Girl on a Slay Ride (4 page)

T
HE
big green sedan ran along the empty left lane, keeping pace with Mallory’s sluggish wagon.

Mallory saw the third passenger now. He was lumped in the rear seat. He wore an overcoat with the collar turned up and a fedora hat with the brim tugged down. Mallory could see nothing of his face. His body jounced loosely with the motion of the sedan.

Denise whispered, “They’ve caught us. I told you we wouldn’t get away from them.”

Mallory said, “They haven’t got us yet.”

He drove the throttle to the floor. The wagon’s speedometer moved to fifty and began climbing slowly. The sedan fell back for an instant and then came abreast again effortlessly. The slender man rolled down his window when he was directly opposite Mallory.

Mallory felt as isolated as if they’d been dropped down in Central Africa. There were no sounds except the whine of tires and the hammering of the wagon’s tired motor. Tall firs made a long tunnel of green, blotting out the Olympic Mountains to the east.

The slender man cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Pull over and stop.”

Mallory swung the wheel to the left. The other driver braked sharply. Mallory steered to the center of the road. The speedometer needle was wobbling on sixty now. The motor’s protest grew louder. Mallory straightened the wagon. He was straddling the center line of the highway, leaving no room for the massive sedan to come alongside.

Mallory felt Denise move beside him. He shifted his glance to her for an instant. She was on her knees, facing the back of the wagon. She seemed to be pawing through his luggage.

Mallory said, “What are you doing?”

Her voice was tight with anger. “Looking for something to fight with.”

He could hear no fear in her voice. He realized that she was reacting in the same way he was. Fear had been a product of their uncertainty. But there was no longer any doubt about the men in the green sedan. Now, Mallory thought, the threat was real, and they knew it and they were both trying to do something about it.

He said, “There’s a twenty-two target pistol buried in the bottom of my suitcase.”

Denise gave a soft grunt as she leaned farther over the back of the seat. Mallory lifted his eyes to the rear-view mirror. The sedan was close behind him. It made a sudden swing to the left. Two wheels rolled onto the gravel shoulder as it pulled even with the wagon again.

The slender man was resting the barrel of what was at least a thirty-eight revolver on the sill of his window. He called, “Don’t try that again. Now slow down and pull over.”

His voice was without the pleasantness of the night before. Now it carried a sharp authority.

Mallory said, “It’s too late, Denise.”

He slackened his speed and began to brake. He steered toward the gravel shoulder on the right side of the road. The wagon bumped slowly to a stop.

Denise turned in the seat. She sat very straight, her hip and leg touching Mallory now as if for comfort. She tried to light a cigarette. Her hands shook badly, and she threw the cigarette away.

“Can’t we do something?” she demanded. The angry tightness was still in her voice. He knew she was afraid only because he could feel her leg tremble against his.

“He’s got a gun,” Mallory pointed out.

The sedan swung onto the shoulder in front of the wagon, blocking it. The slender man climbed out and walked back to where Mallory waited behind the wheel. He held the gun loosely at his side.

“What the hell’s the idea?” Mallory demanded angrily.

The man was smiling again. He said, “I’ll tell you later.”

He stopped very close to Mallory’s door. Mallory wondered what would happen if he suddenly opened the door and caught the man with its edge. The other’s eyes stopped him. They were dark and cloudy, like mud covered with a skim of dirty ice. They said that Mallory would be a fool if he tried to be a hero, a dead fool.

The man glanced away and said, “Hurry it up, Nick.”

The driver of the green sedan opened his door and stepped out onto the gravel shoulder. He was taller and heavier than Mallory remembered. He opened the rear door of the sedan and reached inside.

“Out, you.”

Mallory saw him frown. He leaned in farther and then moved back. He was pulling something. His hand appeared with the front of an overcoat balled in it. The man inside the coat was as limp as a sack of soggy grain.

The driver grunted and threw his weight back on his heels. The other man came reluctantly from the sedan. He was fat, with broad womanish hips and narrow, sloping shoulders. His thighs stretched his trouser legs like plump sausages in tight skins. He made a feeble gesture toward the driver’s hand.

“Leave me alone.” He had a thin, high voice.

“Leave him alone, Nick,” the slender man said.

The driver dropped his hand. The fat man waddled toward the wagon. He stopped near the window and stared at Denise. He had a lumpish face, thick across the bridge of a shapeless nose. His skin was bumpy from ancient acne scars. His mouth was small, the lips thick and turned out so that their moist pink innersides were constantly exposed. His chin was a tiny blob set in fat and creased by a deep dimple. He breathed noisily through his parted lips.

Something about his appearance tugged at Mallory’s memory. He lost the thread of the thought as the slender man said, “Just sit tight.”

Mallory gripped the steering wheel. He watched the driver of the sedan bring two suitcases to the wagon. He opened the tailgate and tossed them on top of the camping equipment. He went to the side and opened the door behind Mallory. He took the suitcases from the back seat and threw them behind it. He tossed the briefcase after them. He paid no special attention to it.

Mallory realized he was holding his breath. He let it out very softly. If these men weren’t after the bonds and they hadn’t been sent by Rick Lawton, what did they want?

He became conscious again of Denise beside him. He glanced at her. She had stopped trembling. She had her hands folded in her lap, the fingers laced together. Her long, narrow face was flushed, her lips clamped tight.

She turned suddenly, looking past Mallory at the slender man. “All right, you found me. Why don’t you get it over with?”

Mallory could sense hysteria growing in her voice. He said softly. “They weren’t looking for you, Denise.”

The driver of the sedan was pushing the fat man into the rear seat. He lifted his head. “Looking for her?” he repeated. He made a gusty, laughing sound.

Denise cried out, “Then who are they? What do they want?”

The slender man paid no attention to her. He said to the driver of the sedan, “We’ll follow you just as I planned it. But don’t wait too long. The road turns away from the ocean soon.”

“I remember the spot you picked out,” the driver said. He shut the rear door on the fat man and walked back to the sedan. He moved gracefully for someone his size and bulk.

The slender man rounded the wagon and climbed in beside Denise. He held his gun in his right hand, resting it on his leg.

He said to Mallory, “Wait until Nick is around that curve ahead. Then drive on slowly.”

Mallory watched the green sedan start up and pull onto the road. It picked up speed rapidly and disappeared around the curve.

Mallory started the car and pulled onto the blacktop. He drove silently, his eyes on the road. He could feel Denise, still rigid beside him. The fat man’s breathing came noisily from the back seat. The sound annoyed him. It added to the anger building sourly in his empty stomach.

He said, “Listen, you sonofabitch …”

“Just drive. I’ll tell you when to talk and what to do.”

Denise said, “You can’t get away with this, whoever you are.”

“I am getting away with it,” the man said. He sounded amused.

Mallory slowed for the curve. Beyond it the trees on his right fell away, revealing the ocean with the early sun shining on it. The coastline was rocky, in some places showing small beaches of sand, but for the most part everything was covered by jagged mounds of dark rock. At this point the road was well above the water; a little farther along it ran at the edge of a cliff which dropped sheer to deep pools covered with light foam from the swirling tides.

Mallory could see the sedan drawn up at the edge of the cliff. The driver stood at the side of the car. He was looking into the water as though absorbed by its constantly changing patterns.

“Pull up across the road from him,” the slender man said to Mallory.

Mallory pulled over. The slender man reached over and turned off the ignition. He took the key out and dropped it in his pocket. He smiled his empty smile. “I wouldn’t want you to go away. And if you’re considering leaving on foot—I’m an excellent shot.” He got out of the wagon and crossed the road.

He and the driver talked for a minute. Then they looked over the cliff. The small man nodded. He stepped to the edge of the road and glanced both ways along its empty length.

He said, “All right.”

The driver reached inside the sedan. He backed away hastily as the car started to roll forward. Mallory sat with his hands gripping the wheel of the wagon. There was a strange fascination in watching the big car move ponderously forward to the edge of the cliff. The front wheels went over. There was a grating sound as rock scraped the undercarriage. Then the nose of the car disappeared. For a moment there was only the rear end, wheels spinning. In a moment that too was gone.

Mallory held his breath. He let it out gustily as the sound of a splash reached him. Denise said, “Why?”

Mallory didn’t answer. The two men were crossing the road to the wagon. They climbed in; the large man got in the rear seat. Mallory turned and looked back at him and at the fat man who was sitting beside the former driver. The fat man had his hands on his legs, his chin down; his face was obscured by his tilted hat.

“Let’s go,” the small man said. He replaced the ignition key and settled himself beside Denise.

Mallory started the wagon. The large man said, “It went good, all right. You can’t see nothing but water.”

“I thought that place would be right,” the small man said. “I have a remarkable memory.” He seemed to be addressing Mallory.

Mallory watched the road as it curved away from the ocean. He said nothing.

The small man leaned sideways, reaching across Denise to hold a hand out to Mallory. He said, “Give me the registration slip.”

Mallory took the holder from around the steering post and put it in the man’s hand. After a moment, the man said, “C. R. Mallory, Portland, Oregon. Is that you?”

“Yes,” Mallory said.

“And this is Mrs. Mallory?”

“Any objections?” Denise demanded. Her voice was brittle.

Mallory hoped her fear and anger didn’t make her bitchy. She could be that way, he knew. She’d been working at it with him when the sedan caught them just after daybreak. In a way, he couldn’t blame her. She must have been under terrific tension for some time now. This new development wasn’t helping her any, he was sure. Just the same, he hoped she wouldn’t go out of her way to make these men angry. This wasn’t the time to make a move against them.

He dropped a hand to her knee in warning. She was beginning to tremble again.

“No objections,” the slender man said to her. “I just like to know the people I deal with.”

He was silent a moment. Then he said, “My name is Miles Graef. My friend is Nick Thoms.” He made no effort to introduce the third man.

Denise said, “Charmed as all hell, I’m sure.”

Mallory grinned through his tension. Then he remembered Graef’s mud-and-ice eyes and he touched Denise in warning again.

Graef said, “What line of work are you in, Mallory?”

“Property management,” Mallory said.

“In Portland, of course. Is it an interesting profession?”

“It’ll do,” Mallory said.

Denise said, “What’s your line when you aren’t out kidnaping people, Mr. Graef?”

Despite his fear for her, Mallory had to admire her spirit.

Graef laughed. “I’m in the investment business,” he said.

Behind Mallory, Nick Thoms gave another of his gusty laughs.

The fat man stirred. Mallory watched him in the rear-vision mirror. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. The eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue over an odd, milky whiteness. He ran his tongue over his out-turned lips, wetting them obscenely.

“I’m hungry,” he complained. His voice still had that thin emptiness Mallory had noticed before.

“We’ll eat in the first town,” Graef said. “Is this your annual vacation, Mallory?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your favorite fishing spot?”

“They’re all good,” Mallory said.

“He’s the cautious type,” Graef remarked to Thoms.

“One of them guys that lives for his work,” Thoms said heavily.

“I don’t connect that remark with what I said,” Graef answered sharply.

“One of them guys that takes his business with him,” Thoms explained. “He brought a briefcase along on his fishing trip.”

M
ALLORY’S
stomach muscles knotted with anxiety. Denise’s leg came back against his, bumping sharply.

Graef observed, “I wouldn’t have thought Mallory was that type.” Mallory watched him from the corner of his eyes. He could hear Thoms turning and saw him shove the briefcase into Graef’s hands.

“People’s possessions tell a lot about them,” Graef said. His voice took on a thoughtful note. “I see that this is locked.”

Mallory said nothing. He wondered if Graef had known about the securities all along and was playing with him, or if this interest in the briefcase was just another example of the usual Mallory luck.

Graef said, “Give me the key, Mallory.”

“No,” Mallory said.

The wagon was at the beginning of a sharp curve. Mallory kept the wagon at fifty, slewing it into the curve. He let the wheel loosen under his fingers. The back end whipped toward the inside of the road. There was a shallow ditch on the far side of the shoulder. Mallory didn’t consider what he would do after the wagon slid into the ditch.

Thoms pushed his arm over Mallory’s shoulder and grasped the wheel. He twisted it sharply in the direction of the skid. The wagon straightened cumbersomely. Thoms dropped the wheel and reached past Denise. His fingers flipped off the ignition. The wagon bucked as its speed dropped sharply.

Mallory shrugged.

“That was foolish,” Graef said. “You can’t hurt us without hurting yourself.” He sounded thoughtful. “You had better chances before this. But you waited until I became curious about your briefcase. I find that interesting.”

“Do we just sit here or do we go on?” Mallory demanded.

“We go on, but more slowly—and carefully. There’s a town not far ahead, I believe.”

Mallory started the car. Graef said, “Now give me the key to this case.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll cut it open. I’d be sorry to do that. It’s made of very fine leather.”

“For heaven’s sake, give him the key,” Denise said.

Mallory took his key case from his pocket and tossed it to Graef; then he kept his eyes on the road. The town Graef had mentioned was just around the next curve. Already the trees were beginning to thin out. Signs advertising a café and a sporting goods headquarters appeared at the roadside. An ancient truck made the curve and came lumbering toward them.

Mallory could hear the lock snap open as Graef found the right key. He didn’t turn his head but watched the road doggedly with his jaws clamped together tightly. Ahead was a town with people. Once they were among them, he couldn’t see how Graef could continue to hold them prisoner. He thought about the gas station and the café, the two businesses in the settlement. And there were telephones from which to call the State Patrol.

He glanced toward Denise. She was watching him intently; she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Her lips framed the word “no.” He could see a stirring of the old fear in her eyes, and it puzzled him.

Graef said musingly, “Well, well, negotiable securities. How much do you have here, Mallory?”

“Forty thousand dollars worth,” Mallory said.

“An interesting item to take on a fishing trip,” Graef said. “Or were you going to cash them before you went into the mountains?”

Mallory said, “No.”

Graef shrugged. “Let me see your purse, Mrs. Mallory.”

“Go to the devil,” Denise said.

Graef said, “Nick, get me her purse.”

“Give it to him,” Mallory said quickly.

Denise said, “The name is Lawton. Mrs. Denise Lawton.”

“That’s better,” Graef said. His voice was musing. “Lawton. Lawton. That name should mean something to me. I’ll have to see your purse after all, Mrs. Lawton.”

Denise handed it to him. Mallory heard the click of the catch. He heard Graef rustling through the contents of the purse.

“Ah,” Graef said. He chuckled suddenly. “Mrs. Rick Lawton. What do you think of that, Nick?”

Nick Thoms said, “Ain’t that something!”

Graef chuckled again. “You’ve got more nerve than I thought, Mallory. You not only steal forty thousand dollars from your employer, but you help yourself to a man’s wife. And a very tough man at that.”

The chuckle left his voice. “I’m beginning to understand Mrs. Lawton’s earlier remark now. You thought we were sent by your husband, didn’t you?”

Denise said, “What difference does it make now?”

“I told you I like to know about the people I deal with,” Graef said. “Why were you afraid Rick Lawton would send someone after you?”

Denise didn’t answer. Graef, Mallory thought, was smart enough to know that there was more here than appeared on the surface. And he was enjoying watching Denise’s apprehension as he probed into her past.

Graef said, “Shall I guess? Lawton is a society gambler. But the word lately is that he’s trying to branch out. Isn’t that right?” He seemed to be addressing Denise.

“I didn’t concern myself with his business,” she said tartly.

Graef laughed at her. “What did you do, Mrs. Lawton—steal some of his money and run off with Mallory? Or did you take some of his business records with you when you left with an eye toward blackmailing Mr. Lawton?”

“We didn’t get along,” she said. “I left him.”

“But not with his consent—or knowledge,” Graef said. “Or you wouldn’t have thought I was sent by him to find you. This is really very interesting, Mrs. Lawton.”

Mallory slowed the wagon as a speed-zone sign appeared at the side of the road.

Graef said, “Ah, the town I remembered. Pull into that gas station, Mallory. Go between the station house and the side of that café.”

Mallory did as he was ordered. He cut the motor and sat with his hand resting on the steering wheel. He began to feel his nervous tension draining away. He could see a piece of a state patrol car parked almost out of sight at the rear of the café. He couldn’t understand how Graef planned to continue this farce now that the law was so close.

Graef said pleasantly, “Mallory, you have the look of a man who holds the high cards.”

Mallory said, “That’s right. You can’t do anything here. So take your friends and get out.”

Graef laughed at him. “Do you agree with Mallory, Mrs. Lawton?”

Denise was staring at Mallory. She whispered, “We can’t do anything. We don’t dare take the chance!”

Mallory stared at her uncomprehendingly. “What chance are we taking?” he demanded. “There’s a police car behind the café. Do you think Graef would use his gun here? And if he thinks I’m afraid to yell for help because I’m carrying company securities, he’s crazy. You know that.”

He looked past Denise to Graef. “A call to my boss will prove I didn’t steal those bonds, Graef.”

Graef said, “I wonder what a call to Rick Lawton would prove, Mallory. A call telling him where his wife is and who she’s with.”

Denise whispered tensely, “Don’t you see, Cliff?” Her voice rose in a burst of anguish. “I can’t call attention to myself! I can’t take a chance on Rick learning where I am. I can’t! I can’t!”

Graef said, “I thought as much.” He sounded pleased with himself. “You see, Mallory, I wasn’t running a bluff to win the pot. I’m the one who holds the high cards.”

His cold, muddy eyes probed Mallory’s expression. “You’re still thinking of taking a chance, aren’t you? Because you’re an ethical man, I suppose. Isn’t there a quotation, Mallory: ‘Better a dead hero than a live something-or-other’?”

He lifted the gun and let it drop softly back to his leg. “Don’t force me to make a dead hero of you.” He paused and added quietly, “Or force me to take action against Mrs. Lawton to make my point with you.”

Mallory felt empty. To have success so close—and then to lose it so easily!

A gas-station attendant came around the side of the building. He started toward the wagon.

Graef said, “Here’s your chance, Mallory. You can shout for help and let the world know where Mrs. Lawton is, or you can steer him away.”

Mallory opened the door and stepped out of the wagon. Graef was right, he thought dully. He held the winning cards. Mallory knew that as long as he had this responsibility to Denise and for the securities entrusted to him, he would do nothing to risk either of them.

He moved forward, blocking the attendant’s view of the wagon. He said, “We just want to eat. Mind if we park back here?”

“Help yourself,” the man said. He showed no curiosity.

Mallory could feel Graef and his gun waiting. The attendant turned and went back inside the small station building. Mallory realized that he was standing stiffly; he let his muscles loosen.

He returned to the wagon. Graef was smiling his meaningless smile. “That’s a much better attitude to have, Mallory.”

Denise said, “I’m sorry, Cliff.”

He just nodded. Graef said, “Nick, keep our guests amused. Mallory and I will go in and eat and buy what we need. We’ll bring you out some food.”

“Sure,” Thoms said.

“And you know what to do if you hear any trouble.”

“I know,” Thoms said.

“I don’t think Mallory will be foolish enough now to risk exposing Mrs. Lawton. But I don’t take risks. Not even small ones.”

He nodded at Mallory and started toward the café. Mallory followed him toward the entrance.

Graef said, “I’ve seen your type before, Mallory. You’re quixotic. Try to remember that you’ll be tilting at more than windmills if you attempt an attack now.”

“I’ll remember,” Mallory said wearily.

He followed Graef into the café. A horseshoe shaped counter occupied the middle of a large room. Booths lined one wall. The other had a counter displaying fishing and hunting gear. At the rear was a selection of groceries. A single waitress seemed to be working the horseshoe and the booths. There were only two customers. One looked like a truckdriver. The other wore a state patrolman’s uniform. The face under the billed cap struck a chord of recognition in Mallory’s mind. Both customers were at the counter.

“We’ll take the first booth,” Graef said. He gave no sign that the patrolman’s presence concerned him. He picked a newspaper off a rack as he passed it.

Mallory sat facing the front door. Graef placed himself opposite, so that he could watch the café and the store. He slipped out the inside section of the paper and passed the remainder to Mallory.

“Go ahead and read about it,” Graef said.

Mallory let the paper lie folded by his elbow. He said, “Just what do you want with Mrs. Lawton and me, Graef?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Graef said with soft mockery. “We’re going camping—all five of us. But Nick and I are city boys out of the Middle West. We don’t know anything about your kind of country. So we need a guide. If you want to know why, read that newspaper I gave you.”

Mallory opened the paper. He started to glance down and stopped. He was suddenly aware of the patrolman’s interest in them. The man had swiveled on his stool and was staring at their booth.

“Know him?” Graef asked.

Mallory looked back at the patrolman and remembered. He said, “We met last fall, hunting season.”

“Then act like it.” Graef rustled his paper. “I have the gun at my side, Mallory. If there’s any trouble, I’ll shoot the cop first. You wouldn’t want an innocent man shot, would you?”

Mallory made his mouth twist in a smile as he looked at the patrolman. To Graef, he said quietly, “Forget the dramatics. I told you I wouldn’t cut up.”

“Just keep remembering that you told me,” Graef said.

The patrolman slid off his stool. He came toward the booth. He stopped about a foot away. Mallory felt as if his smile had frozen on his face.

The patrolman said, “Aren’t you Mallory?”

“That’s right,” Mallory agreed. “You’re Griffin?”

The patrolman’s expression eased. Mallory said, “Join us?”

“I’ve got to get back on the road.” He was looking inquiringly at Graef, but he spoke to Mallory, “You must like it up here.”

“Well enough to bring my friends,” Mallory said. He glanced at Graef. “This is the officer who saved me a twenty-mile hike last fall. The one who helped me pack the buck deer out when my wagon broke down.”

“I remember your telling me about that,” Graef said. “I hope the wagon’s in better shape now. I’m not up to a twenty-mile hike.”

The patrolman said, “It better be. I haven’t time to haul him out this year.” He dropped a thick finger onto the paper lying face up in front of Mallory. “We’re all alerted on that. Something isn’t is?”

It was like a well rehearsed play, Mallory thought. Everyone delivered his lines without a bobble. He felt the dryness in the back of his mouth and throat. He hoped he didn’t forget his part. There was no prompter standing in the wings; there was only Graef—and his gun.

Mallory let his eyes drop to the paper. He took in the red-inked headline:

KIDNAPER-RAPIST ESCAPES

• • •

Beneath that, a large type head announced: BLALOCK ESCAPES WITH HELP OF CONFEDERATES. THREE-STATE MANHUNT UNDER WAY. OREGON UNDERSHERIFF KILLED.

• • •

And beside the headline was a full face cut of the fat man now sitting in the rear seat of Mallory’s station wagon.