Ride the Nightmare

melodramatic idea and yet—

Or shall we drop by the house? Chris started walking again. Whatever happened they had to be kept from the house. Helen had been through enough. Besides, if revenge was what they had in mind, why would they warn him ahead of time by phoning?

He didn’t notice the grime-streaked sedan moving up behind him. The first thing he was aware of was the sudden roar of its engine, the rush of its dark bulk to the curb beside him, the squeal of badly lined brakes, the shoved-out back door.

Chris stood there gaping into the car at the revolver Adam Burrik was pointing at him.

“Get in,” said Adam.

Chris felt his legs shaking. He glanced over at the front seat and saw the hard, dispassionate face of Steve Coulter.

“He said get in,” Steve ordered,

Chris stumbled across the parkway grass and onto the street. Numbly, he bent over and stepped into the back of the car. He sat down gingerly, looking over at Adam who was smiling at him without humor.

“You can close the door now,” Adam said.

Chris extended a trembling hand and pulled the door shut. The old, unoiled lock didn’t catch the first time and he had to do it again. As he did, Steve threw the car into first and gunned away from the curb. Chris fell back against the seat.

“Well, here we are,” said Adam; a fleshier more coarse-looking Adam.

Chris tried to think of something to say but his brain felt clogged.

“It’s been a long time,” Adam said as the car was cornered onto Broadway and headed toward the ocean.

Chris stared at him, his heart beating slowly and heavily against the wall of his chest.”What do you want?” he asked.

Adam smiled contemptuously. “A little charity,” he said.

“We ought to kill him,” Steve broke in.

Chris glanced forward instinctively and saw Steve’s dark eyes watching him in the mirror.

“Relax,” said Adam.

He still sounded the same, Chris noticed—aloof and calculating. Years and prison had not changed that. It was the deep lining around his eyes and mouth that was different; a strained look of humor retained at the cost of nerves.

“We want money, Chris,” said Adam.

“You—”

“No arguments,” Adam interrupted. His only betrayal of tension was the tightening of his grip on the revolver. “You’ll get us the money. Period.”

Chris pressed his lips together to keep them from shaking.

“I need hardly remind you,” said Adam, “if we’re caught, you’ll be dragged down with us. And now that you’ve killed Cliff—”

It came too unexpectedly. Chris couldn’t stop the twitching of his legs. A smile loosened Adam’s thick lips.

“I wasn’t sure you had, till now,” he said. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Cliff always was a bungler. Too emotional.”

Adam grunted amusedly. “Steve is like that too. If I wasn’t here you’d have a bullet in your brain by now.”

Chris labored for breath

“How much do you want?” he asked.

“How much have you got?”

“I can—”

“Never mind answering. It’ll be a lie. We want two thousand in small bills.”

“Two thousand—”

“You’re getting off cheap,” said Adam, the amusement stripped from his voice. “You’re lucky we don’t leave you in a ditch somewhere.”

Adam blew out breath.

“Banks open at ten,” he said. “You’ll get the money and bring it to us by eleven. You know where Latigo Canyon is?”

Chris shuddered, recalling his idea to bury Cliff in Latigo Canyon.

“Yes,” he said.

“Bring it there.”

”Where in Latigo Canyon?”

“You’ll find us,” Adam said. He looked at Chris appraisingly. “You can send the police there of course,” he said, “but I don’t think you will. You have too much to lose.”

Chris didn’t reply.

“Let’s make that three thousand,” said Adam.

“Three—!”

“Shut up.”

Chris’s throat felt as if it were lined with dust. He coughed to ease the sensation.

“Well?” asked Adam.

“All right.” Chris’s voice was almost a whisper. “All right, damn you.”

“Splendid,” said Adam lightly. “If you fail you’ll receive a visit either from the police or from us. Neither of which will be very pleasant.”

“I said all right.” said Chris.

Adam looked at him another moment. Then he said, “Pull over.”

Steve drew the dark sedan to the curb.

“Remove him,” said Adam.

Chris stiffened as Steve jumped from the car and ran around the front of it. He pressed back tensely as Steve jerked open the back door and reached in for him.

I can—” he started, breaking off as Steve’s fingers clamped over his wrist. He tried to pull free but was powerless against the stronger man’s grip. His cheek grazed the door jamb as Steve dragged him out.

“If I had my way—” Steve snapped. As Chris stared at his beard-blackened face, he felt a violent blow to his stomach that jack-knifed him over, cutting oft breath.

“Bastard!” he heard Steve’s savage oath. Another clublike blow struck him on the side of the head and he went flailing forward onto the paving. As he fell, he heard Adam’s voice through the blackening cloud around him.

“Be there.”

Then he was on one knee, gagging, hands pressed against his stomach, hearing the car door slam and the roar of the engine as Steve and Adam left. He struggled to his feet. Dazedly, he stumbled over to a palm tree and leaned against it, tears trickling down his cheeks. Breath did not seem to come. He kept gasping for it.

Across the street, an old man opened the front door of his house and looked at him curiously. Gritting his teeth, Chris pushed away from the tree and started walking. He couldn’t take a chance on the man talking to him.

Abruptly, a sob broke in his throat. Dear God, was he still thinking in terms of escape? He walked more quickly, bent over to ease the pain. What kept him going? Obviously, there was to be no end to it.

He braced himself. No, it was only temporary. He’d give them the money, they’d go to Mexico—and mail a letter from there demanding more money?

Chris stopped walking and stood staring at the sidewalk. One more complication. One more turn in the maze leading to a blank wall.

At the corner, he entered a drugstore and walked to the rear. Sliding into a phone booth, he sank down on the seat and pulled the door shut, grimacing at the pain in his stomach muscles. The sound of his breathing was harsh and labored as he pushed a dime into the slot and began to dial.