A Ticket to Hell Page 6

  Ric’s laugh matched Martin’s. He saw the handsome man scowl at the imitation of his laughter. “All that would be fine. It would sound good in a court. It’s phony as hell with just the three of us here.”

  “I’m warning you. Get out of this. Come on, Eve, we’re getting out of here.”

  “No.” She pressed harder against Ric.

  Ric said, “Like you say, Kimball, this is no business of mine. But I’ve gambled in my time. I’m sure you have. I’m telling you—you played a hand and you lost. Why don’t you clear out of here?”

  Martin laughed at him. “Sure. I’ll go. As soon as you get out of my way and my wife goes with me.”

  “She says she doesn’t want to go.”

  “That’s between us.”

  “Maybe it was before you tried to kill her.”

  Martin’s voice hardened. “You’ll never make a fantastic story like that stick.”

  “I won’t have to. The reading of the will would take care of you.”

  “No. You see, I’ve stood all the trouble with Eve I’m going to stand. Sorry to drag you into it, but you insist. Things like this are happening all the time. All she thinks about is that damned money. I told her before she blasted over here that she was going to change that will or she and I have had it. When we leave here, we’re clearing out, driving back to Sherman Oaks and she’s going to have that God-damned will changed.”

  There was sweated sincerity in Martin’s voice. But in his mind Ric could see the casual way he’d reached out, turned the gas valve once and then turned it back again. He stared at Martin, wondering if Eve Kimball would trust herself alone in any car with him now.

  “No.” The word was ripped out of Eve.

  Ric shrugged. “You heard her, Kimball. Why don’t you get out? When she has changed the will, maybe she’ll come back to you. If you’re so honest, you can wait.”

  “If I want your advice, I’ll pay you for it. That’s my wife. Open that door and get out of the way.”

  Ric stared at him. “Why don’t you open it?”

  Martin hunched his wide shoulders. His gaze wavered a moment, then he stared around the room like a caged animal.

  Their gazes struck the gun beside the telephone at the same instant. Ric lifted his arms, heaving Eve away from him. She fell against the wall, crying out. Then Ric moved up on the balls of his feet, lunged forward.

  Martin dived for the gun. His hand closed on it as Ric chopped down across the side of his neck. The gun squirted forward and Martin landed across the table. The table legs crumpled—the splitting sound loud—and the table folded under Martin’s body.

  Martin sprawled full length across the floor. His right hand was still reaching for the gun, fingers extended. Ric stepped beyond him, snatched up the gun and stood against the wall, watching Kimball.

  Ric shoved the gun back in its shoulder holster. He was aware that Eve had not moved. It was as though she were paralyzed, leaning against the wall.

  Martin sat up, groggy and shaking his head to clear it. He rocked for an instant on his knees, then lunged upward at Ric, his hands clawing at Ric’s throat.

  Ric set himself to drive his left into Kimball’s pretty face. He had fought in enough alley brawls to be on the alert, but Kimball’s prettiness had thrown him off. Kimball came in close as though reaching for his throat, feinted away from Ric’s left and brought up his knee into Ric’s groin.

  The room skidded and spun out from under Ric. The ceiling was the floor, and the walls were the floor and Kimball was spinning around in front of him.

  Ric felt as though he were going to lose his insides; not only that he was going to, that he must. It was all that would save him.

  He felt his back touch the wall. He rested for a moment with the good feeling of the wall against his back. Through the spinning fire flashes he saw Martin Kimball’s grimacing face coming nearer, growing larger. He saw his fist smash into his face, but he did not feel it. There was only the red fire, flashing brighter, and then the taste of blood.

  His hands went out. It was automatic. He had to stay alive. He kept his hands hitting at that face until it gave way. He did not close his fists. He slapped back and forth, cutting and chopping—the Adams apple, the side of the neck, across the temple.

  His vision cleared. Martin’s face was flush red and showed the marks of Ric’s hands. Martin was backing up because those open hands did not give him an opportunity to set himself.

  Ric paused, breathing through his mouth. He stared at Martin, weaving slightly, suckering him in. Martin grinned and set himself, lunging again at Ric’s throat. But Ric sidestepped him this time and drove his left fist into Martin’s face, feeling it crush and give under his knuckles. The impact jarred him to his shoulder socket.

  He stepped away and Martin began to crumble. He was a tall man and his knees buckled first, then he fell to his knees. He did not reach for support. His arms were inert, hanging at his sides. He did not even try to break his fall. He struck face-first and did not move.

  Ric stepped away, cursing under his breath. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he turned and stared at Eve Kimball.

  She had not moved. Her mouth was pulled slack, and she chewed at her underlip.

  His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Now if you’re smart,” he said, “you’ll do what you should have done this afternoon. You’ll get to hell out of here.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “No,” she said.”

  “Why in hell not?”

  She walked away from the wall, moving stiffly. She looked at Martin Kimball and for an instant the agony and hurt showed bare in her naked gaze. Then her head tilted. She went to an easy chair, sat down.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Too afraid to get to hell out of here and save your life?”

  “He’d find me. He’d follow me. You know that. You want me out of here.”

  “You’re damn right I do. I want both of you out of here. You’re driving me nuts and Pretty Boy is bleeding all over my rug.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of how to get away since I left here? I haven’t thought of anything else. I can’t go until I can get away from Martin.”

  “You mind hinting when you think that’ll be—this side of hell?”

  She looked up, her mouth damp. “I don’t know. This side of hell.”

  “I can tell you. Call the cops. I’ll cart him back across the court to your place. File a complaint against him—any complaint so they hold him overnight—then you get in that Cadillac and make tracks for Los Angeles.”

  She shivered. “He’d stop me. He’d even use the cops to stop me. You know he would.”

  Ric exhaled. He walked to the broken table, set it up straight and leaned it against the wall for support. He set the phone back on it. The story of my life, he thought, looking at the battered table with the phone perched precariously on it.

  Ric sat down on the side of the bed. It was quiet in the motel court. He had the strange feeling that everybody was holding his breath out there, waiting to see what would happen next in cottage eight.

  Neither of them spoke. Eve wiped at the tears that welled over her eyelids. He heard her sniffle, but did not look at her. He saw Martin’s leg twitch.

  Martin clawed at the rug, pushing himself up. He sprawled with his weight on his hands, shaking his head, drops of blood splattering his shirt.

  After a moment, Martin got up on his knees. He stared at both of them, his mouth slack and his eyes not focusing. Gradually he remembered and Ric saw the wild shadows swirl in his eyes

  He jumped to his feet. His breathing was the loudest sound in the court. He spread his legs, wiped the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth.

  “You’re going to pay for this, you God-damned dirty son of a bitch. You think you can go around assaulting people, you dirty son of a bitch. But you’re going to find out, you dirty damned son of a bitch. You tried to kill me. By God, you�
��re going to jail for that. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll get you for jumping me.”

  Eve got up. “Shut up, Martin. Get out of here.”

  Martin stared at her for a moment as though he’d never seen her before on the face of this earth.

  “You slut.” Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and he smashed at it with the back of his hand. He stood staring at his blood on his shirt. Suddenly he lunged forward and backhanded Eve across the face.

  She spun, toppling against the bed.

  Martin yelled, laughing at her. “There you are, slut—in bed with your lover. You think I don’t know? You think I am so stupid I haven’t figured it? You and your boy friend, trying to set me up, trying to get rid of me, cooking up this murder thing. Well, I can tell you, slut, it won’t work. You won’t get away with it.”

  Eve sat awkwardly on the side of the bed, staring up at Martin. It was as though she had never seen him before now. No matter what he had done to her, forced her to do, how deeply he’d hurt her, she’d never seen him quite like this.

  She whispered at him. “You’re insane—you’re crazy.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be crazy? You tell me why I wouldn’t be crazy? I followed you over here, just like you set it up. You run screaming to your lover—try to frame me for an attempted murder—you two lovely bastards. You think you can kill me and get away with it.”

  “No, Martin—”

  “What the hell’s the sense trying to talk to him?” Ric said.

  “Yeah, Lover Boy. Yeah. You tell her. What’s the sense in trying to talk to me? You two think you’ve got all the angles. You’re going to find out. You think I won’t get the State Police in here on you two, that’s where you’re crazy. You two god-damn lovely bastards—going to bed behind my back—trying to kill me.”

  He stood there staring at them, laughter wild in his bloodied face, angry insane tears streaming down his cheeks. He spun around then and ran to the door. He slammed it behind him.

  “He’s crazy,” she whispered again.

  “Most people who try to murder somebody else are nuts,” Ric said, voice cold.

  He got up from the bed, walked to the baggage rack. He threw his belongings in his expensive leather suitcase, snapped it shut.

  “What are you doing?” Her whispered voice reached at him.

  “What you should do. I’m getting out of here.”

  “You’re running? Why?”

  “Because I’ve got sense enough to run, baby, and if you’ve got good sense, you’ll run, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Baby, you heard him. Just like I did. Only maybe you think he won’t do it. Me, I know better. He said he was going to the State Police. I know he’s just nuts enough to do it.”

  She got up, caught his arm.

  “He will go to them,” she said. “But that’s no reason for you to run.”

  “Maybe it’s not, but that’s why I’m running.”

  “Why are you afraid?”

  “Because he’s nuts and I’ve thought it over for one whole minute.”

  Her voice rose. “But you haven’t done anything wrong. Why are you running? Martin attacked you. This is your cottage. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.”

  His laugh was a chilled sound.

  “Maybe not. Maybe all you say is true. But maybe there’s something more. I told you, you don’t know me, you don’t know who I am, anything about me. Maybe your loony husband has played his ace. Maybe he’s done the one thing I can’t sit around and wait for—gone for the police.”

  He picked up the leather case, patted the gun in his shoulder holster, looked around the room once more.

  “Why are you afraid of the police?”

  He laughed again and spoke over his shoulder, going toward the door. “There has to be a reason?”

  She ran after him, caught his arm again. “You know there has to be a reason.”

  “Okay. Once I overparked. I’ve lived in terror ever since. Whether I have a reason or not, baby, I haven’t got time to go into it with you now. Good-by, and I don’t want you to think it hasn’t been exciting.”

  He opened the door, moved through it, and closed it sharply after him. He did not look back. The cottages along the court were silent, with that breathless sense of silence. He paused at the office door, set down his bag.

  He opened the office door, stepped inside. Peggy was sitting behind the counter reading a confession magazine. She looked up, gave him an odd smile. He had intended telling her to inform any callers, in person or via phone, that he was at the Cactus Ranchero. That unexplained smile stopped him. He would never have trusted the Mona Lisa, either.

  “Well.” She looked him over. “Kind of mussed up. I see you finally met Mr. Kimball.”

  “Something like that. I’m going out. I may be gone overnight. If there are any calls for me, any messages, keep them, will you?”

  “Sure. I saw Mr. Kimball race out of here a few minutes ago. He looked terrible.”

  “You shouldn’t have sicked him on me.”

  She caught her breath. “Why, I didn’t. I never said a word. If you’d rather have that skinny little thing than—”

  “Okay, if anybody asks for me, tell them I’ll be back.”

  She smiled again. “Even Mr. Rehan?”

  He stopped. The chilled feeling spread in his stomach again. “Rehan?”

  “Sure. Your friend. Said he was a friend of yours. Said he was sure he knew you from somewhere. Said he wanted in the worst way to be sure. Asked all about you, where you’re from, when you got here, anything I knew about you. I didn’t tell him about little Mrs. Kimball, either.”

  His heart was slugging erratically. He tried to keep his voice level. “Oh, you’re so good to me.”

  “Well. I could be anyway—if you’d let me.”

  “Who’s this guy Rehan?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know any more about him than I do you. Gave his home address as Washington, D.C. That ring any bells? Saul Rehan.”

  “No.” He swallowed at the tightness in his throat.

  She smiled again. “He’s a tall, gray-haired man, very distinguished. Arrived this afternoon, about an hour after you did. Said he had picked up some poor kid out on the highway east of here. Kid was all battered—said somebody had thrown him out of a car.”

  Ric turned toward the door. His shoulders sagged.

  “You remember Saul Rehan,” Peggy’s voice clawed after him. “Why, he said he ate supper with you.”

  “Oh,” Ric said. He looked over his shoulder from the door. He met her gaze levelly. “Probably some insurance salesman.”

  “If you’re going to fool around women like Kimball, you better pal up with Saul,” Peggy said. He closed the door. He did not look back. He hefted his suitcase, strode across the graveled drive past the other cars to the Porsche.

  When he set the bag down and got his keys from his pocket, his hands were trembling. He swore under his breath.

  He unlocked the door, rolled down the window, leaned over and tossed his suitcase into the rear. He slid into the bucket seat then, still not sure what he would do except move long enough to keep Martin and the cops off his tail.

  He started the motor, listening to its sluggish roar and then its ragged settling. He shoved it into reverse, leaped out of the parking place.

  He glanced once toward the office. He did not see Peggy. He changed gears and the little car lunged forward. As he turned his head there was a flicker of shadow directly in front of the car less than two feet in front of the bumper.

  He stepped hard on the brake. His hands gripped the steering wheel and he sat there for a moment staring straight ahead, seeing nothing. He was shaking all over.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ric sat there, breathing heavily. For a couple of minutes he experienced a bad time. Terrible enough to hit any one anywhere, anytime, but right now that was all he needed—to be dragged in and questioned in an accident case.

&n
bsp; His hands tightened on the wheel. He stared through the windshield at her. She stood only inches in front of the hood staring back at him. She did not move. She could have been an apparition, only he knew better. That would be too easy.

  He slapped open the door, swung out of the car. His knees were so weak they would barely support him.

  He strode around the front of the car, fists knotted and all the tensions in him clutched there. The desert wind was chill against his sweated face.

  Ric’s voice shook. “What in hell do you think you’re doing now?”

  She looked at him, eyes flat. Her voice was dull, there was no fear in it, or any reaction to her narrow brush with death. “I’d as soon you killed me as Martin—”

  “Maybe I’d rather he did it.”

  “That’s what will happen if Martin ever gets me alone and you know it.”

  “I got my own troubles.”

  “All I need is a little help.”

  “Then, sister, you get a little help. Go to the police.”

  “How can I? Martin’s already gone to them. Remember, that’s why you’re running away.”

  “I only thought it was. I’m running away from you.”

  “Take me with you. I’ve got to get away from him. You know he’s going to kill me. Maybe not today—but as soon as he gets a chance, and you know it.”

  “I’m not as opposed to the idea, baby, as I was at first.”

  Her head moved back and forth, her eyes were wide in the light from the motel sign.

  “Damn you,” he said. That was all there was to say. She could foul up everything, probably she already had. Success depended on so many factors, mostly on his living unobtrusively at the swank motel they’d chosen for him. He’d screwed that part of it.

  The siren was a whisper in the dark distance, but he reacted as though it was the rattle of a coiled snake. He glanced around in the darkness, at the other cars, the highway, the silent wastes beyond, and the woman standing in the office window watching them. Peggy’s smile was knowing and twisted.

  “Get in.” He snarled it at Eve. “Let’s get out of here.”