The Wicked Go to Hell (5 page)

The man who could not speak sat up and rubbed his skull. His head was spinning. He staggered out of his cell and stared uncomprehendingly at the dozens of hands which were being brandished through the bars on both sides of the corridor. At the far end of the central walkway two men were lying on the floor… One was starting to get up but the other was dead. A large red pool was spreading under him.

The mute walked through the double row of waving hands. Behind the hands were faces, wild faces, with mouths which kept opening. He did not understand. To him, there was only silence, as usual—cold, frightening silence. It was all beyond him; it was happening in another world, from which he was separated by a wall of thick glass.

The uninjured warder drew his revolver and waved it at him. The deaf mute continued to advance. He also saw the warder’s mouth open but he did not understand the words at all. There was a burst of flame at the end of the barrel and he suddenly felt as if a warm sheet had been thrown over him, enveloping him completely… It was a good feeling. A wave of weakness took his legs from beneath him. He fell on his knees. Above him, the forest of hands continued to flap in the air. His head whirled… He fell at an angle across the corridor and died understanding nothing.

A hail of bullets raised a cloud of dust under Hal’s feet. He looked at Frank, who was high-tailing it in front of him. Another
two metres and they would be out of sight of the machine gun, for the prison gate was recessed into the wall.

He put on a tremendous spurt, kicking hard to overcome his own weight. Then they’d made it! At least for the moment. Gasping for breath he leant against the gate and looked around. Nothing moved in the courtyard. All there was in the whole world was the chatter of the machine gun, which went on firing blind, and the wail of the siren that sounded the alarm.

The duty guard was standing at the door of the gatehouse. He’d seen them coming and one absurd detail turned the drama of the scene into farce: he couldn’t get his gun out of his holster. The mechanism which held the cover shut had jammed and the little sliding catch would not budge. The man’s panic was doubtless partly responsible.

“Come on, come on!” snarled Frank. “Pull your finger out and open up!”

The guard abandoned his uncooperative holster. He made a jittery movement as if one of his senior officers had been watching him.

“Move it!” growled Hal. “If this gate isn’t open in ten seconds, you’re dead meat!…”

The man unhooked a massive key from his belt.

The wail of the siren and the rattle of the machine gun had cut the festivities short. Or, more accurately, they had scattered the festive crowd. The wide esplanade which ran from the prison down to the port was deserted when the two fugitives emerged onto it.

To encourage the travelling-show people to return to their caravans and discourage heroics, Frank loosed off a shot in the general direction of the now petrified fairground. A merry-go-round went on turning to the sound of faltering music… His bullet ended up in a lottery wheel, which was sent spinning. It made an eerie whirring noise.

“What number did you put your money on?” asked Hal with a laugh.

But it wasn’t really a laugh, more a savage bark. Freedom had unnerved him.

He led the way at a run, his head well down as if he were expecting to get hit by a bullet. But the machine gun suddenly stopped firing. The guard manning it must have just realized the pointlessness of shooing at nothing.

Hal took a quick look back over his shoulder.

“Here they come!” he cried. “Get going!…”

Uniformed guards were emerging at the top of the esplanade.

If it hadn’t been for the travelling fair, the two escaped prisoners would not have got ten paces across the space, which offered no cover. They would have been mown down as surely as if they had been facing a firing squad. But the rides and stands through which they sprinted acted as a series of providential screens.

They came out onto the quayside of the small port, where a few pleasure boats bobbed up and down next to the fishing vessels.

Frank spotted a small motorboat. It was like a floating spar to a drowning man—unless, that is, its engine were seized up. He took a quick look behind him. Everything seemed normal.

He jumped nimbly into it.

Hal followed him. The boat rocked.

“Any idea of how we can get this thing going?” asked Hal as he held his sides trying to catch his breath.

“Leave it to me. I’ve driven one of these before.”

Frank was calmer than his companion. His hands were not shaking and Hal felt something like admiration for him.

“Come on! Come on!” he said, quivering with impatience.

“Knock it off! Keep your damn trap shut!” said Frank savagely.

He tried to start the motor. It spluttered damply.

“Hurry it up, for God’s sake!” said Hal, who was now almost weeping. “They’re coming! Talk about sitting ducks! We can’t fight—there’s too many of them!”

Four prison guards appeared. Three were holding revolvers and stopped to open fire. But they were too far away to hit anything.

The fourth had a tommy gun crooked under one arm. He at least had realized that to bring down the fugitives he had to be within range.

He shouted to his colleagues to stop wasting bullets and ran onto the jetty.

Frank swore and turned the engine over for the third time. It caught. He opened the throttle.

Suddenly the launch was speeding over the water.

Frank had his back turned to the port. Hal, on the other hand, was sitting in the bow and saw the guard with the tommy gun get into position.

“Get down!” he yelled to Frank.

Frank turned instinctively to look behind him. A furious salvo came from the quayside. Bullets thudded into the wooden
stern of the boat. Frank gave a cry and raised one hand to his head. When he lowered it, Hal was horrified to see that his comrade had a terrible wound to the forehead, just above the bridge of his nose. Blood was pouring out of it. Frank’s face was already completely red with it.

But he did not seem to be in any pain. He went on holding the wheel.

There was a second volley of bullets but they dropped harmlessly behind them, cutting a furrow in the water.

“Hell’s teeth!” muttered Frank. “What’s happened to me, Hal?… I can’t see a damned thing!… I felt like something hit me and…”

Hal stared at the wound without saying a word. He wondered how Frank could still speak and move with a hole like that in the lower part of his forehead.

“It was a bullet. It grazed you as you turned round,” he said.

“Are you crazy? A bullet!… I’d be dead if I had taken a bullet in the forehead!”

Hal leant forward to get a closer look at the wound.

“It got you on the slant. It’s nicked a chunk out of the bone at the top of your nose. You were lucky.”

Some obscure instinct warned him that they were in great danger. He turned and saw that the boat was heading directly towards the breakwater of the port. Another ten metres and they would smash into the reinforced-concrete sea wall.

Hal threw himself on the steering wheel and turned it hard. The boat almost flipped over. It fishtailed violently and the bow dipped so savagely that the propeller emerged from the water for a moment and, encountering no resistance,
revolved with a tormented screech. The boat lurched agonizingly several times and shaved the breakwater so closely that it scraped its right side.

“What’s happening?” asked Frank, who had almost been thrown overboard. “What’s got into you?”

“What’s got into me is that we damn near crashed into the breakwater.”

“I can’t see zilch,” growled Frank.

“That’s because your eyes are covered with blood. Come on, move over so I can take the wheel.”

“Where are the screws now?” asked Frank.

“Standing on the far side of the port… they’re all arriving in a hurry but they can kiss goodbye to the idea of catching us now.”

Frank was using his sleeve to staunch the blood which was pouring down his face.

“Is there a motor launch in the harbour?” he asked. “If there is, we’ve had it.”

Hal looked.

“Can’t see one,” he said. “Anyway, if there was you can bet your boots they’d be aboard it already!”

“True…”

The quayside was now black with people.

The crowd was watching them the way people watch a sensational spectacle.

“We got a full house,” said Hal. “Dammit, the swine think they’re at the circus!”

He glanced at Frank, who was leaning forward with his head on his sleeve, which had now turned completely red.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Pretty bad, thanks… It burns like there was a red-hot poker on it and I’ve got shooting pains in my head.”

“Hang on, I’ll wash it with seawater in a while… The salt will help to sterilize it.”

The engine was running smoothly and the port was dropping away behind them. Hal looked all round him. The sea was grey and calm, turning bluish as it neared the horizon. It was warm and the sun’s rays fell gently on the surface of the water.

Coming hard on the heels of the narrow confines of the cell, this vastness unnerved him.

“What do we do next?” he asked.

“Where are we?” groaned Frank. “Don’t head out to sea, whatever you do. We’ll never reach America in this tub!”

“So?” asked Hal.

“Are we being followed?”

“Not for the moment…”

“Good… Turn in a wide arc and head back towards the coast… A quarter of an hour from now there’ll be police launches on our tail… And customs, the whole tribe… We get to the coast and we lie low. Shame I got hit…”

“It won’t be problem,” said Hal without conviction.

And so saying he took a look at Frank’s forehead, which was lathered with purplish froth.

“You’ll run out of juice,” said Frank.

“Think so?”

“You’d better believe it!… Can’t you hear it misfiring?… Change course now, because if we don’t we’ll find ourselves adrift on this cockleshell boat.”

Hal peered at the coast, which was now close. It was almost dark and the sea was turning choppy. Not far away was a line of steep, high cliffs.

“The coast,” he said. “We’re almost there, but I’m wondering where we can land.”

Suddenly he went quiet.

Anxiously, Frank asked:

“What’s the matter?”

“I can see lights.”

“Are they moving?”

“No… It’s a house… The windows are lit.”

“Fine. Try to land near there.”

Hal obeyed. He saw a kind of small harbour where a sailing boat and a motor launch were lying at anchor.

It was a private harbour belonging to a very large property.

He described the lie of the land to his companion. Oddly enough, after Frank had got hit, he seemed to Hal to have become more experienced and capable than he had been before. It was now to this blind man that he instinctively looked to lead them wherever their crazy caper might take them.

“Take her in gently,” said Frank. “We’ll hole up in the grounds of this mansion… Perhaps we’ll find some clothes and maybe something to eat.”

“Do you believe in miracles?” said Hal sarcastically.

“There are times when you have to…”

Suddenly the engine cut out.

“Did you turn off the petrol supply?”

“No,” said Hal, “she died a natural death. No more juice.”

“Are we far from land?”

“We’re there!”

“OK. Help me to get out.”

With great difficulty they eventually got back on dry land.

“Now, give the boat a good shove!…” said Frank. “It don’t matter where she goes… The tide’s going out and it’ll take her God only knows where and that suits us fine.”

Without warning he gave a hiccup and collapsed onto the sand.

“What’s up with you?” said Hal.

But Frank was gasping for breath and could not answer.

Hal took off the coat of his prison fatigues and used it as a canvas bucket to fetch seawater, which he splashed gently on his comrade’s face. The salt made Frank’s wound sting and he groaned:

“Stop, you’re hurting me… Everything’s gone all blurry; it’s a God-awful feeling… Maybe I’m going to snuff it, what do you think, Hal?”

Hal wrapped his wet coat over Frank’s forehead.

“Don’t be a dope. The damage to your nose is something or nothing. Give it three days and it will have all healed up.”

“Where will we be in three days?”

“Stop making a fuss. Where would the charm of life be if you kept worrying about the future?”

He stood up and looked around him. They were on the edge of a spinney of stunted trees. Through the spinney wound a sandy path that led to the house.

It was an imposing building, in the English style.

Hal hesitated.

He had to do something. With a wounded man in tow and every police force in France snapping at their heels the situation looked dire.

He made up his mind: “Listen, I’m going to leave you in a safe spot and go and see what I can find…”

“What exactly?” asked Frank.

“Anything. We’ve got nothing, so whatever I can get hold of we may be able to use.”

“I know what you’re going to do,” said Frank.

“Then you know more than I do.”

“You’re going to leave me here, you bastard! Because I’m no use to you! You’re going to beat it all by yourself—this is your big chance…”

Hal took his hand. His thumb felt his comrade’s pulse: it was racing.

“Get a grip,” he said. “Look, if I wanted to run out on you, I’d tell you. Wait for me and don’t make a noise…”

He grabbed him round the waist and chivvied rather than helped him to move under the low branches of a tree.

“I’ll be back, OK?”

He walked off in the direction of the house. The nearer he got the more clearly he could make out snatches of music,
loud voices and laughter… There was clearly a reception being held that evening in the house by the sea.

“This,” thought Hal, “must be my lucky day. When people are having fun, they don’t pay as much attention to what’s going on around them!”

He prowled around the building. Open windows allowed him to see into a huge drawing room full of people, all in evening dress.

He went all round the house, locating the usual offices and outbuildings. He found the servants’ hall. The door was open and there was no one inside. A table groaned with trays, each laden with a heap of good things: canapés, sandwiches and an assortment of other appetizers. Bottles of champagne and whisky were cooling in tubs filled with ice.

He hesitated, then flattened himself against the wall, just outside the door. His whole body was tense. Just as he was about to step inside, a door opened and a servant in a white jacket walked in, carrying dirty glasses. He deposited them in a sink for washing up, picked up a full tray and went out again.

Hal rushed in almost immediately on the heels of the man. He seized a bottle of whisky, grabbed two sandwiches and ran back out into the night. He was pleased with himself and happy with his haul. Without waiting, he bit into one of the sandwiches.

Treading quietly, he started walking back to the spot in the grounds where he had left Frank. He got a fright when he saw a white-clad figure standing in front of his comrade.

Frank was half-kneeling and holding out one hand to the woman while he stammered in a helpless voice:

“Is that you, Hal?”

Hal saw that the figure was a young woman in evening dress. It seemed most likely that she had come out for a breath of fresh air.

Frank’s low groans must have attracted her attention as she strolled. Insofar as the light of the moon allowed Hal to make out, she was blonde and young, with a good figure and pretty face.

Frank persisted, though he did not dare raise his voice:

“Hello? Is that you, Hal? Is there anyone there?”

Hal gently placed the barrel of his revolver against the low-cut back of the young woman’s dress.

“Yes, Frank, there’s someone here,” he said softly.

She gave a cry and turned round.

Her eyes went from Hal’s hard-set face down to the gun he was pointing at her at arm’s length.

“Keep your mouth shut,” he murmured. “There are three bullets left in this gun and they could do some damage.”

The woman kept her mouth shut. She seemed more surprised than afraid.

“Who is it?” asked Frank.

“A nurse,” said Hal.

The young woman was breathing with difficulty.

“Are you the two men who escaped? The ones the radio was talking about earlier?” she asked.

“I think you could say that,” said Hal. “Unless there’s been an outbreak of escaping today.”

“What is—”

He cut her short with a gesture made all the more persuasive by the gun he was still holding.

“Be quiet! I ask the questions. When you’ve got one of these in your hand, you’re entitled to do the talking… Who are you?”

“I own this place…”

He looked at her then gave an unpleasant laugh.

“My little chum here has been in the wars. A bullet wound low on his forehead. I think it should be disinfected right away and that he should be given a shot of quinine. Now, I’m betting there’s a well-stocked medicine cabinet in your bathroom?”

“There is.”

“Let’s go and see!”

“Hal! You’re crazy!” Frank said with a groan. “We’ll get killed if we set foot in there!”

“Don’t worry about it—the lady knows her way around the place. If she wants to save her skin—and her skin is much too pretty for her not to care about it—everything will be just fine.

“Will you do it?” he asked her.

“Follow me,” she said.

Hal hooked one of Frank’s arms over his shoulder to support his faltering steps.

“Wait!” he said. “I found a bottle of whisky—it’s good stuff! Get some of it down you; it’ll put lead in your pencil.”

Frank sucked greedily from the bottle.

“You quaffed that like it was lemonade,” said Hal admiringly.

“It does a power of good,” muttered Frank.

They followed the woman as far as the servants’ hall. When they reached the door through which Hal had entered, they waited while the same waiter came in and left.

“Let’s go!” said Hal.

All three passed through the room and reached some back stairs, which took them up to the floor above. The woman led the way.

She was not afraid. Hal, who could now see her in the light, could not help liking what he saw. He thought she had class.

They entered a luxurious bedroom. Hal closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock.

“Ah!” he said. “If you only knew how good it feels to be in civilized surroundings again. Sit on the bed, Frank, it’s just in front of you!”

Frank sat down. The woman went into the bathroom and they heard her opening the sliding door of a medicine cabinet.

She returned with several small glass bottles and some gauze.

“Give!” said Hal. “I’ll fix him up.”

“I’ll do it better than you can,” the young blonde woman said firmly.

“Oh? Well, go ahead then.”

She began by disinfecting the wound, then blew a puff of a sulfamide-based powder over it. Finally, she bandaged it very tightly.

“I’ll be damned!” muttered Hal. “You’re good at this! It’s your Red Cross lady side showing, am I right?”

She just gave a shrug, which raised Hal’s sensitive hackles.

“Oh, suit yourself!”

She returned to her medicine cabinet, dropped two pills in a glass of water and came back.

“Drink this!” she told Frank, putting the glass in his hand.

Frank hesitated.

“Is it all right, Hal?” he asked helplessly.

“Don’t be a clown!” joked Hal. “Listen, this lady here isn’t the sort of hostess that slips a wounded soldier a dose of rat poison!”

He stood up, crossed to a wardrobe and opened it. He gave a cry of delight.

“Talk about a land of plenty!” he said. “There’s everything here you need to dress up as Prince Charming. You’d never think there were men who owned so many clothes.”

He took out a blue serge suit.

“About my size. The trousers aren’t quite the ticket, but I only have to let them down as far as they’ll go. And shirts, Frank! Silk too! Makes you feel like you’re the Duke of Windsor when you see a wardrobe like this!”

He chose a suit for his friend and helped him into it.

“Listen, lady, if you’re shy just turn round,” he said.

But the woman did not budge. She watched as the men undressed with muted, if slightly suspect curiosity.

“Like that, is it?” smiled Hal. “If it gives you a kick we’ve got no objection to you getting your money’s worth!”

Once Frank had changed, Hal undressed and pulled on a pair of trousers and a turtleneck sweater. But it was a bit tight. To get his arm into the sleeve he had to put the revolver down. It was then that he understood why the blonde had not turned round and looked the other way. Quick as a flash, she lunged and snatched the gun. Then with a steady hand she pointed it at Hal.

“Aha!” he said, as his face dropped. “Seems like things are getting complicated.”

“What’s going on?” asked Frank, who sensed that something was wrong.

“The lady’s just grabbed the shooter.”

“You dumb bastard!” said Frank.

“Language!” said Hal. “That sort of talk isn’t fit for a lady’s ears!”

“Don’t move!” said the woman.

She seemed to be thinking and watched them in an odd way, as if she were in two minds.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

The two men froze. The blonde smiled. She crossed to the door and reached for the knob, but then had second thoughts and asked:

“Who is it?”

A polite voice murmured:

“It’s Julien, Madame. The master has sent me up to ask if you would care to come downstairs. Madame’s guests are getting anxious…”

She hesitated again: it was probably the painful sight of Frank’s face which decided the fate of both men.

Without taking his eyes off her, Hal picked up the second sandwich, which he had put on the marble mantelpiece, and took a bite.

“Tell my husband that I’ll be down very shortly,” she said.

The servant mumbled a hasty “Very good, Madame” and went away.

The woman tossed the gun onto the counterpane.

“Get out. And be quick about it.”

“Is this your week for doing good works?” asked Frank.

“No. My birthday… Make the most of it… Go before I have second thoughts… Women are always changing their minds: everyone knows that.”

Hal hurriedly snatched back the revolver and slipped it into his belt.

“Come on, Frank,” he said, “and say thank you to the kind lady… It’s thanks to the Good Lord himself that she crossed our Goddam path!”

Taking the wounded man’s arm again, he stepped out into the corridor, but not before giving the young woman an eloquent look.