The Kidnapper by Robert Bloch Page B

kid.
    Things were okay. I walked back down and took the Olds out, driving to where Specs was parked.
    “All set,” I said. “You know what to do.”
    “Anybody see you get the car?”
    “Hell, no. There’s nobody out there. I told you that.”
    “Steve, I’m nervous.” He wasn’t handing me any news bulletin. I could see he was jumpy as a cat on hot bricks.
    “Well, don’t be. You do just like you’re told and we’ll have no trouble. You want to go over it again with me once more, just to make sure?”
    “All right. We drive back to town. I take route sixteen and you take the county trunk. I park down the alley half a block south of the school, going in from the street side, at three o’clock.”
    “Sharp,” I said. “They get out an hour earlier, on account of this is the last day. Make sure you get in there, and keep that motor running.”
    “What about cops?”
    “I already told you. The cop on that beat goes to the north corner to direct traffic when school lets out. He won’t bother you. And there’s no warehouse outlet or anything in the alley. It’s safe.”
    “But just suppose there’s a truck in there or something?”
    “Suppose, my hinder,” I said. “There won’t be. You go into the alley. And then what?”
    “Then Mary comes along with the kid. I open the door. She pretends she’s scared. Then I say for her to jump in the back seat with the kid or I’ll let her have it. And I point the gun.”
    “You don’t point the gun. You just show the gun. Remember, this is all for the kid’s benefit, in case she talks. She’ll say Mary had to get in because you had a gun. But don’t wave it around so’s anyone could see it in case they pass the alley.”
    “I get it.”
    “And make sure you’ve got your hat on, and your glasses off.”
    “That’ll be tough, driving without glasses.”
    “It’ll be a lot tougher if you wear them, and they check up on you. Remember, you only got a minute where she’ll see you—and a kid four years old, she won’t be able to identify you very good. If you follow orders.”
    “Yeah, Steve. I know.”
    “All right, what do you do then?”
    “Then I take out the sap and hit Mary.”
    I nodded. “And for Christ’s sake, remember you’re only pretending you hit her. It’s for the kid, that’s the reason.”
    “I will, Steve. And then I take this rope and tie the kid’s hands.”
    “Like hell you do. First, the blindfold.”
    “Oh, sure, the blindfold first. Then I tie her hands and put her down in the back seat next to Mary. And I drive two blocks and turn right in the second alley we come to. That’s where you’re waiting.”
    “Right. I switch them to my car there, and you drive away.”
    “Suppose somebody sees us there?”
    “Nobody will. I tell you, there’s a blank wall on three sides where we’ll be. And this loading platform space isn’t used because the warehouse is closed.” I grinned at him. “Stop worrying, Specs. This is a lot easier than working. But keep going. Then what do you do?”
    “You give me the ransom note. And we put in the kid’s handkerchief and hair ribbon, if she’s wearing any.”
    “Right. Here’s the note now.”
    I showed it to him. Dime-store paper and envelope, special delivery stamp, and this big rubber stamp lettering.
MR AND MRS WARREN
    GOT YOUR KID. SHE IS ALL RIGHT. BUT IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE HER ALIVE ANY MORE DONT CALL THE POLICE. GET $200,000 CASH READY IN TENS AND TWENTIES AND DONT MARK THE BILLS EITHER. THEN WAIT FOR A PHONE CALL. WILL TELL YOU WHERE TO BRING THE MONEY BUT NO FUNNY STUFF. OR ELSE YOUR KID WILL GET HURT.
    That’s all it said, and I figured it was enough. “You catch on?” I asked. “I don’t say ‘I’ or ‘we’ in the note, so they can’t be sure how many people are mixed up in this. They ought to get this before tonight, and that’ll give them plenty of time to start worrying. By Monday morning, old Raymond E. Warren’ll be out rounding up the