Выбрать главу

“If you have enough of it. It depends what you want.”

“I’d like a wife like you’ve got,” Brown said. “I’ve kicked around on my own in this fucking world too long. When I want a woman, I have to pick up some whore. I’ve never had a home, except the hole my father lived in. That was for the birds!”

“How long do you plan to stay here, Jim?” Perry asked.

“When the heat cools, I’ll get moving. I’ve listened to the radio. The cops are still in an uproar.” Brown grinned. “They won’t find me here, that’s for sure.”

He looked up and stared at Perry. “You’re going to stake me. I’ll want ten thousand. Okay?”

“It has to be okay, doesn’t it?”

“You can say that again.” Brown finished eating and sat back. “Yeah. We’ll have to see how we fix it.”

“Where will you go, Jim?”

Brown shrugged. “I’m good at fading out of sight. You don’t have to worry about me. All you have to do is to worry about yourself.”

“Fading out of sight?” Perry said. “For how long? Jim, face facts. Wouldn’t it be sensible to give yourself up? You can’t go on running. Sooner or later, they’ll catch up with you. Even in prison, you’re alive.”

“You’re talking like a goddamn priest.” There was a snarl in Brown’s voice. “Give myself up? Be locked away for the rest of my life? That’s not for me. I’m not scared of death. No one is taking me alive.” His expression was vicious. “And I’ll take as many cop bastards with me as I can.”

Perry was about to say something when the sound of the telephone bell startled him.

“Oh, yeah,” Brown said. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve fixed the telephone. I’m a great little fixer. You answer it, and Perry, watch it.” He stared at Perry. “I’m getting tired of you, buster, so don’t get tricky.”

Perry crossed to the telephone. He lifted the receiver. “Who is this?” he asked.

“This is Mrs Grady, Rockville post office,” a worried voice said. “I heard your telephone was out of order.”

“That’s right. It’s okay now. I guess it was the rain. It’s working fine.”

“I was going to send Josh as soon as the road had dried out.”

“No need, Mrs Grady. Thanks for calling.”

“You’re welcome, Mr Weston.” Perry hung up.

“Checking the telephone.”

“I thought of that,” Brown said. “Didn’t want some guy coming here. Just be careful, Perry. Don’t try using the phone. Right?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Perry said, ’I came here to write a movie. I’d like to start. What are you going to do?

“Go ahead. Don’t worry about me. I like this room. I’ll watch TV. Know something, Perry? I feel real at home in this joint. I’ll get lunch. There are a couple of juicy fucking pork chops in the freezer.”

“Like that with French fries myself.” Perry said, and leaving the room, he walked the short passage to his study. He sat at his desk and looked out of the window at the sun and the trees.

He would have liked to be out with his fishing rod. He sat back in his chair and gave free rein to his imagination. After half an hour of concentrated thought, he took out of his desk a block of paper and began to sketch out first moves of the plot that just could please Silas S. Hart. He became so absorbed in his work that he lost count of time, and it was only when the door opened and Brown looked in that Perry was thrown back to reality.

“Lunch’s up,” Brown said. “Come and get it.”

Perry looked at his strap watch. The time was 1:00. He got to his feet and reluctantly left his desk, following Brown into the living room.

A thick pork chop with a heap of French fries awaited. “Only thing is, no onions,” Brown said, sitting opposite Perry. “I like onions with pork chops.” He grinned mirthlessly. “I’ll have everything. My old man liked onions. I used to cook him fried onions and potatoes. He liked that. Towards his end, it wasn’t all that good for him. He had rotten teeth.”

Perry cut into his chop, thinking everything this man did was now background for his plot.

“You were fond of your pa, weren’t you, Jim?”

“Well, I guess. Know something? It’s good to be fond of someone. He wasn’t all that hot. Sometimes, I didn’t think he liked me. There were times when he used to give me sly looks. I know looks. Okay, I was fond of him. It didn’t matter how he felt about me. I had no one else, so I was fond of him. When I found him dead, something in my life went away.” He chewed, nodded. “Damn fine meat.”

“How about your ma, Jim?” Brown scowled.

“Don’t talk about her. No good. You fond of your wife?”

“Of course.” Brown nodded.

“I guess. Nice looking girl.” He looked up. “A bit young for you, isn’t she?”

This ape of a man had touched a sensitive nerve. Perry winced.

“That’s not your business, is it?” he said curtly.

Brown gave a sneering little grin.

“I guess that’s right.” He eased back his chair. “You’re working on a movie?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“How do you write a movie?”

Perry shrugged. “If you want to know, you first get an idea. After you’re sure the idea is sound, then you think of people to carry out the idea. Once you’ve created interesting people and the idea, the movie will more or less write itself.”

“Is that right? Sounds easy. The money’s good, huh?”

“Nothing in this world is ever easy if it is to pay off, Jim.” Brown studied him.

“You got characters?”

“I’ve just an idea.”

“What’s the idea?”

“That’s not your business either, is it?”

“I bet one of the characters is me.”

“If you think so, then think so.” Perry stood up. “A great meal. I’ll get back to my desk.”

As he collected the plates Brown began to whistle tunelessly. Back at his desk, Perry could still hear him whistling in the kitchen.

Sheriff Ross and Hank Hollis got out of the patrol car just before the turning down to the river. Silently, Ross handed the rifle to Hollis who slung it on his shoulder. He took the plastic sack of food and the radio transmitter. The two men looked at each other.

“Take no risks, Hank,” Ross said uneasily. “I wish I were coming with you.”

Hollis grinned. “Take it easy, Sheriff. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you,” Ross said.

“This is my specialty. Cheer up!” Hollis grinned again. “I’ll get off. Don’t worry about me.”

The two men shook hands, then Hollis moved onto the forest road. He waited until he heard the patrol car start up and drive away, then he began a slow, cautious walk, keeping to one side of the road. He unslung his rifle, hitched the plastic sack and the radio on his left shoulder and continued to move forward.

Once in the dense forest, he moved much more cautiously. Slyly. He felt relaxed.

This hunt after a vicious killer sent his mind back to the jungles of Vietnam. How often had he done this? Countless times. He had always come out alive, and a sniper dead. Okay, Chet Logan, you won’t know what’s going to hit you!

The road was fast drying, but in places there were pools of muddy water.

Hollis skirted these, pressing against the wet shrubs. It took him over an hour to come within sight of the river. To his right, now no more than a couple of hundred yards away, was Perry Weston’s fishing lodge. Here, he warned himself, he must take the greatest caution. He moved back into the thickest part of the forest, using every bit of cover, moving so silently even the birds in the tree tops were not alarmed. Again, he moved forward, pushing shrubs gently aside, feeling thick mud on his boots. It was steamy hot and sweat ran down his face. His shirt and khaki slacks were wet from the soaking shrubs. Discomfort never bothered him. Once a jungle fighter, always a jungle fighter, his Captain had said to him. Damn right!