Free 1963 - One Bright Summer Morning by James Hadley Chase Page A

about some dough now?” he asked. “We're down to our last dollar.”
    “You'll find a hundred bucks in there,” Kramer said, waving to the envelope that Riff held in his hand. “That'll hold you. Moe will give you more when you meet. He'll also have a car for you.” The small, hard eyes shifted to Chita. “Now, get down to the bar and remember if you foul this up, you'll have me as well as the Feds to reckon with!”
    The Cranes went out, leaving Kramer and Moe together.
     
    * * *
     
    On Thursday night, Riff Crane drove on his motorcycle from Pitt City towards Boston Creek. Some fifteen miles along the highway, he turned off on to a dirt road and drove a further fifteen miles until he arrived at the five-barred gate that guarded the entrance to Wastelands.
    It was a warm, moonlit night. Riff pulled up outside the gate and sat for some moments peering up the long drive that he had been told by Moe led to the ranch house.
    Riff was wearing his black leather uniform together with a pair of heavy goggles that half hid his face. He was sweating and uneasy. This was his first major job and he knew the consequences if the job turned sour. He and Chita had talked and talked about the job during the past seven days. They were both mesmerized by the thought of laying their hands on ten thousand dollars, but at the same time, they both realized they would be risking their lives. This wasn't their usual small-time, petty thieving: this was suddenly big-time, and the payoff, if the
    job turned sour, would be their finish. Both agreed after endless discussion that the gamble was justified. A character like Kramer, old as he was, wouldn't stick his neck out unless he was sure the job would work.
    So Riff was now committed. In another nine hours, Chita would also be committed. Then there would be no turning back for either of them. The job had to succeed!
    He opened the gate and wheeled his machine on to the grass verge. Moe had told him to walk the machine up to the house. Riff walked very cautiously, his eyes probing ahead. He had no stomach for a sudden encounter with an Alsatian dog. He had come provided with a lump of poisoned meat, but he knew if the dog saw him before it saw the meat, he would be the one to suffer.
    It took him over an hour before he saw the ranch house in the moonlight, and by then sweat was streaming off him. He lowered his machine on to the grass and then moving rapidly, he approached the house.
    He was lucky. He saw the dog before the dog either saw or smelt his approach. Riff dropped flat. The dog was standing upwind, looking away into the darkness. It was some fifty yards from the ranch house and by the way the dog stood, its ears cocked forward, Riff guessed it sensed pending trouble.
    He took the meat from the plastic bag and gauged the distance, then with a quick overarm throw, he tossed the meat towards the dog. It was a good throw: the meat landed within a few feet of the dog. It whirled around, looking in Riff's direction, but Riff had already flattened in the sand, sure he would be invisible in his black uniform. He lay there, sweating, his face buried in his arms, wondering if the dog was bounding towards him and knowing it would be fatal to make the slightest movement.
    He lay like that for a long, heart-thumping five minutes, then very slowly, he raised his head. He saw the black shape of the dog lying on its side. He stared, waited, then as there was no movement, he got slowly to his feet. He approached cautiously.
    Ten minutes later, using a trenching tool he had brought with him, he had completed the burial of the dog. He spent some minutes smoothing down the sand, and then satisfied no one could tell where the dog was buried, he returned for his motorcycle.
    He wheeled the machine towards the outbuildings. Leaving it behind the garage, he paused to take stock of his surroundings.
    Moe had supplied him with a detailed plan of the house and the outbuildings. He quickly identified the staff