On the other hand it wasn’t likely in such circumstances that Skriva would bother asking for his location. The Kaitempi would know it already, having traced the call. Moreover they’d want the conversation prolonging as much as possible to hold Mowry there. Skriva was trying to cut it short. Yes, the betting was against a trap.
“You struck dumb?” shouted Skriva, impatient and suspicious.
That settled the matter from Mowry’s viewpoint and he replied, “I was thinking. How about meeting me where you left your phone number?”
“That’s as good as anywhere.”
“By yourself,” warned Mowry. “Nobody else with you excepting Gurd. Nobody following and nobody hanging around.”
“Who’s windy now?” said Skriva. “I’m coming right away.”
Driving back to the marker, Mowry parked his car on the verge and waited. Twenty minutes afterward Skriva’s dyno rolled up, parked behind. Skriva got out, approached him, halted in mid-step, scowled uncertainly, slid a hand into a pocket and looked hurriedly up and down the road. There were no other cars in sight.
Mowry grinned at him. “What’s eating you? Got a guilty conscience or something?”
Coming closer, Skriva eyed him with slight incredulity, then commented, “So it is you. What have you been doing to yourself?”
Without waiting for a reply he walked around the bonnet, climbed in, took the other seat. “You don’t look the same. It was hard to recognise you.”
“That’s the idea. A change for the better wouldn’t do you any harm, either. Make it harder for the cops to get you.”
“Maybe.” Skriva was silent for a moment, then, “They got Gurd.”
Mowry sat up. “How? When was this?”
“The damn fool came down from a roof straight into the arms of two of them. Not satisfied with that he gave them some lip and went for his gun.”
“If he’d behaved like he’d every right to be up there he could have talked his way out of it.”
“Gurd couldn’t talk his way out of an old sack,” opined Skriva. “He’s not made like that. I spend a lot of time keeping him out of trouble.”
“How come you weren’t collared too?”
“I was on another roof halfway down the street. They didn’t see me. It was all over before I could get down to help Gurd.”
“What happened to him?”
“What you’d expect. The cops were already beating him over the head before he got his hand in his pocket. Last I saw of him was when they flung him into the wagon.”
“Tough luck!” sympathised Mowry. He meditated a while, asked, “And what happened at the Cafe Susun?”
“Don’t know exactly. Gurd and I weren’t there at the time and a fellow tipped us to stay clear. All I know is that the Kaitempi rushed the place twenty strong, grabbed everyone in sight and staked it. I’ve not shown my face near there since. Some soko must have talked too much.”
“Butin Arhava, for instance?”
“How could he?” scoffed Skriva. “Gurd took his head off before he’d a chance to blab.”
“Maybe he talked after Gurd had tended to him,” Mowry suggested. “Sort of lost his head about it.”
Skriva narrowed his eyes: “What d’you mean?”
“Oh, forget it. Did you collect that roll from the bridge?”
“Yar.”
“Want any more—or are you now too rich to care?”
Studying him calculatingly, Skriva asked, “How much money have you got altogether?”
“Enough to pay for all the jobs I want done.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“It isn’t intended to,” Mowry assured. “What’s on your mind?”
“I like money.”
“That fact is more than apparent,” said Mowry.
“I’m really fond of it,” Skriva went on, as if speaking in parables.
“Who isn’t?”
“Yar, who isn’t? Gurd loves it too. Most everybody does.”
Skriva stopped, added, “In fact the chump who doesn’t love it is either daft or dead.”
“If you’re leading up to something, say so,” Mowry urged. “Cut out the song and dance act. We’ve not got all day.”
“I know a fellow who loves money.”
“So what?”
“He’s a jailer,” said Skriva pointedly.
Twisting sidewise in his seat, Mowry eyed him carefully.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s he willing to do and how much does he want?”
“He says Gurd’s in a cell along with a couple of old pals of ours. So far none of them have been put through the mill though they’ll be worked over sooner or later. Fellows in clink usually are given plenty of time to think over what’s coming to them and let their imaginations operate. It helps them break down quicker.”
“That’s the usual technique,” Mowry agreed. “Let them become nervous wrecks before making them physical wrecks.”
“Yar, the stinking sokos.” Skriva spat out the window before he continued, “Whenever a prisoner’s number comes up the Kaitempi call at the jail, present an official demand for him and take him to their H.Q. for treatment. Sometimes they bring him back several days later, by which time he’s a cripple. Sometimes they don’t return him at all. In the latter event they file a death warrant to keep the prison records straight.”
“Go on.”
“This fellow who loves money will give me the number and location of Gurd’s cell. Also the timing of Kaitempi visits and full details of the routine they follow. Finally he’ll pro-vide a copy of the official form used for demanding release.” He let that sink in, finished, “He wants a hundred thousand.”
Mowry pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “You think we should try get Gurd out?”
“Yar.”
“Didn’t know you were so fond of him.”
“He could stay there and rot for all I care,” said Skriva.
“He’s paying the price of his own stupidity. Why should I worry about him, hi?”
“All right, let him stay and rot. We’ll save a hundred thousand that way.”
“Yar,” Skriva approved. “But—”
“But what?”
“I could use the dope and the two with him. So could you if you’ve more work in mind. Furthermore, if Gurd’s kept in he’ll talk. They’ll make him talk—and he knows too much. But if he escapes they won’t be able to force him to say anything. And what’s a hundred thousand to you?”
“Too much to throw away on a glib story.” Mowry told him bluntly. “Prize fool I’d be to hand you a huge, wad just because you say Gurd’s in the clink.”
Skriva’s face darkened with anger. “You don’t believe me, hi?”
“I’ve got to be shown,” said Mowry, undisturbed.
“Maybe you’d like a specially conducted tour through the jail and have Gurd pointed out to you?”
“The sarcasm is wasted. You seem to forget that while Gurd may be able to put the finger on you for fifty or more major crimes, he can do nothing whatsoever about me. He can talk himself black in the face without saying anything worth a hoot so far as I am concerned. No, when I spend money it’ll be my money and it’ll be spent for my reasons, not yours.”
“So you won’t splurge a guilder on Gurd?” demanded Skriva, still thunderous.
“I don’t say that. What I do say is that I won’t throw money away for nothing. But I’m willing to pay for full value received.”
“Meaning what?”
“Tell this greedy screw that we’ll give him twenty thousand for a genuine Kaitempi requisition-form—after he has handed it over. Also that we’ll pay him a further eighty thousand after Gurd and his two companions have got away.”