“I don’t know. Guy tells me it’s some kind a triple murder. Two guys and a gal. One of the guys is named Meechi or something like that. They’ll be bringing them out pretty soon.”
Orvie didn’t say another word. He spun on his heel and walked blindly down the street away from the crowd. It made sense. The Big Sand was cleaning up all the little details before he left. He realized that the gun which had killed Johnny and the other two would be planted on the dead body of Orvie and the police would have a cheap solution to the murders. He guessed that they must have tried to block the big boy in some other way. Tried to put the pressure on a little. He wondered if Sanderson knew about the note of warning. Probably not.
The endless hours of the day passed by in torment and fear. Orvie walked the streets for miles, the heavy gun weighing down one side of his coat. He neither ate nor rested. But when the clocks said nine, Orvie was standing on the corner where he had been told to stand. He had obeyed blindly. The lack of food had weakened him so that sounds seemed to come from far away. He felt his legs quivering as he stood under the street lamp.
In a few seconds a black coupe pulled up to the corner and the door swung open. Orvie caught a glimpse of the silhouette of the Big Sand’s blocky head, and be stifled his impulse to turn and run down the street. He climbed into the coupe.
The big boy didn’t say a word. They drove quietly for a dozen blocks, and then turned off and parked in a dark narrow street. Sanderson said, “I’ll leave the motor running. When I get out, you slide behind the wheel. Here, I’ll cut the lights. I’m going to come back running. When you hear me coming, open the door, and as soon as I hit the running board, you gun it. Don’t turn the lights on until you hit that main drag down there. Turn right with the heavy traffic and head for the bridge. I’ll tell you what to do after that.” Orvie’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t answer. He nodded his head, and felt Sanderson’s eyes on him. Sanderson climbed out and shut the car door gently.
Orvie sat in the dark, his nerves quivering, the motor humming quietly. He tried to think of some plan, but he couldn’t. His fear mounted and he felt a sort of frenzy. He was just in the process of deciding to roar out of the narrow street without waiting for the Big Sand, in fact his foot was just beginning to press down gently on the gas pedal when he heard the sound of running feet slapping on the sidewalk. He leaned over and flipped the far door open. The coupe tilted as Sanderson’s weight hit the running board. He dropped it into low and roared down the street. He braked, snapped on the lights, and turned right. Sanderson sat on the edge of the seat and looked back over his shoulder through the rear window.
Orvie pressed out and started to pass a string of cars when Sanderson said, “Take it easy. Sonny! Want to get us picked up for speeding? Just take it nice and easy. We got all night.” Then he laughed. At the sound of the laugh, Orvie shuddered.
They drove away from the city. Sanderson only spoke to indicate the turns. Gradually they left the more traveled roads, and in three hours they were winding up through the mountains. A light rain began to fall, and Sanderson grew cheerier. Some of the tension left him and he leaned back in the seat.
He patted his coat pocket and said, “Bearer bonds. Wonderful things.”
“Huh?” Orvie asked.
“You wouldn’t understand, kid. These are what they call negotiable bonds. Quarter of a million bucks worth. And I got me a passport and some dough of my own. All I got to do is drift across the country, get into Mexico and then get down to Argentina. Then I start to put these little babies in circulation and live like a king. I’m through with this lousy town. It’ll work like a charm. Sanderson is one smart joker. I heard they got nice babes in Argentina.”
The Big Sand started to bum an old tune, and Orvie licked his dry lips. He could almost figure out the next move. Then Sanderson said, “You done a good job, kid, and I’m going to take care of you. I knew all along I was right about you.” Orvie gulped. “You must be getting tired of driving, kid. Stop it here and walk around the car. I’ll slide over under the wheel.”
The road was dark and deserted. Orvie felt numb. The only feeling in his body was a dull burning behind his eyes. This was it. He pulled over and got out. He walked around the car. He jammed his hand in the pocked of his topcoat and grabbed the automatic. He clicked the safety off and jammed the gun down into the front corner of the pocket so that he could lift it and fire through the coat with one motion. His finger was tight on the trigger. His shoulders were so tense that they ached.
As he got near the black door of the car, it swung open quietly. He stepped around it and started to lift the gun when his world exploded. The slug that crashed into the bridge of his nose slapped him flat onto his back in the wet brush. The reflected glow of the headlights showed that he was almost smiling, if the grimace of sudden death can be called a smile.
The Big Sand was smiling too. He smiled and leaned forward toward the open door of the car. He leaned further and half fell, half rolled out of the car, the frozen smile of satisfaction still on his face. His head chunked on the concrete and he slowly unfolded his full length on the muddy shoulder.
Now, it was a strange series of circumstances that spoiled the future fun of the unknown dish in Argentina. If the fabric of Orvie’s coat hadn’t been so sleazy, if the automatic had been a little more carefully manufactured, if the hand which jerked the trigger in the convulsion of death hadn’t been holding the automatic pointed at that precise angle toward the running board, if Orvie’s thin fingers had been strong enough to get that last shell into the clip, if when he jammed the automatic down into his pocket the loose shell hadn’t nosed itself tight into the muzzle of the gun — then, when the cheap barrel shredded, that darting sliver of steel would never have ripped through the coat and into the corner of the Big Sand’s eye, sinking itself two inches deep into the grey pulsing brain.