with These Hands (Ss) (2002) (9 page)

"I never did like this setup," Dyer went on.

"Don't pay any attention!" Marvin snapped. "Where would you be, Dyer, if I hadn't brought you here?"

"Search me." Dyer admitted. "But not being here might be good. After all, there's just one way in and out of this yard, as you know. One way in, one way out. If they block those, we're stuck."

Then I saw something. Little things jump to your mind in a spot like that. There was a side window and the gate that led to the street looked right on it. A car was coming along that street. If it turned the corner this way, the lights would-

"Look out!" I shouted.

The car turned and the lights flashed in the window.

Nerves were tense and my yell and the sudden flash did it. I hit the floor and snaked out that snub-nosed .38.

Whit Dyer took a quick step back and tripped on the rug. Somebody yelled and I saw a leg and let go a shot at it. Then I rolled over and hit my feet, running.

I made the stairs two at a time and was halfway up before Marvin made the door. They still hadn't figured out where that sudden flash of light had come from and for all they knew the place was alive with coppers.

Dyer rolled over and tried a quick shot at me, but I snapped one back and put a hole in the floor an inch from his head. Candy Chuck steadied himself and I knew if he ever got me in his sights, I was a dead pigeon. I jumped upward and somehow got hold of the railing at the top of the stairs. I threw myself out of the way just as his bullet whipped by. Then I was running.

I had to get the girls out of there. Skating to a stop, I grabbed the knob on their door, but it was locked. One look at the door told me there wasn't time to bust it, so I fired at an angle against the lock and then with a heave the door came open.

"Quick!" I said. "This way!"

The Harley girls caught on fast. They didn't waste any time. I shoved them into the room through which I'd entered.

"Get out onto that tree," I whispered. "You've got to! If you can get down without being seen, hide in the shrubbery."

Dyer and Greer were coming up the steps. They were careful. I had that gun and they didn't know how much ammo I had. Actually, it was half empty, but I also had the .380, which was a better gun, and two extra clips for it.

Backing around the corner of the hall, I caught a glimpse of movement on the stairs and fired. Greer fell and started rolling downstairs. In the suddenly silent house, you could hear his body thump, thump, thump from step to step.

Could the shots be heard on the street? I didn't know.

But I did know the house probably had walls a foot thick.

The back stairs. The idea hit me like an axe. There would be another way up, it was that kind of house. But by this time, Blubber Dozen and his skinny friend had been relieved of their guard duty and were coming inside.

So that way was cut off.

I was on a long interior balcony from which rooms opened on two sides. The main stairway came up one side, but the railings partially cut off my view of it. I knew I had to get away somehow, but fast, before Dozen and his friend found me.

The hallway was hung with paintings and there were a lot of queer ornaments and art objects standing around.

Down beyond me was an old chest of heavy wood and against the wall an Egyptian mummy case.

You didn't need to slug me with a ball bat. I grabbed the lid of that upright mummy case and pulled it open. It was empty, and I stepped in and pulled the lid as near shut as I could and still breathe. Inside the case smelled like a dead Egyptian or something; maybe this one had been embalmed in garlic.

Someone called, "Look out, Ed! He's in the hall!"

Then Blubber Puss answered, "Must've ducked into a room. He ain't in sight."

Heavy footsteps came along, and I saw a dark shadow pass the crack I was keeping open. That was Dozen. But it was Whit Dyer's voice I heard now.

"I don't like this," Dyer muttered. "He got Greer."

"He did?" Dozen's voice spoke back. "Whit, I don't like this either. This place will be hotter than a firecracker. Let's take the geetus and blow!"

"Maybe that's the smart thing. I was thinkin', though, if Marvin gets his dough from that mouthpiece of Harley's, he figures on keeping it. I'm for knocking Marvin off and taking the jack."

Honor among thieves? Not so's you'd notice it!

They moved off and I opened the lid just a little wider.

And I stepped right into Skinny.

His jaw dropped open so far you could have put a bottle of Pepsi-Cola in edgewise, and he backed up, gulping. I guess he figured the dead was coming to life. He was so startled that I slapped his gun arm away with my left and lowered the boom on his chin with my right.

He went down like he'd been dropped off the Chrysler Tower, but his finger tightened on the trigger and a shot went off.

Somebody yelled down the line and I heard feet beating up the stairs. Those feet were coming toward me.

Grabbing up Skinny's gun, I opened up. I wasn't shooting at anything, just making the boys nervous. I let them have four rounds and then started off down the hall running full tilt. I was almost at its end when the roof seemed to fall in. I took about three steps and then passed out cold.

When I came out of it, I was lying on the floor in the library and Candy Chuck was sitting over me with a rod. I tried to move, but he had tied my hands behind me and wrapped me up with a couple of yards of clothesline. By craning my neck, I could see that Dyer, Skinny, and Dozen were also in the room.

"Don't squirm," Candy Chuck said politely. "Just rest easy." Then his face tightened and he leaned over and began slapping me. When he stopped, his face was a snarl.

"Where's the babes?" he said.

"What babes?" I asked innocently. "I thought you had 'em."

"Don't give me that," he said. "You hid them someplace.

Now give, or I'm going to see how long it'll take to burn your foot off."

He would, too.

"Don't do it," I say. "I can't stand the smell of burning flesh. Reminds me of a guy I saw get it in the hot seat, once. You should be interested in that. It won't-"

He booted me in the ribs, and it hurt.

I stopped. I had no yen to get kicked around, and there was a chance he hadn't found my .380. No normal frisk would turn it up. Yet he might kick it, and then he would find it. Those ropes weren't bothering me. I had an idea that given a few minutes alone, I could shed them like last year's blonde.

"Listen, sport," I said, and I was addressing Dyer, Skinny, and Dozen, as well as Candy Chuck. Skinny I noticed had a knot on his head where he had hit the deck, and his jaw was swollen. "Why don't you boys play it smart and drag it out of here with the dough you got?"

"Shut up," Marvin said.

His rosy plan didn't look so good now. He was sore, and he was also uneasy. The girls were gone. With the guards and all he probably figured they hadn't left the grounds but without the girls he wouldn't get the money from Houston.

"I'd take it on the lam," I repeated. Then I added, as an afterthought, "This place is filthy with telephones."

He jumped. Then he jerked erect. "Dozen, you and Palo get busy and hunt those babes! Don't stop until you find 'em. You, too, Dyer."

Dyer didn't move. "Look who's giving orders," he said.

"I'm stayin'. This guy on the floor makes sense. I like to listen."

Candy Chuck looked up, and if I had been Dyer, I wouldn't have felt good.

"All right," Candy Chuck said, "stay."

Candy Chuck Marvin was big time. You couldn't dodge that. He had been the brain behind many big jobs, and he had stayed in the clear a long time. Also, he had friends.

Whit Dyer was merely a guy with a gat, a guy who would and could kill. And he was only about half smart. When Candy Chuck softened up, I knew that Dyer didn't have long to live.

Candy Chuck Marvin had been a big operator around Chicago, St. Paul, and New York. He had connections.

Back in the days when I was slinging leather, I'd seen a lot of him. From all I knew, I figured I was the only guy who ever failed to play ball with him and got away alive. He'd ordered me to throw a fight, and I hadn't done it. Then again, I hadn't been easy to find in those days.

Marvin got up and walked over to the fireplace. There was a little kindling there, and he arranged it on the andirons. Then he calmly broke up a chair and added it to the fuel. He lit a crumpled newspaper and stuck it under the wood. Then he picked up the poker and laid it in the fire. When he put the poker there, he looked at me and grinned.

Me, I was sweating. Not because it was hot, but because I was wondering how I'd take it. You may read about people being tortured, but you never know how you'll react to getting your feet burned until it happens.

The fire was really heating things up when suddenly, I heard the door close, the sound of footsteps, and there was Hiesel, the runt lawyer. He looked at me, then at Marvin.

"Who's this, Chuck?" he said.

"A nosy guy named Morgan. He got the girls out an' hid 'em someplace." He grinned. "I'm going to warm his feet until he talks."

Hiesel's smooth, polished face tightened. He looked down at me.

"This is the man they have the call out for, Chuck. A police call out for him. You'd better get rid of him."

My eyes went to Hiesel. Get rid of me? Just like that?

Brother, I said to myself, if I get out of this I'm going to come around and ask you about that!

"And Chuck-Tarrant Houston's gone to work getting those bonds sold. He's working fast, too. He's afraid for the girls."

"He should be," Marvin answered and smiled. "We'll take care of the girls as soon as he shows with the money.

And him, too."

He licked his lips. "That older girl, Eleanor. I'd like to talk with her, in private, before anything is done."

Candy Chuck Marvin looked up. He laughed coarsely.

"Talk? I see what you mean. I'd like a private talk with her myself."

That poker was hot by now. Candy Chuck pulled it out of the fire and Ford Hiesel's face turned slightly pale. He left the room and Candy Chuck laughed, and began untying my shoe.

"I wouldn't do that," I said. "I haven't changed my socks since I started chasing you guys."

"Smart guy, huh?"

Candy Chuck's eyes were gleaming. He started to pull off my shoes when a calm, low voice interrupted.

"I wouldn't do that."

We both looked around. Eleanor Harley, her face a bit drawn, but as beautiful as that first day I'd seen her in the bar, was standing in the doorway. Candy Chuck lunged to his feet.

"Come here!" he demanded. But she turned suddenly and ducked out of sight. He ran after her.

It was my chance, and I took it. Kicking my tied feet around, I got the ropes that bound my ankles across the red-hot poker, then struggled to a sitting position and began working at my hands. The knots weren't a good job, and lying there on the floor, I had managed to get them a bit looser.

That clothesline burned nicely, and I could hear Candy Chuck Marvin banging around in a room nearby when the first rope came apart.

I kicked and squirmed, getting the other ropes loose, then managed to struggle to my feet.

Forcing my wrists as low as I could get them, I backed my hips through the circle of my arms. Then falling on my back, I got my hands in front of me by pulling my knees against my chest and shoving my feet down through my arms. Then I went to work on the knots with my teeth.

Then I heard somebody coming and looked around to see Blubber Puss. He opened his mouth to yell and I dove at him, driving my head for his stomach. He no more than had his mouth open before I hit him head down and with everything I had behind it.

He went back through the door with an oof, hitting the floor hard. Still fighting those ropes, I kept moving. They came loose as I was rounding into the passage to the back of the house, but suddenly I got an idea and my gun, out. I raced for the library again.

Grabbing up a couple of carpets, I stuffed them onto the fire. They caught hold and began to burn. Then I took another carpet and, spilling a pitcher of water they'd had for mixing drinks over it, I put it on the fire. All that smoke would make people very, very curious.

Somewhere out in the back regions of the house, I heard a girl scream. I wheeled around, and saw Whit Dyer looking at me. He had a gun in his hands and you could see the killing lust in his eyes.

My gun was ready, and I've had lots of practice with it.

Dyer jerked his up and I let go from where mine was, just squeezing the shot off. The sound of that .380 and his .45 made a concussion like a charge of dynamite in that closedin room.

I heard his bullet hit the wall behind me and saw a queer look in his face. Then, looking at the spot over his belt buckle, I squeezed off the rest of the magazine. He grabbed his middle like he'd been eating green apples and went over on the carpet, and I went out the door and into the hall.