Hard Case Crime: Baby Moll (12 page)

“Hold on, Maxine. I don’t know—”

He stepped closer to me. Kostrakis turned at my side, bringing his fist up. “Let me,” Maxine whispered, his eyes full of tearful rage. His tongue pried his lips apart. Sweat glistened in the holes of his cheeks. His fist doubled. I moved my shoulders forward, balancing on the pads of my feet. Stan hesitated. “Hold him.”

Fingers closed around my arms, yanked them back and away from my sides. Maxine grunted and drove his fist into my gut. One of my legs bounced up. I couldn’t double over to ease the pain. I kicked out at him but there was no strength in the kick. It missed.

“Where did you take Gerry? Where is she? Damn you, Mallory, where’s my girl?”

I couldn’t say anything. I strained for breath, my eyes weeping from the effort. I knew my face must be darkening.

When I could speak I told him, “I don’t know where she is. I care less. You crazy or something, Maxine?”

“You want her, don’t you?” he said. “I could tell today. Saw you looking at her. Where did you go with her?”

“You’re nuts. I don’t touch it unless it’s been aged at least twenty years.”

He moaned and hit me again. This time I managed to shy to one side so his blow grazed my ribs first. I writhed helplessly, clamped between the two big men.

“You scum,” I said, my teeth tightly together. “What makes you think she didn’t run off? What makes you think she’d want to hang around you long? You got sex appeal or something?”

His eyes pressed shut. He swayed a little. “Get him out of here,” he whimpered. “Get him out of here before I kill him! Find out if he’s lying.”

They jerked me around and dragged me through the dining room and kitchen. My arms were numb from the grip of their fingers, swift needles of pain breaking in my palms and fingers. This time I went into the back seat of the Chrysler, face down on the floor. My head was held fast with a double length of rope fastened to a pair of hooks embedded in the floor, and passed across the back of my neck. It was hard for me to find a place for my legs. I finally had to bend them under me and lie cramped in the small space, my face scraping against the rough hairy matting at every bounce. There were a lot of bounces, because Kostrakis was an arrogant driver with a heavy right foot. Before long I was feeling calm, cold fury. They had my gun. But if I had just one, tiny chance I would try to get them with my hands.

The ride was endless. Once there was the jostle of railroad
tracks, then the Klaxon of a boat. The blare of horns came less frequently, and there were fewer traffic lights. I became resigned to spending the rest of my life tied to that swaying floor. The fury lessened. I wanted a drink of water. My throat was rougher than the floor covering. I wanted to stretch out my legs. I could feel the throaty drum of the motor as speed increased. Maybe we would be there soon — wherever we were going. Then they would let me up. I thought no further than the mercy of being released from the floor of that car.

The Chrysler slowed down, lurched as tires bumped off the pavement. Gravel crackled and splattered under the wheels as the front end nosed downward. A few seconds of this and we stopped. Doors opened. Cool air feathered my hair. Something tugged at the ropes across my neck and they parted. I shifted position cautiously, rubbing at the stiff, fiery muscles.

“Get out,” the Greek said.

I put an arm over the front seat, dragged my legs forward, stepped out of the car. I had to lean against the door to stand. There was enough light to see that we were on the edge of swampland. I smelled the marshy water. Close to the Chrysler was the steel framework of a trestle for a huge steam shovel or crane.

They went to work without speaking. A hand closed on my shirt and I was jerked forward. Another hand chopped down swiftly, the palm edge hitting with blunt shock at the base of my neck, near the ridge of collarbone. I felt the blow to my fingertips, bit off a groan and dropped to my knees in the gravel.

Somewhere nearby, tires streaked the pavement as a car slowed suddenly, pitched off the highway. Headlights
fanned toward us as the car skidded down the embankment, showering gravel. I looked up and saw the face of Kostrakis pinched with surprise in the sudden light. His hand made a move toward his coat, stopped, dropped to his side.

I looked around and saw Taggart and Reavis, the gatekeeper, getting out of the car. I stood up wearily.

“You guys want something?” O’Toole said angrily. Reavis went up to him and hit him with a long slashing fist. O’Toole arched backwards, fingers curling, and sprawled downhill, rolling loosely to the edge of weedy dark water. Kostrakis looked over his shoulder at him and kept his mouth shut.

“What are you boys doing here?” I said, holding my bruised shoulder.

Taggart tipped his massive head toward the car. Rudy was sitting behind the wheel and there was a blonde in the back seat.

“Diane saw you walk into trouble at Maxine’s,” he said. “She called us. We figured you’d show up here sooner or later. Maxine’s boys favor this place for staying in shape. They stay in shape by beating hell out of guys like you. Right, Greek?”

Kostrakis said nothing.

“Unload your iron,” Reavis said. His coat was open and he had a hand near the gun on his belt.

Kostrakis slipped a hand inside his coat, unholstered the gun with great care.

“On the ground,” Reavis said. The revolver arced to the gravel.

“Pick it up,” Taggart said.

Kostrakis swallowed. He tried to stoop and pick the
gun up while looking at Taggart. His hand couldn’t find it. He had to look. When he did Taggart stepped forward and smashed a knee into his face. The Greek slumped back against the door of the car, sitting down. His face was bloody from forehead to chin. As he breathed, bubbles formed at his mashed nostrils. He leaned forward, put his hands in the gravel and crawled like a chubby, awkward baby toward the gun.

Taggart grinned and kicked the revolver away. It skidded down the slope and plopped into the water. Taggart kicked Kostrakis in the face. The Greek passed out. Taggart prodded him with a foot and he rolled gently after the gun, his bleeding face picking up dirt and loose gravel. Taggart looked after him indifferently.

“If you’re all rescued,” he said to me, “let’s go.”

I took my gun from the glove compartment of the Chrysler, followed Reavis and Taggart to their car. I got into the back seat with Diane. Rudy turned around cautiously and we edged up the incline to the highway.

“Thanks for spotting me,” I said to Diane. “I would have picked up a good pounding down there.”

“Why did Stan do that?” she said.

“You were with him all afternoon. You ought to know.”

“Sorry, I don’t,” she said unemotionally.

“He thinks I ran off with his woman.”

“I suppose you didn’t.”

“In a way. But I didn’t touch her. He’s crazy jealous. What were you two doing today?”

“I — there was someplace I wanted to go. We went together.”

“Like where?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Like where?”

“Lay off the goddam questions,” Taggart said.

“Shut your face,” I told him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

I saw his shoulders heave, but he didn’t turn around.

“Easy,” Rudy murmured. “Somewhere you want to go?”

“Stan’s Restaurant,” I said. “I’ll pick up the car there. You take Diane home. Macy’s been worried about the company she keeps.”

She squirmed in the seat with her arms folded across her breasts, stared out the window. A blank sullen silence closed around all of us.

The desk clerk at the Coral Gardens Hotel told me Owen Barr had left the hotel an hour ago. I walked through the sedate lobby to the basement steps and went downstairs, opened the door of Owen’s little retreat. I couldn’t find a light switch anywhere. Grayish light from the windows was pinned to the tarpaulin on one wall and a long bar of it slanted across the dirty floor and crept up one of the old sofas, affectionately grasped a girl’s small bare foot.

I shut my eyes tightly and waited for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes again I could see more clearly. Gerry was lying on the sofa on her back, sound asleep. She was mother-naked, but not like mother ever was. Her nudity irritated me somehow. I had nearly got my head knocked off while she slept comfortably down here.

I walked over to the sofa and smacked her with the flat of my hand on her bare thigh. She jerked awake and moved her legs. She put one hand on the assaulted leg.

“Hey! Wha — ” She struggled to focus her sleepy eyes on me. “Who are you?”

“Mallory.”

“Oh.” She winced. “What did you do that for?”

“Get up and get dressed,” I said. “People are looking for you.”

She slid her knees beneath her, kneeled on the sofa,
facing me, raised her head. “That really stings,” she complained. She yawned huskily, touching her hair with her fingers, then raised her arms full-length. Her breasts swelled high.

I noticed her clothing on the table with Owen’s tubes of color. I turned around and picked up the red pants, underclothes, brief blouse. I tossed the clothing at her. “Put these on.”

“What for?”

“You’re going back to Stan.”

She slid her legs over the edge of the sofa, sat up. “I don’t think I want to go back,” she said stubbornly.

“You’re going back,” I promised her, “if I have to carry you out of here dressed the way you aren’t.”

She laughed incredulously. “You wouldn’t—”

I stepped toward her quickly, caught one of her wrists, brought her stiffly to her feet. She hesitated, then leaned against me, teasing me with a motion of her hips. Her eyelids drooped. “We don’t have to go back right now. We could—”

I wasn’t enchanted. She was a brat. But even feeling that way I had to get the weight of the lusty body away from me. I shoved her roughly, letting go the wrist.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t you like women?”

“You’re not a woman. You’re a shallow-brained little girl rattling around in a woman’s body. Get dressed, damn you.”

The scornful edge of my voice stung worse than the slap I had given her. She shifted her weight uncertainly from one bare foot to the other, then sniffed, then sat down on the sofa, still looking at me. She picked up her
brassiere, fitted it to her breasts, fastened it. She stood up, holding her panties. Without turning away she stepped into them, pulled them up slowly over her legs, her full thighs. She spread her legs slightly, patted the tight sheer panties into place. She never took her eyes off me. I walked away from her in irritation and waited until she was finished dressing.

When she had everything in place, we went through the dimly lighted basement and out the back way. I held firmly to her wrist until she was safe in the front seat of the Buick.

“Was Stan worried about me?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Oh,
boy,
” I said. It was all the talking we did until we reached Stan’s house. Once there she got out of the car reluctantly, then straightened her shoulders resolutely and walked firmly up to the front door and inside. I followed her.

Maxine was pouring a drink and when he saw Gerry the neck of the bottle chattered against the glass, whisky spilling.

“Gerry!”

“Hello, Stan,” she said calmly.

A couple of the boys watching TV in one corner looked up briefly, then returned their attentions to the set. I hadn’t seen them before.

Maxine put both hands around the glass. He looked past Gerry at me. “Well, where you been?” he said, still shaken. He wasn’t quite able to work himself into a rage. “Well, where’s
she
been?” he demanded of me. I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him.

He rubbed his forehead. His eyes were on Gerry. “I
looked for you,” he said. “You weren’t anywhere around.” His fists clenched. He glanced at me again. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said grimly to Gerry.

“Okay,” Gerry said. She swallowed once, then turned precisely and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get something to eat,” she said.

Stan looked at her, his lips tight. “All right. There’s ham sandwiches in the icebox. I’ll be along in a second.”

When she had pushed through the door Maxine looked at me. He put the overflowing glass down and walked toward me. He took a long breath, held it, released it little by little.

“Well, where did you find her?”

“She can tell you if she wants to. I won’t.”

He glanced toward his boys. “You — ” the word whistled through the crack between his lips. “You knew where she was all the time.”

“Maybe.”

“What happened to Kostrakis and O’Toole?”

“They had an accident.”

There was disgust on his face. “Maybe one of these days I’ll get somebody I can depend on.” He whipped another look at the Home Guard. They dropped their eyes guiltily to the television screen.

Stan lowered his voice. “I want to know where Gerry was. Did she go to see somebody? I got to know if she’s been playing around.”

The dining-room door was pushed open. “I went to the library,” Gerry said. She had a sandwich and a glass of milk.

“All afternoon?”

Gerry nodded.

“What were you doing?” Maxine said with a crazy smile.

“Reading a book.”

Maxine turned to me. He pointed to Gerry, speechless.

“You heard what she said,” I told him.

Stan chuckled, then went into a spasm of violent laughter that left him clutching his stomach, his face the color of greasy cream. He had to sit down. Gerry looked concerned.

“Stan? Are you—”

“Nah, I’m all right,” he said, the words riding on an indrawn breath. “What are you hanging around for?” he snapped at me.

“I did you a favor. Now you do me one.”

His lower lip crawled away from his teeth. “Like what?”

“Diane was with you today, wasn’t she?”

“For a little while this afternoon.”

“You know her pretty well.”

“Some. She used to work for me.”

“Which doesn’t tell me anything.”

He showed me his palms. “So what do you want? We’re kind of good friends. She comes in once in a while.”

“You know anything about her?”