Chapter 13
Ranee Martin smiled at his beautiful wife. "How's that for figuring, honey? Didn't I tell you we'd hit Abilene around noon on Sunday? Pretty fair for an amateur driver I'd say."
"I had the greatest confidence in you from the very start, darling," Eleanor Martin replied. "And of course in the family Buick too."
"That's a fine thing to say," he chuckled. "After all, who takes the Buick into the shop to have it conditioned for a trip like this? Yours truly. Well, we'll have a bite and then try to make Hutchinson by evening so that we can have ourselves a good dinner. In the guidebook, there's a first-class restaurant on the highway just about a mile or two out of town."
"Suits me fine, so long as I don't do the cooking." Eleanor Martin laughed happily.
"Great going, Dad," Kenny piped up from the back seat.
"Thanks, son. Glad it meets with your approval. How about you, Dorothy?"
Dorothy flushed as she replied, "I'm fine, Dad. You're a smooth driver."
Her brother gave her a sidelong glance and there was just a faint curl to his lips. Dorothy Martin quivered and looked away out of the window. She was hoping that this trip would give her a chance to get Kenny off to one side and sign a kind of truce with him. Otherwise it would be simply miserable living with him. She would forget all about Dody if he-no, that would be to admit the shameful thing he might have seen her doing that afternoon. Here she was old enough to be married, and to think that her brother might have watched her playing with herself. It was absolutely unthinkable!
The four Martins stopped for a hamburger and soft drink, and Ranee Martin filled up the gas tank at a nearby service station, then got back into the car, took a look around to make sure that the rest of his family was ready for the resumption of the drive, and started up the motor. "How's the highway ahead?" He called to the pimply-faced young attendant who was wiping his windshield.
"Okay, I guess. There might be a roadblock, though, 'cause a couple of cons broke out of prison last night and they're looking for them."
"Well, I think the State troopers can easily see we aren't they. Thanks a lot," Ranee Martin chuckled as he shifted into gear and the Buick pulled away and onto the highway....
The deserted cabin was a little more spacious than the convicts had realized, and Ben Salters had the idea that they ought to stay in it just as long as they could, though not later than evening. They had to get themselves some sort of transportation across the state line, that was obvious.
"It's gotta be a good sized car, and it's gotta have a family in it of the kind that won't arouse any suspicion in case there's a roadblock," he told his cronies.
"You're right about that," Mack Bolton declared. "I wonder if Nelda's hubby ever did get back and find his cute little bitch of a wife?"
"Probably not this early. Didn't she say something about his getting back this afternoon? That's another reason we've got to lam out of here before the sun sets," Ben Salters declared. "Look, you guys, in this brown hat and that fedora hat I pinched from Nelda's hubby, and this shave and that hair tint stuff nobody's gonna spot me. I'm going over to the road and see what we can do about getting ourselves a lift before they put a real block on every road."
"Good idea," George Budrow grinned, showing the wide gap in his front teeth. "See if you can pick up a car that's got some real quiff in it like that Nelda. Boy, I wish we could have stayed a week there and shagged her every hour on the hour. I sorta went for her squirmy tail."
"If you want to live long enough to shag some more, George," Ben Salters declared, "you'd better just keep your brains about you and help us all get across the State line. Now, look, you might as well come out around the highway-there's a clump of trees over there you can hide behind, and watch my speed when I try to flag down a lift. There isn't much traffic this time of day, so the chances are pretty good."
"I never realized Kansas could be so lovely," Eleanor Martin said to her husband as the Buick smoothly purred along the highway. "I always pictured it as being just flat dry land. But there are trees and hills and dunes, and even creeks. And such lovely farmhouses!"
"And a lot that are deserted and rundown because their owners couldn't make it with bad luck and all," Ranee Martin told her. "See that sort of cabin out there by the ravine? There might be a story there; maybe some family, pioneer family just at the turn of the century, came out and settled down and just couldn't make it. Who knows what happened to them?"
He had seen the cabin in which the four escaped convicts had taken refuge, and he slowed down so that his wife could have a better view of it. It was old-fashioned and obviously quite old, and Ranee Martin had always been interested in American history. Just then Ben Salters moved out from a clump of bushes and, taking off his fedora, smilingly approached: "Hi, neighbors. Wonder if you could give us some help?"
"What's the matter?" Ranee Martin asked solicitously.
"Well, my buddies and I, we had an accident with our car, and there was a thunderstorm out here last night and we had to stay in that cabin. We'd like to get back to town and send some service man out for our car. Two flats, and the rim of one wheel seems to be damaged a little."
"Why, I think I could take you into town, we're heading for Hutchinson. But there must be some other smaller towns before we get to that, where they've got a mechanic," Ranee said. "Hop in the back seat. My name's Martin, Ranee Martin. And my daughter Dorothy and my son Kenny are back there. This is my wife Eleanor."
"Glad to meet you all," Ben Salters grinned as he pretended to hobble towards the back door of the big Buick. As he reached for the handle, he turned his head and emitted a piercing whistle. Immediately, from the clump of bushes about a dozen feet away, the three other convicts hurried out. "These are my buddies, and we'd be mighty beholden if you could drop us off at the first town," he explained.
"Well, I don't know," Ranee Martin said doubtfully, "I don't know if we could handle four. Why couldn't I just take you and then send the mechanic and a tow-truck back for your car?"
"Because, buddy," Ben Salters said sibilantly, even though he was smiling, "You're going to play it our way, see? I've got my hand in my pocket on a gun, and I'd just as soon blow your head off, Mister, as look at you. Now, you're just going to have to make room for us, even if your kids have to sit on the floor, get me?"
"Oh my God, Ranee, do as he says," Eleanor Martin gasped, her eyes widening with horror.
"The little lady has got sense," Ben Salters chuckled. "Okay, boys, get into the back and I'll sit up in front and I think we can make it. These are the Martins, boys. The girl back there is Dorothy, and this is the guy's wife Eleanor."
"Not bad," Mack Bolton muttered thickly, his beady eyes fixing on the lovely matron, who colored hotly and averted her eyes.
"Do as the man says, Dorothy, Kenny," Ranee Martin's voice trembled a little. "We don't want any trouble, so we'll take you where you want to go. But we're on our way to California and we'd appreciate it if you'd get out as soon as you could."
"That's fair enough," Ben Salters grinned crookedly, "We wouldn't want to spoil your vacation, now would we, fellows?"
"Hell, no," Pete Pullman sniggered. He had squnched into the back seat, at Dorothy's right, and his thigh was pressing hard against hers. Her face was scarlet with embarrassment and fear, as she huddled herself as much as she could to avoid the unpleasant contact. He grinned at her: "You're cute, baby. I could sort of go for you."
"Please don't talk that way," Ranee Martin placatingly urged. "I'm going to help you, so there's no need to have any unpleasantness."
"Only unpleasantness will be what you make, Buster," Ben Salters chuckled. "Now get driving."
Kenny found himself rudely pushed onto the floor, and finally, out of indignation, seated himself on the floor and clamped his arms around his knees which he drew up under his chin. Next to Pete was George Budrow and then burly bald Mack Bolton.
"So you're going to California?" Ben Salters began a genial line of conversation. "I've been there lots of times. Gonna see friends there or something?"
"Yes we are," Ranee Martin grimly replied, his eyes on the road ahead. There was almost no traffic, but the sky was darkening, and it was evident that a thunderstorm was not too far off.
"Say, we're gonna have a spell of weather, looks like," Pete Pullman said in a confidential tone as he turned to Dorothy Martin whose lovely body he could feel against his because of the crowding of the back seat. "Where do you folks come from?"
"Chicago."
"Hell, that's a great town, that is," he said enthusiastically to Ranee Martin. "Well, I wouldn't mind if we got to California ourselves."
"I thought your car was broken down and you wanted to get it fixed," Ranee glanced at him uneasily.
"Oh hell, a guy can always pick up another car. Right now, we just want to have company on our ride. You're doin' great, Mr. Martin. Just keep it up and nobody will get hurt," Ben Salters said, his hand still in his pocket imitating a gun-which he didn't have. He did have a jack-knife, and he knew how to use it if need be.
They passed a little town, and Ranee Martin slowed to observe the speed limits. Ben Salters approved of this: "You're my kind of driver, Mr. Martin. No sense getting a ticket on Sunday from some hick cop, I always say. We don't want the cops, do we boys?"
"Like we want holes in our head," George Budrow piped up.
"I don't understand," Eleanor Martin faltered, "Who are you men, and what do you really want?"
"Might as well tell her, Ben," Mack Bolton growled, giving Eleanor Martin a smirking look. He was already hot for her panties, and he had already resolved to get them off one way or another. And that sweet bitch on the back seat over there next to Pete wasn't bad either. Ben Salters had really made a haul for himself. He had to give the guy a grudging kind of respect, finding Nelda Ames and the clothes and the food and a nice place to stay overnight.
"Well, the fact is, Mr. Martin, we broke out of prison last night and we aim to stay out of it," Ben Salters pleasantly remarked.
Eleanor Martin uttered a cry and put her hand to her mouth, her eyes huge with terror, "Oh my God, please, we won't tell on you, we won't turn you in. Just don't hurt us. Don't hurt my daughter and my son! We'll do what you tell us to!"
"Well, now, baby, that's the best offer I've had in years," Mack Bolton drawled, meeting her gaze and winking lewdly at her. Eleanor gasped and promptly turned her face away, blushing violently. And a secret terror began to invade her, for in that look she had recognized the predatory lust of the criminal male.
"Hey, Ben," George Budrow excitedly pointed towards the right-hand rear window, "That looks like a deserted house. And it's starting to rain. Why don't we turn off the road and go down to that gully, and see what we can do about a hideout?
There's a barn there, but there aren't any animals, and it looks deserted."
"Say, that's not a bad idea. Okay, Mr. Martin, turn off the highway onto that dirt road and then take that turn into the gully down to that old green-shingled house," Ben Salters directed.
Ranee Martin did as he was told. He was afraid for the safety of his wife and children, and he was also afraid of the gun which he thought was in Ben Salters's pocket. "Park the car on the side, over to the left behind the barn," the convict directed, speedily asserting his authority as spokesman and leader of the group. And again Ranee Martin obeyed.
"Now let's get out nice and easy and no trouble," Ben Salters warned as he ordered Eleanor to open the door and get out first. "I'm covering your wife, Mr. Martin, so don't try anything funny."
The occupants of the Buick got out, as the rain began to pelt down. Ben Salters, his hand again in his pocket, simulating the gun, urged them to the old house. "Let's go, all of you," he barked.
Ranee Martin tried the knob of the door, which swung open with a protesting squeal which indicated years of rust. The house indeed was deserted, and there was only a ramshackle couch, a broken armchair, and a little, badly scratched wooden table in what passed for the living room.
"This isn't bad. But what about grub?" Mack Bolton asked.
"Why, we'll send Mr. Martin here into the next town to bring back some supplies, that's what we'll do," Ben Salters cheerfully answered. "And of course we'll keep his wife and his kids here just in case he gets any notions about tipping off the law. Right, Mr. Martin?"
"Yes, I'll do what you want, but for God's sake, let us go soon as you can. We don't want any trouble." Ranee Martin said in a low voice.
"Okay, and you won't have any if you do your stuff. But I'll tell you this, if you come back with a squad car or the State Highway Patrol, you might as well kiss your wife and kids goodbye right now, because I'll blow their brains out," Ben Salters said viciously thrusting the hand in his pocket forward to suggest the gun again.
Ranee Martin shook his head. "I won't do that. Just give me your word you won't harm my family."
"You're a smart guy. Now get into that car and come back with plenty of grub for a couple of days, I'd say. Get a can opener now too, in case we don't find any silverware and stuff like that in this rundown place," Ben Salters directed.
Reluctantly Ranee Martin went over to his wife and kissed her, murmuring, "Don't get scared, honey. Try to keep up the children's spirits. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Oh please be careful, Ranee darling," Eleanor Martin groaned as tears came to her eyes and she hid her face in her hands. Mack Bolton, hands on hips, was studying her luscious figure, and mentally undressing her. He could hardly wait to get between those lovely thighs of hers and shag her good!