It wasn’t easy waiting around, and the cop didn’t show till evening. “They didn’t have a thing,” he said. “Maybe you think you’re smart?”
Benny didn’t even get off his cot. “What’s smart about giving you the run-around while I’m stuck in your lousy jug, copper? That dough’s coming and I’m waiting for it. That’s why I hung around this burg in the first place. So we wait another day; me, because I can’t get out; you, because you got that hungry look.” He turned to the wall.
But the cop didn’t leave. “There’s something else, bud.” He was talking in a hoarse whisper. “Lady phoned in from the tourist camp. Said she heard an awful ruckus-then said she saw a man later with a bandaged head helpin’ what looked like a drunk outa your cottage. Now, I’m thinking, might all that have anything to do with you?”
Benny stayed turned to the wall. He didn’t want his face to show.
“I don’t know one way or the other, bud. Maybe you’re in it, maybe you ain’t. It’s worth something, though, not to ask. What do you say, bud?”
He liked that, a greedy cop. He didn’t even bother to turn. “Keep going for that check, copper. That’s where you get yours.”
Benny kept him going for three days. If it had just been him and the cop, Benny would have enjoyed it. But there was so much more. Pat every day and running low on the stuff. No check, which could mean nothing but trouble. And Alverato someplace in the blue Atlantic.
“With special guests like you, bud, we are lenient and easygoing.” The cop sounded nasty. “We give every consideration. Like today, bud. Today we let you send a telegram. Send it to your friend with the bail money and the contribution, and make it good, bud.”
He made it good. He sent the wire to Alverato’s club in New York and told them to forward it to Bermuda or wherever in hell the boss was; that he never got the cash, that he needed it quick or the deal would blow up in everybody’s face; that his wife was getting sicker by the day and needed expert attention. The wire cost over fifty bucks and they wouldn’t send it collect. The cop paid the charge. It was the only thing that Benny didn’t feel anxious about.
He waited twenty-four hours, pacing up and down in his cell. When the cop came to the bars that formed the door, Benny didn’t talk because his breath was coming too hard. He watched the man fumble an envelope from his shirt pocket and hand it through the bars. “You read it,” he said.
Benny read it in one glance because the message was very short. “Re telegram your office no Tapkow known to us. Inform your client.” It was addressed to the office of Western Union in Haute Platte.
When Benny looked up at the cop he didn’t recognize the face at first. The eyes were bulging and the loose flesh on the jowls had turned a mottled red. There was a big vein on the man’s forehead like a knotted rope. “You crazy four-flusher,” he rasped. “You think I’m a dumb country cop, huh? Listening to your gaff, paying for that faked-up telegram-Well, you hear this, bucko. Remember that judge of ours I been telling you about? Well, that judge is a brother of mine, and we put a lot of stock in family feelings!”
The cop stomped out without bothering to feast his eyes on what had happened to Benny’s face.
They locked him in the damp basement, where they handcuffed him to a water pipe. He must have fallen asleep sometime, because when he woke he remembered that he had dreamed and it had been a nightmare. Then it was worse being awake.
It must have been noon when they opened the door, but Benny hardly turned his head. When he did he froze. The cop came in and there was a grin on his face. Then the other man stepped through the door. Big Al himself.
Chapter Twenty
The car ahead threw enough dust to make the road itself invisible. There were a few gray trees along the way, but they only made the cracked landscape more barren. The cars wound through a few more turns and then the plane showed in the field ahead. It said “Maisy” on the nose, somebody Alverato used to know a while back. The big Cessna stood headed into the warm wind and both engines were going.
“Look good to you?” Alverato turned in the front seat and grinned at Benny.
“Looks great.”
“And the little lady?”
Pat didn’t answer. She looked bad and it was a good thing she was drowsy. Alverato kept grinning at her, his tanned skin shiny over the well-fed cheeks. His black button eyes kept hunting Pat’s face.
Alverato gave up. “Pull up next to him,” he said to the driver. The car had bumped off the road and onto the field where the plane was waiting. “And stop bumping,” Alverato said.
The car ahead stopped with a wild dipping of the long antenna. The cop got out. He waited for the others to pull up, looking sweaty and solicitous. When they stopped, he opened the door for Alverato and stood back as if he were going to salute. “Mr. Alverato,” he said, chomping his plates around.
Big Al helped Pat out of the car and took her over to the plane. The pilot was waiting at the open door. They got her in and then Alverato went back to the cop, who kept wiping his hands on his trousers. “Here’s the other half,” and he handed the cop a roll of bills that started to flutter in the prop wash.
“Mr. Alverato, sir, a gentleman like you happens maybe never in a place like ours, and I want you to know-”
“Can it. You don’t think ten grand grows on trees?”
“Nosiree, and well I know. Now I grant you, Bud over here had me fooled for a while-”
“What did you call me?” Benny stepped up and one hand clamped onto the front of the uniform. A button popped.
“Forget it, Benny.” Alverato jerked his head toward the plane.
Benny let go of the cop and went to the Cessna.
Through the window of the plane he could see Big Al, hands in pockets, chatting with the cop. Birdie was climbing into the police car. When the cop started to turn, Big Al grabbed him by the shoulders and laughed. He was laughing and talking as if something was a big joke. In the police car Birdie was tearing the short-wave box off the wires. Then Big Al shook hands with the cop and came into the plane.
“Al, you’re not going to let that flatfoot-”
“Shut up. Watch.”
Birdie had stepped around the cop, who stuck his hand out to say good-by. Birdie clapped the butt of his gun across the knuckles and then he whipped it over the cop’s face, which just a minute ago had been all grease and smiles. It wasn’t any more. Birdie did a few more things, then he stooped over the huddled figure on the dusty ground, pulled the bills out of the shirt, pulled some more out of the pants pockets, and climbed into the plane. When they started to taxi, the cop struggled up on one elbow for a minute, looking like a sack that was half empty, but that’s as far as he got. The prop wash threw a heavy cloud of dust in his face and he fell on his side.
While the plane climbed, they sat strapped in their seats without talking. At four thousand feet a little light came on over the pilot’s door and Alverato unbuckled his belt. “Feel better?” He beamed at Benny and offered him a cigar.
“No, thanks. Better? Climbing doesn’t scare me.”
“I mean about your friend, fat boy with the badge.”
“Yeah.” Benny thought about what he had seen through the window. “Yeah. Much better.”
“That’s just the start, kid. Here,” and Alverato handed him the fistful of crumpled bills that Birdie had brought back. “Take it. It’s yours.”
Benny took the bills and looked at them.
“Ten thousand, kid. All yours. You did a job and a good one. Now have yourself a time.” Alverato gave a fat, satisfied laugh.
Benny straightened the bills and put them in his pocket. He started to relax a little, for the first time in weeks, and he didn’t know how to say it. “Thanks, Al. That’s-that’s big of you. Thanks.”
“Forget it, kid. You deserve it. And from here on in, the fun really starts. Wait till Pendleton gets a load of the pitch! Wait till old wrinkle-ass finds out why his pet was gone so long!” He kept laughing and rubbing his hands.
