pronto, and you figure that if I need any taking care of, you'll be elected to do it."
Rudy pulled the heavy.38 from his belt, twirled it by the trigger guard and let the butt smack into his palm. Grinning savagely, he took aim at the doctor's stomach.
"Now, maybe you'd better have a good third thought," he said. "Just think real careful and give me the truth. Will I need more lookin' after, or won't I?"
"Y-you'll-y-y-y-" It was as far as the doctor could get.
"I'll need it, huh?" Rudy flipped the gun again and shoved it back into his belt. "Well, that's all I wanted to know. Just shoot square with me, and you got no more trouble than a flea in a dog pound. Now," he added casually, "I guess you want me to clear out of here."
Clinton nodded, weakly apologetic, as he sagged down onto a canvas camp stool. "Oh well, you did promise, Mr Torrento. You said that…"
"And I'll keep my promise," Rudy lied, "if that's the way you want it. I'll leave, and you'll call the cops, and…"
"N-no! No, we won't, Mr. Torrento! I…"
"…and then maybe tonight, maybe five years from now, you'd have a visitor. It'd probably be me, because I got quite a rep for breaking out of tight spots. But if I didn't make it, some pal of mine would. Anyway, you'd have a visitor-like the guy that fingered Willie Sutton had one-and you know what he'd do to you, Clint, to you and the little lady here, before he did you a big favor and killed you?"
He told them, threatened them with what would happen; lips wolfishly drawn back from his teeth; eyes holding them with an unwinking reptilian gaze. He finished the discourse, and the sudden silence was like a scream.
A drop of sweat rolled shinily down the veterinarian's nose. His wife gulped and clapped a hand to her mouth, spoke through the lattice of her fingers.
"We-he won't call any cops," she said whitely. "He even looks like he's going to, and I'll murder him myself!"
"Well, now, maybe he'd feel that he had to," Rudy said. "I'm hot as a three-dollar pistol. I need medical attention. Say I've got a three to one chance of getting away, and you're giving me the best of it. Wouldn't you figure it that way, Clint?"
Clinton cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Rudy beamed at him falsely.
"Kind of one of those hell. if -you-do-or-don't propositions, ain't it, Clint? You holler copper and you and Frannie get your clocks fixed. You don't do it, and you're still in the soup. They got enough on me to fry me six times. That'd bring you and Fran in on accessory raps for forty or fifty years."
"A-accessories?" the doctor stammered. "But how would they know that…"
"I'd tell them," Rudy said cheerfully. "I'd name you as accessories."
"B-but-but, why? After we'd helped…"
"Because I'd figure you were boobs," Rudy said, "and boobs I got a very low boiling point for."
Clinton shook his head in bewilderment. Helplessly, hopefully, he looked at his wife. There was some indefinable change in her expression, something that carried a chill shock and yet seemed entirely natural to her. He had a feeling that he had never seen her before; that she was at once a stranger to him and an old friend of Torrento's.
"What," she said, "is the proposition-Rudy?"
"What do you think? That you and Clinty boy go along with me."
"And?"
"I fork up for a new car. I pay all expenses, and me, I wouldn't kick on a little expense like a mink jacket. You get anything you want, as soon as we're where we're safe to buy it. You cross the country first-class, and when we hit California there'll be a ten-grand bonus."
Her eyes gleamed softly. "That sounds good," she murmured. "That sounds real good, Rudy."
"Good, hell," Rudy said. "It's perfect. Big dough for you, a new car, and a swell trip. And not a chance in the world of getting caught. Clint bandages me up so that no one can see what I look like-I been in a bad accident, see? Then…"
"I won't do it," Clinton had found his voice at last. "We are
Rudy pulled the heavy.38 from his belt, twirled it by the trigger guard and let the butt smack into his palm. Grinning savagely, he took aim at the doctor's stomach.
"Now, maybe you'd better have a good third thought," he said. "Just think real careful and give me the truth. Will I need more lookin' after, or won't I?"
"Y-you'll-y-y-y-" It was as far as the doctor could get.
"I'll need it, huh?" Rudy flipped the gun again and shoved it back into his belt. "Well, that's all I wanted to know. Just shoot square with me, and you got no more trouble than a flea in a dog pound. Now," he added casually, "I guess you want me to clear out of here."
Clinton nodded, weakly apologetic, as he sagged down onto a canvas camp stool. "Oh well, you did promise, Mr Torrento. You said that…"
"And I'll keep my promise," Rudy lied, "if that's the way you want it. I'll leave, and you'll call the cops, and…"
"N-no! No, we won't, Mr. Torrento! I…"
"…and then maybe tonight, maybe five years from now, you'd have a visitor. It'd probably be me, because I got quite a rep for breaking out of tight spots. But if I didn't make it, some pal of mine would. Anyway, you'd have a visitor-like the guy that fingered Willie Sutton had one-and you know what he'd do to you, Clint, to you and the little lady here, before he did you a big favor and killed you?"
He told them, threatened them with what would happen; lips wolfishly drawn back from his teeth; eyes holding them with an unwinking reptilian gaze. He finished the discourse, and the sudden silence was like a scream.
A drop of sweat rolled shinily down the veterinarian's nose. His wife gulped and clapped a hand to her mouth, spoke through the lattice of her fingers.
"We-he won't call any cops," she said whitely. "He even looks like he's going to, and I'll murder him myself!"
"Well, now, maybe he'd feel that he had to," Rudy said. "I'm hot as a three-dollar pistol. I need medical attention. Say I've got a three to one chance of getting away, and you're giving me the best of it. Wouldn't you figure it that way, Clint?"
Clinton cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Rudy beamed at him falsely.
"Kind of one of those hell. if -you-do-or-don't propositions, ain't it, Clint? You holler copper and you and Frannie get your clocks fixed. You don't do it, and you're still in the soup. They got enough on me to fry me six times. That'd bring you and Fran in on accessory raps for forty or fifty years."
"A-accessories?" the doctor stammered. "But how would they know that…"
"I'd tell them," Rudy said cheerfully. "I'd name you as accessories."
"B-but-but, why? After we'd helped…"
"Because I'd figure you were boobs," Rudy said, "and boobs I got a very low boiling point for."
Clinton shook his head in bewilderment. Helplessly, hopefully, he looked at his wife. There was some indefinable change in her expression, something that carried a chill shock and yet seemed entirely natural to her. He had a feeling that he had never seen her before; that she was at once a stranger to him and an old friend of Torrento's.
"What," she said, "is the proposition-Rudy?"
"What do you think? That you and Clinty boy go along with me."
"And?"
"I fork up for a new car. I pay all expenses, and me, I wouldn't kick on a little expense like a mink jacket. You get anything you want, as soon as we're where we're safe to buy it. You cross the country first-class, and when we hit California there'll be a ten-grand bonus."
Her eyes gleamed softly. "That sounds good," she murmured. "That sounds real good, Rudy."
"Good, hell," Rudy said. "It's perfect. Big dough for you, a new car, and a swell trip. And not a chance in the world of getting caught. Clint bandages me up so that no one can see what I look like-I been in a bad accident, see? Then…"
"I won't do it," Clinton had found his voice at last. "We are
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