Hostage For A Hood Read Online Free Page A

he knew she would. But Cribbins had been very careful. He could have taken her, but he didn't because he didn't want to lose Santino. He needed Santino; he couldn't risk any trouble, not before they did what they had to do.
    For a fleeting moment, Cribbins entertained the idea of taking Paula along when the gang split. But almost at once he discarded it. Paula was known to be Santino's girl and there was every chance that sooner or later Santino would be picked up. Cribbins couldn't take a chance on being saddled with anyone who might tie him in with Santino once he was free and clear.
    For a moment he thought of reaching for the telephone and giving her a ring, just to see if everything was all right at the other end. But then he quickly discarded the idea. Everything would be all right; there was no point in taking any chances. A telephone call could always be traced.
    Once more he looked down at his watch. It was time Luder was getting in touch. Almost simultaneously the telephone rang and he quickly reached for the receiver. Luder was calling exactly on the dot.
    "I've got the van, and I'm about to leave."
    Cribbins merely said "Good," and then hung up. He walked across the room to the cot on which Santino slept.
    * * * *
    Charlie Luder considered himself a family man. It was a rather odd conceit in view of the fact that Luder hadn't seen his wife or his three children in more than twenty years. Most of those years had been spent behind bars and when they'd finally let him out, Luder knew too much time had passed and that the boys were now grown up and his wife was an old woman. He made it a point not to look them up, not to let them know his address.
    But he was a man who'd always hated to be alone and so he had taken a small apartment in the upper Bronx and set up bachelor quarters. He was an old man now and it never occurred to him to seek a new woman. Instead, he adopted a cat from a neighboring butcher and then a week or so later, bought a dog of dubious ancestry from a pet shop. He worked for a while at odd jobs, making very little money and needing very little. And then Cribbins had looked him up and he'd decided to go in with him on the plan.
    That weekend he'd taken care of the things he had to take care of. First there was the truck. He bought it legitimately from a second-hand dealer, using an assumed name and giving a false address. It wasn't much of a truck, being actually a beaten-up old moving van of ancient vintage, but it would serve the purpose.
    He didn't mind giving up the apartment and he didn't bother to remove the few sticks of furniture. His personal possessions could be packed into a briefcase. It was harder saying good-by to the dog and the cat, for he was inordinately fond of both of them. That was one thing about Luder—he loved animals. Even when he went on his periodical benders he'd always remember to feed and water them.
    And so on that last Saturday when he got all through checking the place for any possible thing which left behind might point to him, he'd taken the two animals down to the Bide-A-Wee home and left them.
    He left the apartment for the last time shortly after seven on Monday morning and walked over to the parking lot where he'd left the moving truck. He wore a windbreaker and a peaked cap, and although it was a warm day his hands were protected by leather gloves.
    The truck was slow to start for a moment or so, as the motor slowly turned over, he had a quick sense of alarm. But then at last it caught and he wheeled the old five-ton van out into the street and headed for Route 1.
    He stopped at a diner in Rye and put in his phone call. Then he went back to the counter and ordered a large breakfast. He had plenty of time. Brookside was not more than a few miles up the line and he didn't want to get there too early. He was thinking how much he'd hated to part with the dog as he sipped his coffee and waited for the little dark-eyed waitress to bring the ham and scrambled