RUN FOR IT!

Tom Bender

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 Tom Bender Book production by SPS Publications, Eustis, Florida www.spsbooks.com . Cover concept by Jim Bender. ?Book and cover design by Jessica Friend

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First edition: November 2008 ISBN:

Printed in the United States of America

 

 

For Beth with love

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE

(Forest Oaks, Illinois, June 23, 1939)

 

“Off!”

Robert moved an arm, another arm, his legs. I’m alive.

“Off!”

He rolled off of Merwyn and felt soft, cool grass under his stomach. A robbery, he thought. A Brinks job. They didn’t look like Brinks guys. “I must have fainted.”

The possibility that he’d passed out was so astonishing that the idea came out aloud.

“I pulled you down, jerk!”

Hearing this, both the assertion and the tone, Robert felt a little better about himself. Okay, okay. I didn’t faint.

The air stank. A line of black smoke went straight up from the burning tires of the armored car.

Things were coming back: The careening armored car just missing them, knocking the mower away. The Packard at the curb. The ball of fire exploding with a whoosh under the armored car. The neighbor lady jumping screaming from her maroon LaSalle.

Looking now, he saw her lying on his front stoop. Is she dead? He knew from his father that her husband ran some labor union.

Robert saw Merwyn get up and run toward the driveway. He got himself up and followed. The man lay still, with open, unmoving eyes, the back of his head flat on the concrete, blood and streaks of gray oozing out of his nose and ears.

Robert turned away and puked. He remembered seeing the guy running with the other two, hauling the big green bag, then like he was dancing. That was it, dancing.

Turning again to look, Robert saw Merwyn reach down into the grass, pick up a tan leather wallet and put it in his pocket.

Robert tasted bile, spit. “What’re you doing, Merwyn?”

“Those guys tried to kill us, Bob.”

“So? Leave it.” He remembered the guy jumping out of the Packard, grabbing the bag from the guy on the driveway, pulling him up. The plop as his head hit the driveway.

Merwyn’s eyes said, You are so naive. He beckoned Robert to follow him back to the tree, felt around the chipped bark and scraped at a hole. “Feel it.”

Robert reached up and put his finger in the hole. Buried in the wood was a slick, warm substance. With his fingers he traced four more lead-filled holes.

The big memory of impending death came to Robert: the Packard backing up, the red-faced guy bringing up the tommy gun. The burst of noise. The tree had saved them.

“Why’d they shoot at us?” Robert said, amazed.

“We seen ‘em, that’s why.”

Robert tasted bile, spit. He felt a chill, felt the intense heat from the armored car. “Why’d you take it?” He spit.

“Now we got leverage.”

“What are you talking about?”

Merwyn sighed. “It’s like insurance, Bob. We got something they don’t know we got. We got control.”

“Control?” Robert was losing what control he had. “Who says?”

“My dad, that’s who. ‘Find the leverage.’ One of his little sayings.”

“We should give it to the cops.”

Merwyn shook his head. “Oh, no. Then they got the control. And we do get knocked off.”

“They who?”

Merwyn shrugged. He took off running, heading toward the back of Robert’s house.

Robert followed, right into the outstretched arms of his mother. She pulled him to the back porch.

She looked to Robert as pale as a catfish belly.

“There’s a dead guy on your neighbor’s driveway,” Merwyn said to her.

“Dead? Did you say dead?” She led the boys into the living room and peeked out the window. “Oh!” She put her hand to her mouth in horror.

“Mrs. Friend’s on the porch,” Robert said.

“Dead? She’s dead too?”

Robert eased the front door open. Mrs. Friend’s head, which had been propped up by the door, slipped across the threshold.

Red lights flashed and a fire bell clanged. Stinking black smoke hazed the neighborhood. Robert saw people sneaking up on the scene like so many deer coming out of the woods. He scanned the wreck to see if he could make out what might be left of his lawn mower.

Snapping out of her trance, his mother said, “Are you hurt, Mona? I’m so sorry.”

The woman on the doorstep looked up. “You heard me banging on your door but you didn’t let me in?”

A man in a tan suit stepped up onto the stoop, looked down at Mrs. Friend and said, “Can you get up? You sure?” He gave her a hand up. He looked at Robert, his mother, Merwyn. “Detective Lieutenant Quinlan, FOPD,” he said, displaying a wallet with a badge.

He was squat and square, bald with a ring of white hair. Robert figured the bulge under his coat was a shoulder holster.

Mrs. Friend said, “My car! Where’s my car?”

Ignoring her the detective said, “Anybody see this happen?”

“We saw the whole thing,” Robert said. “We were under that tree. They – ” He felt Merwyn’s eyes boring into him.

“May I sit down?” Mrs. Friend said.

“Yeah, go sit down,” the detective said. “I want to talk to you – and you” – he pointed at Robert’s mother. “Stay here. You two come with me.”

The boys pointed at themselves. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Where are you taking them?”

The detective picked Robert’s mother’s hand off his sleeve. “Down to the squad car. Ask ‘em a few questions. Then we’ll have a few for you.”

At this point Robert got back to Mrs. Friend’s question. “They took it,” he said.

“They took it?”

He nodded.

“Come on you two,” the detective said.

As Robert and Merwyn walked with him to the squad car, men hauled a stretcher to an ambulance.

Robert’s stomach hurt. Why’d they have to kill the guy? He was reading Merwyn’s signals: keep your mouth shut!

 

 

 

TWO

 

Looking into the police car, Robert saw a colored man in uniform. A colored guy, he thought.

The detective bent down and spoke to the cop. “Williams, talk to this kid,” he said. He whispered another thing, which Robert overheard anyway: “His father plays poker with the chief. So you’re on a tight leash here. Got it?” Then he led Merwyn a distance away.

The policeman unfolded himself out of the squad car. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Robert Bell.”

“So. Let me ask you a few questions, Robert. You saw this happen?”

Robert nodded. As the questions came at him, his mind was somewhere else. He was thinking about getting killed. “I didn’t see much,” he said. “It happened so fast.” In fact, the whole scene was playing in his head like a movie. This brought back the nausea.

“You okay?” the policeman asked. “Here. Sit down.” He closed his notebook and squatted down beside Robert. “Put your head between your legs. This happens, you see something like this. You’ll be okay. Just take it easy.”

As Robert sat in the grass the policeman handed him a card: Officer Henry Williams, Forest Oaks Police Department.

“You feeling better? Good. Call me if you think of anything else.” He smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

Robert got to his feet and shoved the card into his pocket.

A burly man with a flash camera came through the police barrier. “Where’s the stiff?” he said to no one in particular.

“You’re too late for blood and guts, Joe,” the balding detective said. “And stay back of the tape.”

The photographer looked at Robert. “Hey, kid. You live around here?”

“That’s my house.” Robert pointed.

“Com’ere. Let’s get a shot of you looking at the truck.” The photographer positioned Robert so his house would be in the background of the picture. “Just look at the truck,” he said. “That’s it.” The flash popped. “What’s your name?”

“Robert.” His head was still spinning, his stomach still churning. He felt compelled to get things straight. “It’s an armored car.”

“Robert what?”

Robert was thinking about the two men who escaped the gunmen. “What? Robert Bell.”

Merwyn came running up. “Are you nuts?” He grabbed Robert’s arm and pulled him away.

The photographer glared at Merwyn, then headed for the bloody driveway.

Walking toward his house with Merwyn, Robert looked down the street and saw his father’s new car stopping at the corner and being waved through. Pulling into the driveway, his father, inscrutable in his aviator’s glasses, looked toward the mess.

The car’s startling color was “canary yellow,” his father had told him. It featured lots of chrome, headlights hidden in the fenders, sidewalls white as milk. No running boards.

“Bob,” his father said.

Merwyn walked up with Robert, looking the car over. The dashboard was polished cherry, the seats leather the color of cream.

“What the heck’s going on?” Robert’s father took off his fedora, his eyes still hidden, his gold wristwatch glinting in the light. “The cop said a guy got shot.”

“Yeah.”

His father looked at the steaming vehicle, firemen still hosing it down. “You see it happen?”

Robert nodded.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I better go see your mother.” With that, the car shot down the driveway toward the garage in back of the house.

“It’s a Cord,” Robert said, eyeing Merwyn.

“I know.”

“We just got it Monday.”

“Yeah. Well, I seen it in your garage.” Merwyn popped his eyes at Robert. “Let’s see what’s in the wallet.”

Robert looked around at the firemen and policemen. “Here?”

They ran behind the garage, where Merwyn slipped the wallet out of his pocket, unfolded it, and pulled out paper money. “Sixty bucks.”

They looked at the driver’s license: James L. McGinnis, 11 Creek Road, Blue Lake.

Merwyn pulled out a business card. “Acme Electrical Contractors, Thos. O’Bannion, Prop.” The card listed several towns, including Blue Lake.

“Give it to the cops,” Robert said.

Merwyn looked at him. “Not a good idea.”

“Then just drop it back in the grass.”

“You kidding?” Merwyn said. “They been looking all over around there.” He tucked the wallet into his pocket.

As the boys came out from behind the garage Robert’s father came out the back door of the house, his eyeglasses in his hand.

“Nice car, Mr. Bell,” Merwyn said.

“1938 Cord 812 Supercharger,” Robert’s father said.

“What’ll it do?”

Robert’s father smiled, showing even teeth, two in back capped with gold. “Over a hundred.” He scrutinized their faces. “And don’t get any ideas.”

Eyes wide, Merwyn held up his hands.

Robert’s father answered this look of innocence with a knowing look of his own. “Look, Bob,” he said. “I was just coming home to get some papers. I have to talk at Rotary.” He looked bemused. “But I’ll come right back after that.” He glanced at his watch.

“They killed the guy, dad.”

“Look, I’d stay with your mother but I can’t. Go in and stay with her, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Maybe an hour.” He paused, taking in the scene again. “Oh, yeah. You two are coming in to work tomorrow with the clean-up crew, right?”

Robert looked at Merwyn, who nodded assent. “Yeah, Dad.”

“Wear old clothes. Eight o’clock. Be on time. Pack a lunch.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Gotta go. Go in and talk to your mother.”

The police moved a barricade to let his father through. Steam was still rising from the armored car. The firemen were wetting down the grass. Everything stank.

Most of the first wave of gawkers had gone, but other people, including a mother with a baby in her arms, kept showing up at the barricades.

Robert headed in to see his mother.

She was crying. “I didn’t let her in,” she confessed to Robert. “I thought it was a union killing.”

“It’s okay mom. Dad’ll be home in a few minutes.”

 

 

 

 

THREE

 

At six o’clock the next morning, Saturday, Robert went out on the front stoop to get the milk. The sun was coming up. The air was hazy. The armored car had been hauled away, but Robert could still smell burning rubber. The yard looked like the leftover battlefield it was.

He picked up the quart bottle in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Then he set the milk back down to look more closely at the paper.

A banner headline across the top of the front page said, “Gangs at War!” A smaller headline underneath said, “Mobster Slain in Ambush on Armored Car.”

The story said:

“A gangster was killed in broad daylight Friday in the tree-lined suburb of Forest Oaks in front of three witnesses.

“The dead man, Joseph Pisciatti, was believed to have once been a member of the notorious Al Capone mob.

“An armored car in which Pisciatti had been riding went out of control in the incident, cut across two yards, hit a tree, and caught fire.

“A detective at the scene, Lt. Adrian Quinlan, Forest Oaks PD, said two gangsters ran from the wreck and escaped in a commandeered maroon LaSalle sedan. The sedan had been abandoned only moments before by a Hill Street resident, Mrs. Aaron Friend.

“Pisciatti, the third man who ran from the wreck, was gunned down as he tried to get into the LaSalle by a man firing a tommygun from a black Packard sedan.

“Robert Bell and Merwyn Peterson, both 16, also witnessed the slaying.

“Sources speculated that the attack on the armored car was either a ‘hit’ aimed at members of an opposing gang, or a ‘heist,’ aimed at stealing money or other valuables. Police had the vehicle hauled to an impoundment garage.

“If the incident was connected to Capone’s gang, it may mean that his influence still prevails, although he remains in prison. After a murderous career as a Chicago gang leader he was sent up in 1932 for income tax evasion, having failed to pay taxes on ill-gotten gains from bootlegging and other criminal pursuits.

“Since then, a number of his associates have met their ends through gang violence or at the hands of G-men. But some are believed to be still active. The incident on Hill Street may have involved these elements.

“But no one, sources believe, has yet emerged to take the role of the notorious Scarface.”

A picture beside the story showed Robert looking at the smoking armored car. The caption said:

“Robert Allen Bell, 1400 Hill Street, Forest Oaks, looks at the armored car he and a friend saw destroyed just before they witnessed what appeared to be a gangland slaying.”

Robert looked up from the newspaper. They know who we are, he thought. Joseph Pisciatti? That’s not the name in the wallet.

Picking up the milk bottle, he went back into the house. He’d show the front page to his parents and tell them what he knew.

But his father had already left for the plant, his mother was upstairs getting dressed, and the cleaning lady was in the front hall waiting for instructions.

After moping around the hall for a minute Robert went upstairs to put on his clothes. He and Merwyn had to get to the dairy.

 

They coasted on their bikes down Hill to First, turned right, pedaled the three blocks to Locust, crossed the street, and leaned the bikes against the wall at the side of a one-story cement-block building with a red-brick façade. Gilt letters high on the wall said Bell & Koenig Creamery Co.

“This is weird,” Robert said. “The paper said the guy’s name is Pisciatti. So who’s James McGinnis?”

Merwyn shrugged. “Maybe the guy that grabbed the bag dropped his wallet.”

“Dropped it there?” Robert said. “I’m scared, Merwyn.”

“You oughtta be, with your picture in the paper like that.”

“Your name too,” Robert said. He led Merwyn into the building. Passing through an office into the dairy manufacturing area, they were enveloped in sweet smells of flavoring, cheese, milk, and ice cream.

The handful of other workers eyed them. These were the kids that saw the armored-car job.

The boys went to the locker room, pulled on rubber gloves and boots and paper caps, then scuffed out into the plant to help with the tear-down-and-clean operation.

Merwyn discovered he could bend the nozzle of a pressure hose and squirt a powerful stream of water thirty feet. The other workers rolled their eyes and kept their distance.

 

At lunchtime Robert and Merwyn went outside into the warm sunshine.

“Let’s say this guy dropped it,” Merwyn said. “Would he know it, or would he think maybe he lost it someplace else?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If we get rid of it, we oughta put it where the guy might think he lost it. That way he wouldn’t be thinking of us when he found it.”

Robert considered Merwyn’s shifting position. “Like where?”

“I don’t know.”

Robert did a double take as they passed a black Packard parked next to the building. “You think there’s a lot of cars like this?”

Merwyn stared at the car. “You remember the license?”

Robert shook his head.

They walked around the Packard, studying it. Nothing resolved, they went back into the plant and helped the crew put the newly cleaned pipes back up.

At quitting time, Robert led Merwyn to the back of the plant and opened a steel door. As they entered the room they could see their breath. Pints and quart boxes of ice cream were stacked up in pyramids. Five-gallon ice cream drums were lined up along the walls.

“Ali Baba’s cave,” Merwyn said. He helped himself to a pint of vanilla. “Okay?”

Robert reached into a box on a shelf for a wooden spoon and handed it to him, then helped himself to a pint of strawberry.

“We shoulda had this for lunch,” Merwyn said.

Robert led him to a door with a big handle at the back of the room. “We can go out this way. Goes to the shipping dock.” The space where the Packard had been stood empty. The boys were busy with the ice cream and weren’t paying attention anyway.

 

Before supper, Robert listened on the radio to Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy. But his mind wandered. He thought about the man’s head hitting the driveway.

When his program ended he went into the living room. His parents were having a cocktail, talking about the killing. Robert ducked out. He’d worked all day at trying to keep it out of his mind. He’d also decided he didn’t want to rat on Merwyn. Maybe they’d find a way to ditch the wallet. He had the cop’s card, too. Maybe they could talk to him.

After dinner his parents went out to play bridge, and Robert walked across the street to Merwyn’s house and showed him the card. “You think we should call him?”

“They’re all on the take,” Merwyn said.

“How do you know that?”

Merwyn cocked an eye. “My dad says.”

“Your dad? You told your dad?”

“No. But he deals with ‘em, Bob. He knows. Besides, we got time to figure this out. They’re not gonna just shoot us down in the street, a couple a’ kids.”

“They already tried to do that.”

Merwyn squinted at Robert. “They were jumpy. Now they’re reading the papers, thinking it over.”

“That makes me feel just great,” Robert said. “Let’s give it to the cop.”

“You read the paper every day,” Merwyn said. “You ever see a story where ratting on the mob was helpful to some guy?”

The mob. Robert thought about pictures he’d seen in the Tribune of dead hoods, their bodies riddled with bullets, lying in the dirt and weeds along various rural roads around Chicago.

“Who else would it be? You got guys in an armored car, right? Guys in a Packard. A guy packin’ a tommygun. The mob.”

Robert despaired. “I have to tell my mom and dad.”

“Don’t do it,” Merwyn said between his teeth. “First your mom will go nuts and then your dad’ll drive us down to the police station. The mob will get wind of that, don’t kid yourself.” Merwyn made a throat-slitting motion with his index finger. “We gotta figure this out, Bob. You and me.”

 

 

 

FOUR

 

By the light of a full moon Robert walked back across the street from Merwyn’s house. He knew his parents weren’t home yet because the garage doors were open and the Cord wasn’t there.

The front door was unlocked, as agreed. He groped for the light switch in the hall, but when he flipped it nothing happened.

The light must be burned out, he thought. He could see the shapes of things in the hall. He walked carefully in the direction of the living room light switch.

As he reached for the wall he touched fabric and it moved. He screamed and ran to the dim outline of the banister in the hall, pounded up the stairs and ducked into his parents’ bedroom, his heart leaping in his chest.

A stair creaked.

He tiptoed into the bathroom, where his father kept a pistol in a drawer.

He’d been told never, ever to touch the gun. But he’d held it many times, pointing it at the bathroom mirror, squinting at himself, saying, “Don’t try it, pal.” He’d never dreamt it would be for real.

Lifting the gun out of the drawer, he took one soft step, then another, toward the sitting room beyond the bath. From there he could get to the hall. His fingers traced the space where the door would have been. The door was open.

Moving across the hall, he felt the wall and touched the small door to the laundry chute.

As he had so many times, much to his mother’s dismay, he eased the little door open and slid his legs into the chute. There better be laundry down there, he thought. He heard the man breathing and he let go. It was tight but down he went. Noisily. And dropped into the basket.

The hamper was half filled with sour-smelling dirty clothes and linens. He staggered to his feet, tipping over the basket and falling on the floor. The pistol clattered away.

As he groped for it he heard the door open at the top of the stairs, then footsteps descending. Frantic, he inched along, sweeping the floor in front of him with one outstretched hand. The man could hear him, he was sure. His hand touched the gun. He got hold of it, jumped up, and aimed it toward the stairs.

“Back off or I’ll shoot,” he said, his voice squeaking, mortifying him.

The shadow was still and silent.

“I mean it.” This time deeper, a lot better.

The man’s eyes were probably adjusting to the light, he thought. He saw the shadow hesitate, as if the man could see that in fact he had a gun. In silhouette the man looked like the guy who’d grabbed the green bag in the driveway.

Pulling hard with both thumbs, Robert clicked back the hammer of the pistol, a loud and obvious sound.

The man froze, then took a tentative step backward. Robert kept his distance but came after him.

“Move it,” Robert said. This sounded even better. The man backed up on the stairs and Robert kept coming after him, keeping the gun aimed shakily at him.

The man backed into the kitchen.

“Down on the floor,” Robert said. He watched the shadow get down. “Roll over on your stomach.” He knew what to do from listening to Jack Armstrong.

“Put that thing down,” the man mumbled over his shoulder. “Somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

Robert had heard that very line on the radio. Watching the shadowy figure on the floor, he backed down the hallway toward the front door, his gun hand extended, his other hand groping behind him, finding and turning the knob. “I’m getting the cops!” he shouted, and turned and ran.

As he ducked behind the garage he heard the front door slam, then quick footsteps. Peeking around the edge of the garage he saw the man running down the sidewalk toward the street.

Sweat burned Robert’s eyes. His heart thudded. The pistol grip was wet in his hand. He heard a car door slam and an engine start. A car pulled away. Silence. Crickets.

 

 

 

 

FIVE

 

Sneaking back inside the house Robert tiptoed up to the second floor and searched in drawers in his parents’ bedroom for bullets. No luck. Well, he didn’t need them now. He went to the bathroom and tucked the gun back into the drawer. His hands still shook.

He went down to the kitchen, opened the fridge, which was strangely dark, felt around until he found the milk bottle, and drank in great gulps.

At the window, in the new radiance of the moon, he wrote a brief message on the household notepad: “Lights out all over the house. Sleeping over at Merwyn’s.”

 

The Petersons’ house was dark and quiet, and Robert tossed pebbles at Merwyn’s second-floor window. Getting no reaction, he tossed some more.

The window came open and Merwyn stuck out his head. “What’s up?”

“Come down.”

They went up to Merwyn’s room and Robert told him about the intruder. As he finished his narrative he said, “Just before I ran for it I told him I was calling the cops.”

“You called the cops?”

“No. I just told him I was going to.”

“Well, we have a big problem if you call the cops.”

“You already said that.”

“No. There’s more.”

“What?”

“I was talking to my dad. No, I didn’t tell him anything, just about the heist and, you know, what you might find if you looked around—“

“Me? If I looked around?”

“Anybody, Bob. You know, on the driveway, in the grass. Stuff like that. You never know what you’ll find. He said if you mess with a crime scene and they catch you, that’s ‘obstruction of justice.’”

“What?”

“Getting in the way of the cops. And in a felony case—“

“Felony case?”

“Big-time crime, like murder.”

“What?” Robert was losing the thread.

“You know, making it worse for them. That’s a felony too.”

“Swell, Merwyn.” It seemed to Robert that Merwyn, who just had to swipe the wallet, was backtracking. Maybe he was thinking Robert hadn’t been so dumb after all.

Merwyn went on pontificating. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They figured out about the wallet, that’s all. They saw your picture and they think you got it, so they’re trying to get it back.”

“Why do they think I’m the one who’s got it?”

“They figure if the cops had it they’d come after ‘em. They saw your picture. So you’re the guy they went to see.”

Robert took this in, shoulders slumped.

Merwyn got into the bottom bunk and Robert stripped down to his underwear and climbed into the top.

Suddenly Robert’s body shot upright as Merwyn’s feet slammed into the springs.

“You scared the poop out of him, Bob,” Merwyn said as Robert crashed back down.

Mrs. Peterson rapped and stuck her head into the room. “What in the world is going on?” she said.

“Bob’s staying over,” Merwyn said.

 

Sunlight awakened Robert. It was Sunday. He stuck his head over the edge of the bunk and peered down. “We’ve got to get out of this mess,” he said.

Merwyn absently rubbed sleep from his eyes. “We gotta go to Blue Lake.”

“Blue Lake?”

“James L. McGinnis lives in Blue Lake.”

 

 

 

 

 

SIX

 

“How’re we going to get there?” Robert said.

Merwyn thought for a moment, then got an inspired look. “The Riordans have wheels.”

“Right. Sure,” Robert said. More than once he’d had fantasies about Kathleen and Maggie Riordan: identical twins, tall, slim, cool, straight blonde hair. They reminded Robert of that actress, Constance Keane. He’d seen her in Sorority House, a movie he’d had to sneak out of the house to see because his mom wouldn’t let him go. Then he saw a photo of Constance Keane in a fan magazine. Some writer thought she might be a star one day. Robert certainly did.

They’re out of my league, he thought. One of them, he didn’t know which, guarded at the Y. Both of them were cheerleaders. During the basketball season, when he was warming the bench, he got to watch those legs. Maggie had been a freshman class officer. Secretary? Kathleen was on the school paper.

The girls had a black 1932 Ford V8 sedan.

Acting on his inspiration, Merwyn got up and went downstairs to the telephone in the hall. Robert trailed along and listened.

“Kathleen? Ah. Maggie! This is Merwyn. Merwyn Peterson. Yeah. Wanna go to Blue Lake? Swimming.” He paused to listen. “Bob Bell. Me and Bob Bell.”

Merwyn turned his head to Robert and mugged like Groucho Marx. The girls were actually considering it. Finally he held up his right index finger, a signal that something was up. “Great! Great! Okay by us. Ten minutes.”

The twins obviously had said yes, to Robert a frightening development.

Merwyn hung up and cocked his head. “You know what? I think guys are afraid to ask cute chicks out! But we gotta go to church.”

“Huh?”

Merwyn took the stairs two at a time and came back rolling up a swimsuit in a towel. “Bye, Mom,” he yelled. “I’m going to Blue Lake with Bob.”

The screen door slammed behind them.

They ran to Robert’s house and found his mother in the library, seated at an antique French desk, writing a letter. She put down the pen and looked up at Robert.

“Bobby, can you tell me how we lost power last night? Your father says the main fuse was unscrewed in the box.”

Robert looked wide-eyed at his mother. “It was out when I got home from Merwyn’s.”

“The fuse didn’t just unscrew itself, Bobby.”

“Mom, why would I unscrew the fuse?”

“If I knew why you do some things --. And while we’re at it, your room looks like King Kong went through it. How can you be so messy? Clean it up.”

He squirmed. “I will, Mom. We’re late. We’re going to Blue Lake – ”

“Blue Lake? That’s twenty miles from here!”

“ – with with the Riordans.”

She eyed her son with interest. “With the Riordan girls, you mean?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “We’re going swimming.”

She smiled and turned back to her desk. Over her shoulder she said, “Be careful.”

“Yes, Mom.” Dismissed, Robert ran through the hall and up the stairs to his room. His heart sank when he saw the mess. Someone had ripped the place apart.

Merwyn stared over his shoulder. “Wow!” he said. “Com’on. We gotta go!”

Robert sighed. He rummaged around and found his swimming suit, rolled it up in a towel, then checked his pants pocket for his two dollars. “You got your two bucks from my dad?” He didn’t want Merwyn mooching.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The boys ran down the stairs and out of the house, Robert pondering the mess in the yard and the mess in his room.

When they arrived slightly winded at the Riordans’ the girls were sitting on their front porch steps, each in a pale blue summer dress and flats.

They really are identical, Robert thought. Cheek bones, dimples. They even wear their hair the same, sort of over one eye, like Constance Keane.

The four greeted each other somewhat shyly.

On the rare occasions when he’d talked to the two of them at a game or at the Y, Robert had been aware of interactions between them. They seemed to check signals with each other: both friendly, both wry, both warm again. This was going on now.

“Is this because we’ve got wheels?” one of the girls asked with a sly grin. Sure enough, her sister produced the same querying look.

“Come on!” Merwyn said. “Whadaya think we are?”

Both girls flicked their eyes. “Come in and say hello to Mom.”

First Mrs. Riordan wanted to get her two cents in on the armored car. “I could tell by the way you looked in that picture that you’d been right in the middle of it. Imagine! What’s this neighborhood coming to? Well, you two are all right. We can thank the Good Lord for that.”

Robert wondered what she meant by the way he looked.

Sensing his discomfort, she turned her attention to this sudden urge the kids had to go swimming in Blue Lake. “You could just go to the Y, you know.”

“Oh, mom.” This by the girls in unison.

“I want you home by eight o’clock. No later. You’re going to church up there, right?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Well, don’t rush to make it. Start now and take your time on the road.”

“Yes, mother.”

The girls’ father, who’d been listening quietly, spoke to Robert. “You’re working at your father’s dairy this summer?”

“Yes, sir. Saturdays.”

“Me, too,” Merwyn said, finally getting a word in edgewise.

Mr. Riordan acknowledged him. “Would you boys like a second job? At the cemetery?” He looked them both over. “We could use a couple of strong fellas. Maybe a day or two a week, like Mondays and Wednesdays. For the rest of the summer, I mean.”

“What would we do?” said Merwyn.

“Oh, cut grass, dig graves.”

The boys glanced at each other.

Mr. Riordan picked up on this obvious curiosity. “We have two or three funerals a week, sometimes more. You never know. For example, we have the interment coming up for this man that got killed. After they do the autopsy, anyway. Whenever that will be.” He trailed off, suggesting that he was frustrated by the uncertainty of the timing.

The girls were listening to their father with a hint of dismay.

Mrs. Riordan intervened. “Dan, this isn’t exactly the time to discuss jobs at the cemetery.”

“Well, think about it, boys,” he said. “Come and see me at St. Michael’s. Monday or Wednesday. Just come in the Lynn Street gate and go straight back.”

“Have you got enough gasoline?” Mr. Riordan said. “Don’t run out of gas.” She hugged her daughters. “If you have any problems, call me.”

“Yes, mother.”

The four piled into the girls’ old Ford, girls in front, boys in back. The twin behind the wheel stepped on the starter. The engine turned over but the car didn’t start. “Carburetor,” she said.

The boys were lost.

“Has one of you guys got a wallet?” the twin in the passenger seat said, turning to the boys and holding out her hand.

“Um. Sure.” Merwyn dug out the tan wallet. Robert looked at him, wide-eyed.

Wallet in hand, she got out, lifted the hood, pulled off the air filter, put the wallet on the carburetor, and signaled to her sister, who pressed the starter. On the second try the engine fired.

She handed in the wallet, put the air filter back on, and climbed in. “You can start it with the palm of your hand,” she said to the boys, “but a wallet works pretty well, especially if you’re alone.”

“Yeah. Sure,” said Merwyn.

The driver put the car in reverse and gave it the gas and they lurched backwards out of the driveway. Off they went, jerkily as she shifted gears, then more smoothly.

Looking out the window and thinking about things, worried but, more than that, tongue-tied, Robert wondered if this was such a good idea. He glanced at Merwyn, who appeared not to have a care in the world.

 

 

 

SEVEN

 

Robert watched the driver. She had a no-nonsense two-handed style. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The air was warm. The tires sang. He liked her.

“What made you think of Blue Lake?” she said. She rounded a curve, her whole body getting into it.

“Blue Lake is in,” Merwyn said.

“That explains everything,” said the twin who wasn’t driving.

The twin who was driving moved the radio dial with her right hand, tuning in a station playing an opera, the music tinny and scratchy.

“What’s that?” Merwyn said, frowning.

“Caruso,” she said. “Paggliacci, I think.”

“Your picture was in the paper?” said the twin in the passenger seat.

“Front page,” Merwyn said.

“Did you really see the shooting?”

“We sure did. Bob and I are out in his yard. He’s been cutting grass, you know? First this armored car comes up the street. We see it. Then this Packard, right on it, you know what I mean? They’re really flying. The guys in the Packard, they start shootin’ at the armored car. So they’re swerving around, leave the street, come right up in the yard -- I mean that close – keep goin’, hit the tree. Big time! The guys in the Packard, they toss a firebomb. Like it’s lighted – a bottle of gas, you know? Three guys climb out of the wreck and head for Bob’s neighbor’s car. She’s just pulled into her driveway. Doesn’t have the faintest, you know what I mean? One of these guys gets gunned down, right there in the driveway. Bam bam. Down he goes.”

“You saw all this?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Were you scared?” the twin who was driving asked.

“Bob shoulda been, I’ll tell you that. That armored car knocked the mower right out of his hands.”

The driver looked back at Robert. “Oh, Bob! Were you hurt?”

“I guess I was lucky,” Robert said. “I must have let go.” What he was thinking was, Merwyn tells me to keep my mouth shut?

“I guess you were. You could have been killed.” She edged the car away from a chicken pecking at something beside the road. “What was going on, do you think?”

“A heist,” Merwyn said.

“Right in front of you guys.”

“Yeah. No kiddin.”

 

They drove along, all silent. The road rose and fell gently along the corn-covered land.

They read a string of signs:

“Before I Tried It

“The Kisses I Missed

“But Afterward – Boy!

“The Misses I Kissed

--Burma-Shave”

 

“Now here’s my question,” Merwyn said. “How does your mother tell you two apart?”

“By the birthmark,” the twin not driving said, giggling.

Her sister giggled too.

Off to their right the land dropped sharply away.

“I bet the lake’s over there,” said the driver.

The other twin nodded. “Keep your eyes on the road, Kate. I’ll be the tour guide.”

Aha, thought Robert. Kate’s driving.

They arrived at a big stone church. Robert was nervous about going to a Catholic church, not knowing what to do.

As they walked in he saw a wall of names. The church was already filling up and was going to be crowded and hot, he thought, but they found a pew they could squeeze into.

Tiny ribbons fluttered from tall fans promising air that didn’t come. The bottom panels of tall, stained-glass windows were open.

An altar boy came in carrying a brass pole with a lighted wick at the end and held it up to the candles.

“Bob.” Merwyn leaned around behind Maggie and put his face to Robert’s ear. “I know that kid.”

“Who?”

“The kid up there. The altar boy. I saw him play in the district finals last year. His name is Hayes.”

A bell chimed and the congregation arose as the priest came to the altar. Soon Robert was hearing what he guessed was Latin.

Kathleen had her nose in a prayer book, following the words. Robert and Merwyn leaned their backsides on the pew. After a while the priest began to hand out communion wafers. Kathleen and Maggie went up. Shortly after that, organ music signaled the end of the service.

Kathleen went down on one knee as she left the pew and turned smiling to Robert.

They followed Maggie and Merwyn to the back of the church, where the priest was greeting people. Beside him was the altar boy, his cassock off, in slacks and an open-collar shirt.

“Hey, Hayes,” Merwyn said.

“That’s me.” He looked at the boys and then at Kathleen and Maggie and smiled, displaying two chipped upper front teeth. He had rosy cheeks and unruly red hair, and his eyes, glinting green, missed nothing. Robert sensed that the girls were charmed.

“I saw you play in the district finals last year,” Merwyn said.

Hayes listened with interest.

“You didn’t see me because I was already out of it,” Merwyn said.

They all laughed.

“What brings you up here?”

“The beach.”

“Ah.” The boy nodded. “I was thinking of going over there this afternoon.” He smiled again at Kathleen and Maggie, a sweet, roguish Irish smile.

“Maybe we’ll see you,” Merwyn said. “We’ll be the four people from out of town. By the way, do you happen to know a McGinnis family? Seems to me I played against a McGinnis from Blue Lake.”

“Well, let’s see.” The boy led them to the directory on the wall. There were lots of names: Berrigan, Connelly, Egan, Flaherty, Hennessy, Kilpatrick, Logan. With his finger the boy traced down to the M’s.

“McGinnis, James L.” was not on the list. But there was a listing for “McGinnis, Mary, Eileen and Patrick.”

“Did I play a McGinnis?” Merwyn asked thoughtfully.

The boy shook his head. “I doubt you played Pat. He’s older. Eileen’s your age. But of course you didn’t play her.”

Merwyn looked owlish. “Could I have beat her if I did?”

“She’s pretty good.”

Robert could tell the boy was carrying Merwyn, not putting him down. “You all hang out there, at the beach?” he asked.

“Sort of. It’s what you do in Blue Lake. Matter of fact, you’ll probably see Eileen and her brother.”

“Oh?” said Merwyn.

“He’s in the Army, home on leave for a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe you’ll point Eileen out to me,” Merwyn said. “Then I’ll remember whether I played her or not.”

This produced the cherubic smile featuring the chipped teeth.

Robert liked the kid and wanted to join in the banter, but his mind kept going to why they’d come up here and what Merwyn planned to do, which brought back visions of the dead man on the driveway and of the man who’d been hiding in his house.

 

 

 

EIGHT

 

The gravel parking lot facing the beach was almost filled with cars. Robert and Merwyn took in the scene, spotting an Auburn, a Nash, a Studebaker, and an interesting Hudson, the ‘36 deluxe eight.

The girls watched the boys as they looked at the cars.

Maggie pointed to a Buick. “A Century’s been clocked at 103,” she said innocently.

“Not on the road, though,” Kathleen said.

“True,” said Maggie.

Robert, hearing this exchange, began to feel threatened again. Scanning the beach, he saw lots of teenagers, a roped-off swimming area, a lifeguard on a tall wooden tower, and, perhaps fifty yards from shore, a diving platform bobbing up and down in the water.

At the far end of the beach a few rowboats and upturned canoes sat on the water’s edge. Beyond them, two small sailboats had been pulled halfway up onto the sand, mainsails down, jibs fluttering.

“We goin’ swimming?” Merwyn asked, and led the way to the stone-block changing room.

As the boys began getting into their swimming suits the wallet fell out of Merwyn’s pants pocket. He pulled on his suit and then picked it up, opened it absently, and pulled out a piece of paper.

Robert read aloud to see if he could make any sense of it: “3000CHG. 3000FHG. 250M1. 250M1903. 250M1917. 25BAR. 200C45. What’s all that?” he said.

“Beats me,” Merwyn said. “Come on. We better get out there.” He slid the scrap of paper back into the wallet and put it in his pants pocket.

Robert looked absently at the wall in front of him. “Electrical parts? Something like that?”

“Who knows?” Merwyn said. “Anyway, we’ll find out where this guy McGinnis lives, dump it and be done with it.”

They headed out. Robert tried not to ogle the twins, who wore identical pale-blue bathing suits.

They passed the lifeguard stand. The guard, about 17, had sunbleached, crewcut blond hair. His ears, nose, and bare feet were dabbed with zinc oxide. He was watching the water intently but allowed his gaze to drop to the girls.

He smiled. They smiled.

Robert pointed. “Looks like there’s room for a blanket up ahead there.”

They trudged on through the sand to the spot he’d chosen and spread the blanket, weighting it down with a wicker basket the girls had brought. Maggie sat down on the blanket.

“Beat you to the raft,” Merwyn said to Robert and Kathleen, running.

They raced after him. Kathleen beat the two boys to the raft by a body length.

For a few minutes they dove, climbed, and dove again, rocking the raft, everybody splashing everybody. Then Kathleen lined up facing the raft, her back to the water, only her toes on the wood, and performed a graceful back-dive from the bobbing platform. Robert tried it and landed on his back.

Kathleen swam under the barrels beneath the raft and Robert followed. She grabbed the rope that anchored the raft and pulled herself down. Holding the rope, Robert watched her disappear, then swam out from under the raft, reached the surface, and gulped for air.

He counted to sixty before she emerged.

“Go to the bottom?” he asked, trying not to show his amazement.

She nodded. “Maybe fifteen-twenty feet. Cold. You hit it just off the bottom.”

“Inversion layer,” Robert said.

She eyed him momentarily.

He felt good about the flicker of attention.

They climbed up on the raft and sprawled in the sun. Pulling his eyes off Kathleen’s recumbent form, Robert looked to the beach and saw Maggie talking to two boys and a girl who were standing by the blanket. “Merwyn, I think the Blue Lake competition has arrived,” Robert said.

“I see that.” Merwyn dove in.

Robert and Kate dove in and followed Merwyn to the beach.

The altar boy was talking to Maggie. With him were a pretty, dark-haired girl and a tall young man, well muscled, with pale eyes in a flat, open face.

“You’re dripping!” Maggie screamed at Merwyn.

Merwyn snatched up his towel and backed off, rubbing. He squinted at Hayes, the altar boy. “Mike, my man.”

Maggie introduced the newcomers. “This is Eileen McGinnis and this is Patrick McGinnis, friends of Mike’s.”

Robert stuck out his hand. The girl took it.

The young man gave no sign of friendly greeting. “I understand you know a McGinnis,” he said, his pale eyes searching the boys. “One of you played tennis against a McGinnis?”

“I thought I remembered the name but I guess not,” Merwyn said.

Robert knelt on the blanket. “We’ve got room here.”

“Thanks,” said Eileen. She turned and pointed up the beach. “Mom’s over there. I’d better not desert her.” She looked at her brother. “She’d also like some time with you, Patrick.”

She turned back to the newly arrived swimmers. “Patrick’s home on leave from the Army. He’s staying with my father. But he hasn’t stopped to see mom.”

Patrick looked irritated. “I’ve seen her.”

Eileen walked away.

Merwyn looked around. “Back to the raft?”

Kathleen stood and ran. Maggie followed. Then Robert and Merwyn ran after them. Patrick stood by the blanket.

As they ran, Merwyn said to Robert, “That guy Patrick. I guess he’d be the son of the guy who dropped the wallet.”

Robert, trotting beside him, nodded. “I guess.”

Minutes later they all sat dripping on the bobbing platform, Kathleen and Maggie shaking out their hair, the boys rubbing their arms in the chill of an increasing breeze. Kathleen, staring at the beach, said, “Bob? Merwyn? Is Patrick going through your clothes?”

All five watched the figure on the blanket. He had a pair of pants in his hands.

 

 

NINE

 

In an instant Merwyn was up and diving off the raft.

Robert dove in and caught up with him. “We could let him take it,” he spit out.

“No, no,” Merwyn hollered. “Then we had it, and they know it, and we ain’t got it.” He sucked in air and swam furiously. “Then we’re screwed. Com’on.” He swam hard again.

When they reached the shallows Merwyn scrambled through knee-high water and ran after Patrick, who was headed for the parking lot. Robert followed.

Patrick was starting his car when Merwyn ran up. “Gimme that,” Merwyn said. He stuck his arm through the window and grabbed at the wallet.

Patrick was trying to roll the window up. Suddenly he let go of Merwyn’s arm and pushed hard on the door. It flew open and knocked Merwyn down.

Still holding the wallet, Patrick jumped out of the car. Merwyn stumbled to his feet, and Patrick smacked him on the side of the head with his free hand.

Merwyn staggered back. Patrick lunged. Behind Patrick, Robert dropped to his hands and knees. Merwyn gave Patrick a shove and he fell over Robert and dropped the wallet.

Merwyn grabbed it and started running, Robert ran after him. Patrick followed. People stared.

“Bob. Merwyn. What’s going on?” Kathleen shouted from the bobbing platform.

Eileen and her mother came down the beach toward the commotion. Patrick ran past them.

“Patrick McGinnis,” his mother shouted. “You get back here.”

Robert grabbed the prow of a sailboat and started pushing it into the water. “Push!” he cried.

As the sailboat floated in the water the jib snapped in the wind.

“Out, out,” Robert shouted. They gave another shove and clambered aboard, Robert lowered the centerboard and hauled up the mainsail.

Half-swimming toward them, Patrick grabbed at the rudder and held on, gliding along with the boat. Robert pulled at Patrick’s hand, trying to peel it off the rudder.

Robert had the sailboat close-hauled, with the wind filling the mainsail. They were gathering speed, impeded only by the drag of Patrick’s body. With his other hand Patrick grabbed the transom.

Robert slammed the hand with his fist.

Patrick howled and let go. The sailboat picked up speed.

Wading and running back through the shallow water to the beach, Patrick flipped a canoe, grabbed a paddle, and with a powerful push shot the canoe forward off the sand and leapt in.

Paddling in a frenzy, he gained ground as the sailboat tacked across the breeze.

Merwyn crouched low in the front of the sailboat, clutching the wallet in one hand, the mast with the other. Robert gripped the tiller. He had the rope that held the mainsail, now fat with air, wrapped tightly around his right hand.

“Ready about,” Robert cried. “Duck!”

Merwyn ducked as the sailboat swung around.

“You’re going back to him!” Merwyn cried out in alarm.

“Right!” Robert shouted. He aimed the sailboat into the path of the oncoming canoe.

“Look out!” Merwyn shouted.

The sailboat glanced off the canoe at an angle. The canoe rolled and Patrick’s weight did the rest, tipping it over.

The canoe floated half-submerged as Robert headed the sailboat out into the lake. Patrick, treading water, cursed and shook his fist. Then, pulling the waterlogged canoe through the chop, he started side-stroking toward the beach.

Merwyn grinned. “Pretty good, skipper. Where’d you learn to handle this thing?”

“Last year. At camp.” Robert peered forward.

Merwyn made the sour, wide-eyed face he made when he was impressed. “Now what’ll we do?” he said.

Robert gave his friend a look. Ever since this fiasco started, Merwyn had been telling him what to do. But suddenly Merwyn was asking. “Whatever it is, we better do it fast,” Robert said.

“How about we leave this somewhere?”

“Not where they can see us,” Robert said. “I’ll go on down the lake.” He was excited by the moment, pleased to be in charge.

In about ten minutes they covered a couple of miles.

As the boat cut through the water, Robert got back to the issue. “Why didn’t you just give him the wallet, Merwyn? That’s why we came up here. To give it back. That was our chance.”

“If he got it we’d be in more trouble, Bob.”

“Why?”

“He knows we have it.”

“So?”

“Think about it. The guy who dropped the wallet knows it’s missing. Then this guy finds us with it.”

“How?”

“He must have been in the shower house, in the can.”

“So?”

“So now his old man is going to find out we had it all along.” Merwyn searched his friend’s eyes. “So we can’t give it back. Not now. If we do, we got nothing to trade.”

If only we had left the darn wallet on the driveway, Robert thought. But what he said was, “That dock over there. Looks like nobody’s home. Let’s tie up.” He hauled in the mainsail, bringing the boom in over the boat. “Lower the jib.”

“Huh?”

“Get that front sail down. Hurry up.”

“Aye, aye, skipper.”

As they coasted in Robert lowered the sail and looped a piece of rope cleated to the back of the boat around a cleat on the dock. The sailboat came to rest. “Act natural,” Robert said. “Like we’re guests. Walk. Don’t run.”

Merwyn did as Robert asked.

 

They hiked along the road, two boys in swimsuits, no shirts, no shoes, one of them clutching a wallet.

To their left was the curving row of beach cottages. To their right was a wooded area, giving off the sweet scent of pine. Beneath their feet the blacktop was warm. Ahead, the undulating road shimmered in the sun.

About a half a mile up, the road bent away from the lake. Sunlight bounced off the top of a car coming around the turn.

“Cops!” Merwyn took off running into the pine forest, Robert right behind him. They hid in the trees as the car, sure enough, a police car, rolled past them and disappeared.

“Hey,” Merwyn said, exhilarated.

“Merwyn, do you realize we’re running from the robbers and the cops, too?”

“Uhm.”

“It’s your fault,” Robert continued doggedly. “You swiped the wallet, you got me to come up here, you tangled with that guy.”

“Yeah, but you’re the great pirate.” Merwyn grinned.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Robert said, not placated.

Merwyn considered options. “Let’s stay put until it starts to get dark, then make a beeline for the church.”

“The girls were supposed to be home by eight,” Robert said. He didn’t like their chances of getting out of this mess. The cops were looking for them for swiping the sailboat. Patrick McGinnis was gunning for them. They had some explaining to do to the twins. If the girls were late getting home, their parents were going to be mad. And if the girls weren’t waiting, how would he and Merwyn get home? Worst of all, something he didn’t want to think about, maybe somebody wanted to kill them.

Robert was hungry. He was sitting on pine needles in the middle of nowhere in his swimming suit. As he thought about all this he started to laugh, not feeling funny at all.

Merwyn watched him, then started laughing too. “We’re gonna get out of this. Trust me.”