Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

“Don’t move!” I snapped, levelling my rod in warning. They both froze near the cash register. “Take your hand outa that bag, babe, and both of you get your mitts up where I can watch ’em.”

They didn’t argue.

I relaxed. It was going to be easier than I’d expected, even though it didn’t look like I’d make much haul from the place. Breaking out of prison at one in the morning posed problems, among them finding somebody to change clothes with at that hour and some place to knock over for a stake.

I’d mugged a guy about my size and stripped him, but he’d only had three singles in his wallet. Not enough to carry me far. I needed loot, a lot of loot, so I had to take a chance on something big enough. The Happy Hour was the only joint I’d found open in the whole hick town.

I hoped the old guy and doll with him wouldn’t see through my dummy gun. They shouldn’t, not when guards at the lockup ten miles away had fallen flat for it.

“Hey, babe, that your heap outside, the one with the motor running?” I’d seen two cars in the lot, one wasting gas and carrying out of state plates.

She nodded.

“Good. You’ll be giving me a lift then.” I grinned.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think!” I chopped her off, my grin changing to a glower, and she knew better than to go on, although she frowned thoughtfully. “That goes for you too.” I waved my phony rod at the barkeep, who looked so scared he might croak from a heart attack any time.

At least the girl didn’t seem shook. Wary, yes, but not scared a bit. I had to give her credit for guts. Might even give her credit for something else later, I mused, keeping her sleek, bouffant self swimming in view.

Her tumbled hair was raw blue-black silk. Her eyes were deep set, intelligent but kind of wild. She had a gypsy look about her, a liveliness not to be denied, not even by danger. I found myself losing track of what I’d come to do because of her.

With effort, I yanked myself out of the day dream.

“Clean out the cash register and anything else you got,” I said to the bartender. “Pass it over here careful-like. No tricks. I’d as soon cut you down as look at you.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned, shaking, and began emptying the cash register into a paper bag which he took from under the counter.

“You’re the escaped convict, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” I looked directly at her.

“You’re the man who escaped from the county jail this morning just before you were to be transfered to the state prison to begin serving your sentence. Am I right?”

“Yeah. How’d you guess?”

“It was on the news in my car radio. I don’t think you’ll get far. They’ve put up road blocks all around here.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll keep it in mind.”

She shrugged. “You probably knew already.”

“I ain’t dumb enough to think they’d forgot all about me.” I laughed. “And I’ll tell you somethin’ else too. I’ll get by ’em. Know how I’m gonna do it?”

“I can guess. You expect me to drive you. But how do you know I’ll do it?”

“Oh, you’ll do it. You’ll do it or you’ll be dead,” I growled, trying to frighten her.

But it didn’t shake her at all.

“I see,” was all she said.

I turned to the bartender. “Hurry it up, gramps. I ain’t got all night.”

He didn’t say anything. He finished and passed the bag across the counter to me. It seemed pretty light.

“This all you got? You sure?” I waved the bag at him.

He nodded, looking scared.

“It’s all he’s got,” the girl said. “How much do you expect him to have in a little town like this?”

I looked at her. She was right. But that wasn’t what drew my attention. She didn’t belong in this town. Her hairdo was too smart for the country. So was her slinky sheath dress. Despite the untamed look in her eyes, her sophistication spelled big city. I meant to go to the city. She would know the way.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s it then. You, gramps, over there.” I pointed to the end of the bar where I headed myself. When we reached it, he lunged for me. I rapped him on the side of his head with my phony rod. He went down like a stone.

I checked his pulse. It had stopped!

For a minute my head buzzed. I hadn’t wanted murder on my hands with everything else. Now I had it.

I turned back to the girl. I’d heard her gasp slightly when I clubbed the old guy, but that was ell. She was a cool one, cooler than me.

But I couldn’t let her know that.

“You see I ain’t kiddin’,” I growled. “He’s dead. Least he can’t turn in an alarm. You’ll get the same if you don’t play along.”

She shrugged. “You’re holding the gun. I’ve little choice.”

“Just so’s you remember it. Let’s hit the heap now.” I pointed my rod at the exit as I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar to take along.

She didn’t argue. She went out in front of me. At the car, she paused.

“You drive,” I said, climbing into the back seat. “That way I can keep an eye on you.”

She nodded and got in behind the wheel. In less time than it takes to pull a trigger, we’d blasted off and were rolling up the highway.

“Hey! Slow down!” I shouted. “You think I want to get picked up for speedin’?”