Fast Buck

Baird was afraid to drive too fast in the pouring rain. The surface of the road was treacherous, and he had no intentions of having a smash-up at this stage of the game.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll stop and see what he does.’

Gradually he slowed down the Packard.

‘He’s slowing down too,’ Rico said in alarm.

Baird swung on the grass verge and brought the Packard to a standstill.

They both watched the headlights of the approaching car. The driver appeared to hesitate, then increased speed and went past them. Baird caught a glimpse of a big man at the driving-wheel of a Lincoln.

Baird lit a cigarette.

‘We’l let him get wel ahead,’ he said. ‘Maybe he wasn’t fol owing us, but I’m not taking any chances.’

‘We’re not over the State line yet,’ Rico said uneasily. ‘We’d bet er get on.’

Baird grunted. There was some sense in that. He started the car engine and drove along the highway at a steady forty miles an hour.

There was no sign now of the others car’s tail lights. A mile or so up the road, Baird spot ed a side turning.

‘Maybe he’s turned off,’ he said. ‘I’l get moving again.’

He increased his speed and continued along the broad Highway.

‘Keep a look-out behind,’ he told Rico. ‘Just in case he’s foxing.’

Rico couldn’t see any light, and he remained, screwed around, watching the darkness through the rear window. After several miles, he said sharply, ‘A car behind.’

‘Same one?’

‘I don’t know. It’s about a quarter of a mile back.’

Swearing softly, Baird trod on the gas pedal. The Packard surged forward. He held it steady at seventy miles an hour, but they didn’t lose the fol owing car. Another couple of miles took them across the State line. Ahead of them lay the little town of Brentwood; beyond Brentwood, another thirty miles along the highway, was Lincoln Falls.

Brentwood was in darkness as Baird drove along the main street. It was now a little after two o’clock.

At the far end of the street he saw the lights of a solitary all-night café.

‘Maybe they have a phone here,’ he said, slowing down. ‘Get Kile and tel him we should have Hater out in three days. Tell him to bring the dough to that place of his.’

He pulled up a few yards from the café, parking the car in the shadows.

As Rico got out of the car, they both looked back along the main street. There was no sign of the following car.

‘Maybe he’s turned off his headlights and is coming the rest of the way on foot,’ Baird said, and his hand slid inside his coat and closed around the butt of the Colt. ‘You fix Kile. Tell him to make sure he isn’t being tailed. Tel him about Dal as. He’s got to be certain no one’s tailing him when he comes to collect Hater. I’l fix this guy. You get going.’

Baird watched Rico enter the café, then he moved silently away from the Packard and took up a position in a dark doorway, where he had a clear view of the street. He waited some minutes before his sharp ears told him someone was coming. He looked towards the sound, but couldn’t see any movement.

Out of the darkness came a soft scrape of shoe leather on rough ground, then he caught sight of a dark shape by the Packard.

This shamus knew his job, he thought grudgingly. He had sneaked up to within thirty yards of Baird without Baird spotting him.

Baird didn’t move. The dark, shadowy figure crept up to the Packard, satisfied himself there was no one in it, and moved silently into the light coming from the café. Baird saw the big, fleshy man who had been following him in the Lincoln.

MacAdam was jumpy. He remembered what had happened to Burns, but he had to find out what these two were up to. He knew the risk he was taking. This might be a trap, but with any luck he might have fooled them into thinking they had lost him. He moved forward to peer through the café window.

Apart from an elderly man lounging behind the counter, the café appeared to be empty, then MacAdam spotted Rico in a pay booth. There was no sign of Baird, and realising Baird could very easily be out there somewhere in the darkness, he looked quickly over his shoulder.

Baird was right behind him: the big Colt steady in his hand.

‘Get your hands up,’ Baird said softly. ‘One false move’l be your last.’

MacAdam raised his hands.

‘What’s the trouble?’ he asked. ‘I was just going in there…’

‘Shut up!’ Baird said. ‘You don’t fool me. You’ve been tailing me since we left town.’

‘You’re crazy!’ MacAdam said. ‘Now look…’

‘Get over to my car and snap it up!’ Baird said, moving forward.

MacAdam backed towards the Packard.

Rico came hurrying out of the café. He stopped short when he saw MacAdam and his knees wilted.

‘Come on! Come on!’ Baird said sharply. ‘Frisk him. He’l be carrying a gun.’

Rico ran his hands over MacAdam as if he were handling a snake. He took from the shoulder holster a .38 police special.

‘Get his wal et,’ Baird went on.

Rico found the wallet, opened it and found MacAdam’s buzzer and licence.

‘A shamus,’ he said bitterly.

‘Yeah,’ Baird said. ‘Okay, brother, do what you’re told and you won’t get hurt. This is where we part company. Where’s your car?’