“More than you, pal,” he said.
“You know somebody’s been killed already?” I said. “You know what you’re mixed up in—the body’s buried in one of the pigpens right now!”
“Wrong, pal,” he said easily. “Not now—it used to be, but while we’ve been riding, that cadaver’s been shifted.”
“I hope they’re paying you enough to compensate for fifteen to twenty years in Sing Sing,” I said.
“They’re paying enough,” his voice got enthusiastic. “This is the one big caper I’ve been looking for the last ten years, Boyd, and there’s no chance of it going wrong.”
“A lot of guys have said that.”
“Ten lousy years,” he said. “A private eye with a rathole for an office and clients who were right at home the moment they walked in the door! A good week I pick up maybe a couple of hundred bucks, a bad week I don’t make the rent. More bad weeks than good, and a guy’s getting older all the time. Then—out of nowhere—Blooey! The big caper—bingo, and it’s all over. I quit with enough money to live the way I always wanted. That’s the deal, Boyd, and you tell me there’s six more cadavers I don’t know about and it makes no difference.”
“You sure had a hard life,” I said. “It’s a shame you lived so long already!”
“Turn in through the gates,” he said coldly. “Halfway down the tracks, cut the motor and let her roll until I tell you stop—and cut the headlights at the same time.” I did as I was told. Halfway down the tracks, I cut the motor and the lights. The car rolled for another fifty yards before Tolvar said to stop.
“O.K.,” he said once we stopped. “Lie down on the seat!”
“What the heU—”
“You want to do it the hard way again?”
So I lay down on the front seat. Maybe a minute later, I heard the trunk being opened, then there were a couple of thuds and the clunk as the lid was snapped shut again. None of the car doors had been opened so Tolvar was still inside the car—and someone else had opened the trunk.
“You can straighten up now,” Tolvar said. “Turn the car around facing the gates, but no lights.” The gun
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pressed against the back of my neck again. “Move it, Boyd, I’m losing sleep!”
I did as I was told—started the motor and swung the car in a tight U-turn, then stopped facing the gates. The rear door slammed and a split-second later, Tolvar stood beside the driving window, the gun pointed at my face.
“Thanks for the ride, pal,” he said. “It sure cured my insomnia.”
“So what do I do now—sing you a lullaby?” I asked. “You do whatever you want, pal,” he said genially. “Drive to New York—California for all I give a damn.” “I just drive away,” I repeated. “All that jazz about when you got to go?”
“Strictly for laughs,” he said. “Like that gag of yours about a body being buried here. You got a great imagination, Boyd, you should’ve been a pimp!”
‘Thanks,” I said.
“Well—beat it!” he said impatiendy. “You figure I want to stay here all night?”
“I’m going,” I said. “I just want to light a cigarette first.”
“Can’t you drive one-handed any more?”
“Five seconds,” I said patiently.
I took the pack out of my pocket slowly, the cigarette out of the pack even more slowly. Tolvar was irritating me if he figured I was so dumb I couldn’t see what was coming.
They’d waited until Sylvia had got inside the house and Tolvar had taken me joy-riding. Then they dug the body out of the pigpen, and when we came back, one of them put it into the trunk of the car. So now as I drove away, Tolvar would shoot carefully and kill me. He’d rather let me drive away first because there was less to go wrong. Then they’d call the cops and say they heard a prowler, came out and saw me driving away—shot and accidently killed me.
It would all be there for the cops—the freshly dug pigpen, the body in the trunk. I’d be the guy who came
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back to get rid of the evidence. Tolvar letting me drive away was guaranteeing his bet. If he killed me first, then put me in the car, there might be just one little thing about it the cops figured didn’t look right—this way he couldn’t miss.
I struck a match to the tip of the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Get going before I change my mind and take off some more of that pretty face of yours!” Tolvar said savagely.
I tossed the dead match out the window and started the motor.
“So long, slob!” Tolvar said contemptuously.
I selected reverse and stamped on the gas pedal, and as the car shot backward suddenly flicked the headlights onto full beam. The car rocketed back about fifty feet before I braked and put it into drive.
Tolvar was spotlighted in the glare of the headlights. I’d gotten him flatfooted and he was just recovering, swinging around to face the car. I trod on the gas pedal again and the car leaped forward, cutting down the distance between us fast. He threw one arm up to shield his eyes from the glare, while the gun in his other hand swung upward in a quick arc.
I kept my foot hard on the gas pedal, knowing I wasn’t going to make it before he got in one shot, at least. For an eternity spread over one full second, I was wondering if I’d see the windshield glass shatter before the slug smacked into my face.
He never did fire that shot—I wondered afterward if he figured me for such a slob, he thought I was only worried about getting past him along the tracks to the road.
The moment before impact I heard a thin scream, then there was the slight thump and a dark shape hurtled sideways and up into the air. I stamped on the brakes, freed them and swung the car in a tight circle, then braked again so the car came to a squealing halt, facing
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the farmhouse. I left the motor running in neutral and the headlights on.
There was a still, shapeless heap on the ground about forty feet away, and I thought I saw something move quickly just outside the effective range of the headlights.
I jumped out of the car and ran toward him.
Tolvar, close-up, looked like a rag doll ready for the trashcan. His neck had snapped in a messy kind of way, among a lot of other damage; but I didn’t have time to detail it. All 1 wanted from him was my gun. His own gun could be anywhere on the farm depending on its velocity when it left his hand at the moment of impact.
I dragged open his coat and ran my hands frantically over his torso without finding the gun. You can’t tuck a Magnum down your sock—he just didn’t have it on him.
I heard the hammering sound as somebody fired and the slug smacked into the earth about six inches from Tolvar’s head. With one bound, Boyd was on his way, zigzagging back toward the car. I heard two more shots fired before I made the car, and one of the slugs went past my head so close, my brains could’ve reached out and shook hands with it.
Selector to drive, headlights off and hope to hell the sudden absence of brilliant light throws his eyeballs out for a few seconds, another tight turn—and I sat hunched over the wheel, my naked spine quivering in anticipation until I reached the gates and made a squealing turn onto the road in the direction of Providence again.
It was some time later when I nearly didn’t make a sharp lefthand curve that I looked at the speedometer and saw it was steady on 80 m.p.h. I drove the rest of the way into Providence at a steady 35 after that.
My watch said five of four when I parked by the hotel, and I felt if ever a guy deserved his sleep right , then, it was me. Getting out of the car, I glanced casually ] at the back seat, and there was the Magnum on the seat looking right back at me.
It figured—when Tolvar had told me to drive off, he’d
been sure I wasn’t going very far before he kiUed me. So he could leave the Magnum inside the car and pick it up afterwards. I grabbed the gun and slid it into the harness. If I’d thought about it before—the gun being left in the car when Tolvar got out—it could have saved a hell of a lot of violent exercise.