Part 70 (2/2)
”Yeah, you told me. How do we do this? We just cold-c.o.c.k the son of a b.i.t.c.h or what?”
Stick took out a pair of thumb cuffs.
”When he gets outside, b.u.mp into him and knock him into me. I'll grab him from behind, get his arms behind him, and thumbcuff him, throw him in the car.”
”My hog's around the corner.”
”I'll see you out at the Warehouse.”
”Okay, but it seems like a lot of ha.s.sle.”
They waited about five minutes; then the door opened and the orange-haired punker and Murphy came out. He was wrapped around her like kudzu around a telephone pole. Zapata b.u.mped into them and the girl stepped back and Stick grabbed both his elbows and jerked them back, slid his hands down Murphy's arms to his wrist, and twisted both of Murphy's hands inward. Murphy hollered and jerked forward, and as he did, Stick snapped the tiny cuffs on his thumbs, twisted him around, and shoved him into the back seat of the car. The girl saw the wire-caged windows.
”G.o.dd.a.m.n it, you're the heat, you G.o.dd.a.m.n lying-”
Stick dangled the twenty in front of her. She s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hand and stuffed it down her bosom.
”Better than busting up the place, ain't it?” Zapata said as Stick tipped his hat, jumped into his car, and sped off ”He's like that,” Zapata said, walking toward his hog. ”Impetuous.”
”What d'ya mean, you s.n.a.t.c.hed Weasel Murphy?” Dutch bellowed after Zapata had finished his story.
”He said you wanted we should hustle Weasel outta that joint and bring him out here on the QT. So that's what we did. He shoulda been here by now, he got two minutes' head start on me.”
”Maybe it's the international Simon Says sweepstakes,” Kite Lange said.
”Will you stop with the wisecracks, Lange,” Dutch grumbled. ”Things're bad enough without you imitating Milton Berle. What I wanna know is, where the h.e.l.l's Stick and Murphy?”
”Perhaps I should put out an all points on Parver's vehicle,” Charlie One Ear suggested.
”Why don't we just bust everybody in town,” Callahan said. ”We can put them in the football stadium and let them go one at a time.”
Dutch buried his face in his hands. ”What is it, is the heat getting everybody?” he moaned. ”I shoulda known when I was lucky, I should of stayed in the army.”
74.
CHRISTMAS CREEK.
The thirty-horsepower motor growled vibrantly behind him as Stick guided the sailboat out of the mouth of South River and into the bay. Buccaneer Point was two miles away. Five miles beyond it was Jericho Island, where a sliver of creek, two or three hundred yards wide and a quarter of a mile long, sliced the small offsh.o.r.e island into Big Jericho and Little Jericho. Stick set his course for Jericho.
Clouds played with the face of a full moon and night birds chattered at them as the sleek sailboat cruised away from land, its sails furled, powered by the engine. Stick flicked on the night light over his compa.s.s. It was 8:45. He would be there in another fifteen minutes. He checked his tide chart. High tide was at 9:57. The bar would be perfect.
Weasel Murphy, was crunched down against the cabin wall, his thumbs still shackled behind him.
”I already told you,” the rodent-faced gunman said arrogantly, ”I don't know nothin' about nothin'.”
”Right,” said Stick.
”I get seasick; that's why I didn't go along on the boat. You can't understand plain English?”
”You start getting sick,” said the Stick, ”you better stick your head over the side. Puke in my boat and I'll use you for a mop and throw you overboard.”
”f.u.c.k you,” Murphy growled, but his arrogance was less than convincing.
”Cute,” Stick said. ”I admire your stuff.”
”How many times I gotta tell you,” Murphy said, ”I don't know nothin' about s.n.a.t.c.hing no Fed, or the Raines dame. That's all news t'me.”
”Where's Costello heading on that schooner of his?”
”I told you, I don't f.u.c.kin' know! They was just goin' out to have dinner and get away for a few hours. We was all tired of looking up some cop's nose every time we turned around.”
He s.h.i.+fted slightly.
”Where the h.e.l.l are we going?” he demanded.
”Up the lazy river,” Stick said.
”You're a full-out loony, you know that. You need about fifty more cards to fill out your deck.”
”Big talk from a man who can't even scratch his nose,” Stick said.
”Look, these things are killing my thumbs,” Murphy said. ”Can you at least loosen them a little? My whole d.a.m.n arm's goin' to sleep.”
”I want to know where Kilmer is and where Costello's going. You just tell me that, we turn around and head for home.”
”s.h.i.+t, man, how many ways can I-”
”You already have,” the Stick said. ”You're beginning to annoy me. If you won't tell me what I want to know, keep your mouth shut or I'll put my foot in it.”
They went on. The only sound now was the bow of the boat slicing through the water, and the occasional slap of a wave as it rolled up into a whitehead and peaked. Stick was using running lights, although occasionally he snapped on a powerful searchlight for a look around. Otherwise he watched his compa.s.s and smoked and said nothing.
At 9:05 he pa.s.sed the north point of Big Jericho, swung the trim boat in toward land, and followed the beach around to the south. A minute or two later the moon peered out from behind the clouds and in its gray half-light he could see the mouth of Christmas Creek. He turned into it, cut back the motor, and switched the spotlight on again. He swept it back and forth. Murphy straightened up and peered over the gunwale. A large heron thrashed its wings nearby and flapped noisily away. Startled by the sudden and unexpected sound, Murphy slumped down again.
Then he heard the sounds for the first time.
A sudden whirlpool of movement in the water near the boat.
”What'sat?” he asked, sitting up again. ”Hey, there it goes again. You hear that?”
The Stick said nothing.
The sounds continued. There seemed to be a lot of turbulence. in the water around the boat. Then there was a splash and something thunked the side of the sailboat.
”Don't you hear it?” Murphy croaked, staring wide-eyed at the circle of light from the spotlight. The Stick still didn't answer.
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