Vårcitat

May 15, 2007 :: Posted by - admin :: Category - Filmbutiken

“-Genren är…?
-Mammafilm.
-Din mamma?”
Ulf och Göran

”-Hur många har under klipparbetet insett vikten av bra ljud?
-Förlåt jag hörde inte frågan?”
Ulf och Maria

”Vi har en hemlig kartell där vi träffas en gång i månaden och snackar skit om praktikanter.”
Nicke från ledningsgruppen

Two Tickets to Alactraz

May 03, 2007 :: Posted by - admin :: Category - Filmbutiken

Jenifer Clark had been watching storm clouds blackening the sky over the Gulf waters when the disc jockey abruptly cut off a record to make a spot news an-nouncement. Jen turned from the window and leaned closer to her portable radio.

“Residents and motorists along the Florida west coast are warned,” the voice over the airwaves continued, “to be on the lookout for two men believed to be driving toward Tampa a f ter robbing a bank in Atlanta of over one hundred and ten thousand dollars. From descriptions given by witnesses, Georgia police believe the men are Frank Wales and Curly Ter-rell who escaped from an Illinois jail last week while awaiting trial for murder. Both men are heavily armed and will shoot—” Jen twisted the dial to get music from another station.

Since her WAC discharge, Jen had been living in her uncle’s bungalow on the Gulf coast. She wasn’t the least bit lonesome on the desolate stretch of beach that fringed the mysterious Everglades swampland. The nearest neighbor was half a mile dis-tant and there was no telephone.

If there had been a phone, Jen knew that every wolf in the district would have learned her number. After three years in the WAC, Jen was tired of looking at men, especially non-combat colonels. But as 23 she could pass for 19, and she hadn’t given up hope of settling down with a big, hand-some husband if Hollywood decided she wasn’t the type.

 

Glancing out the window again, Jen saw a dark shape rise and disappear in the waves. Could it be a boat? Her breath quickened and her eyes strained to get another glimpse at the thing that had dropped behind the angry waves. Sudden-ly it appeared again, and this time Jen made it out to be an open decked speed-boat. But who would be so foolhardy as to ride ahead of the storm in such a flimsy craft?

“If they come in the inlet, it’s a fifty-fifty bet they’ll be knocking at the door, asking for a lift into town. I hope they’re people I k n o w. Not that I don’t like strangers, but on a night like this, a girl who is staying alone has to be careful.”

The boat finally escaped the rough water and slipped into the inlet. Jen could make out only one person in the boat, a man at the wheel, before it disappeared be-hind the wind-bent wall of palmetto and sea grape. She glued her eyes to the path that wound through the brush from the inlet to the front of the bungalow. In less time than she’d expected, a man and a girl came running up the path.

Jen was standing in the open door when the strangers mounted the porch step s. “What were you trying to do out there—commit suicide by drowning?” she asked cheerily.

“It must’ve looked like that,” the man said, grinning at her. He was tall, gaunt-faced and needed a shave. He kept his hands in the pockets of a grease-stained jacket. Turning to the girl who had re-mained standing on the top step, he said : “Er, this is my wife. We were on our way to the Keys when this storm blew up.” “Didn’t you listen to the weather fore-cast on the radio this morning?” Jen asked him tartly. “You should have known better than to head down the coast in that cockleshell of yours in weather like this.”

“Yeah, yeah—I know,” the man seemed impatient. “We’ll leave her tied up to your slip, and spend the night in town. Er, that is, if you’ve got a car in that garage back there, and will be kind enough to drive us.”

Jen knew there was only one alterna-tive: to take them in for the night and give them breakfast before they shoved off in the morning. If they had been friends, or even just people she knew, she wouldn’t have hesitated in making the sug-gestion. But these strangers: there was something about the man’s -face she didn’t like. The way his upper lip curled back over tobacco-stained teeth. And his wife wasn’t at all friendly: she hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t looked directly at Jen.

Jen eyed the man’s wife more closely. She wore brown and white saddle oxfords, gray flannel slacks and a faded green blouse with long sleeves. Her hair was blonde, curly and cut in a very short bob. Jen spoke to her out of curiosity.

“I’ll bet you wish you had stayed home. The only place in town where you can stay overnight is a tourist court. Do you want me to drive you there now?”

The woman nodded, still without turn-ing her head toward Jen. Perhaps she was mad at her husband, Jen thought, because she hadn’t spoken a word to him, either.

“Just wait here,” Jen told them, “while I go in for my car keys.”

Jen knew all the time that the keys were in the right hand pocket of her slacks. She stepped inside the bungalow for another reason, The garage door was unlocked, but Jen took a large brass pad-lock from a table drawer and slipped it into her other pocket.

Back at the door she closed it behind her and without locking it she stepped past the man to reach the steps. The woman had anticipated Jen’s move, and was already going down the path toward the garage.

The man, a few steps behind Jen, said suddenly : “I’ll run back to the boat for my overnight bag. Be back in a couple of minutes.”

The woman ahead of her turned at the front of the garage and stepped to one side, facing away so Jen would not look at her face while opening the doors. It was that act which finally struck a spark that ignited the tinder of suspicion which Jen’s mind had been slowly gathering. But in a flash the suspicion burst into flaming fear as Jen suddenly became cer-tain that the “woman” with the short, blond bob was a man named Curly whom the disc jackey had identified as one of a pair of escaped convicts, bank robbers and killers.

Jen turned to see the other man re-turning with a small canvas kit bag. She told him : “You and your wife had better ride in the back. I don’t like to drive with three on the front seat.”

The man nodded, and stepped past Jen and into the garage. Jen followed him, but waited by the left front door while the pair climbed in the rear and closed the door. Jen was thankful that the garage wag made of concrete blocks, had no win-dows and that the garage doors were made of thick cypress planks.

Jen’s fingers closed around the brass padlock in her slacks pocket. Four swift leaps took her within reach of the door outside on her right. With a hard sweep she slammed it, then jumped across and swung the other door shut. Inside the garage a gun roared as Jen snapped the pad-lock through the iron ring of the hasp which held the doors together.

Jen ran every foot of the way to her nearest neighbor, nearly a half mile up the storm-lashed beach. Gray haired, pink faced Mrs, Stevens had the door open be-fore Jen reached the porch. “Landsakes, Jenifer! What brings you out on a night like this?” she demanded.

“Bank robbers! I caught ’emn!” Jen gasped. “Where’s Rob?”

A tall, lean fellow wearing high laced boots, whipcord breeches and a chino shirt appeared in the doorway behind his mother. He didn’t seem hurried as he fastened the buckle of his pistol belt, then pulled the Army Colt from the. holster. “I’ll drive over and get ’em and turn ’em over to the sheriff,” Rob Stevens said. “You stay here with mom,” he told Jen.

Within an hour Rob returned. He winked at his mother as he came intoi the kitchen and hung up his gun belt. He was grinning when he turned toward Jen.

“They’d just busted out of your garage when I stopped around the bend in the road. I caught ’em by surprise as they were trying to jump the ignition to make your car start. Snapped irons on their wrists, chucked their bag of bank loot into the front of my car and told ’em to kneel on the rear seat facin’ the back while I drove ’em to the sheriff’s office.

“They didn’t talk to me. Must’ve been pretty mad over bein’ caught like rabbits in a box-trap by a gal. Sheriff says FBI agents will pick ’em up in the morning. Not enough evidence against ’em on the murder charge, so the Justice Department has made a sure-fire case against ’em fer bank robbery. An’ that means us poor tax-payers will have to chip in fer their rail-road fares to Alcatraz.”

Rob’s mother raised her eyebrows. “Any reward money on ’em, Robbie ?”

“Yes, sir. It totals twelve hundred dollars. Reckon Jen can use it somehow.”

Jen drew in a sharp breath, exclaimed: “What? But r only locked them—oh ! Yes, yes ! I did catch them, didn’t I! Oh, how wonderful, wonderful !”

Jen stepped beside the young game warden, slipped her arm under his. “The rain isn’t heavy yet,” she said. “Would you mind walking home with me along the beach, Rob?”

Rob Stevens’ chest swelled out. “Can’t think of anything I’d like to do better! Let’s go, Jennie !”