Chapter 60
The boat was behind them. They had left it at the River Bluff Float Camp, where the river grew too rough to be navigated. Now they traveled through the darkness in a 1934 V-8 Ford station wagon, primer dull, which had come from the Grumleys' store of boodegging vehicles. It had a rebuilt straight-8 Packard 424 engine, super-strong shocks, a rebuilt suspension and could do 150 flat-out if need be. Revenooers had called it the Black Bitch for years.
Forest was everywhere, and the narrow, winding road suggested that civilization was far, far behind.
Owney kept looking at his watch.
'Are we going to make it?'
'We'll make it fine,' said Johnny. 'I set it up, remember.'
Now there was just this last, long pull through the mountains, along a ribbon of moonlit macadam; and then a final rough plunge down old logging roads, the exact sequence to which Johnny swore he had committed to memory.
'Suppose something goes wrong? Suppose we have a flat tire or have to evade a roadblock, and we fall behind schedule.'
'If we're not there, he comes back next day, same time, no problem. It's flexible. I accounted for that. But we have clear road and we ought to keep going. The sooner we're out of here, me boy, the sooner you're enjoying the pleasures of them dusky Mex women.'
'Okay, okay,' said Owney. 'I hate being nervous. I want to fucking do something.'
'This is the hard part, old man,' said Johnny.
'Say, Owney,' said Herman Kreutzer from the back seat, 'whatever happened to your English accent? It seems to have escaped too.'
The gunman erupted in laughter. This annoyed Owney, but until he had reestablished himself, he was subject to such predations. His misery increased.
'Uh oh,' said Johnny.
'Oh, shit,' said Herman.
Owney felt the sudden infusion of red light as, just behind them, a police or sheriff's car had just turned on its lights and siren.
'Fuck, he's got us,' said a gunman.
'We're going to have to pop this boy,' said Johnny.
'No,' said Owney. 'I'll handle it. You guys, you been laughing at me like I'm nobody. I'll show you Mr. Fucking New York rackets.'
'Oh, he's a tough one,' said Vince the Hat.
'Let the boy operate,' said Johnny.
Johnny guided the car to the shoulder and eased to a halt: Owney got out, raised his hands high.
The policeman?no, a sheriff's deputy, or possibly the sheriff himself, for the black-and-white's door read SHERIFF and under that MONTGOMERY COUNTY, ARK.?climbed out of the car, but kept his distance. He was not distincdy visible behind the haze of lights.
'I'm unarmed,' called Owney.
He spread his coat open to show that he had no pistol. Then he started to walk forward.
'Y'all just hold it up there,' said the sheriff.
'Ah, of course. Meant no harm, sir,' said Owney in his best stage British.
'Who are you? Mite late to be pleasure-cruising through the mountains in a big oP station wagon.'
'We were enjoying the sporting possibilities of Hot Springs,' said Owney. 'Our money having run rather abrupdy dry, we decided to head straight toward Fayetteville. We may have taken a wrong turn. Glad you're here, Sheriff. If you'd just?'
He took another step forward.
'You hold it,' said the sheriff. 'And tell all them boys to stay in that car. I am armed, and I am a good shot, and I'd hate there to be any trouble, because if there is, one or t'other of you and your boys is going to Fayetteville in a pine box.'
'Yes sir. No need for violence. We'll show proper ID and you may verify our identities via your radio. I appreciate that people are jumpy tonight, what with that fellow escaping prison in Hot Springs. We've been stopped twice at roadblocks already.'
He kept advancing.
'You hold it there, pardner,' said the sheriff, putting his hand to a big gun in his holster, and at the same time looking quickly to the car to make certain nobody had stepped out and all the windows had remained rolled up.
'Sheriff, uh??'
'Turner, sir.'
'Sheriff Turner, I appreciate your nervousness given the drama of the evening. But I wish to assure you I am harmless. Here, go ahead, search me. You'll see.'
Owney assumed the position against the fender of the police vehicle; the fellow gave him a quick pat-down and came to the conclusion he was unarmed.
But Owney also saw that he was a professional, and shrewd. He hadn't approached the Ford but stayed back by his own vehicle. No one in the car could get a shot at him, not without opening the doors and leaning out, and he was probably very good with his gun. If they all jumped out of the car, they might get him, but not before he'd gotten two or three of them. And he could then dip back into the woods, pop their tires and make it to a phone to call in reinforcements quick. Sly dog.
'What business are you in, sir?' asked the sheriff, somewhat relaxed that he'd found no gun on Owney.
'Well, I've been known to wager a penny on the ponies, the fall of a card or the roll of a die.'
'Gambler, eh? But you didn't do too well in Hot Springs.'
'Had a run of bad luck, yes. But I'll be back, you can make book on it.'
'Well, y'all be careful. Ain't no speed limit here but you were moving mighty fast. Don't want to scrape you off a tree.'
'No, indeed.'
'Say, what was the name again?'
'Vincent Owen Maddox.'
The sheriff's face knitted with a little confusion, for the name sounded so familiar.
'And you say you're headed to Fayetteville.'
'Headed toward Fayetteville, old fellow.'
'Well, Mr. Maddox?'
Then his face lit with amazement as he realized that the Owen became Owney, and his face set hard, for in an instant he knew who he was up against, and his hand flew fast and without doubt toward the big gun at his hip.
But Owney was faster.
In less than half a second he had a small silver revolver in his hand, as if from nowhere, as if from the very air itself, and he fired one bullet with a dry pop into the sheriff's chest. The big man never reached his Colt and stepped back, for the bullet packed so little impact it felt only like a sting, but in the next second the blood began to gush from his punctured aorta and he sat down with an ashen look, then toppled sideways to the earth.
'All right, you fellows,' called Owney. 'Get him in his car and get it off the road, chop chop now.'
Johnny's gunmen got out of the Ford and dragged the dead police officer to his car. Vince started it, and began to creep along the road until he found enough of a hill to drive it over so that it would tumble off and into the underbrush.
'Say,' said Johnny, 'ain't you a fast piece of work. Where'd you get that little ladies' gun?'
'When they delivered my suit to the cave, it was tucked in a pocket.'
'I don't mean that. I mean, where were you packing it? I didn't realize you were heeled. You sure got it out in a flash.'
'I am a man of some dexterity.'
'Where was it?'
