Some last-minute plans, she had said. Some last-minute plans to screw up a million-dollar deal-and then he saw Pat coming.
“Well,” she called, “you got here before I did. Have you two met? Our chauffeur, Benny Tapkow; Miss Driscoll.”
“We met,” Benny said. He got out of the car, picked Miss Driscoll’s bag off the sidewalk, and put it into the trunk. The two women were standing by the car, chatting. Not a word out of the Driscoll dame about what had happened. She was that kind. Much too scared to make a fuss, and much too proper to complain.
“Miss Driscoll works in the Dean’s office,” Pat said. “I’ve been in the Dean’s office so often, we got to know each other quite well, didn’t we, Nancy?” Pat laughed, and Nancy managed a pinched smile.
“It was so good of you to ask me,” she said. “And at the last minute, too. Why, if it had been fifteen minutes later I would have been on my way to Mother’s.”
“You can see her all summer,” Pat said. “Let’s get in.”
“I have to be here for summer school.”
“Come on, Nancy.”
They got into the back and Benny started the car. He took off with a fast burst, careening down the mountain road as if he were driving a getaway car. No such luck, though. What he wanted to get away from was sitting right in the back, one smug bitch who thought she was society and one dumb spinster who thought she was going to have a vacation. They were both going to get the surprise of their lives.
“Your Mr. Tapkow drives just like a gangster,” Miss Driscoll said, and she tried her laugh again.
Pat threw her head back and really laughed. She couldn’t stop for a while and then she leaned forward and tapped Benny on the shoulder. “Hey, Tapkow, did you hear that?” She was laughing again. “God, did you hear that, Tapkow?”
“Have I said something funny?” Miss Driscoll looked expectant.
“Funny?” Pat was overdoing the laughter now. “Funny!” and she started to fumble with her handbag. She pulled a pint out, unscrewed the top, and took a drink. “Nice,” she said, and handed the bottle to Miss Driscoll. “Come on, come on, Nancy, or I won’t tell you the funny story.”
While Benny started to sweat, they argued a while longer about the drink and then Miss Driscoll had one and said she enjoyed it. “And now the funny story, Patty.” She handed the bottle back.
“Did you ever know any gangsters, Nancy?”
“Of course not,” Miss Driscoll said.
Pat sat back in her seat and made her voice confidential. “Darling, don’t breathe a word of this, but you have met one.”
“I have?”
“Tapkow, here. He used to be one.”
Miss Driscoll’s mouth turned into an O and then they both had another drink.
“He claims he never was a gangster himself, but he chauffeured for one. Tapkow, tell Nancy about it.” Pat laughed again.
“You don’t want to ask me those things.” He tried to make it sound offhanded. He wished they’d shut up and let him think. Between now and St. Petersburg he’d better come up with a sharp answer, because when he stopped at Orangewood and Ninth only one dame was going to be in the car, and that was going to be Pat.
“Tapkow, say something. Tell us about that time you worked for the gangster.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” He sounded curt. “I just drove for him. Picked him up at the office and drove him home. That’s all.”
“He’s a little shy about it,” Pat said to Miss Driscoll, “so I’ll tell you. Do you know what he really did, Nancy? He pimped for that man!”
That crazy bitch, what was she up to? And how’d she know about that part?
“You don’t say!” Miss Driscoll sounded breathless. Benny couldn’t tell whether she was shocked or merely interested. “Why, Patty,” she went on, “is your father aware of this-this background? My heavens, this-” and she ended with nothing. They exchanged the bottle.
Pat was liking the game. “You don’t have to worry about him, Nancy. He only does it for pay. What’s the current price, Tapkow? How much would we fetch?” and she gave her cold laugh.
“You shouldn’t talk like that, Miss Patricia.” It came out evenly, not showing the effort it was costing him to hold his temper. One more crack out of her and he’d give her an answer.
“Take Nancy, here,” Pat went on. “Or let’s put it this way: Would you take Nancy, here?”
Nancy answered that one herself. “Patty! I forbid you to talk that way. Why, in all my years-” She hiccuped.
“How old are you, Nancy?”
“Why-”
“Is she too young, Tapkow?”
“Christ, no,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
There was only a sound from Miss Driscoll, but Pat took it up. “Too old, then,” and Benny knew there’d be that smirk on her face.
There was a weak “My heavens” from Miss Driscoll and Benny could hear the bottle clink. “She’s not too old,” he said. “The disposition’s what counts, Miss Patricia. The nice disposition.”
There was silence from the back, and before Pat could give an answer Miss Driscoll started to cry.
Pat put her arm around the woman. “Nancy, what’s wrong? Here, Nancy, have another drink.”
But Miss Driscoll just kept sobbing and hiccuping, shaking her head from side to side. Then she leaned back into the cushions of the seat and gave a deep sigh. A minute later she was out cold.
“Stop the car,” Pat said, and she sounded like a child who had just broken her toy. “I’m coming up front.”
She came up front and sat down with her legs tucked under her. Benny saw she wasn’t any too sober herself, but she just sat without talking. The line was between her brows and she stared straight ahead.
“Drive like hell, Tapkow.”
She was holding onto the bottle and the whisky in it kept getting lower.
He drove fast. Every so often he wiped his hands on the scat.
When he heard the clunk he turned his head and saw the bottle on the floor. Pat sat slouched against the door, mouth open. Her eyes were only partly closed but Benny knew she was out.
This was it.
He waited another five minutes and then he came to a gentle stop. Letting the motor idle, he edged carefully out of his seat, out of the car, and then gently tried the handle of the rear door. Both women breathed like sleepers. There were woods on his side of the highway, thick enough to hide a body that wasn’t moving. He’d dump her there and take off. He wouldn’t need much of a head start before she’d wake up wondering what in hell had happened. And if she was under enough, he could take her skirt off or something, and she might wait a while before she dared step out on the highway and flag a ride.
Benny opened the door, put one leg inside, and leaned over Miss Driscoll. She just breathed. He worked his hands under her slowly and started to tug. She didn’t weigh so much, but it was awkward. Leaning closer, with his arms solidly around her now, he could feel her breath on his face. Her eyelids fluttered a little and her mouth seemed to twitch. Suddenly the eyes were open, staring him straight in the face no more than a few inches away. She’ll scream, Benny thought. Then her arms came up, and clutched him by the neck. Her lips came full on his, pushing against him. The eyes were closed now.
With a mighty effort Benny yanked himself free and staggered backward out of the car. Still lurching, he slammed the rear door shut and jumped behind the wheel. The car took off with a jolt and a roar.
“Easy, boy. Easy there.” Pat sat up, looking around wildly. She gave a weak grin and slumped back against the door. From the way she was breathing, Benny knew she was out again.
He drove. He didn’t look in the rear-view mirror. Then came a little pat on his shoulder. “Is she asleep, Mr. Tapkow?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. Then another tap. “It seems I was asleep, too, Mr. Tapkow. I was dreaming.”
“Yeah. So was I.”
“Yeah,” she said.
Chapter Nine
He didn’t have a chance from then on. For the rest of the trip-when they stayed overnight, when they stopped to eat, while driving-the two women stuck together like glue. Pat had given up playing games and Miss Driscoll was full of small talk. So no matter how he figured it, there wasn’t a chance to pry the two of them apart. He was on schedule, he was delivering, but it also looked as if he was going to gum the works. It was a good thing they weren’t trying to talk to him. His skin prickled and there was a dry clot in his throat.