Escape to Witch Mountain (8 page)

“That's right, son. I'm Chief Purdy. I know who you are, an' I got orders out of Washington to hold you.”

T
ony looked incredulously at the short man. A cold knot was gathering in his stomach.

“W-what's this all about?” he stammered.

“Son, if your name's Malone, alias Castaway,” Chief Purdy told him, “you ought to know what it's all about. An' don't tell me you ain't the right pair. You're the only young folks on the bus, and the description fits you perfect. Even to the black cat.” He smiled thinly, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Now, if you'll just come along…”

“Just a minute, Ben,” said a gaunt man in overalls. “What you going to do with the girl? She looks kinda young to be locked up.”

“I don't know how old she is, Milt, but from what they tell me about her it won't be the first time she's been in the pokey. But if you an' May want to be responsible for her till they send somebody to pick 'em up…”

A gray-haired woman shook her head quickly and whispered to the gaunt man, “Stay out of it, Milt. I wouldn't have that foxy-faced girl in the house.”

Tony said desperately, “You're making an awful mistake! Who was it in Washington told you—”

“Don't argue, son,” the short man said patiently. “We'll talk it over at the station.”

Tony winced as a square, powerful hand closed over his elbow and began to guide him down the street. The opposite hand had Tia by the elbow. They moved past the junkyard, and over to a
filling station where two scrawny bears stood watching in a cage. As they turned past the cage, Tony heard the bears give little wistful grunts to Tia's silent whisper of greeting. Then Tia said, “Look, Tony, look!” and he raised his head and saw the mountains for the first time.

They were so unexpectedly close, so wonderfully green and blue and strange, that they quite took his breath away. Involuntarily he stopped and stared.

The short man thrust him on. “What's the matter with you, son?”

“The mountains…”

“Pshaw, ain't you never seen mountains before?”

“Not close like this.”

“Well, they ain't nothin' to get excited over. But the tourists like 'em. Mountains an' bears. That's why I keep them bears. They attract tourists to the gas station.”

Because he suddenly hated the man, Tony could not help saying, “Don't you ever feed them? They look hungry.”

“Pshaw, fool bears.” The chief spat, showing his first sign of irritation, and propelled them across the rear of the lot to a small, dilapidated block building with the words Fairview Police crudely painted over the door. As they approached it, Winkie leaped nervously from Tia's grasp and vanished in the surrounding weeds.

Inside, beyond a scarred desk, some radio equipment and a few broken chairs, Tony glimpsed a partially open door that shut off a small area containing two cells. The place was unpleasantly hot and dirty.

The short man nodded at the desk. “Phone's there. But first, I'm wondering who you're aiming to talk to around here.”

“Nobody. I want to call long distance.”

“I'm not sure I can let you do that, son.” The chief shook his head, and rubbed his hand over his knotty red face. He was a deliberate person, with a thin, wide mouth that kept moving slowly as if he were chewing something. Tony, looking at him angrily, visioned the ill-fed bears, and thought: You dirty old penny pincher…

“But I've a right to make a call,” he protested. “And you've no right to arrest us like this!”

“Now don't get het up, son. I don't like to arrest young people, but sometimes it's my duty. When you get in trouble you got to take your punishment—an' from what I hear you're in plenty trouble.” The chief glanced at the doorway as the gaunt man in overalls appeared. “Milt,” he went on, “this young feller wants to make a long-distance call. You're the mayor. What d'you think?”

“If I remember the law, Ben, he's allowed to make one call. So, if he's got the money to pay for it…”

“I have the money,” Tony said quickly.

“Not so fast,” said the chief. “There's a sort of complication, Milt. I didn't want to mention it outside, but Washington's paying a reward for this pair.”

“Eh? How much?”

“One thousand dollars.”

Tony sucked in his breath, and he heard the mayor whistle softly. Would Lucas Deranian actually pay that much to catch them? But of course he would. After all that had happened there was no question of it. Yet it was a shock to suddenly realize how very much the man wanted them, and the steps he would take to find them.

“That sort of changes things,” the gaunt man in overalls said slowly. “If they're wanted that bad, it sounds as if they're mixed up in something pretty big. All it would take is one call out of here to
the right person, an' first thing you know they'd have a lawyer here with a writ, an' you'd have to release them.”

Tony glared from one to the other. “Does that mean you're not going to let me make my phone call?” he demanded.

The short man nodded, and said quietly, “That's right, son. If they want to let you make phone calls in Washington, that's their business. My duty is to keep you here till the deputy comes to get you.”

“You're not thinking about your duty,” Tony retorted angrily. “All you care about is that thousand dollars. And you're making a mistake, because the person who's paying it—”

“That's enough out o' you, son.” The short man's voice was still mild, but there was a narrowing of the eyes and a thinning of the mouth that warned Tony of the uselessness of saying more.

He had wanted to call Father O'Day, but now he realized it had been mainly for the assurance of hearing the voice of the only friend he and Tia had. Actually, there was nothing Father O'Day could do, except to inform Augie Kozak of what had happened. They were on their own here. The only wise thing was to stop arguing, and take it easy until tonight. Then they could slip out and head for the Kozak place.

They'd had little rest for two nights, and Tia, he saw, was drooping with fatigue. Even so, he was not surprised to find that she seemed oblivious of their predicament, and that all her attention was on the distant bear cage. She was watching it through the window and whispering silently, “You poor things! But just wait— I'll get you out of there.”

“Don't be a dope,” he cautioned her in the same quiet voice. “We won't have time to worry about bears when we leave here. Don't you realize the spot we're in?”

Her only answer was a stubborn lifting of her chin. Oh, he thought, on top of everything else, we've got
bears
to think about…

“Ben,” the man in overalls was saying, “what's the story on these two? Did Washington call you direct?”

“Yeah, but I got word from Winston-Salem first. Lemme lock 'em up an' I'll tell you about it.”

Tony made no protest as they were searched, but he asked if he could keep his harmonica. The request was denied, and all their possessions were locked in a cabinet behind the desk. Then they were hustled past the corridor door and each thrust into a cell.

Feeling lost without his harmonica, he peered about him in disgust. The place was filthy, but at least it had an upper bunk that seemed a trifle less dirty than the lower one. He swung wearily up to it and stretched out, and could have fallen asleep instantly if he had not heard Ben Purdy talking.

The chief had lowered his voice, but it was easy for Tony to hear him even with the corridor door closed.

“It was like this, Milt. First, Winston-Salem got a call from Washington to be on the lookout for this pair at their bus station. One of their cops remembered seeing 'em early this morning, only they gave their name as Castaway instead of Malone. They had tickets for here. So right off Winston-Salem tells Washington about it, then they call me. I'd no sooner got through talking to 'em when Washington calls me direct.”

“But, Ben, who was it in Washington called you?”

“Feller named Karman. Werner Karman. He's some kind of deputy in the Treasury Department.”

“
Treasury
Department?”

“That's right. He said to grab those kids an' lock 'em up fast, and don't take no chances with 'em. I asked was they armed, and he said
no but the boy's known to be dangerous an' likely the girl is too. He said they both got police records, an' on top of it they escaped from some sort of correctional institution up north.”

“I wouldn't have believed it,” came the mayor's voice. “And I'd hardly say they look dangerous. Why, the boy didn't even have a knife in his pocket.”

“You can't go by looks, Milt. To look at 'em, you wouldn't think the Government wanted 'em, and that the Treasury Department would be offering a big reward.”

“Seems kinda odd, Ben. Sure it's the Treasury Department paying the money?”

“Well, who else would it be?”

“Didn't you ask?”

“Pshaw, when a feller says he's bringing me a thousand dollars cash for doing my duty, I ain't askin' whose pocket it come out of. I did ask what the kids had done, an' he let on it was pretty hush-hush, an' that Washington wanted 'em for questioning, an' wanted 'em fast. So I told him O.K., an' should I call 'im back when I got his prisoners locked up safe. An' he said don't bother, that he knew I'd have 'em when he got here, that he was in a hurry to catch a plane so he could get here before dark. He's flying to Winston-Salem, then renting a car.”

“Hmm. He sure wants those kids bad.”

Tony suddenly chilled with apprehension.

“Tia,” he called silently, “did you hear all that?”

“Hear what?” she replied. “I wasn't paying any attention. Tony, there's a little barred window high up on the wall here, and from the top bunk I can look out and see the mountains! Oh, Tony they're
beautiful!
If there's a window in your place—”

He groaned. “For Pete's sake, listen to me,” he begged. “Tia, Mr.

Deranian is on his way from Washington now to get us. We can't wait till dark to get out of here. We'll have to do it this afternoon.”

“Oh, dear. Let's not worry about it. If we've
got
to do it, we'll do it. Tony, why do people have such
awful
places as this to lock other people in?”

“It's because they're people. They're no better here than they are on South Water Street.”

“Tony—”

“Hush—they're talking again.”

The mayor was saying, “It's a funny deal, Ben. You reckon we ought to call Washington and do a little checking on this Karman?”

“Don't see why. He'll have to show me his badge an' papers before I release any prisoners to 'im—and
the
money. He said he'd bring it with him in cash. So, for
that
much money…”

“You'll have to split it with Winston-Salem.”

“No, I don't. Wasn't nothing said about that. You'll get your cut, like as always.”

“Well, I'm not one to argue with cash. But I do say there's something queer about the deal.”

“There could be. Fact is, just before he hung up, Karman said, 'Be careful with those kids, or they'll get away from you. Don't let 'em out of your sight till I get there.' Pshaw, they couldn't get away—not through two locked doors.”

There was a short silence. Then the mayor said, “I think he was warning you, Ben, that they're not ordinary kids. You can tell that by looking at them. Any idea why they came to Fairview?”

“No. I been wondering about that myself. I thought the boy was going to ask to phone somebody in town, but he fooled me.”

“There's got to be a reason why he's here. Ben, I think we ought to ask him a few questions.”

“So do I. I'll go get 'im.”

Tony, worried about how they were going to slip away safely in daylight, was suddenly glad of the chance to see the office again. Then, too, there was his harmonica. Without it he felt like Samson shorn. Somehow he had to get it back, for he might need it later in an emergency.

As he sat down in one of the broken chairs, the short man studied him a moment, then said, “You know anybody here in Fairview, son?”

Tony shook his head.

“Then why did you an' your sister come here?”

“Because we wanted to.”

“That ain't answering my question, son.”

“It sounds like a good answer to me. May I have my harmonica back, please?”

“Afraid not, son. There's got to be a reason why young folks travel so far to a strange town. 'Course we know you're running away from the law, but it don't make sense to come to a place like this unless you know somebody around here.”

“Or was planning to meet someone,” added the mayor.

“Please,” said Tony again, “may I have my harmonica?”

“I done said no,” the chief replied irritably. “Now I want some straight answers, son, an' I want them quick. Y'hear me?”

“You've no right to ask me questions, and I don't have to answer them. But if you'll give me my harmonica I'll tell you the truth—only I know you won't believe it.”

The chief regarded him a moment in angry silence. Then the mayor growled, “Aw, give 'im the fool thing, Ben. He ain't likely to hurt nobody with it.”

The short man unlocked the cabinet, took out the harmonica,
and began turning it slowly in his square hands as if he expected to find that it was really a deadly weapon in disguise. Finally he blew upon it before he tossed it to Tony.