"Shut your mouth and keep it shut," Hans snarled at Ruth. He looked at Nick. "I don't want any noise."
"Then why did you tell me to finish the job?"
The blond man put his hands on his hips. The P-38 was out of sight. "By God, man, you're something. You know I made a joke."
"How did I know? You got the guns. I do as I'm told."
"Deming, I'd like to wrestle with you, someday. You wrestle? Box? Fencer'
"A little. Make an appointment."
The big man's face became thoughtful. He shook his head slightly from side to side as if to encourage his brains. "I don't know about you. You're either a nut or the coolest case I've ever seen. If you're not crazy you'd be a good man to have around. How much do you make a year?"
"Sixteen thousand and what I can edge."
"Chicken feed. Too bad you're square."
"I've been wrong a few times, but I've got it made now and I'm not shooting angles any more."
"Where'd you go wrong?"
"Sorry, old pal. Grab your take and travel."
"Looks like I was wrong about you." The man wagged his head again. "Sorry to clean one of the club, but business is slow."
"Ill bet."
Hans turned to Sammy. "Go help Chick pack up. There isn't much." He turned away, then almost as an afterthought picked up Nick's pants, removed the bills from the wallet and tossed it at the bureau. He said. "You two stay still and quiet. You'll get loose soon enough after we're gone. The phone wires are cut. I'll leave the distributor cap from your car near the drive entrance. No hard feelings."
The cold blue eyes fixed on Nick's. "Not a one," Nick answered. "And we'll get to that wrestling match someday."
"Maybe," Hans said, and went out.
Nick rolled off the bed, found a rough edge on the metal frame that supported the box spring, and in about a minute had sawed through the tough cord at the expense of a patch of skin and what felt like a strained muscle. When he popped up off the floor Ruth's black eyes met his. They were wide and staring, yet she didn't seem scared. Her face was composed. "Stay very still," he whispered, and crept to the door.
The living room was empty. He had a strong desire to go for the efficient Swedish submachine gun but if this crew were his first lead, that would be a giveaway. Even oil men who had been around didn't have Tommy guns on tap. He went silently through the kitchen and out the rear door and circled the house to the garage. Beyond the floodlights he saw the car they had arrived in. There were two men beside it. He went around the garage and entered it from the back and twisted the coat hook without taking down the raincoat. The strip of wood swung out and Wilhelmina slid into his hand and he felt the sudden comfort of her weight.
A rock bruised his bare foot as he circled a blue spruce and approached the car from the dark side. Hans came from the patio, and when they turned toward him Nick saw that the two near the car were Sammy and Chick. None of them held guns now. Hans said, "Let's go."
Out of the night Nick said, "Surprise, boys. Don't move. The gun I'm holding is as big as yours."
In silence they turned toward him. "Take it easy, boys. You too, Deming. We can work this out. Is that really a gun you have there?"
"A Luger. Don't move. I'll come forward a little so you can see it and feel better. And live longer."
He stepped into the light and Hans snorted. "Next time, Sammy, we use wire. And you must have done a rotten job with those knots. When we get time I'm going to give you a new education."
"Ah did 'em tight," Sammy snapped.
"Not tight enough. What did you think you were tying up, grain bags? Maybe we better get handcuffs..."
The pointless conversation suddenly made sense. Nick yelled, "Shut up," and started to back up but it was too late.
The man behind him growled, "Hold it, bucko, or you're full of holes. Drop it. That's the boy. Come over, Hans."
Nick gritted his teeth. Smart, that Hans! A fourth man on watch and never exposed. Fine generalship. He was glad, when he awakened,
"Then why did you tell me to finish the job?"
The blond man put his hands on his hips. The P-38 was out of sight. "By God, man, you're something. You know I made a joke."
"How did I know? You got the guns. I do as I'm told."
"Deming, I'd like to wrestle with you, someday. You wrestle? Box? Fencer'
"A little. Make an appointment."
The big man's face became thoughtful. He shook his head slightly from side to side as if to encourage his brains. "I don't know about you. You're either a nut or the coolest case I've ever seen. If you're not crazy you'd be a good man to have around. How much do you make a year?"
"Sixteen thousand and what I can edge."
"Chicken feed. Too bad you're square."
"I've been wrong a few times, but I've got it made now and I'm not shooting angles any more."
"Where'd you go wrong?"
"Sorry, old pal. Grab your take and travel."
"Looks like I was wrong about you." The man wagged his head again. "Sorry to clean one of the club, but business is slow."
"Ill bet."
Hans turned to Sammy. "Go help Chick pack up. There isn't much." He turned away, then almost as an afterthought picked up Nick's pants, removed the bills from the wallet and tossed it at the bureau. He said. "You two stay still and quiet. You'll get loose soon enough after we're gone. The phone wires are cut. I'll leave the distributor cap from your car near the drive entrance. No hard feelings."
The cold blue eyes fixed on Nick's. "Not a one," Nick answered. "And we'll get to that wrestling match someday."
"Maybe," Hans said, and went out.
Nick rolled off the bed, found a rough edge on the metal frame that supported the box spring, and in about a minute had sawed through the tough cord at the expense of a patch of skin and what felt like a strained muscle. When he popped up off the floor Ruth's black eyes met his. They were wide and staring, yet she didn't seem scared. Her face was composed. "Stay very still," he whispered, and crept to the door.
The living room was empty. He had a strong desire to go for the efficient Swedish submachine gun but if this crew were his first lead, that would be a giveaway. Even oil men who had been around didn't have Tommy guns on tap. He went silently through the kitchen and out the rear door and circled the house to the garage. Beyond the floodlights he saw the car they had arrived in. There were two men beside it. He went around the garage and entered it from the back and twisted the coat hook without taking down the raincoat. The strip of wood swung out and Wilhelmina slid into his hand and he felt the sudden comfort of her weight.
A rock bruised his bare foot as he circled a blue spruce and approached the car from the dark side. Hans came from the patio, and when they turned toward him Nick saw that the two near the car were Sammy and Chick. None of them held guns now. Hans said, "Let's go."
Out of the night Nick said, "Surprise, boys. Don't move. The gun I'm holding is as big as yours."
In silence they turned toward him. "Take it easy, boys. You too, Deming. We can work this out. Is that really a gun you have there?"
"A Luger. Don't move. I'll come forward a little so you can see it and feel better. And live longer."
He stepped into the light and Hans snorted. "Next time, Sammy, we use wire. And you must have done a rotten job with those knots. When we get time I'm going to give you a new education."
"Ah did 'em tight," Sammy snapped.
"Not tight enough. What did you think you were tying up, grain bags? Maybe we better get handcuffs..."
The pointless conversation suddenly made sense. Nick yelled, "Shut up," and started to back up but it was too late.
The man behind him growled, "Hold it, bucko, or you're full of holes. Drop it. That's the boy. Come over, Hans."
Nick gritted his teeth. Smart, that Hans! A fourth man on watch and never exposed. Fine generalship. He was glad, when he awakened,
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