Girl on a Slay Ride Read online

  He let himself relax. He reached for his cigarettes. Denise got them for him and lit two. She slipped one between his lips. Then she said suddenly, “What happens when we get to Port Angeles?”

  “I deliver the securities to my boss,” Mallory said. “And we go to the police.”

  “I can’t go to the police,” she shouted at him. “Can’t you understand that?”

  Mallory said, “If it’s a case of dope, you can talk to the federal men.”

  She twisted in the seat and hammered her fist on his arm. “Damn you, Cliff, listen to me!”

  Mallory caught her wrist and pushed it downward. “Stop that. I’m driving a car. Now get hold of yourself. I’ll listen, but let’s talk sensibly.”

  She jerked her wrist free and slid to the far side of the seat. She sat quietly for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was sullen. “You want to get me off your hands, don’t you?”

  “No,” Mallory said. “I just want to keep you safe. I don’t want you to be on the run for the rest of your life.”

  “Do you think my going to the police will change that? What if I do help get some of those men arrested? There’ll be others to find me—to kill me.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I came to you for help. I could have gone to the police by myself.”

  Mallory said with cold anger, “I’m trying to help. What did you expect of me? I’m not Superman. I can’t stand in front of you and catch bullets in my teeth.”

  She began to sob quietly. Mallory said more gently, “Maybe the smart thing is for you to leave the country. I have some money. I’ll give it to you. Take the ferry across the Strait to Canada. Lose youself there until they forget you.”

  “You just don’t want me around, do you?” she burst out. “You’re afraid of what those men will do to you if they catch us together.”

  Suddenly, Mallory felt very tired. Not because of his sleepless day and passionate night, but because he had been wrong about Denise. She wasn’t mature. Oh, there’d been some improvement, but she still thought of practically everything and everyone in terms of herself and in terms of the immediate present.

  He said, “Back at the motel I was thinking how it would be if we could stay together. But I’d rather have you alive and away from me than with me and dead.”

  “You’d rather have me a long way away!” she screamed at him. “With just a few crummy dollars in my pocket, what could I do? What can I do without money?”

  That was a good question, Mallory thought. She had never been without as much money as she wanted—until six months ago. She had never worked. She wasn’t trained to work at anything. Shilling for a society gambler was hardly adequate job training.

  He said, “What could you do with money?”

  “Run,” she said. “With a lot of money I could go far enough and fast enough so they’d never find me. I’d be able to buy protection from them.”

  Mallory said, “Even if you had that kind of money, you wouldn’t want to run forever. And you can get all the protection you need from the police and the federal men for nothing.” He paused. “And from your father.”

  “I told you what he said!”

  Mallory said, “I don’t care what he said. He wasn’t a fool eight years ago; he won’t be one now. I’ll telephone him from Port Angeles. I’ll lay it on the line, and he’ll listen. And then I’ll put you on a plane. He’ll have you met by so many cops this Rick and his friends won’t be able to get within a mile of you.”

  She said dully, “You’re so sure that everyone is as logical and responsible as you, aren’t you, Cliff?” Her voice sharpened. “And what if he won’t listen to you?”

  “Then,” Mallory said, “since you won’t go to the authorities, I’ll do my best. “We’ll buy some extra camping equipment. You come up in the mountains with me. We can go where nobody can find us. We’ll have two weeks to figure out what to do. Does that suit you?”

  She said perversely, “I don’t want any favors. I won’t saddle you with me unless you really want me.”

  Mallory opened his mouth to answer her. He held back the words as he saw the first traffic since they’d left the motel. Gray daylight had come and the car behind them showed no headlights. It swirled out of the thin mist, almost on them, before Mallory was aware of it.

  A large sedan, he thought. He felt the uneasiness ripple through him. The car was coming fast. He pulled to his right to let it pass in the other lane.

  It swung out and came even. It stayed there, parallel with him. Mallory turned his head. He felt the hard jolt of fear run up his legs and into his groin. The big man with the craggy face was behind the wheel. The smaller man was sitting on the right-hand side. He was looking over at Mallory and smiling his empty smile.

  Chapter VI

  THE big green sedan ran along the empty left lane, keeping pace with Mallory’s sluggish wagon.

  Mallory saw the third passenger now. He was lumped in the rear seat. He wore an overcoat with the collar turned up and a fedora hat with the brim tugged down. Mallory could see nothing of his face. His body jounced loosely with the motion of the sedan.

  Denise whispered, “They’ve caught us. I told you we wouldn’t get away from them.”

  Mallory said, “They haven’t got us yet.”

  He drove the throttle to the floor. The wagon’s speedometer moved to fifty and began climbing slowly. The sedan fell back for an instant and then came abreast again effortlessly. The slender man rolled down his window when he was directly opposite Mallory.

  Mallory felt as isolated as if they’d been dropped down in Central Africa. There were no sounds except the whine of tires and the hammering of the wagon’s tired motor. Tall firs made a long tunnel of green, blotting out the Olympic Mountains to the east.

  The slender man cupped his hands to his mouth and called, “Pull over and stop.”

  Mallory swung the wheel to the left. The other driver braked sharply. Mallory steered to the center of the road. The speedometer needle was wobbling on sixty now. The motor’s protest grew louder. Mallory straightened the wagon. He was straddling the center line of the highway, leaving no room for the massive sedan to come alongside.

  Mallory felt Denise move beside him. He shifted his glance to her for an instant. She was on her knees, facing the back of the wagon. She seemed to be pawing through his luggage.

  Mallory said, “What are you doing?”

  Her voice was tight with anger. “Looking for something to fight with.”

  He could hear no fear in her voice. He realized that she was reacting in the same way he was. Fear had been a product of their uncertainty. But there was no longer any doubt about the men in the green sedan. Now, Mallory thought, the threat was real, and they knew it and they were both trying to do something about it.

  He said, “There’s a twenty-two target pistol buried in the bottom of my suitcase.”

  Denise gave a soft grunt as she leaned farther over the back of the seat. Mallory lifted his eyes to the rear-view mirror. The sedan was close behind him. It made a sudden swing to the left. Two wheels rolled onto the gravel shoulder as it pulled even with the wagon again.

  The slender man was resting the barrel of what was at least a thirty-eight revolver on the sill of his window. He called, “Don’t try that again. Now slow down and pull over.”

  His voice was without the pleasantness of the night before. Now it carried a sharp authority.

  Mallory said, “It’s too late, Denise.”

  He slackened his speed and began to brake. He steered toward the gravel shoulder on the right side of the road. The wagon bumped slowly to a stop.

  Denise turned in the seat. She sat very straight, her hip and leg touching Mallory now as if for comfort. She tried to light a cigarette. Her hands shook badly, and she threw the cigarette away.

  “Can’t we do something?” she demanded. The angry tightness was still in her voice. He knew she was afraid only because he could feel her leg tremble against his
.

  “He’s got a gun,” Mallory pointed out.

  The sedan swung onto the shoulder in front of the wagon, blocking it. The slender man climbed out and walked back to where Mallory waited behind the wheel. He held the gun loosely at his side.

  “What the hell’s the idea?” Mallory demanded angrily.

  The man was smiling again. He said, “I’ll tell you later.”

  He stopped very close to Mallory’s door. Mallory wondered what would happen if he suddenly opened the door and caught the man with its edge. The other’s eyes stopped him. They were dark and cloudy, like mud covered with a skim of dirty ice. They said that Mallory would be a fool if he tried to be a hero, a dead fool.

  The man glanced away and said, “Hurry it up, Nick.”

  The driver of the green sedan opened his door and stepped out onto the gravel shoulder. He was taller and heavier than Mallory remembered. He opened the rear door of the sedan and reached inside.

  “Out, you.”

  Mallory saw him frown. He leaned in farther and then moved back. He was pulling something. His hand appeared with the front of an overcoat balled in it. The man inside the coat was as limp as a sack of soggy grain.

  The driver grunted and threw his weight back on his heels. The other man came reluctantly from the sedan. He was fat, with broad womanish hips and narrow, sloping shoulders. His thighs stretched his trouser legs like plump sausages in tight skins. He made a feeble gesture toward the driver’s hand.

  “Leave me alone.” He had a thin, high voice.

  “Leave him alone, Nick,” the slender man said.

  The driver dropped his hand. The fat man waddled toward the wagon. He stopped near the window and stared at Denise. He had a lumpish face, thick across the bridge of a shapeless nose. His skin was bumpy from ancient acne scars. His mouth was small, the lips thick and turned out so that their moist pink innersides were constantly exposed. His chin was a tiny blob set in fat and creased by a deep dimple. He breathed noisily through his parted lips.

  Something about his appearance tugged at Mallory’s memory. He lost the thread of the thought as the slender man said, “Just sit tight.”

  Mallory gripped the steering wheel. He watched the driver of the sedan bring two suitcases to the wagon. He opened the tailgate and tossed them on top of the camping equipment. He went to the side and opened the door behind Mallory. He took the suitcases from the back seat and threw them behind it. He tossed the briefcase after them. He paid no special attention to it.

  Mallory realized he was holding his breath. He let it out very softly. If these men weren’t after the bonds and they hadn’t been sent by Rick Lawton, what did they want?

  He became conscious again of Denise beside him. He glanced at her. She had stopped trembling. She had her hands folded in her lap, the fingers laced together. Her long, narrow face was flushed, her lips clamped tight.

  She turned suddenly, looking past Mallory at the slender man. “All right, you found me. Why don’t you get it over with?”

  Mallory could sense hysteria growing in her voice. He said softly. “They weren’t looking for you, Denise.”

  The driver of the sedan was pushing the fat man into the rear seat. He lifted his head. “Looking for her?” he repeated. He made a gusty, laughing sound.

  Denise cried out, “Then who are they? What do they want?”

  The slender man paid no attention to her. He said to the driver of the sedan, “We’ll follow you just as I planned it. But don’t wait too long. The road turns away from the ocean soon.”

  “I remember the spot you picked out,” the driver said. He shut the rear door on the fat man and walked back to the sedan. He moved gracefully for someone his size and bulk.

  The slender man rounded the wagon and climbed in beside Denise. He held his gun in his right hand, resting it on his leg.

  He said to Mallory, “Wait until Nick is around that curve ahead. Then drive on slowly.”

  Mallory watched the green sedan start up and pull onto the road. It picked up speed rapidly and disappeared around the curve.

  Mallory started the car and pulled onto the blacktop. He drove silently, his eyes on the road. He could feel Denise, still rigid beside him. The fat man’s breathing came noisily from the back seat. The sound annoyed him. It added to the anger building sourly in his empty stomach.

  He said, “Listen, you sonofabitch …”

  “Just drive. I’ll tell you when to talk and what to do.”

  Denise said, “You can’t get away with this, whoever you are.”

  “I am getting away with it,” the man said. He sounded amused.

  Mallory slowed for the curve. Beyond it the trees on his right fell away, revealing the ocean with the early sun shining on it. The coastline was rocky, in some places showing small beaches of sand, but for the most part everything was covered by jagged mounds of dark rock. At this point the road was well above the water; a little farther along it ran at the edge of a cliff which dropped sheer to deep pools covered with light foam from the swirling tides.

  Mallory could see the sedan drawn up at the edge of the cliff. The driver stood at the side of the car. He was looking into the water as though absorbed by its constantly changing patterns.

  “Pull up across the road from him,” the slender man said to Mallory.

  Mallory pulled over. The slender man reached over and turned off the ignition. He took the key out and dropped it in his pocket. He smiled his empty smile. “I wouldn’t want you to go away. And if you’re considering leaving on foot—I’m an excellent shot.” He got out of the wagon and crossed the road.

  He and the driver talked for a minute. Then they looked over the cliff. The small man nodded. He stepped to the edge of the road and glanced both ways along its empty length.

  He said, “All right.”

  The driver reached inside the sedan. He backed away hastily as the car started to roll forward. Mallory sat with his hands gripping the wheel of the wagon. There was a strange fascination in watching the big car move ponderously forward to the edge of the cliff. The front wheels went over. There was a grating sound as rock scraped the undercarriage. Then the nose of the car disappeared. For a moment there was only the rear end, wheels spinning. In a moment that too was gone.

  Mallory held his breath. He let it out gustily as the sound of a splash reached him. Denise said, “Why?”

  Mallory didn’t answer. The two men were crossing the road to the wagon. They climbed in; the large man got in the rear seat. Mallory turned and looked back at him and at the fat man who was sitting beside the former driver. The fat man had his hands on his legs, his chin down; his face was obscured by his tilted hat.

  “Let’s go,” the small man said. He replaced the ignition key and settled himself beside Denise.

  Mallory started the wagon. The large man said, “It went good, all right. You can’t see nothing but water.”

  “I thought that place would be right,” the small man said. “I have a remarkable memory.” He seemed to be addressing Mallory.

  Mallory watched the road as it curved away from the ocean. He said nothing.

  The small man leaned sideways, reaching across Denise to hold a hand out to Mallory. He said, “Give me the registration slip.”

  Mallory took the holder from around the steering post and put it in the man’s hand. After a moment, the man said, “C. R. Mallory, Portland, Oregon. Is that you?”

  “Yes,” Mallory said.

  “And this is Mrs. Mallory?”

  “Any objections?” Denise demanded. Her voice was brittle.

  Mallory hoped her fear and anger didn’t make her bitchy. She could be that way, he knew. She’d been working at it with him when the sedan caught them just after daybreak. In a way, he couldn’t blame her. She must have been under terrific tension for some time now. This new development wasn’t helping her any, he was sure. Just the same, he hoped she wouldn’t go out of her way to make these men angry. This wasn’t the time to m
ake a move against them.

  He dropped a hand to her knee in warning. She was beginning to tremble again.

  “No objections,” the slender man said to her. “I just like to know the people I deal with.”

  He was silent a moment. Then he said, “My name is Miles Graef. My friend is Nick Thoms.” He made no effort to introduce the third man.

  Denise said, “Charmed as all hell, I’m sure.”

  Mallory grinned through his tension. Then he remembered Graef’s mud-and-ice eyes and he touched Denise in warning again.

  Graef said, “What line of work are you in, Mallory?”

  “Property management,” Mallory said.

  “In Portland, of course. Is it an interesting profession?”

  “It’ll do,” Mallory said.

  Denise said, “What’s your line when you aren’t out kidnaping people, Mr. Graef?”

  Despite his fear for her, Mallory had to admire her spirit.

  Graef laughed. “I’m in the investment business,” he said.

  Behind Mallory, Nick Thoms gave another of his gusty laughs.

  The fat man stirred. Mallory watched him in the rear-vision mirror. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. The eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue over an odd, milky whiteness. He ran his tongue over his out-turned lips, wetting them obscenely.

  “I’m hungry,” he complained. His voice still had that thin emptiness Mallory had noticed before.

  “We’ll eat in the first town,” Graef said. “Is this your annual vacation, Mallory?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your favorite fishing spot?”

  “They’re all good,” Mallory said.

  “He’s the cautious type,” Graef remarked to Thoms.

  “One of them guys that lives for his work,” Thoms said heavily.

  “I don’t connect that remark with what I said,” Graef answered sharply.

  “One of them guys that takes his business with him,” Thoms explained. “He brought a briefcase along on his fishing trip.”