Gus knew all about roping, and when he put the pressure on I called him some fancy names.
They stood back and looked at me.
Gus said to the fat guy: “We gotta get goin’.” He went over to Mardi’s door and turned the handle. The door was locked. I knew that door would want some opening. They could only do that by making a hell of a noise.
I said: “Skip it, you two guys, can’t you leave us alone? You ain’t getting in there without callin’ out the riot squad, so why not turn it in?”
The fat guy gave a little chuckle. When he laughed he certainly looked mean. “This is easy,” he said. “We’ll get her out quick an’ quiet.’
He went to the door and pushed Gus on one side. He put his bullet-head against the panels. “Come on out, sister,” he said, speaking in his hoarse, croaking voice. “We want you out in ten seconds or we start on your boy friend.”
I yelled: “To hell with them, Mardi! You stay where you are. Yell out of the window…!”
Gus hit me across the mouth with the back of his hand. His bony knuckle cut my lip and I staggered across the room, getting my balance.
The fat guy knocked on the door again. “Wait a minute, sister,” he called. “Don’t you start anythin’ until I’m through. Then you can make up your mind. I know you’re in there, so you don’t have to be cagy. You can hear me okay?”
“I can hear you.” Mardi’s voice was pretty steady.
“If you don’t come out right now, I’m going to get tough with your boy friend. When I say tough, I mean tough, get it? I’ll give you ten seconds, an’ if you ain’t out by then I’m goin’ to give him the works.”
I dodged Gus’s rush and yelled, “It’s a bluff… yell out of the window… don’t open—”
Again Gus’s fist smashed into my face and this time I went over. I was quick enough to jerk my head away from the kick he aimed at me.
Mardi opened the door and came out.
The fat guy and Gus stood motionless staring at her. I saw Gus’s eyes open and he pursed his mouth.
She stood framed in the doorway, one hand hanging by her side and the other holding the door handle. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide, but she held her head up and she wasn’t looking scared.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice steady and cold.
I felt mighty proud of the way she faced up to these two thugs. The fat guy came forward, his face beaming, but his eyes very mean.
“Well! Well! Ain’t she a peach?” he said, standing in front of her. “We’re all goin’ for a little ride. Get your wrap, will you? An’ make it fast.”
I struggled to my feet. “Listen,” I said, keeping an eye on Gus, who was beginning to sidle towards me, “you won’t get anywhere on a gag like this. Drop it, will you?”
The fat guy glanced at Gus. “If that punk opens his trap any more, shut it for him and shut it for good.”
Gus drew a rubber truncheon from his back pocket. He balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “Sure,” he said, and grinned.
Mardi came over to me, but the fat guy stepped between us. “We don’t want to get tough,” he said, “but we will if you don’t behave.”
She looked at me and I gave her a pale grin. I was feeling bad about all this. Then she squared her shoulders and picked up her wrap.
The fat guy stepped to her side. “That’s fine,” he said. “Now we go downstairs, if you start anythin’, Gus’ll wash up the punk. Hear that, Gus?”
Gus said, “Sure.” He threw my overcoat cape-wise over my shoulders and jerked his head. We all went out into the corridor and went silently down into the street. There was a big closed car standing outside the house. The streets were deserted and the pale dawn was coming up over the roofs. It would be over an hour before any one would be around on the streets.
Gus shoved me in the back of the car and the fat guy got in next. Mardi followed. We three sat in a row. Gus went to the front and climbed under the wheel. He switched on the ignition and engaged the gears. The car shot away from the kerb at a high speed.
The fat guy said to Mardi: “You ain’t got to get scared. I’d be sortta soft with a honey like you if you were nice.”
“Listen, greaseball,” I put in. “Suppose you skip your stuff. It gives me a pain.”
His face suddenly set. “I’m getting mighty tired of you,” he said. “You’re goin’ to run into plenty of grief before long.”
I wondered what chance I had if I jumped him. I thought I could sock him in his puss with my two hands and while he was getting his breath I might do some more damage.
He was no fool. I guess he saw I was getting ready to start something, so he dug his gun into me. “Pipe down,” he said curtly.
The big car flashed through the empty streets with hardly a roll. In the faint light from the dashboard I could make out the outline of Gus’s head. He kept his eyes on the road and drove hard.
“Where the hell do you think you’re takin’ us?” I asked for something to say.
The fat guy said, “Did you hear that, Gus? He wants to know where we’re goin’.”
Gus shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
I wanted to keep the fat guy’s mind off Mardi, so I kept talking. “What’s your name?” I asked. “I get kind of embarrassed callin you ‘greaseball’.”
He turned a little. I could see he was getting mad. “You won’t get anywhere with that stuff,” he said evenly. “Suppose you keep your trap shut; I’m gettin’ tired of hearing your yappin’.”
Mardi hadn’t said a word the whole time. I couldn’t see much of her, and when I leant forward the fat guy gave me a hard one in the chest with his elbow.
I thought when the time came for a show-down, I was certainly going to give this punk the works.
I suddenly recognised the sound of a ship’s siren. So we were going back to Wensdy Wharf again. Sure enough, in a few minutes, the car turned into the wharf and pulled up outside the same house.
Gus got out first and opened the door. “Come on out,” he said to Mardi.
She stepped out and he pushed her into the house. The fat guy followed, jerking me with him. We all silently trooped upstairs into the room where Blondie had been kept prisoner.
“Home again,” I said, leaning against the wall. I had been testing the ropes round my wrists and arms during the drive, but I could get nowhere with them. They were on for good.
Gus shoved me into a chair.
The fat guy went outside, and I heard him go into another room. I heard him say something, then a deep voice answered him. I saw Mardi start a little and she looked rather wildly at me. She said something with her lips, but I couldn’t get it.
Then the door opened again and a tall, heavily built man came in, followed closely by the fat guy.
He stood and looked at Mardi, then he said, “I’m sorry about this, but you’re rather in the way.” The way he said it made me suddenly feel cold. He was so casual and calm, but there was a definite threat in his words.
He certainly scared Mardi. She took a step back. “But, Mr. Spencer…” she began and stopped.
So this was Lu Spencer. I looked at him closely. There was nothing very grand about this guy. He was running a little to fat and he was getting thick in the middle. His coal-black moustache and his white hair made odd contrasts. He looked like he had dyed his moustache. His eyes dropped a little, as if he were very tired, but the light in them belied any sign of fatigue.
He selected a cigar from a pigskin case and put it between his teeth. “Give the lady a chair,” he said to Gus.
When Mardi had sat down, her hands twisting a little in her lap, he glanced over at me.
“So you’re Mason,” he said, moving over to get a good look at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “If this is your idea of a good gag, I don’t think much of it. Suppose you cut this movie stuff out right now.”
He went over and sat on the edge of the table. “It’s time we had a little chat,” he said, tipping the ash off his cigar with his finger. “I’m cautious, Mason, always have been. When I think trouble’s coming my way, I act quick. I don’t wait for trouble to get going, I meet it before it starts and I stop it starting.”
