They left the cave, scuttled down the bit of hillside and ducked among the reeds until they reached the prow, which was being held steady at a taut rope's end by a crewman. Owney clambered aboard, shivering ever so slightly as the breeze picked up. The boat's insubstantiality annoyed him?he liked things solid?as he found a seat. He felt it continue to slipside and tremble as the others came aboard. But then, quickly enough, they were off and the progress to the bigger boat was easy.
Hands drew Owney aboard.
'Good evening, Mr. Maddox,' said Brick Stevens, the boat's skipper, a hot local available bachelor who secredy (Owney knew) was screwing both the judge's daughter and his wife, 'how are you, sir?'
'I'll be much better when I'm sipping a pifia colada in Acapulco,' he said.
'It'll just be a couple of days. The judge sends his best wishes.'
'The judge better keep sending his money. I own this town, after all.'
'I'm sure the judge realizes that, sir.'
After Owney, the five gunmen, encumbered with their weapons, clambered aboard.
'All right, boys,' said Brick, 'let's go down below. Meanwhile, we'll be off.'
They stepped uneasily down the teak steps into what was a stateroom, though not much of one, more a state crawlspace. But inside, yes, it was nice, more teak, with a small bar, lots of liquor.
Owney settled down on the sofa. The others took up chairs and whatever.
'I'm going to turn the lanterns down, fellows,' said Brick. 'It'll be safer that way.'
'How long, skipper?'
'Can't be more than four hours. There's enough breeze and I'll go three sheets. I know these waters like the back of my hand. I'll have you where you want to be by twenty-two bells. That's ten o'clock for you landlubbers.'
'We're all landlubbers here,' said Herman Kreutzer, holding his BAR loosely.
'You will be careful with that?' requested Brick.
'Sure. But if a State Police cruiser tries to board us, you'll be glad I've got it.'
'This is an antique, old man. We can't have it shot up.'
'Then sail good, skip.'
The skipper ducked back upstairs and in just a few minutes the boat began to edge forward in the darkness as its sails caught and harnessed the wind. It was like a train, in that it seemed to take forever to get going, but then, suddenly, had amassed enormous smooth speed, and flashed across the water.
Owney looked out the porthole. He could see a few lights, but wherever they were, the shore was mostly dark. There was no sound except for the snapping of the sail in the wind and the rush of the water being pushed aside by the boat's knifelike prow.
''We're okay on time?' asked Owney.
Johnny made a show of squinting at his watch, and then a bigger show of making abstract calculations in his head, and finally came up with an answer.
'Absolutely okay.'
'Because the longer we hang around, the greater the chance of someone spotting me.'
'I know it.'
'And you've made the calls, it's all set up, these are reliable people.'
'Very reliable. This is the soft way out. It worked before, it'll work again. Think of the last time as a rehearsal. This is the performance. Everything's set. The critics will love it. You'll be a hit on Broadway.'
'I don't care about hits on Broadway. I care about hits in Las Vegas.'
'It will happen.'
'The fuck. Who the fuck he think he is! Braque! I bought that goddamn painting from a legit dealer. How's I supposed to know it was hot?'
'Owney, Owney, Owney,' crooned Johnny. 'You're home free. You'll have your freedom, your vengeance and your wealth. No man in America is better off than you.'
The boat skimmed across the smooth water, and Owney settled down and watched as the lights of Hot Springs passed on the right and then got smaller and dimmer until they died away altogether.
Finally, a far shore grew near, nearer still until it seemed they were out of lake. They were, in fact. They had reached the northernmost point of Lake Hamilton. They were at the mouth of the Ouachita River.
Owney heard the captain giving commands. He cut sail and dropped anchor. It took his well-trained crew only a few minutes to rig for running by motor. Quickly they set up the Johnson outboard on the fantail, and ginned it up. It sounded like a sewing machine. Brick took the helm and guided them into the narrow mouth of the river.
But Brick knew what he was doing. It was said he'd run rum for Joe Kennedy in the old days, making a fortune before moving south and joining the horsey set. He was an adventurer too, and had skippered a PT boat in the war. He got a Jap destroyer, it was said, but maybe it was only a landing craft or a cargo scow. But he knew his art: he took the boat up the narrow strait of the Ouachita River, between darkened shores so close they could almost be touched, past the little river town of Buckville. Hot Springs was far behind, and then, up near Mountain Pine, the river shifted direction, widened, and headed west into the vast Ouachita wilderness. The boat gulled along against the current, and the men finally came on deck. Around them was only darkness and the sense of the forest so close and engulfing it almost had them. But they pressed on to the west, passing into Montgomery County. They were headed west toward escape.
In the vast quiet darkness, Owney began to relax at last. He was going to make it, he finally believed.
Chapter 59
Where was he? She couldn't put it out of her mind. He was in trouble. They had gotten him. He had survived so much, but he had not survived this last thing with the gangsters.
She called long distance to a newspaper in Hot Springs. Were there any incidents, any killings, anything involving a man named Earl Swagger.
The man said, 'Lady, ain't you heard? We had a big prison break down here. The whole town's going crazy looking for Owney Maddox. You ought to call the cops, maybe they'd know.'
Eventually she got to a lieutenant of detectives who chewed her out for interrupting them in their important work of capturing this escaped criminal, but he finally told her the last anybody had ever seen of that disagreeable individual, Earl Swagger, he was on his way out of the county and if she loved her husband, she'd make it clear to him he was never to return.
That was a night before.
Where had Earl gone?
She tried to settle herself down, but she just sat there, feeling nauseated and frightened in the darkness. There was nobody to help her. That was Earl's duty. Was he involved in the manhunt for this Owney, a gangster? He had told her he was off, he was out of that business, he'd been fired and he was coming home and that's all there was to it. He was coming home to work in the sawmill.
But she thought he was involved in the matter of Owney. The gangsters had finally caught up with him in some way. She thought of him off in the woods, the gangsters having executed him and dumped him in a grave that would go forever unmarked. Such a cruel end for a hero! It would be so unfair.
In her abdomen, her child moved. She felt it kick ever so gently, and that too was strange. Something about the child frightened her, although the doctor kept saying that everything was fine. But it wasn't fine; small signals of danger?her fainting spells, for example?kept arriving as if the child, somehow, were sending her messages, warning her that he needed help already, that there would be difficulties.
She went to the desk, and got out the map of Arkansas. She looked at the highways. Clearly, it was no more than a few hours?maybe four or five at most?from Hot Springs to Camp Chaffee. There was no reason for Earl to be missing.
She couldn't stay put. She rose, nervous, not knowing what to do. It was near dark.
She went next door to Mary Blanton's and knocked.
