Come Easy, Go Easy Part 18

"I wouldn't mind. You mean we'd use the money in the safe to start a business for us both?"

This was the first time she had mentioned the money in the safe. It was casually said, and I looked sharply at her, but she was looking straight back at me and she met my eyes without flinching.

"That would be the idea."

"With all that money we could have a wonderful place, couldn't we, Chet?" Her eyes lit up. "Let's do it soon."

"We have to find a way to get rid of this place, Lola."

"There must be a way."

A truck pulled up at the gas pumps and I went out and serviced the truck.

When I was through, the trucker said he would have breakfast, and after he had gone, other truckers arrived. I didn't get a chance to talk any more with Lola. As soon as she had put the pies in the oven, she got changed and told me she was going.

"I'll be back by lunch time. Don't forget the pies."

I watched her drive away, then went into the kitchen to wash up the various breakfast things.

I was feeling pretty good. Now the subject of the money had come out in the open my final uneasiness that she was putting on an act disappeared.

I had to concentrate in earnest on how we were to leave Point of No Return so that no one would suspect anything was wrong.

But the more I thought about it, the tighter the trap became. We couldn't sell the place as it was in Jenson's name. We couldn't give out that Jenson was dead. We couldn't sneak away and leave the place deserted. The police would move in, and it wouldn't take them long to find Jenson's body, then there would be a murder hunt for both of us.

The more I wrestled with the problem the more complicated it became. Then I saw suddenly there was no safe way out. We were in a trap and the doors of the trap were shut. If we hoped to remain safe, we had to stay on in this isolated place for keeps. We just didn't dare leave.

While all this was going on in my mind, I was pacing up and down in the lunch room. The sound of a car pulling up made me look out of the window. I was in time to see Ricks get out of his battered car, followed by his dog. He shambled into the repair shed.

With my heart thumping, I went across to the shed fast.

I found Ricks wandering aimlessly around, looking at the tools. His dog kept close to his heels, and as I came in, the dog cringed, moving even closer to its master and looking at me mournfully with its bloodshot eyes.

"What do you want?" I said, making my voice hard and tough.

Ricks paused and squinted at me, shoving the dog away with his leg.

"You heard from my brother-in-law?"

"No."

*Is she around?"

"If you mean Mrs. Jenson . . . she's in Wentworth this morning. What do you want?"

I saw the dog suddenly turn its head and stare at the work bench that stood over Jenson's grave. It moved forward to the bench and began sniffing at the ground.

I felt sudden chills start up my spine.

"I'm still without my pension," Ricks said. "I'm running out of money."

"I can't help that."

Tentatively, the dog began to scratch at the ground, then finding the ground loose, it began to dig in earnest.

Ricks turned and stared at the dog.

"Well, I'll be darned! I've never seen Caesar do a thing like that before." He moved forward and gave the dog a solid kick on its rump, sending it squealing to the door of the shed. "I'm down to my last buck," he went on to me. "How about lending me something? As soon as I've got my pension I'll pay it back."

As he talked the dog crept back again, looking furtively at its master, then it began to dig again.

"Watch your d.a.m.ned dog!" I shouted, and picking up a block of wood, I threw it at the dog, sending it yelping once more to the door.

Ricks glared at me.

"That's no way to treat a poor dumb animal! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Get out of here! You and your d.a.m.ned dog!" I snarled.

Ricks was now staring at the hole the dog had dug, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Have you been burying something there?"

I felt cold sweat break out on my face.

"No . . . come on! Beat it!"

Instead, he shambled over to the hole and knelt down, staring at it.

"Well, someone's been digging here." He pushed his dirty, claw-like hand into the loose earth. As if it recognised cooperation, the dog came up, wagging its tail and whining, then it began to dig again.

Impatiently, Ricks shoved it away.

"Maybe Carl has buried his money here," he muttered. "He would be fool enough to do just that. How about taking a look? Got a spade?"

I was now in a h.e.l.l of a panic. I moved forward and there must have been an expression in my eyes that told Ricks I meant trouble. He straightened up hastily and backed away.

"Okay, okay, fella, no need to get mad," he whined, still backing away, his dog following him. "Just a thought that dropped into my mind. Think nothing of it."

"Get out and stay away from here!" I shouted at him, "Go on! Get out!"

"How about lending me five bucks?" he whined, still backing away, he was now out in the hot sunshine.

"You're getting nothing out of me," I said, moving after him. "Beat it!"

By now he was close to his battered car. He paused, his hand on the car door and he squinted at me.

"Okay, if that's the way you want it, fella," he said, a sudden rasp in his voice. "I'm going to talk to the cops! I'm going to tell them to look for Carl! You and that wh.o.r.e, cuddling and kissing . . ."

I jumped him. My fist slammed against his jaw, sending him flat on his back. I was so mad I didn't notice a trucker had just pulled up by the gas pumps. It was only when he yelled at me I got control of myself. I was about ready to give this skinny vulture the hiding of his life.

As soon as the dog saw its master sprawl in the dust, it fled, shivering into the car.

The trucker got out of the truck and hurried over, his expression aggressive.

"Hey! If you want to hit a guy, pick one your own age and size!" he bawled at me.

I felt tempted to take him, but I knew it would be bad for business. Truckers talk together. I choked down my rage and stepped back as Ricks crawled unsteadily to his feet.

"Okay, okay," I said to the trucker. "You're right. I guess I blew my top and I'm sorry, but this punk comes scrounging here week after week and he drives me nuts."

The trucker lost his aggressive look.

"Well, yeah . . . but to hit an old guy . . ." He stared at Ricks, then grimaced. "A scrounger, huh?"

"You said it. He never stops putting the bite on me."

He relaxed, nodding.

"Sorry I pushed my oar in. My father-in-law is the same. I could do with some gas."

"Sure. I'm coming."

He went back to his truck. Ricks got slowly and painfully into his car. He was holding his jaw and mumbling to himself.

I took from my wallet a ten dollar bill and shoved it at him.

"Here . . . take this and beat it," I said.

He had started the car engine. With a shaking hand, he took the bill, then crumpling it, he threw it in my face.

"I'll fix you for this!" he snarled, his face vicious with rage. "I'm going to talk to the police."

He stamped down on the gas pedal and the car shot crazily away.

Then I knew I had made a dangerous mistake hitting him. I had imagined he was so spineless and such a scrounger I could pay for that punch with a ten dollar bill.

I picked up the bill and put it back in my wallet. There was chill of fear around my heart.

I walked over to the waiting trucker and filled his tank. He looked curiously at me. He had seen Ricks throw the money at me, but he didn't say anything.

When he had gone, I went into the repair shed and dragged the workbench away from Jenson's grave. Working fast, I filled in the hole dug by Ricks's dog and levelled the ground. Then drawing from a pile of rusty sc.r.a.p that stood against the far wall, I made a great heap of it on the grave.

The job took me half an hour, but when I was through, there was no chance of the dog pulling the same trick on me again.

While I worked, I wondered about Ricks. Would he go to the police? In the vicious mood he was in, he probably would, but would they pay any attention to him? If they came out here investigated and me I was sunk. Should I pack up and get out while the going was good?

Still trying to make up my mind, I left the repair shed and over to the lunch room.

I saw a dusty Lincoln beside the gas pumps. I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts I hadn't seen it arrive.

There was a man sitting at the wheel, and there was something familiar about him.

He got out of the car and came towards me. He was wearing a shabby, wrinkled suit. A slouch hat that had seen some years' hard wear rested at the back of his head.

I recognised him, and my heart skipped a beat and then began race.

The man walking towards me was Roy Tracey.

chapter ten.

I.

Roy recognised me at the same time as I recognised him. He came to an abrupt halt and I saw him change colour.

We stood staring at each other.

He was the first to recover. The colour came back to his face, his mouth twisted into that old cynical grin I knew so well. He started towards me at a run.

"Chet! Is it really you? Am I glad to see you!"

We were shaking hands and thumping each other. It wasn't until this moment that I fully realised how much I had missed him: how lonely I had been these months for his company.

"You son of a gun!" I said and hugged him. "Is it good to see you again?"

He caught hold of my shoulders and shoved me back at arm's length while he stared searchingly at me.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were out of the country?"

"I hope the police think so too," I said. I was so pleased to see him I felt like crying. "Come on in and have a drink." I grabbed him by the arm and led him into the lunch room. "Where did you drop from?"

"Little Creek . . . what a dump that is!" He sat on a stool by the counter and looked around. "But what are you doing here?"

I began to make two highb.a.l.l.s.

"It's the perfect hideout, Roy. I work here now."