Chapter 11
Broken Bow, New Mexico, lay fourteen miles dead ahead on a narrow highway that was monotonously straight and smooth. Bob and Red were both in the back seat of the car, alternately catching snatches of sleep and looking out at the boring landscape. At the moment, both were snoozing peacefully, Bob with a smile on his handsome face and Red snoring. Lotta was sleeping too, in the front seat, with her blonde head resting in Wash's lap.
Wash drove silently, feeling drowsy from the continual hum of tires on the pavement and the warmth of the late afternoon sun beating in through the windshield. They were on their way to California. As soon as they had dumped Virginia on the lonely road outside of Little Rock, they had left for Los Angeles. Red had connections there, he'd said. The film could wait for developing and printing. Getting out of Arkansas before Virginia could make her way back to Little Rock and report them to the police, though she'd promised she wouldn't do that, seemed like the best idea.
Now Arkansas was behind them, separated by Oklahoma, the panhandle of Texas, and part of New Mexico. They were breathing easier. Everything had worked out well-so far.
There had been nothing on the late TV news broadcast from Oklahoma City last night about Mrs. Holden. If she had reported what happened to her, it surely would have been announced at least that far away. It appeared that Virginia had kept her promise of silence, that everything had come off without a hitch, that they were in the clear and on their way to Los Angeles. Once there, all they had to do was develop the film, edit and print it, then let Red show it to his contacts and get an order for the first run.
Visions of his wallet fattened by hundred-dollar bills floated dreamily through Wash's drowsy mind. He dropped his gaze from the road to look down at Lotta's sleeping face. The sight warmed his heart. Last night they had talked unashamedly of love for the first time. Lotta had shed her last ounce of prejudice, tearfully expressing her love for him and joyfully agreeing to become his bride.
They had lain awake long into the night, lying side by side in bed and talking softly so Red and Bob couldn't hear them. The marriage would take place as soon as the first money from the two films came in. Wash was a cook by trade, Lotta a typist and bookkeeper. They would open a restaurant. The food preparation would be handled by Wash and the business details by Lotta. The future had never looked better, to Wash.
A bus passed them, making the car pitch as it broke the wind Wash had been holding the steering wheel against. Wash fought to regain control, then squinted ahead as the bus left them behind. Sixty miles-per-hour, Bob had said; and Wash kept the car moving at exactly that speed. He agreed with Bob. It made no sense to break the speed laws and risk being stopped by the police, who just might have instructions to be watching for them.
Kidnapping was a serious offense. Rape too. They had committed both. The proof positive was recorded on film in the trunk of the car with their bags. They were far removed from Little Rock, which was the most dangerous place at the moment, but if Virginia had reported them, it was possible that police all over the country would be on the lookout.
They had no way of knowing that Virginia had given descriptions of them so misleading that no one could ever connect them with her abduction, and had not even mentioned the fact of her rape. But playing it safe, they all four agreed, was the best thing to do for several weeks. Then, even if Virginia had told everything, they would have nothing to worry about. California was a long way from Arkansas. The Los Angeles police had plenty to keep them busy. Taking care of the crime in their own city was more than a full time job. They would not be worrying about something that happened in Little Rock unless it just up and hit them in the face.
All that Wash, Lotta, Red, and Bob had to do was keep their noses clean. They could print the film and wholesale it without fear. It would not be shown where any policeman could see it. Each of them had thousands of dollars waiting in California. And Los Angeles was a big, busy city. It would be no problem for four people such as themselves to melt right in and disappear in the crowd. No one was ever likely to recognize any of them from the movie, no matter how popular it became, or how many stag shows it played.
Red was right, thought Wash. Smart. We're gonna get away with this and all be rich, rich, rich!
Up ahead, in the town of Broken Bow, the mayor and police chief walked out the front entrance of city hall and strode toward a waiting prowl car. Two uniformed policemen followed them. The four men got into the prowl car-the mayor and police chief in the back seat and the two officers in the front.
'This little program is beginning to pay off," the mayor said, as the car pulled away from the curb.
The police chief groaned inwardly. It was the same thing the mayor said every month. The chief knew by heart the conversation upcoming. He said his line, "Bigger tourist count last month? "
"Yep. Five more families visited us than in the same month last year. Spent more money, too. One family stayed three days. Made our town their headquarters while they visited all the wonderful sights around here. The man said the family of one of his friends was our Tourists of the Month last year. Said they raved about how pleasant we'd made their stay here and how friendly all our people are. Said that was the main reason he and his wife picked our town to visit for part of their vacation."
"Tourism is our bread and butter," agreed the chief.
"You bet your badge it is. The more tourists we get the more money it means for all of us. A town can't grow without money. Speaking of money. The program won't cost the town a cent from now on."
"Yeah, I heard that Luke was going to feed our tourist selection on the house from now on, instead of just giving them cut-rate."
"Nice man," said the mayor. "Luke runs a fine restaurant, too. He can see how much good our program is doing for his business."
"Yeah," said the chief. "For the whole town."
The chief took out a cigar and lit it. The conversation was now over. They would ride in silence out to the edge of town, where they would stop cars until one family was surprised and delighted with their offer of free food and lodging for the night. The family that agreed to stay the night in Broken Bow would be proclaimed Tourists of The Month. The mayor would present them with the printed document bearing his seal and signature. A police escort with siren blaring would lead the tourists to the mayor's motel, where they would receive the red carpet treatment and occupy the best rooms. After their free supper they would be provided with a tour of the town. The tour would resume following breakfast if the Tourists of The Month had the time and inclination. It was all a bunch of shit as far as the chief was concerned. He saw no sense in any of it. But it was the mayor's idea, and the mayor was his boss; so he went along with the farce.
Red snored himself awake. He sat up, stretching and yawning. The empty landscape looked exactly as it had when he fell asleep-fit for nothing but prairie dogs and coyotes. He took out a cigarette and lit it, then leaned forward with his arms resting on the front seat.
"Where are we?"
"Coming into Broken Bow."
"Looks like the asshole of nowhere," Red commented, looking ahead at the heat waves dancing above the pavement. In the distance he could see the town beginning to show up.
"There ain't much out this way, period," Wash said. "I been wondering why them Indians put up such a fight to keep it."
Red laughed. "It doesn't make much sense, does it?" "Not to me, it don't." "This your first trip through here, Wash?" "Yeah. And my last. If I ever go back to Arkansas, it's gonna be on a plane or a train."
"Well be in Los Angeles tomorrow. You 11 like it there." "I hope so."
"Yeah ... Yeah, you will. It's a great place."
The next five minutes were silent. Red finished smoking his cigarette and mashed it out in the ash tray. Wash held the car at exactly sixty miles per hour. They both looked down the highway, watching Broken Bow grow larger and larger as Bob and Lotta slept. They saw a car make a U-turn far ahead and come to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
"What's happening up there?" Red asked.
The car doors were open now. It looked like four men getting out. Was that a red dome on top of the car? It was, Red saw. Then he made out that two of the men had on uniforms.
"Wash?"
"Looks like cops to me." is, Wash! It is cops! Look! They're gonna stop us!" Bob and Lotta both jumped up and stared ahead, through blinking eyes.
"Slow down, Wash," Bob snapped. "Jesus Christ! What do you think they want?"
"I hope it ain't what I'm thinking," Wash said, lifting his foot from the accelerator and letting the car coast.
"Naw," Red growled. "It couldn't be. Not here. Not in this little burg. It would have happened in Oklahoma City or Amarillo if it was going to!"
"Well, by God, it is happening!" Bob blurted. 'They're cops, all right, and they're motioning us to pull in behind their car! What the shit are we gonna do? We can't stop, Red! You know that!"
"We're not gonna stop," Red barked. "Floorboard it, Wash! Keep it there all the way through this burg!" "Maybe we ought to stop," Wash moaned. "Yeah," Lotta said hopefully. "Maybe it's just a safety check or something?"
"Huh-uh. They don't have the gear for it. Besides, there are no other cars waiting. Hit it, Wash! Jam your foot in the carb!" Red shouted.
The car lurched ahead as Wash slapped down the accelerator. The four men were waving and yelling as they sped past the parked police car. Bob and Red whipped around in the seat, looking out the back window in time to see one of the uniformed officers jump into the prowl car and grab up the mike to radio ahead.
"We can't go through town!" Bob wailed. 'They'll be waiting for us! We've got to turn off the highway and get lost in the residential section!"
"What the hell will that get us?" Red demanded.
"A little time, for one thing. And maybe we can find a back road out of here they won't be watching."
"Yeah, Bob. You're right," Red suddenly agreed, searching ahead for a likely place to turn off the highway. 'There, Wash! Turn right at the intersection!"
It was a county road which bisected the main highway. They were not yet into the main part of Broken Bow. Service stations and motels were the only buildings out this far. Service stations occupied three corners of the intersection where Wash was to turn. At the other corner a new motel was under construction.
Gritting his teeth, Wash jammed on the brakes and began spinning the steering wheel. They were moving too fast to make the turn. The car started in the direction Wash pointed it but hit some loose sand and skidded halfway through the turn.
Then the sand was left behind and the tires were squealing on dry pavement. The squeal was loud and brief, followed by sounds of crashing glass and scraping metal as the car overturned several times and finally came to an abrupt stop at a concrete-block wall. The car was upside down, the tires clawing air as screams and groans rent the sudden silence.
Construction workers and service station attendants ran toward the accident. No one got there in time. The car burst into flames, driving the men back and forcing them to stand helpless and listen to the horrible sounds of human suffering which erupted from within the mass of twisted metal and broken glass.
Nothing was recognizable when the firemen finally extinguished the blaze. The bodies were charred. The upholstery and luggage were ashes-including the film which had caused it all.