered car. He paused, his hand on the car door and he squinted at me.

"Okay, if that's the way you want it, fella," he said, a sudden rasp in his voice. "I'm going to talk to the cops! I'm going to tell them to look for Carl! You and that whore, cuddling and kissing . . ."

I jumped him. My fist slammed against his jaw, sending him flat on his back. I was so mad I didn't notice a trucker had just pulled up by the gas pumps. It was only when he yelled at me I got control of myself. I was about ready to give this skinny vulture the hiding of his life.

As soon as the dog saw its master sprawl in the dust, it fled, shivering into the car.

The trucker got out of the truck and hurried over, his expression aggressive.

"Hey! If you want to hit a guy, pick one your own age and size!" he bawled at me.

I felt tempted to take him, but I knew it would be bad for business. Truckers talk together. I choked down my rage and stepped back as Ricks crawled unsteadily to his feet.

"Okay, okay," I said to the trucker. "You're right. I guess I blew my top and I'm sorry, but this punk comes scrounging here week after week and he drives me nuts."

The trucker lost his aggressive look.

"Well, yeah . . . but to hit an old guy . . ." He stared at Ricks, then grimaced. "A scrounger, huh?"

"You said it. He never stops putting the bite on me."

He relaxed, nodding.

"Sorry I pushed my oar in. My father-in-law is the same. I could do with some gas."

"Sure. I'm coming."

He went back to his truck. Ricks got slowly and painfully into his car. He was holding his jaw and mumbling to himself.

I took from my wallet a ten dollar bill and shoved it at him.

"Here . . . take this and beat it," I said.

He had started the car engine. With a shaking hand, he took the bill, then crumpling it, he threw it in my face.

"I'll fix you for this!" he snarled, his face vicious with rage. "I'm going to talk to the police."

He stamped down on the gas pedal and the car shot crazily away.

Then I knew I had made a dangerous mistake hitting him. I had imagined he was so spineless and such a scrounger I could pay for that punch with a ten dollar bill.

I picked up the bill and put it back in my wallet. There was chill of fear around my heart.