He turned and stared suspiciously at Chita who was lighting a cigarette.
“Did you take my gun?” he demanded.
She looked indifferently at him, her eyes cold and hostile.
“Gun? What gun?”
Well, at least she was now talking to him, Riff thought.
“Dermott’s gun!” he snarled. “I had it in my pants pocket. It’s gone!”
“What do you expect if you’re in such a hurry to throw off your pants?” Chita said with a sneer.
“Did you take it?” Riff shouted, his face darkening with fury.
“Why should I take it?” Chita got to her feet. “I’m hungry.” She started to cross the sitting room towards the tiny kitchen.
Riff grabbed her arm.
“Did you take it?” he yelled.
She threw his hand off with a strength that always surprised him.
“Keep your paws off me! I haven’t got it! I don’t care who’s got it!”
She went into the kitchen and he heard her open the door of the refrigerator.
He went back to the window, cursing and worried. He continued to stare through the shutter at Moe.
It was a little after one o’clock in the morning when Dennison walked into the reception lobby of the Mount Crescent Hotel, Los Angeles.
The day clerk was about to go home. Dennison was lucky. Usually, the day clerk left much earlier than this, but it so happened his girlfriend had stood him up and because he didn’t want to return alone to his dismal bedsitter, he had hung around the hotel talking to the night clerk.
Dennison identified himself, then he asked about the new arrivals at the hotel. The clerk showed him the register. After some talk, Dennison said, “and this guy, Jack Howard... remember him?”
“Why, sure,” the clerk said. “He’s tall, dark and well-dressed. He has a bad bruise on the left side of his face... a hell of a bruise.”
Dennison grunted.
“Let me have a passkey,” he said. “He’s the guy I want to talk to.”
The clerk hesitated, then went around the counter, took a key off a hook and handed it to Dennison.
“We don’t want any trouble here, Inspector,” he said without much hope. “You’ll know that.”
“Sure, sure,” Dennison said. “Who wants trouble?”
Vic had been unable to sleep. He lay in the darkness, thinking of Carrie. He had been lying, worrying for the past two hours. He kept trying to assure himself that so long as he carried out his part of the bargain. Carrie and Junior would be safe, but he couldn’t get the image of the Cranes out of his mind. Those two really scared him. They were capable of anything. Suddenly, he heard a faint sound that brought him alert, his heart thumping.
Dennison had gently pushed the door key out of the lock. The key fell to the floor. He then inserted the passkey, turned it and opened the door. As he did so, Vic snapped on the light.
The two men looked at each other. Dennison came in and shut the door.
“Inspector Dennison,” he said. “Federal Bureau. You’re Mr. Victor Dermott, I believe?”
Vic hesitated, then he said, “That’s my name.” He sat up in bed. “Just what is all this? Why have you...?”
“It’s all right, Mr. Dermott,” Dennison said with his fatherly smile he kept for special occasions. “I’m here to help you. We know what’s going on.” He sat on the bed. “We know the spot you’re in. Now look, let’s cooperate. We want to catch these thugs, but at the same time, we don’t want to cause any trouble for Mrs. Dermott and your baby. I give you my word we won’t make any move until the ransom is paid and Mrs. Dermott is freed. Maybe it will give you some assurance to know I have three of my men watching Wastelands right now. If anything bad should start, they’ll be within reach where they will help your wife.”
Vic felt cold, and there was a sick fear growing in him.
“Why couldn’t you have kept out of this?” he said angrily. “What’s four million dollars to a man like Van Wylie? These devils are deadly! They won’t hesitate to kill everyone in the house! They’ve already murdered my servant. They...”
“Just a moment,” Dennison broke in sharply. “You said they’ve killed your servant?”
Vic pulled himself together.
“I’m not absolutely sure, but there was blood in the cabin where my servant sleeps. He’s disappeared.”
“They could have hit him hard the way you were hit,” Dennison said soothingly. “Now look, Mr. Dermott, try to relax. I would feel the same way if I were in your position, but you mustn’t get too excited. No one knows you and I are meeting. Right now, all I want from you is information. I want a description of these people. I give you my word we won’t make a move until your wife and baby are safe. We won’t even make a move without your approval.”
Vic lay back. His face still ached. He remembered Kramer’s warning.
“I can’t tell you a thing,” he said. “I’m not interested in anything except keeping my wife and baby safe.”
“That I can understand,” Dennison said, “but this goes further than that, Mr. Dermott. I want you to trust me. Suppose I ask questions and you tell me if I’m right?” He smiled, then went on, “The man we think is behind this kidnapping is around sixty, tall, heavily built and with a whisky complexion. Right?”
Vic hesitated, shrugged then nodded.
“He has another guy working with him: an Italian; short, fat and swarthy. Right?”
Again Vic nodded.
“There’s a girclass="underline" dyed blonde, tall, good-looking in a coarse way, around twenty-two or three. Right?”
Again Vic nodded.
“Then there’s another of them, but I haven’t got him tagged,” Dennison said. “He’s the one who interests me.”
Again Vic hesitated, then he said, “He’s the girl’s twin. He’s the one who scares me... a vicious, brutal thug. He’s the one who hit me. He binds his fist with a bicycle chain.”
“Describe him,” Dennison said.
Vic gave him a description of Riff and when he was finished, Dennison got to his feet.
“You carry on the way you’re going now, Mr. Dermott,” he said. “Get the ransom.” He put a card on the bedside table. “That’s my telephone number. Memorize it and then destroy the card. When you have the ransom, telephone me. These hoods imagine once they have the ransom, they are in the clear, but they have badly underestimated Van Wylie. As soon as we know your wife and baby and Miss Van Wylie are safe, we’re going after them. From now on, three of my best men will be tailing you. If you want help at any time, they’ll be right with you. You have nothing to worry about. You have my word we won’t make a move until your wife is safe.”
Vic shrugged helplessly.
“I guess I have to rely on you,” he said, “but please hold off until these thugs have left Wastelands.”
“You have my word,” Dennison said and moved to the door. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry to have walked in like that. Good night, Mr. Dermott,” and he left the room.
Vic lay still, staring bleakly at the opposite wall while he listened to Dennison’s heavy tread diminishing down the corridor.