Steve:
Maybe when you read this you will find out that you are not the only smart one around here. I suppose you thought I didn’t know what you had up your sleeve. But I know you like a book now and after last night I can’t take any more chances. Because I am sure of one thing, that you don’t love me any more.
You thought you had me fooled, didn’t you. But I can tell. This morning when you said about going to Canada I was sure. I don’t want something to happen to me the way it did to Specs.
So I am leaving. Do not be mad, because it is only what you were going to do to me. Except that I am not a murderer and I am letting you off easy by not killing you.
There is no use trying to find me because I know where to go. And the police won’t believe you anyway because of the letter.
If you get away, maybe you will think twice before you try to pull a stunt like this again.
Mary
She was crazy, that’s all, just plain crazy. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” I said. “How can you figure the cops won’t get you? You left this note, didn’t you? Why, you won’t get ten miles before they pick you up, you dumb double-crossing little—”
I was crazy, too, because I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to myself.
She was gone. The car was gone, the gun was gone, the money was gone.
I looked around. It was just ten o’clock. That reminded me of something. I ran over to the radio, switched it on.
Sure enough, the same announcer.
“—roadblocks have been set up at every crossing in the county. State police and a group of deputies numbering well over four hundred men are systematically combing the area in and around the lake shore in an effort to locate the whereabouts of—”
I went over to the radio and started to shut it off. Then something came over me all of a sudden, and I bent down instead and heaved the whole damn works over on its side. It crashed to the floor and lay there.
That did it. I knew they’d get her now. And they’d be coming after me.
Racklin was right. Somebody always cracks up, spoils the deal. I had my chance to kill her last night, and I muffed it.
Now there was nothing left to do but make a break for it. No gun, no car, no money—but the worst part was, I had no place to go.
No place to go.
I went out to the kitchen. The whiskey was all gone, but there was still some rum left. I filled a water-glass and took a swig. It tasted awful. Anything would have tasted awful to me, even champagne.
Because all of a sudden it hit me. Racklin and his theories about why guys pull a job like this—that was a lot of bull. Maybe they thought they wanted a lot of dough, just like I thought I did when I planned it. But now I knew it wasn’t the reason at all. It didn’t matter now whether I’d gotten away with the money or not; the money wouldn’t have helped. Because I really didn’t know what I wanted.
Just sitting around in some fancy bar wasn’t the answer, and neither was shacking up with a bunch of high-class broads. Sure, I’d have tried it for a while, but sooner or later I’d get sick of it.
It wasn’t real. That’s the answer. Nothing was real any more, hadn’t been since the kid died. And maybe for a long time before that. Maybe ever since I ran away from home.
Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out that I was just like Specs and Mary, underneath? That all I really wanted was somebody around to love me? Specs wanted a woman, and Mary wanted me—maybe I just was looking for somebody a little more high class, and figured I couldn’t make the grade unless I had plenty of cash.
Could that be it?
Well, it didn’t matter, now. Nothing mattered, because I heard the sound.
The sirens were coming.
Sure enough, I looked out of the window and there they were. One second the road was empty and the next second it seemed the whole driveway and yard were full of them. Cars and motorcycles and cops.
They had a cordon around the house, riot guns and tommy guns and rifles. They stood there, waiting for orders, and it was very quiet now.
All at once a big guy got out of one of the cream-colored sedans. He had a badge on and I figured him for the Sheriff. Two state police stood right behind him and he was looking straight at me.
“All right,” he yelled. “We know you’re in there, Collins. No use trying anything—we picked up the girl down the road.”
I saw the Olds, now, parked outside the drive. Cops all around it.
“You’d better come out peaceful,” the Sheriff called. “I’m going to count to ten. After that, we’ll come in after you.”
I stood there, waiting. He began to count, and I just listened, wondering what he’d do next.
When he got to ten, he lifted his hand.
“Collins, I’m giving you one more chance! You don’t deserve it any more than a dog, but there’s been enough killing around here already. Come out on that porch with your hands raised and we won’t hurt you.”
To hell with him, to hell with all of them, let them shoot if they wanted to, I didn’t care. They hated me, they’d always hated me, even Mary hadn’t liked me except when I slapped her around.
I could tell this Sheriff wanted to kill me. Well, if I went out now, he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. At least I could get back at him that way.
So I opened the kitchen door.
“That’s right, Collins! Come on out—we want to see what a mad beast looks like.”
I raised my hands and then I stepped out on the porch.
“Take a good look,” I said.
Robert Bloch, The Kidnapper
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