Hostage For A Hood (9 page)

"Don't try to contact the country," Luder called after him. "Just Goldman. Goldman will get hold of Harry." Santino didn't bother to answer.

Luder slowed his pace until the other man had reached the next corner and turned into the cross street.

* * * *

Cribbins waited until Paula had closed and locked the door and then he pulled his right arm out from under his coat. He stretched it a couple of times and then took the gun he held in his hand and carefully put in into the shoulder holster he wore under his left armpit.

Paula just stood there, her dark eyes wide with curiosity. "Get me a drink," Cribbins said. "I need one." Paula backed up a step and her eyes went to Joyce. "For God's sake, Harry," she said, "what happened?

And who's she?"

"I said get me a drink," Cribbins repeated. "We'll talk later." He turned toward Joyce. "You want a shot?"

Joyce shook her head. "No thank you," she said. She was aware of the fact that her voice sounded terribly dignified. If it hadn't been for the circumstances, she might have laughed. But she merely stood there, stiff and sick with fear, as the dark-haired girl went into another room and a moment later returned with a half-filled bottle of whisky and a glass.

Cribbins reached out and took the bottle from her hand. He didn't speak as he filled the glass a quarter of the way full and downed it in a single gulp.

"Okay," he said. "Now what can we do with her?" He nodded his head toward Joyce.

"Look, Harry," Paula said, "what happened? What's going on, anyway? Where's Santino and the boys? And who's the dame? I thought ... "

"Don't think," Cribbins said. "Listen." He nodded toward Joyce. "We're keeping this little lady for a few days. Keeping her quiet and out of sight. Let's take care of her first and then we can talk. And don't worry about the boys; they're all right. I think we all better get upstairs. But there's one thing I want you to do first. You got a large shopping bag of some kind?"

Paula nodded her head, a baffled expression on her face "Okay. Go out to the garage and open the trunk of that Chevy we came in." He took a key out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Take out the chopper and put it in the bag and bring it into the house. Leave the rest of the stuff in the trunk. Lock it, and be sure to snap the padlock on the garage doors. Bring the chopper back to the house."

Paula hesitated, holding the key in her hand.

"Go on, do what I tell you," Cribbins said.

He waited until she had left the room and then he turned to Joyce. "Sit down," he said. "Sit down and listen to me."

Joyce edged over to a straight-backed chair.

"You're going to be here for a while," Cribbins said. "Several days at least. Make up your mind to it. Now you can have it just as easy or as rough as you want it. Nobody's to see you and you're to make no effort to get away. You get cute and you may force me to do something I don't want to do. On the other hand, you behave yourself, keep quiet and stay away from the windows and so forth, and you'll make it a lot easier for all of us."

Joyce stared at him dumbly for a moment or two and then swallowed a couple of times and spoke.

"My husband," she said. "He's going to know something has happened to me. Can't I just let him know that I'm ... "

"You can't let anyone know anything. For the next few days you're out of circulation. Completely out of circulation. Make a bum move and we'll take you out for good."

* * * *

At nine-fifteen on Monday evening, Paula came back downstairs, carrying the tray. Cribbins, sitting on the couch in the living room in his shirt sleeves, looked up as she hesitated a moment before putting it down on the sideboard.

"She still won't eat anything?"

Paula shrugged. "Just coffee," she said. "Says she's not hungry. Wanted to know if I didn't have something for the dog."

"The hell with the dog," Cribbins said.

Paula crossed over and threw herself down next to Cribbins, crossing her legs.

"Listen, Harry," she said, "do you think it's safe just leaving her up there locked in the room?"

"Sure it's safe. Why not? What do you expect her to do? She's handcuffed, isn't she? The doors locked and you've taken her clothes."

"She can still scream," Paula said.

Cribbins looked at her, annoyed. "She's not a fool, Paula," he said. "I nailed those shutters on the inside; no one would hear her but us. And she knows what I'd do if she makes trouble. That girl's scared stiff, and as long as she remains that way, we won't have any trouble from her."

Paula looked up and gave him a long look. "What did you want to bring her here for anyway?" she asked. "My God, a woman and a dog!"

Cribbins turned on the couch and stared at her coldly. "Are you stupid?" he said. "I've told you; given you a diagram of the whole thing. What the hell did you expect me to do—turn her loose to start yelling for the cops? Let's stop worrying about her. Let's just think about us."

Paula pouted her lips and then lay back against the couch and shrugged.

"All right, Harry," she said, "let's start thinking about us. Do you know this is the first time you and I have ever been really alone? And speaking of that, don't you think it's about time we heard from the others? Someone should have called by now. How about Goldman; he must know what's going on. Why hasn't he called? I'm getting worried."

"Worrying isn't going to do any good," Cribbins said. "You heard the broadcasts; the cops haven't got anyone. The boys must have made it back to town. They're playing it smart and lying low. They'll be showing up, but probably not for another day or so. They'll have to get hold of a car and they'll have enough sense to wait until the heat dies down a little. There's no point in worrying; no point in borrowing trouble. Goldman will call; just give him time."

"Okay, Harry, I won't worry. Anyway, as far as that goes, it will be all right with me if they never show up. Especially Santino. I'll be happy if he drops dead."

As she spoke she shook her head, tossing the long black hair out of her eyes, and leaned over so that she rested against his shoulder.

"So here we are," she said.

"Yes—here we are."

His arm lifted and fell across her shoulders. She moved closer to him and then suddenly pulled back.

"Take that shoulder holster off, Harry," she said. "It isn't very comfortable."

Cribbins pulled away from her and got to his feet.

"Sure, Paula," he said. "I'll take it off, and I'll go out and mix us a drink. In the meantime you might make yourself more comfortable. Get out of that suit and into a housecoat or something. We won't be having any callers tonight, but I think I'll sit it out downstairs here, just in case. You want to stay down here with me, that'll be fine. But if we're going to sit it out, you better get yourself set for the night."

Paula half closed her eyes, watching him as he moved toward the kitchen. Then she slowly got up and stretched. She turned and climbed the stairs.

Cribbins was again sprawled out on the couch when she re-entered the room. He'd mixed a couple of drinks and they stood on the table in front of the couch.

Paula was wearing a wraparound terrycloth robe, her legs and feet bare. She stood for a moment in front of him and then suddenly threw herself down so that she fell across his lap.

He half pushed her away.

"What's the matter, Harry?" she said, her voice languorous, but without annoyance. "Nobody's coming—you said so yourself. Don't you like me, Harry? Don't you like women?"

"I like women," Cribbins said. "I like you, kid. But it's like I told you from the first. When I'm doing a job, the job comes first. I don't mix things."

"You just mixed a drink," Paula said. "And anyway, the job's done. Over and done with."

For a moment he looked at her. He felt tired; not sleepy, just tired. "You're right, kid," he said at last. "You're right. The job is over and done with."

He reached for her then and as she came to him the terrycloth robe fell open and he felt the firm, warm flesh of her body press against him as her arms went around his neck.

She kissed him and then pulled back her head and looked into his eyes. "That bastard Santino should be here now," she said. "He's the kind who likes to watch."

"We'll give him something to watch, then," Cribbins said. "But let's do it in the dark." His hand reached up for the switch of the shaded lamp on the end table.

Once or twice the sound of the dog's barking drifted down from the floor above, but both of them were oblivious to it. It wasn't until the sharp double ring of the telephone reached their ears that they pulled away from each other.

Cribbins was off of the couch and switching on the light before the sound had ceased. "Get it," he said.

Paula got up slowly, a small, secret smile on her bruised, sensuous lips. She crossed the room, moving slowly. A moment later he heard her voice coming from the hallway, and almost before he could get to his feet she was back in the room.

"You better take it, Harry," she said. "I think it's Goldman."

He was several minutes on the phone and Paula strained her ears to listen. But Cribbins merely grunted once or twice, saying nothing after his original hello. Finally he replaced the receiver and came back into the living room. He reached down and took the half-filled glass which held the warm remains of his drink and downed it. He was frowning when at last he spoke.

"It was Goldman, all right," he said. "He's heard from the boys. The cops got Mitty. Picked him up while he was trying to snatch a car in Brookside."

"And the others?"

"They made it back to town. They're laying low."

Paula pulled the robe closer around her body and shook her hair out of her eyes. There was a worried, anxious expression on her face.

"Harry," she said, "let's get out of here. Let's blow. Right now." She looked at him with a sudden sly expression. "Come on, Harry," she said. "Just you and me. We've got the money—let's get out of here."

He looked at her speculatively, so that she knew he was considering it, considering everything. Then at last he hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

"Don't be a damned fool, kid," he said. "Don't go panicky and blow your top. So they got Mitty. So what? Mitty won't talk. Mitty is as safe as the Bank of England. No one saw him during the stickup except possibly the driver, and he's dead. The guy in the back of the truck was out like a light. No, Mitty will keep his mouth shut."

Paula stared at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he went on, not giving her a chance.

"No, it's more important than ever that we stay now," he said. "Mitty will never talk as long as he knows we're here waiting for him. No one saw Mitty, and Mitty is safe."

"No one saw Mitty," Paula said slowly, "except the girl. The girl upstairs. She saw all of you. Remember that, Harry. She saw all of you."

Cribbins nodded. "I'm remembering. Never fear, kid, I'm remembering."

Karl Mitty was tired. Jees, it was funny what a couple of years of soft living could do to a guy. Funny how you could get out of shape so fast. He was dead tired; he could hardly keep his eyes open. Even with the bright light shining down into his face from the two-hundred-watt bulb, the hard, stiff chair under his buttocks and the occasional hard fist which was pushed under his chin to bring his face up, he still could hardly keep from closing his eyes and falling asleep.