The Kidnapper by Robert Bloch

safely. And return the kid, safely. And I’ve got both those deals figured out just as careful as all the rest. So stop worrying.”
    “I just can’t help—”
    “Quit talking. You and I got better things to do.” I reached for her. “It’s been a week hasn’t it? A week since you and I—”
    After, I said, “That’s only a sample, baby. Wait until I get you all to myself down there on one of those moonlight beaches, with the palm trees and the stars and everything. You can lay out there all night, every night, listening to the waves pound and watch the moon come up over the water.”
    “It sounds heavenly.”
    “It will be.” I poked her. “Come on, get up. We’re going for a ride.”
    “In what?”
    “Come and see.”
    I took her outside and showed her the car. Women are funny. I guess it was the car that sold her more than anything. She couldn’t get over it.
    “We’ll get another one down South, too,” I told her. “A convertible. Just stick with me, kid. We’re going places.”
    “Yes, Steve. Yes.”
    That’s the kind of talk I wanted to hear from her. And that night I got the same answers from Specs.
    I took him out after work and told him the setup. With him I went into details—how I planned on getting the money, how we’d arrange for a getaway after the heat cooled down. None of this moonlight on the beach baloney for Specs. He had to feel sure that he could depend on me, that I knew what I was doing. And most of all, that it was safe.
    “But what if they see me driving the car?” he asked. “With the girl in it and the kid?”
    “Nobody’ll be looking for you that soon. And I told you, they’ll be down inside the back, nobody’ll spot them. Besides, you’re going back to work at five.”
    “That’s going to be awful, keeping on working.”
    “It’s the best part of the whole deal, for you,” I said. “Who in hell would ever connect you up with this kidnapping in the first place? You’re doing the same as you always have. Work every night. You won’t even have to come out to the place, except to get your cut of the dough when the time comes. Then, in about a month or so, you feel like quitting, you quit. You can join us down South, someplace. We’ll figure it out. But the whole thing is like taking candy from a baby.”
    “How about you? They’ll notice you’re gone from the shop.”
    “No they won’t, Specs. Because I’m leaving tomorrow night, two weeks ahead of time. And I’m not quitting, either. I’m getting fired.”
    And that’s the way it happened.
    The next night, Tuesday, I stalled around until maybe seven o’clock. I’d been busy most of the afternoon, anyway, locating the people who owned this cottage. I found them, too—rented it for two weeks starting June fifteenth. For my wife and myself, for our vacation. And I found out that the next one down the line wasn’t rented until July first. Plenty of time.
    Then I ate and drifted in around seven.
    Cutrelli was waiting for me, just like I figured he would be.
    “Now what’s the story, Collins? You get another attack of the flu?”
    “Well, I wasn’t feeling so hot, tell the truth.”
    I stood up close to him, so he could smell the two drinks I’d taken on purpose across the street just before I came in.
    “Truth, my foot. You’ve been drinking.”
    “Just one, for the cold I got.” I swayed a little.
    “Collins, you’re drunk! I’m getting fed up with this stuff. We’re loaded with jobs as it is, and you keep turning up missing.”
    “You don’t have to holler at me.”
    “Holler at you? I got a good notion to can you.”
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Yeah. You might as well check out right now.”
    “All right. To hell with you.” I walked away. “But first I got something else to settle.”
    I walked back into the shop and he followed me. I went over to Specs. He looked up, because he knew what was coming—I’d coached him in advance.
    “Look,” I said. “This sorehead here just gave