Baby Moll hcc-46 Read online

  Baby Moll

  ( Hard Case Crime - 46 )

  John Farris

  NO MAN ESCAPES THE SINS OF HIS PAST

  Six years after quitting the Florida Mob, Peter Mallory is about to be dragged back in.

  Stalked by a vicious killer and losing his hold on power, Mallory’s old boss needs help – the kind of help only a man like Mallory can provide. But behind the walls of the fenced-in island compound he once called home, Mallory is about to find himself surrounded by beautiful women, by temptation, and by danger – and one wrong step could trigger a bloodbath...

  Acclaim For the Work of JOHN FARRIS!

  “Few writers have Mr. Farris’s talent for masterfully devious plotting, the shattering, effective use of violence, and in-depth characterization.”

  —The New York Times

  “A whirlpool of suspense, dread, and thrills, but also fiction of meaning and substance — phenomenal, first-rate.”

  —Dean Koontz

  “Inventive, sexy, and intricately plotted... superbly engrossing.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “John Farris is the godfather of thriller writers.”

  —F. Paul Wilson

  “Farris is a real master.”

  —Peter Straub

  “His paragraphs are smashingly crafted and images glitter like solitaires.”

  —The Philadelphia Inquirer

  “Farris has the remarkable ability to jab his literary ice pick to the bone marrow.”

  —Brian Garfield

  “Farris puts [readers] on the edge of their seats via compelling characterization and ratcheting up the tension at every turn of a well-crafted plot.”

  —Booklist

  “Strong, lip-smacking suspense.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Well-drawn characters... graceful and gripping story-telling... another winner from a legendary writer.”

  —Fangoria

  “Farris has marvelous skill.”

  —The Associated Press

  “It’s amazing... The characters are as vivid as any I’ve ever read, and Mr. Farris constantly surprised me with the twists and turns of the plot. Mr. Farris is a master storyteller.”

  —Larry Bond

  “John Farris is more than a giant, he’s... the Tyrannosaurus Rex of thriller writers.”

  —Douglas Preston

  I heard it again — the sound of someone walking stealthily toward me in the sand. I rolled on my belly, gathered my legs beneath me and dived at an indistinct figure five feet away. We went down. There was a muffled sound of surprise. My hand slid along a smooth curved thigh, touched rounded breasts and full nipples. I was holding a woman as naked as I was, and holding her damned tight, the weight of my body pinning her to the sand. I backed away from her fast and she sat up. She cried out again, reached toward her breasts with protective hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You shouldn’t have come up behind me like that.”

  “It’s... all right,” she said in a strained voice. “I’m sorry I... startled you.” Her hands came away from her breasts slowly and dropped to her knees. She sat very still, apparently looking toward me. I hadn’t held her long, but long enough for her to be perfectly aware I wasn’t dressed either. Not that it made any difference, in the dark.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  “I’m Diane. You... must be Pete Mallory.”

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Macy’s talked about you. He brought you here to find the person who’s going to kill him.”

  “Yes.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then she stretched, rising to her toes, and relaxed. Her voice was calm again.

  “Macy will tell you about me,” she said. “I’m supposed to be a little bit crazy.”

  “Are you?”

  She laughed girlishly. “I suppose so. I suppose I am...”

  SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS

  YOU WILL ENJOY:

  GRAVE DESCEND by John Lange

  THE PEDDLER by Richard S. Prather

  LUCKY AT CARDS by Lawrence Block

  ROBBIE’S WIFE by Russell Hill

  THE VENGEFUL VIRGIN by Gil Brewer

  THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN by David Goodis

  BLACKMAILER by George Axelrod

  SONGS OF INNOCENCE by Richard Aleas

  FRIGHT by Cornell Woolrich

  KILL NOW, PAY LATER by Robert Terrall

  SLIDE by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr

  DEAD STREET by Mickey Spillane

  DEADLY BELOVED by Max Allan Collins

  A DIET OF TREACLE by Lawrence Block

  MONEY SHOT by Christa Faust

  ZERO COOL by John Lange

  SHOOTING STAR/SPIDERWEB by Robert Bloch

  THE MURDERER VINE by Shepard Rifkin

  SOMEBODY OWES ME MONEY by Donald E. Westlake

  NO HOUSE LIMIT by Steve Fisher

  Baby

  MOLL

  by John Farris

  WRITING AS ‘STEVE BRACKEEN’

  A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK

  (HCC-046)

  Chapter One

  We had fun that day, the day Rudy Mask turned up in Orange Bay to reweave the net that held me to the past. In the morning Elaine and I took the boat through the calm waters of the pass and hunted south along the coast for snook, and, later, when the chest was full, for a beach and growth of trees where we could rest and swim.

  I decided on a curved narrow piece of island three or four hundred yards from the shoreline, and edged the boat into the beach. Elaine slipped over the side into shallow water to guide the keel against the sand.

  “Catch me,” I said, then jumped over the side, splashing water on her swimsuit.

  “Pete!” she wailed.

  “So what?” I chided. “That’s what it’s for, isn’t it? To get wet?”

  She backed away and waded indignantly out of the water. I followed with towels and the basket of lunch. She was good to watch. A tall girl with long legs, a smooth straight walk. She wore a blue bathing suit, cut high at the firm thighs, fitting snugly over the slender curve of waist and small breasts. Made to run, quick and laughing, along the beaches, to lie in the sun that nourished her slender strength. I had found her on a beach, and had known the ache of wanting something so much that the long months of waiting were almost unendurable.

  I spread the beach towels when Elaine indicated a desirable spot. “We eat?” I said.

  She turned her face to me. “Not yet.” She took off her seaman’s cap, harshly white against the glistening black of her hair, flipped at her bangs with a knuckle. Her lips formed the slanted grin I liked. “You stink of fish, mister. Bathe yourself.”

  “You come too.”

  “No. I—”

  I took her wrist. “Come on.”

  “Pete, I don’t — ” She brought the edge of her wrist up against my thumb, breaking the hold. “Don’t go cave man on me. I really don’t want to swim—”

  I beat on my chest, Tarzan fashion, and made a grab for her. She choked back laughter, squirmed out of reach. I chased her toward the water, running full tilt. She stopped suddenly, ducked, stuck out a foot. I tumbled into the water, came up gasping.

  “You’ve got sand in your hair now.” She grinned, panting. “Better wash it out as long as you’re in there.”

  I went into the water, pushed deep into the coolness, swam until my lungs were hot and bursting. Then I broke surface and took air, blinking the sting of salt from my eyes. The sun was a hot flare lashing at my face. The sky was a blue shield that threw back the heat and softened the glare. There was a whisper of breeze. I swam easily and slowly back to the beach. My arms made slow rippling splashes, the only sound other than the far laughter of the g
irl as she ran through shallow white water, kicking up spray to sparkle in the sunlight. It was a good morning. It would be a good afternoon, too. Then the sun would deepen and grow large behind the fringe of trees on the shore and it would be time to go home. I felt the old thin taste of fear rising in my throat. There had been too many good days. Soon maybe the luck would begin to tarnish.

  I waded to shore and took Elaine by the hand. She walked beside me, breathing deeply, her eyes gleaming. We had our lunch, then stretched out on the beach towels. I took lotion and rubbed her shoulders and back. She stretched, the long muscles in her legs tight, then relaxed. After a few seconds she looked at me with one eye and smiled like a little girl who doesn’t quite know how to pick up a kitten. She cupped a hand behind my head and brought my face to hers, kissed me. It started gently and became fierce and demanding. I lay down beside her. I touched an ear and the tip of her nose and traced the fine lips with the tip of my finger, tracing that crazy smile which makes me feel warm in a place deep inside that I once thought was forever scarred.

  “Talky today, aren’t you?” she said lazily, her eyes smiling.

  “Sometimes words are just a nuisance.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Her hand touched my shoulder, slipped down my arm. Her fingers closed around my wrist, worried the hand gently. “Yes,” she said. “Such a man. Such a big man for me. Such a big man to love. How I love you, Pete.” The eyes opened and she looked at me somberly. “You’re not worried about something, are you?”

  I tried not to let my smile fade. “What would I have to worry about? I own my own business and I’m about to marry the most beautiful girl in the state. Even her old man is beginning to like me. Me worry?”

  “Don’t try to kid — ” she warned, but I stopped her with a kiss. I overdid it a little because I wanted to shut off whatever she was thinking about me. She knew me too well to distrust any of her intuitions.

  I felt her body stiffen. “Hey,” she said, “you... trying to start something?”

  “Yes.” I kissed her again, and she responded readily.

  But she said firmly, “No, Pete.”

  “We’re going to be married.”

  “We’re not married yet.”

  “All we haven’t had is the ceremony.”

  “But we really shouldn’t... that was just... you’re so damn persuasive.”

  “And I love you.”

  She sighed, surrendering. “I guess it wouldn’t make—”

  I worked the top of her suit down from her breasts.

  “Oh, Pete,” she said comfortably, and helped me with the suit.

  Afterwards she slept and I sat beside her, my skin very white where the swim trunks had been, and watched the small swell of waves on the beach, and tried not to think. But I had to look at her and wonder if her love could be strong enough, if it really would make no difference to her should I have to tell her where I came from, and what I was. There was no way to know. Maybe she loved me enough and could take that kind of shock. She was a pretty solid girl, unspoiled by the effects of wealth and social prestige that were hers and her family’s. But they, the proud Arnells, wouldn’t get over it. And they would take her away from me. One way or another, they’d do it.

  After an hour, she stirred behind me, and I saw one foot lift as she stretched. Then she sat up and put her face against my back, her arms around me.

  “You love me, Pete.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You know that.”

  She was silent. The arms tightened about me, then relaxed. I sat very still, feeling the tips of her small breasts against my back as she breathed. I pushed the heel of my hand against my stiff-cropped hedge of hair, brushed loose a few grains of sand.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, Pete?” she asked.

  “No. Why?”

  She began to rock back and forth gently, rocking me with her.

  “When we left the store this morning, there was a custard-colored Pontiac coming down the street. Do you remember? It came slow at first, and the driver was looking at us. Then it speeded up. You were holding my hand so tight it hurt. When I glanced at you, for a second or two, the look in your eyes frightened me. Did you recognize the driver, or something?”

  I looked incredulously at her. “No. Of course not. You been having bad dreams?”

  She touched her lips to my back once, then stood up and straightened out the swimsuit, put it on thoughtfully.

  “No. No, I haven’t had any bad dreams. Have you?”

  I picked up my own suit and squirmed into it. It was about three; time to leave soon.

  Her eyebrows drew together as she fitted the elastic top over her breasts. There was a funny look in her eyes, as if she were remembering being hurt a long time ago and didn’t like thinking about it.

  “Pete,” she said in a flat voice, “what did you do before you came to Orange Bay?”

  “Oh, I was in the Army for a while. Then I worked down in Castile for an insurance company. When I got bored with it I came North and opened up the sports shop. I thought I’d rather fish when I felt like it than adjust claims. Life story. You know all that. Then I met you. My life really started then.”

  “I don’t believe you ever told me the name of the insurance company you worked for.”

  I frowned, not liking all the questions. “Bay State Mutual. Why? Is it important?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “Look, Elaine. I’m fine today. A little moody, possibly. Those feelings come and go. Don’t start worrying about me.”

  She brushed at her bangs with the back of one hand. Her smile was quick but uncertain. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “I guess it’s time for us to get out of here,” I said.

  “Yes.” She turned her head to look at the angle of the sun. “It was a nice day,” she said. “I had fun today.” She held my hand tightly. “I wish... it wouldn’t end.”

  “There’ll be other good days,” I said. “Lots of good days.” I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking that maybe the good days were over for a while. And I was afraid she’d know, so I turned away from her and began to gather up the beach towels.

  We walked to the water and I helped Elaine over the side into the boat, shoved off from the beach. Once at the wheel I headed into the sun. Elaine leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. Her eyes were closed. The boat cut a rough path through the darkening water. She hummed to herself, and I could barely hear the sound of it above the noise of the big motor. It was a strange lonesome tune that no one had ever hummed before but everyone had heard it at some time, sounding clear above the low beat of fear in their hearts.

  Chapter Two

  Elaine was in better spirits by the time we arrived at her home. I unloaded the car, carried the beach towels and picnic basket to the big front porch of the Arnell house, overlooking the bay.

  “Don’t forget the concert tonight,” she reminded me. “You’ve got only an hour to get ready.”

  I kissed her cheek lightly. “I’ll go over to the store now and change. Clean the fish in the morning.”

  I drove away from the house and headed crosstown. On the way I passed through the neighborhood where our house had recently been completed. It was dark now, waiting for Mrs. Mallory to bring light and warmth to the rooms. Soon. My breath caught a little at the thought. It had been a damned long time. But she had been worth waiting for.

  My store was south on the highway, convenient for both the fresh-water fisherman of the backcountry canals and the angler who favors the tide flats and open sea.

  I parked in front of the small building and paused under the pulsing neon sign that identified the place as The Angler’s Shop to find the doorkey. Locating in this section had cost me practically all my savings, but in two years the investment had paid off in a new house.

  Thinking about this, I looked self-consciously down the street, but there were no cars parked nearby. My only company was two teen-age girls in Bermuda shorts stan
ding in front of a theater half a block away. I grimaced at my momentary nervousness and unlocked the door. I put away a couple of lures I had been experimenting with that morning and hunted up an ice chest. While I was getting it from a shelf behind the display case, the door opened. It didn’t close right away, and I had the feeling that someone held it open and watched me. Sweat rolled down my cheek. It was hot in the store without the air conditioner on. There was a loaded .38 revolver in a holster beneath the cash register, but it was ten steps away. I could feel the muscles of my back tightening. I tried not to think about the gun.

  “You went fishing today,” he said. “I couldn’t find you.”

  I took the ice chest from the shelf, straightened up and turned around, setting the chest carefully on the glass top of the display case. A drop of perspiration fell from my chin, splashing on the glass. I was conscious of my heart beating too fast.

  “You ever been shot, Rudy?” I said harshly.

  He was a stocky man, with too much weight on his bones now. He wore a wrinkled light-blue cord suit, a tired gray hat pushed back on his head. His hair was graying, oiled, long around the ears, thinning on top. He watched me steadily, wearily, from behind a large pair of glasses, the clear plastic frames yellowed by the sun. There was a crack at the corner of one lens.

  His lips stretched wide in a humorless smile. “Lots of times.”

  “You know better than to come on me like that. You might have picked up another one.”

  A brown insect with buzzing wings whirled in the door, hovered near his ear, soared away. He chewed steadily on the wood end of a match. “You wasn’t nowhere near a gun,” he said, then added defensively, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility before, “and I was as close as my hip pocket.”

  “Finish coming in,” I told him, “and shut the door.” I walked around the display case and turned on the air conditioner at the back of the store.

  Rudy Mask sat in a chair and looked curiously about the store, sighed as the cold air from the big Carrier unit reached him. “So this is what you bought with Macy’s money,” he said.