‘A Scotch, Jack,’ Gil is said, leaning against the bar. When the barman put the drink in front of him, Gillis went on, ‘Seen a big fat guy in here? He was wearing a dark green leisure jacket and a brown hat.’
The barman nodded.
‘Yeah, I’ve seen him. It’s my bet he’s a shamus. He’s been watching the club for the past hour.
Another guy joined him a while back, and they, went out together. The fat fella sat in his car and went on watching the club, the other one went into the club.’
Gillis finished his whisky and slid a five-dollar bill across the counter.
‘Hang on to the change,’ he said. ‘What was the other guy like?’
‘Tal , lanky, with a crew hair cut.’
Dallas!
‘Thanks, Jack,’ Gil is said, and pushed himself away from the bar. For the first time since he started on this business he felt uneasy. If Dallas was watching him — how much had he found out?
He stood hesitating for a moment, then walked quickly to a pay booth and shut himself in.
VII
Rico sat huddled up, staring miserably at the two pools of light from the headlamps that raced ahead of the Packard. He was sure now he had seen the last of the Frou-Frou Club, and the future yawned before him as a dark, menacing chasm. If Baird didn’t pull this job off, he would have to start all over again. Baird had nothing to lose, but it was different for him: he had established himself; he was a man of substance. He was leaving behind him a flourishing business, a newly furnished apartment, a wardrobe full of clothes, and a Buick. He must have been out of his mind to have got himself in a jam like this.
Baird said, ‘In another fifteen miles we’l be across the State line. We can get an air taxi from Lincoln Falls to Shreveport. If we get the breaks we should be in Red River Basin by tomorrow night.’
Rico didn’t say anything. He thrust his hands in his coat pockets and huddled further down in his seat.
Rain beat against the windshield and drummed on the roof of the car. There was very little traffic on the highway, and Baird kept up a fast speed.
‘Get ing this guy Hater out of the swamp isn’t going to be a picnic,’ Baird went on, ‘but it can be done. I’ve fixed a boat. As soon as we get over the State line you’d better get Kile on the phone and let him know what we’re doing.’
‘If this doesn’t come off…’ Rico groaned.
‘It’s got to come off!’
‘Even if Kile pays us when we hand over Hater, how are we to get hold of the pay-off when Kile collects it? He’l probably get it at his house. What can we do if he does? We can’t show our faces in town. How shall we know when he does collect the dough?’
‘What makes you think we can’t go back there?’ Baird asked indifferently. ‘Olin wouldn’t scare me away from any town.’
Rico began to sweat.
‘We’l walk into a trap if we go back,’ he said, sit ing upright and staring hard at Baird.
‘If you want the dough you’l have to go back. There’s no other way of get ing it. That’s a risk we’ll have to run. When Kile takes delivery of Hater we can’t afford to let him out of our sight for a second!’
Rico groaned.
‘I wish I’d never touched this,’ he said in despair. ‘It’s ruined me.’
‘You can quit any time you like,’ Baird said. ‘If you don’t want your share, say so: al the more for me.’
Rico lapsed in moody silence. He sat still staring at the broad black ribbon of the road as it fled under the wheels of the Packard.
Every now and then Baird glanced into his rear mirror. The two distant headlights he could see puzzled him. There was a car behind him that had kept a hundred yards or so in his rear ever since he had struck the highway. He didn’t think anyone was tailing him, but he couldn’t afford to take chances.
It couldn’t be the cops. They wouldn’t hang behind like this. They’d overtake and force him to stop.
Who else could it be? One of the International operators? That was possible, and his thin lips set in a hard line.
‘There’s a car behind us I don’t like the look of,’ he said, giving Rico a nudge with his elbow. ‘Keep an eye on it. I’m going to try and shake it.’
Rico caught his breath in alarm and screwed around, staring at the two blobs of light that hung steadily in the rear.
Baird gradually increased pressure on the gas pedal. Slowly the car began to build up speed. From sixty miles an hour the speedometer needle crept up to seventy.
‘He’s stil there,’ Rico said.
Baird was afraid to drive too fast in the pouring rain. The surface of the road was treacherous, and he had no intentions of having a smash-up at this stage of the game.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop and see what he does.’
Gradually he slowed down the Packard.
‘He’s slowing down too,’ Rico said in alarm.
Baird swung on the grass verge and brought the Packard to a standstill.
They both watched the headlights of the approaching car. The driver appeared to hesitate, then increased speed and went past them. Baird caught a glimpse of a big man at the driving-wheel of a Lincoln.
Baird lit a cigarette.
‘We’l let him get wel ahead,’ he said. ‘Maybe he wasn’t fol owing us, but I’m not taking any chances.’
‘We’re not over the State line yet,’ Rico said uneasily. ‘We’d better get on.’
Baird grunted. There was some sense in that. He started the car engine and drove along the highway at a steady forty miles an hour.
There was no sign now of the others car’s tail lights. A mile or so up the road, Baird spot ed a side turning.
‘Maybe he’s turned off,’ he said. ‘I’l get moving again.’
He increased his speed and continued along the broad Highway.
‘Keep a look-out behind,’ he told Rico. ‘Just in case he’s foxing.’
Rico couldn’t see any light, and he remained, screwed around, watching the darkness through the rear window. After several miles, he said sharply, ‘A car behind.’
‘Same one?’
‘I don’t know. It’s about a quarter of a mile back.’
Swearing softly, Baird trod on the gas pedal. The Packard surged forward. He held it steady at seventy miles an hour, but they didn’t lose the fol owing car. Another couple of miles took them across the State line. Ahead of them lay the little town of Brentwood; beyond Brentwood, another thirty miles along the highway, was Lincoln Falls.
Brentwood was in darkness as Baird drove along the main street. It was now a little after two o’clock.
At the far end of the street he saw the lights of a solitary all-night café.
‘Maybe they have a phone here,’ he said, slowing down. ‘Get Kile and tel him we should have Hater out in three days. Tell him to bring the dough to that place of his.’
He pulled up a few yards from the café, parking the car in the shadows.
As Rico got out of the car, they both looked back along the main street. There was no sign of the following car.
‘Maybe he’s turned off his headlights and is coming the rest of the way on foot,’ Baird said, and his hand slid inside his coat and closed around the butt of the Colt. ‘You fix Kile. Tell him to make sure he isn’t being tailed. Tel him about Dal as. He’s got to be certain no one’s tailing him when he comes to collect Hater. I’l fix this guy. You get going.’
Baird watched Rico enter the café, then he moved silently away from the Packard and took up a position in a dark doorway, where he had a clear view of the street. He waited some minutes before his sharp ears told him someone was coming. He looked towards the sound, but couldn’t see any movement.