The Green Turtle Mystery (17 page)

“If you don’t keep quiet I’ll kick your head off!” an angry voice said in Djuna’s ear as strong hands forced him into a chair.

“O
H, PLEASE
!” Djuna said with a little moan, “
Please
. You’re hurting my arm.”

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get nothin’ worse’n your arm hurt,” a voice snarled back at him. But the pressure on Djuna’s twisted arm was eased as the same voice said, “If you sit there without making a move while I light the lamp you won’t get hurt. If you don’t you’ll wish you’d kept your bright little nose out of this place. Which’ll it be?”

Djuna didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to speak because he knew his voice would show his fright. His captor held the rays from the flashlight full on Djuna’s face as he faded across the room. After fumbling with his hands for a few moments he struck a match and lit an acetylene lamp that half blinded Djuna with its bright glare. Not once had he taken his squinty eyes off Djuna.

When Djuna’s eyes became accustomed to the light he gasped. He saw that his captor was the squinty-eyed man who had snapped the feather at Champ the evening before! He stared at the man with eyes that were round with fright, and the only thing he could think of was that
now
he was glad that he hadn’t brought Champ because of the man’s threat to put acid in Champ’s eyes.
That
, at the moment, was the only thing in the world he had to be thankful for!

Djuna’s fright increased as the man picked up a vicious little automatic pistol from the big table in the center of the room and stuck it in a holster that was strapped around his shoulder. He patted the pistol three or four times as he looked at Djuna, and Djuna knew what he meant even if he didn’t say anything. His hands were smeared with several colors of ink that glistened brightly in the light.

Then he chased the green parrot from its perch on a piece of clothesline that was strung across the back length of the room, unfastened the rope and advanced on Djuna again. He stood glaring down at him while he tied a small loop in one end and then pulled the other end through it to make a noose. He slipped the noose down over the chair and Djuna’s head and shoulders as far as his elbows. He drew the noose so tight that it cut into Djuna’s arms, then lashed his hands together at the wrists. Then he ran the free end down and lashed Djuna’s ankles together and fastened them securely to the bottom rung of the chair.

“Well,” he said as he surveyed his handiwork. “
That’ll
take care of
you
for a while, my nosey little friend!”

The green parrot blinked its beady eyes a half dozen times and screamed, “HASTA LA VISTA! HASTA LA VISTA! HASTA LA VISTA!” then threw back its head and roared with laughter at its own joke.

“Shut up or I’ll knock your brains out against the wall!” the squinty-eyed man shouted at the parrot. The parrot cocked his head on one side, looked at the man out of one eye and looked for all the world as though it was going to say: “
You ’n who else?
”

Djuna’s frightened eyes wandered around what he could see of the dirty old room. He saw a collapsible cot that was covered with a decrepit blanket, two more straight-backed chairs like the one he was tied to, and an assortment of clothes hanging on nails that had been driven into the wall.

Then some of the fright went out of his eyes, but they became even larger as he saw what he knew was some kind of printing press standing near the edge of the big table in the middle of the room. Stacked beside it were piles of small pieces of stiff paper a little larger than bank notes. And spread out on the table so that the ink would dry were a great number of counterfeit ten-dollar bank notes just like the one Mr. MacHatchet had shown Djuna that afternoon!

Djuna swallowed hard because he knew now that his suspicions had been right, and he knew, too, that Mr. Furlong had been right when he said that counterfeiters were dangerous men.

When he tore his gaze away from the counterfeit bills he found the squinty-eyed man studying him with a speculative gaze. As their eyes met the man shook his head and said, “I ain’t sure what you been snoopin’ around here for, kid, but I gotta admit you got plenty of nerve.”

Djuna didn’t say anything to that because he didn’t see that there was anything he could say. He began to regain some of his courage, too, as the man’s attitude became less threatening.

“What’s your name?” the man said, suddenly.

“Djuna.”

“Djuna, eh?” the squinty-eyed man said and he smirked. “Well, some people call me Jones, so you might as well call me that. It’s very possible we’re going to be seeing each other quite a bit from now on.”

“Yes sir,” Djuna said and he wriggled his fingers because his wrists were getting numb.

“You know,” Jones said, “if my partner had had his way, you’d be a dead pigeon now.”

Djuna gulped again and his eyes grew round as a sudden thought came to him. “Wh–why, sir?”

“When he was here today and found out you had been in here last night he was sure you were wise to what we’re doing here,” Jones said. “But I knew you were just lookin’ for my parrot, or that turtle I gave him, same as that little girl and her father were lookin’ for the parrot. He wanted me to bump you off. But I ain’t havin’ any part of murder. Life’s short enough as it is, but it’s apt to get a lot shorter if you go around killing people.” Djuna began to breathe a little easier again until the man added, “I’ve shot plenty of people but I never killed one intentionally.”

He moved over to the table and spun the flywheel on the hand printing press. “I got about two hours more work here finishin’ up these bank notes and then we’re goin’ for a
long
ride, sonny. You’re just the lad I’ve been lookin’ for for a long time. Do you live around here?”

“No sir,” Djuna said. “I live in a little place called Edenboro about forty miles from here. I’m just visiting here.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Jones said. “Nobody will be lookin’ for you quite so fast. Do you know anything about counterfeiting?”

Djuna was about to say, “Only what Mr. MacHatchet, a Secret Service man told me today.” But he caught himself and said, instead, “Not much.”

“Well,” Jones said as he carefully arranged a piece of paper in the press to turn out another of his spurious bills, “it’s the easiest way in the world to make a living. You take this note-plate I’m makin’ these bills from. I made that about four years ago and have made a good hundred thousand dollars worth of bills from it. That’s the way my eyes got so bad, doing etchings and engravings. It’s mighty close work.”

Djuna kept silent while he tried desperately to think of some way to let Ben know what had happened.

“Some folks say that crime doesn’t pay but I make a mighty nice livin’ out of it,” Jones went on. “When I come back from Mexico a little bit ago I was broke. All I had was my note-plate. Now I got a hundred thousand dollars in bills that’ll pass like hot cakes when I get back to Mexico. That’s the place to pass ’em–Mexico and South and Central America.

“I’ll give half of ’em to my partner because he staked me to a place to work and to a printing press and my food. But he’s a lunk-head. I’ll never link up with him again.”

“Who is your partner, Mr. Jones?” Djuna asked and a second later he was sorry he had asked when he saw the fury in Jones’ eyes as he whirled around. He took two steps toward Djuna, raised his fist, then let it fall back by his side.

“You’re lucky you’re alive, sonny,” he snarled at Djuna. “You keep your nose out of things and do what you’re told, without any questions if you re going to team up with me. D’yuh understand?”

“Yes sir,” Djuna said, but he couldn’t help adding, “I’m not going to team up with you, Mr. Jones. I don’t want anything to do with your counterfeit bills.”

“You don’t, eh?” Jones said, savagely. “You’ll change your mind after you haven’t had anything to eat for a few days. I was tryin’ to explain to you what a fine business this is–counterfeitin’. But I see it ain’t any use, so I’ll give it to you straight. And I don’t mind tellin’ you that you’re just the kind of a lad I’ve been lookin’ for for five years. You got plenty of nerve, and you’re a bright boy.
Too
bright when you ain’t got the proper kind of teachin’ such as I’ll give you.” Jones thought he was chuckling as he finished but it sounded more like a growl to Djuna.

“You’re just the kind of lad I need to pass these bills for me,” Jones went on. “Nobody will ever suspect you and you’re bright enough to talk yourself out of a tight pinch after I teach you how.”

“I–I wouldn’t pass
one
of your worthless bills if my life depended on it,” Djuna said, hotly.

“We’ll see when the time comes,” said Jones, “because your life may depend on it. But I think you’ll be willing enough before I get through with you.”

He reached over on the table and picked up a copper plate with a small green feather lying in the center of it like the feather he had worn in his hatband. “I’m makin’ up a new plate now for a twenty-dollar bill. We’ll make enough money on them to last us the rest of our lives. But I’ll break you in on these tens when we get down to Mexico.”

“
Mexico!
” Djuna gasped.

“That’s right,” Jones said, and he growled in his throat again. “That’s the easiest place in the world to pass phony money and the best place to break you in. As I said a bit ago I’ll be through printin’ this batch in a couple of hours. Then I’m going to pack up and we’ll take a taxi over to my partner’s and give him half of them. After that
you and me
are goin’ to hop a midnight train headed for Mexico. I only got one reservation, but I can get another. We’ll slip over the border when we get down there and get a train for Mexico City on the other side, because we ain’t got no passports. But we can work them things out.”

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Djuna gasped, “I
won’t
get on a train for Mexico. I’ll get help some way.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” said Jones and he patted the automatic in its shoulder holster. “If you try to attract someone’s attention or open your trap I’ll put a bullet right where it’ll fix you so you won’t ever walk again. How would you like that?”

Djuna shuddered, but he resolved that he would let Jones shoot him before he’d ever get on a train to go to Mexico to pass counterfeit bills.

The old hand press clanked noisily as Jones tried to make haste in printing the remaining bills, and Djuna tried desperately to think of some ruse he could use to summon aid.

Once Jones stopped his efforts and went over to a bucket and dipped himself out a glass of water. He drank it slowly while he again studied Djuna with speculative eyes. Djuna, looking thirstily at the glass in his hand, wet his own lips with his tongue and asked Jones if he could, please, have a glass.

“Why, sure,” Jones said, amiably enough and dipped out a glass of water from the bucket and put it on the table. Then he went over to a suitcase on the floor and took a white pill out of a little box and brought it over to Djuna along with the glass of water. “Here. Try one of these,” he said. “It’ll keep you from gettin’ too uncomfortable from bein’ tied up there so long. It won’t hurt you.”

Djuna didn’t know what to do as Jones half-forced the pill between his lips and then held the water to his mouth to drink. He was suspicious that the pill might be a drug but he was so thirsty that he couldn’t refuse the water.

Just then the parrot began to make funny noises as though it was going to talk and Djuna looked at it and said, “How did your parrot happen to come back to you after you sold it, Mr. Jones?”

“He’s come back to me many a time,” Jones said and went back to his work. “I’ve sold him fifty times, I guess. All I have to do is slip back into the place where I sold him and unfasten the catch on his door. Then I go outside and whistle at him and he does the rest.”

“You mean he’ll come to you when you whistle at him?” Djuna asked.

In answer Jones gave a low whistle without lifting his head. The parrot flapped its wings and soared across the room to land on his shoulder.

“I see,” Djuna said. “You know that little girl’s father you sold the parrot to is awful mad because it got away. I was talking to him this afternoon.”

“You seem to get around and talk to a lot of people, don’t you?” Jones snarled.

“Yes sir, I do,” said Djuna. “But I think this time you made a mistake. He told me this afternoon that he was going to get a couple of policemen and come here to get the parrot after he closes his bakery tonight.”

“
Eh?
” Jones said and he lifted his head and stared at Djuna angrily. He advanced across the room threateningly. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“There wouldn’t be any point for me to say that,” Djuna said in reply. “I’m just
telling
you!”

“You are, eh!” said Jones, harshly. But there was uncertainty and nervous fear in his voice. “I ain’t got time to take him down there now to keep ’em from coming up here.” He chewed at his lower lip while he considered what
might
happen if the baker did come there with a couple of policemen.

“I stopped in the bakery just before I came up here,” Djuna said. “Mr. Sanchez told his little daughter to come up and watch outside this house in case the parrot flew out the same window it flew in the other night, so she could follow it. If you just put it out the window she’ll probably see it and be able to catch it. Then they won’t bother to come in here with policemen.” Djuna held his breath while he tried not to show too much concern about
what
Mr. Jones did with the parrot. But Mr. Jones didn’t even question what Djuna had told him.

“I knew you were goin’ to be a help to me,” Jones said. “You’re startin’ in already. The first thing you know you’ll be a crackerjack counterfeiter.”

Mr. Jones got the parrot firmly under his arm. Then he turned out the acetylene lamp and pushed back the black curtain that was over the inside of the window. He lifted the window cautiously and tossed the parrot out into the night. The moon was so bright that Djuna could see its wings flapping as it flew away. He hoped with all his heart that Ben would see it, too.