Carlos sat up and leaned over the back of the front seat. He smiled at me and said, “You can sit up now, Senor Carter. For the time being, I think we are safe.”
“What the hell was that all about?” I picked myself off the floor where I’d been thrown and sank back on the cushions of the seat. I took out my handkerchief and carefully brushed the sharp glass splinters from my trousers.
“I think it was because the captain of our ship talked,” Carlos speculated. “He knew we had a load to be shipped. I think the police were guessing that it was at Garrett’s.”
“Now what?”
“Now we pick up Senor Dietrich and his daughter and head for the States. Our plans have not been changed. They have merely been moved up by a few hours.”
“What about Consuela?”
Carlos shrugged.
“If she keeps her wits about her, she’ll be all right Garrett’s guests knew nothing about our activities. Consuela’s smart enough to claim that she, too, was merely a guest and knows nothing about whatever they find.”
“Or Garrett’s murder? You took care of that problem, I see.”
Ortega shrugged. “It had to be.done sooner or later.”
“Where to now?”
“To Bickford’s place,” Ortega answered. “That is where the Dietrichs are being held.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The soft, gentle expression was gone from Doris Bickford’s face. What came through now was the un-embellished, merciless core that was her real self, seeming even tougher because of the contrast with her small, doll-like features framed by her long, platinum blond hair. John Bickford prowled the living room like a huge, aging lion limping out the last few months of its life in angry bewilderment at the loss of its strength, its mane gone white with the years. He was at a complete loss for words. He couldn’t understand the change that had taken place in his wife in the last few hours.
Herbert Dietrich sat on the couch, Susan beside him. Dietrich Was a worn, tired man, exhaustion from the day’s strain showing on his face, an old man on the verge of collapse, yet sitting erect and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the weariness that had settled in his bones. But his eyes had filmed over with a dull, unseeing glaze, a curtain behind which he had retreated from the world.
Doris turned to us as Carlos and I came into the room, the gun in her hand pointing quickly in our direction before she recognized us.
“For god’s sake,” she said, acidly, turning the gun away, “what took you so long?”
“It’s only three o’clock,” Carlos said, easily. “We hadn’t planned to leave until almost five.”
“Are we ready to leave, then? I don’t think that he—” she gestured at her husband with the gun—”can hold out much longer. He’s a bundle of nerves.” There was sharp, abrasive scorn in her voice. Bickford turned around, worry showing openly on his blunt, scarred face. “I didn’t bargain for this, Carlos,” he said. “You can count me out.”
Carlos cocked his head and stared at the big, ex-prize-fighter. “You really mean that?”
Bickford nodded seriously. “I sure as hell do. I don’t want any part of kidnapping or murder.”
“Who said anything about murder?”
“You see what I mean?” Doris interrupted. “He’s been like this all day, ever since you brought the old man here. And when Brian Garrett came in with the girl, he went completely apart.”
“I can’t go through with it, Carlos,” Bickford said, apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
Doris gestured toward me. “What about him?” Carlos smiled at her for the first time. “He’s with us from now on,” he said. Doris looked at me in surprise.
Susan Dietrich lifted her head. Shock was written all over her face. I kept my own features blank. Susan turned away from me, despair and fright showing in her eyes.
Doris was measuring me in the same cold way she might examine an expensive sable coat brought out for her approval. Finally, she said, “He’ll do. A hell of a lot better than Johnny, I think.”
Bickford turned around in his pacing. “What do you mean by that?”
“You wanted out, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. For both of us. You’re coming with me.”
Doris shook her head, her long, platinum hair swinging heavily in front of her face. “Not me, honey,” she said, bitingly. “I don’t want out. Not now. Not when the big money is going to start rolling in.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bickford demanded, incredulously. He strode over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re my wife! You go where I go!”
“The hell I do! I want a man, not a broken down old prize-fighter who can’t talk about anything but the good old days when he was getting the shit kicked out of him. Well, the good old days are just beginning to come for me, honey. And you’re not going to stop me from enjoying them!”
Bickford looked as if he’d Just caught a hard right cross to the jaw. Bewilderment glazed his eyes. “Listen,” he said, shaking her roughly. “I took you out of that life. I gave you things. I made a lady out of you Instead of a hundred-dollar call girl! What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“I took myself out of that life!” Doris told him sharply. “And I’m the one who pushed you so that you could afford to give me things. Who introduced you to Brian Garrett? Who paved the way for you? Don’t be stupid, Johnny. It’s been me all the way. If you don’t want to come along, then I’m going by myself. Don’t think you can stop me.”
Bickford stepped away from her. He looked blankly at Doris and then turned helplessly to Carlos. “Carlos?”
“I prefer not to get involved.”
“The hell you do,” said Doris assertively, turning to Ortega. “You and I are already involved. It’s time this big, stupid jerk learned about us, Carlos.”
Bickford looked at each of them in turn, a man rocked by one blow after another, yet still standing, still asking for more punishment.
“The two of you?” he asked, numbly.
“Yes, the two of us,” Doris repeated. “All this time. Didn’t you know, Johnny? Didn’t you even suspect a little bit? Why do you think we took so many trips every year to Mexico? Why do you think Carlos visited us in Los Angeles so often?”
The telephone rang, cutting through the silence that followed her words. Swiftly, Ortega picked up the phone. “Bueno!… oh, it’s you, Hobart. Where the hell… at the airport?… Good! How soon can you be ready to leave?” He looked at his watch. “Yes, twenty minutes at the most Maybe less than that. I want you ready for takeoff when we get there. Full tanks, we’re going all the way.”
Ortega hung up. “Shall we go? Hobart’s at the airport.”
Bickford stepped in front of him. “Not just yet,” he said stubbornly. “You and I have things to talk about. I want to get something straight first.”
“Later,” said Ortega, impatiently.
“Now!” said Bickford, taking an angry step toward him and pulling back a clenched, knuckle-broken fist to smash into Ortega’s face.
“Johnny!”
Bickford turned around to his wife. Doris lifted the gun in her hand, straightening her arm so that it pointed at him, and pulled the trigger.
There was a sharp explosion. Susan screamed. Bickford’s face contorted. He opened his eyes in a wide stare. I couldn’t tell if the expression of amazement on his face came from the impact of the bullet smashing into him or from the shock of realization that it was Doris who’d shot him. His mouth opened and a trickle of blood ran down his chin. He forced himself to take a staggering step toward Doris, reaching out with both of his powerful hands for her. She backed away and pulled the trigger again. Bickford collapsed on the floor.