The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer (34 page)

"I won't. I'll do just like you say."

"How much is in the sack?" said DeLucca,
who was listening in on the extension.

There was a slight pause, and Sam asked me if he
should speak to the strange voice. I told him yes.

"Just about eighteen thousand seven hundred
dollars in bills. Nothing larger than fifties."

"It all better be there. And remember what the
man said: don't mention this to anyone. Go right back to your office
and be cool until the doctor calls you. Got it?"

"I'm hip. Well, I'm startin' now."

In five minutes we were ready too. Vince was to stay
behind with Mary while I drove DeLucca in the Audi, and Marty the
baby-faced psycho was to drive the Scout. Apparently even DeLucca was
anxious about leaving the punk alone with Mary. I don't think she
even knew when we left. We went out to the cars. Something was wrong
with Marty. I could tell by the way he walked.

We were waiting at Minute Man National Park at
eleven. I was sitting at the wheel of the Audi, my left hand cuffed
to the rim of the steering wheel, while DeLucca sat in the front
passenger seat watching me and the Scout, which was parked way over
on the other side of the big lot. There weren't many visitors at the
park this early in the year. There were only two other cars and a
couple riding ten-speed bikes, who'd stopped to look around and drink
from their plastic water bottles. Marty, who'd driven the Scout, was
leaning into a public phone alcove up near the park building. From
this vantage point he could see everything. DeLucca had instructed
him to phone Vince at the first sign of trouble so he could put a
bullet into Mary.

My palms were sweaty and my heart was going like a
jackhammer.

"Stay cool," purred DeLucca, drawing on a
cigarette, "and nobody gets hurt. Keep telling yourself that all
we want is the car, the cash, and a head start. You get us those and
you're all set."

He grinned at me as his mouth dribbled smoke. On the
seat, cradled in his right hand, was his little pocket auto pistol.
The grin was wide but the eyes black and cold. I did not trust him
even a little. And like an ice-cold serpent crawling up my spine, a
thought that entered my mind dropped the bottom out of any slight
hope and optimism I'd allowed myself to have.

The thought was simple, and devastatingly logical.
DeLucca and his two sleazy sidekicks had absolutely nothing to lose
at this point. With the police of the entire Eastern seaboard, the
Mob, and practically everybody else after them for murder and
betrayal, they faced certain capture and death if they remained in
the area now that word of their presence in Boston was out. As
DeLucca had said, they needed a head start. And the longer that head
start was, the better their chances. With Mary and me alive there was
a ceiling on that lead; with us dead there wasn't.

They might kill us in the house, hide our corpses in
the attic or basement, and leave. They might kill us in the motel
room, but that seemed unlikely. Today was Friday. If friends saw
nobody home and the cars missing, they would assume we'd gone down to
the cottage on the Cape for the weekend. Our two sons weren't due
back from school for another three days.

They would have plenty of lead time that way. Plenty.
Enough to drive the stolen cars with the cold plates clear across the
country.

Maybe they wouldn't kill us right away. Perhaps they
would begin the plan as DeLucca had outlined it to me. When he and I
were far away in the Audi, he would have me pull off the road near
some woods or scrub, do me in, and dump me in a green tangle. Then
they'd kill Mary and leave her in the motel bed, naked and violated.
When the local authorities found her, Brian would proceed with
caution, sensing a possible scandal. Or would he? Would he—

"Hey! Snap out of it!" snarled DeLucca. I
turned my attention back to the red-and-white vehicle sitting all
alone at the far end of the huge lot. Was Sam going to show? Or was
he bringing in help to get us off the hook? An hour ago I would have
hoped more than anything he would do what they wanted. But not now.
As soon as I realized how much more getaway time they'd have with us
on ice, I was sure we were done for. I looked back at DeLucca. The
lizard eyes glowed and darted in the wide, dark face.

"Look," he said, and pointed past me with
his cigarette, which he held in his bandaged hand.

A red Buick Regal had pulled into the lot and stopped
next to the Scout. A man in a gray jumpsuit was getting out. He
carried a dark-green canvas bag. It was Sam. He approached the Scout
without ever looking up or looking around. He opened the front door,
leaned in, flipped the bag into the back seat, stood up, pushed down
the door-lock plunger, closed the door, tested it to make sure it was
locked, and got back into his car. I could see no sign of the big
dog. My heart sank. He was following the instructions to the letter.
I couldn't understand the jumpsuit, except that if he felt he was
being watched, the jumpsuit would signify his occupation as a
messenger. The Regal backed. up, swept around, and was gone.

As per the plan we all waited for ten minutes without
moving a muscle. Nothing happened. No battle wagons filled with fuzz
roared into the lot. No choppers descended. It was quiet; the plan
was working.

DeLucca had me start the car while Marty sauntered
down to the Scout. He unlocked the door and got in. We saw him reach
back for the moneybag, and seconds later the headlights flashed once.
That meant that there was really money in the bag, not paper. We
cruised out of the lot with the Scout right behind us.

DeLucca had me go along at a pretty good clip, then
turn off 2A onto a small dirt side road for about thirty yards and
stop. He took the keys and left me cuffed to the wheel while he went
back to see Marty. The kid's face looked funny.

They opened the bag and set it on the hood of the
Scout. DeLucca examined the loot while he kept looking over his
shoulder toward the highway. He pawed through the satchel, flipping
through wads and stacks of bills. He seemed more than satisfied with
the haul. If he were an ordinary guy, without a string of grisly
murders and betrayals to account for, I might have reason to expect
that this fortune I got for them would make him spare us. But more
and more I realized he would not. He couldn't.

He now had his hands on enough money to live for
months without risking his neck or even showing himself. So the lead
time for his escape had become that much more important. They crept
down to the highway and watched it for a while to see if there was a
tail. There wasn't. DeLucca got back in, handed me the keys, and told
me to drive home. As I swung the car around I was hoping we wouldn't
get there. Instead of getting the gang off our back, the sack of
money was rushing the final act. I should never have called Sam, but
now it was too late.

We pulled up the drive and into the turnaround in
back. Vince came out the back door and met us on the flagstone
terrace. He was scared. He pointed down the slope at the orchard and
woods beyond the low stone wall.

"There was shooting there ten minutes ago,"
he said to DeLucca. "I heard a gun, firing fast."

"Well?" DeLucca asked me. I shrugged.

"A lot of kids hunt rabbits down there with
four-tens," I said. "It's illegal, but they do it."

"I don't hear nothing," DeLucca said.
"Let's get inside."

Vince followed us, but not before glancing back at
the woods and apple trees.

I heard Mary crying as soon as we entered the back
door. They unlocked the cuff that held her to the radiator and she
clung to me. The episode in the Lowell mill yard flashed back into my
mind for an instant, and I couldn't believe that what was happening
to us was related to that incident, with the stranger picking away at
the old factory wall. I gripped her tightly and spoke to her. I told
her we only had to wait it out and it would be over and everything
would be back to normal. I was lying. I don't think she knew it. They
cuffed. us together and had us sit on the couch while Vince got one
of Mary's raincoats and some casual shoes. He found a scarf too, and
a pair of dark glasses for her to wear. They got a medium-weight
jacket for me, saying I'd have a long walk later that night.

Maybe they weren't going to kill us after all, I
thought. But I didn't really believe it.

They counted out the money on the coffee table.
DeLucca moved fast, looking at his watch. He had trouble with some of
the bills owing to his bandaged hand, so he let Vince do it. Marty,
the kid, was hopping up and down on the seat, grinning from ear to
ear.

"Stop it," said DeLucca.

But the kid kept it up. His eyes were shiny, and I
noticed a string of saliva snake down out of his mouth.

"I said stop it."

Marty stopped, and tried to wipe his mouth with the
back of his hand, which didn't seem to be working right. He quieted,
then rocked to and fro on the couch making sucking sounds. DeLucca
and Vince looked at each other. Vince scowled, looking at the kid.

"When it rains it pours, eh? Why now?"

"It won't work," said DeLucca softly. The
kid didn't hear him.

The money was divided into two equal piles. DeLucca
and Vince each took one.

"Where's my— un?" said the kid, who was
bouncing again. His teeth were clicking. He took out the four-inch
sheath knife and tapped the blade into the table. His tongue was
hanging out. He looked at Mary and managed a laugh. Then he looked
sideways at the other two men and tried not to. He stood up and
wobbled, then hummed.

"Where's mine?"

"Vince's got it, Marty. He'll give it to you
when you get to the room. Now come on, Mrs. Adams, time to get your
coat on."

They unfastened her cuff, leaving it dangling from my
left wrist. Mary put on her coat, shoes, scarf, and dark glasses.
They had me put on the jacket and we started toward the back door.
Then Marty started to bleat like a sheep. He took out the knife again
and Vince grabbed it. DeLucca walked up to him and slapped him across
the face. That seemed to straighten him up.

"
I promise I won-" he began. "I
promise . . . I prom-ise."

DeLucca hit him again. The kid bounced back against
the kitchen wall. He was gurgling, and his face was slack. DeLucca
looked at his watch. Vince had the door open. I heard the dogs
barking outside. DeLucca told him to shut it and led the two of us
back to the hallway, where he passed the chain from my handcuff
through the banister railing and fastened Mary to the other end. I
would have tried to whang him with one end of the handcuffs if Mary
hadn't been there. As it was, Vince stayed three feet away with his
pistol pointed right at me.

"Get him down the basement," DeLucca said
softly to Vince.

Vince went over to the kid, who was leaning in the
corner, and put his long arm over his shoulder, comforting him. He
patted him on the back hard, just like old buddies. He led him over
to DeLucca, who put his arm around him too. They helped him along. I
heard the kid crying. We could just peek around the hall corner and
see the three of them standing at the head of the basement stairs.
Then Marty realized what was happening. He stared into that black
hole and bawled, grabbing the edge of the door frame with hands that
didn't work.

"Come on, Marty. Be good. I just want you to sit
down on the floor," said DeLucca softly, as one rebukes a child.

They hauled at him but he wouldn't budge. He still
had enough strength and control left to hang on and keep from going
down that dark stairway.

"
We just want you to sit down on the floor and
rest," DeLucca repeated softly, tugging at the kid's waist.

"Puuuu-leeeeze!" wailed Marty, his feet
pointed out and his knees bowed like a toddler's. His lower half was
shaking violently now.

"Mister Deeee-loooo . . . Deeeee—"

Vince took his pistol and struck Marty's hands, which
slid away from the door frame. The two men helped the kid down the
stairs. We heard him blubbering and wailing. Then a door slammed shut
and everything was quiet. I looked at Mary. Her teeth were clenched
tight on her lip. There was a little blood. I kicked at the railings
with my feet. and knees with all I had, and finally managed to break
two of the oak uprights, which weren't very thick. I yanked them out
of their sockets, leaving a wide hole under the banister.

"Hurry, Charlie. Hurry!"

I pulled Mary underneath the banister. We were still
fastened together. I ran down to the front door and yanked. No go. I
flipped the bolt; it still wouldn't open. It had been deadbolted. As
we went back down the hall and into the kitchen we heard a sound
beneath us. A muffled explosion. Then fast feet on the stairway,
coming up.

I had the back door open now and we went through it.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vince in the kitchen raising his
arm. His hand held a pistol.

We were running across the terrace when I saw a piece
of the brick wall fly away. I jumped over the wall and yanked Mary
after me. She was making little high sounds. Vince was raising the
pistol again when I pulled Mary off to the right and began to circle
the house. I knew we'd never make it across the open meadow to the
woods.