He smiled loosely. “All in good time, Buster. When the girl is dead, then I tell you. So you'll know, just before you get it.”
“Why did you kill Orlan Koesler and Charlie Roach?”
“Forget about Koesler and Roach. You're the big target, Buster. The biggest target there is, well as I can make out from my orders.”
He pocketed the Luger, slipped over to the window and glanced out, all the time keeping the .38 aimed at Jeanie.
I said hoarsely, “Let her go, Storch. She's done nothing; she doesn't figure in this thing at all.”
He laughed. “You're stupid, Buster, but not that stupid. I told you, the girl gets it first. And she gets it now, because you had to go cute and yell cop.”
At first, I couldn't believe it. Then I saw his eyes as he leveled the pistol directly at Jeanie's head. I lurched to ray feet and almost yelled, “Storch, you'd be a fool to do it now! Those cops don't know you're here; they were planted there last night to watch the place. That was after I dumped the Plymouth and talked to the police. But pull that trigger and they'll fall on you like a brick ceiling.”
He hesitated, narrowing his small eyes until they were mere pin points. “You talk a lot, Buster.”
“I'm telling the truth. Look out there. One single cop in an unmarked sedan. Is that the kind of force they'd send to flush out Marvin Storch?”
He was tensed for the kill but still not completely decided. “There could be a hundred cops out there, hiding.”
“You think they'd try to blast you out of here like that, with two hostages and an apartment full of people? They would empty this building first, and that would cause a commotion. Tell me, Storch, have you heard any commotion?”
He studied the peacefulness of the street and tried to decide whether or not to believe me. He had a job to do, and he enjoyed killing, but not even Storch was so committed to sadism that he could ignore the urge to stay alive. He fixed his steely eyes on me and said:
“You got something on your mind, Buster?”
For a moment, I was weak with relief. “I can get you out of here, Storch. Out of this town. I know where the roadblocks are and how to get around them. I can get you a car—a hot one—and show you how...”
He was already shaking his head. “That would take a lot of doing, Buster. It would cost more than I could pay.”
I stared. “Our lives, Storch. Miss Kelly's and mine, that's all I'm asking.”
He shook his head again. “You still don't get it, Buster. You and the girl have been bought and paid for. You're both dead. All they've got to do is hold the funeral.”
“I'm offering you a chance to escape. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
He shrugged. “Sure. But I never dropped a job in my life, and I'm not going to start with this one. Because I've got a notion of my own, smart fella.”
Jeanie was still on her knees, shaking with uncontrollable sobs. The killer stepped over to her and nudged her chin up with the .38. “Shut up,” he said, “and listen to me good. You're goin' to pick up the phone and call the cops. Tell them who you are and that you think someone has been watching your apartment from the building across the street. You got that straight?”
Jeanie stared blankly. The killer hit her in the mouth with his left fist, then threw the .38 on me before I could move.
“The phone,” he repeated. “Or your boy friend gets a hot one where it hurts.”
With a little animal-like whimper, she reached for the phone and began dialing. I wanted to tell her not to do it. Storch was going to kill us, anyway, so why play into his hand by giving him everything he wanted?
The answer to that was easy. I wanted Jeanie to stay alive and I wanted to stay alive myself. It had a corny ring, but I kept telling myself while there's life there's hope. Right now, we could buy our lives from Storch by doing exactly as he said. Maybe we could drag it out another twenty or thirty minutes before he finally killed us. But twenty minutes could be longer than the Ice Age when you were staring down the barrel of a .38. A thousand things could happen in twenty minutes. A ship could sink. A war could start. Manhattan Island could be blown off the face of the map. It was even possible that I might get an idea.
I watched Jeanie as she got some police corporal by the name of Brewster and told him that someone was watching her apartment from the building across the street. Then she asked for Garnett, but Garnett wasn't there. She talked to another lieutenant who knew about the case and told the story all over again. It was a good act. Even Storch seemed to like it.
“You're learning,” the killer said when she hung up. “Now we wait.”
So we waited, but not for long. Headquarters must have radioed the message to the cop across the street. Storch parted the blinds and we could see the plainclothes man jump out of the sedan and hustle down toward the end of the block, where he must have called to his partner. Storch turned from the window, his mouth hanging open in a grin.
“That takes care of the cops.” Then, to Jeanie:
“I want a car—a good one to fit Buster's talent at the wheel. You must have a car in that string of garages behind the building. What kind?”
Jeanie blinked. “Renault. A 4CV.”
That seemed to enrage him more than anything that had happened. “I could do better with a damn pushcart.” Then he went quietly cold and glared at me.
“Get out back, Buster. Find us a heap and jump the ignition, like you did on the Plymouth.” He glanced at a flat gold watch on his hairy wrist. “You've got exactly four minutes to get things ready, then me and the girl friend will be coming out.” He pressed the muzzle of the .38 to the back of Jeanie's head. “You got it clear, Buster?”
I wanted so much to kill him that the thought made me sick. Then I looked at Jeanie, and there was something about her eyes that started a subtle, knowing vibration in the back of my mind. She had managed to push her fear aside and now she was trying to tell me something with her eyes. She was saying,Don't be afraid for me. You must do something soon, even if we die for it.
I knew that she was right. Storch was ready for the big play. With a gun at Jeanie's head and me at the wheel, he would try to crack the steel shell that Garnett had thrown up around the city. That would be the end for Jeanie and me.
The killer jammed the pistol cruelly into Jeanie's neck. “Maybe you didn't hear me, Buster.”
I looked at him, but I felt that Jeanie knew that I was speaking to her. “Four minutes. I'll have everything ready.”
Storch opened the door and shoved me out with a final warning. “Don't forget the girl friend, Buster.”
The corridor was empty, the building silent. For most apartment dwellers the day wouldn't begin for almost an hour. But when I started for the rear exit I walked on eggs, my insides floating. I kept thinking of Jeanie.
It was a little better when I hit the morning air. Three and a half minutes to go. I crossed the alley and went up the string of garages, trying doors. None of them was locked; I had my pick of the stable, so I chose a black late-model Chevy. Not flashy enough to be easily spotted, but hot enough for most purposes, the kind of car I would pick if I was a killer on the run.
All right, Coyle, what do you do now?
One thing I wasn't going to do. I wasn't going to jump the ignition. I wasn't going to budge out of that alley. Jeanie had decided for both of us—this was where we made our stand.
But how? I remembered a trick that used to be a favorite with sleight-of-hand artists and magicians— the trickster would set a table with china and crystal and silver and maybe even goblets of water, and then he'd yank the tablecloth out from under the whole business without disturbing a thing. My problem was how to pull off a deadlier version of the same trick. I knew just how they would come out of that building, Jeanie in front and Storch right behind her with a cocked pistol boring into the back of her neck. What I had to do was take Storch out of action without disturbing the sensitive firing mechanism in the pistol.
It couldn'
t be done. Not even i£ I was the slickest magician ever to pull a silk handkerchief out of his sleeve. Even if I had a gun, which I didn't have, and could shoot straight enough, which I couldn't, and the bullet hit Storch directly between the eyes, his reflexes would still squeeze the trigger and kill Jeanie. What I had to do was divide the killer's attention, but I didn't know how.
I looked around for something to fight with. There was nothing.” Time was dribbling away and panic was beginning to crawl up my back like an army of ants. I tried the lid on the Chevy trunk. It was locked. There was no time for subtle solutions; I climbed on the bumper and kicked the deck hard with my heel. I put a dent in the metal and knocked off some paint; that was all. I got up on the deck and jumped on it, hard. It put an ugly crease in the lid, but it also sprung the lock. In the trunk there was a thermos jug, a casting rod, spare tire, jack, and a lug wrench.
The lug wrench was the only thing I could use. The dog-leg shape of it made it awkward to hold, but it would have to do.
I closed the lid, then went to the front of the Chevy and poked the wrench through the grill and released the hood. The hood up, I rested the lug wrench inside on the chassis beside the carb where I hoped it would be easy to get to. Then I heard the Palmer's back door open and they came out, Jeanie in front and Storch right behind, pushing her along with the muzzle of his .38.
My throat was dry. There was a pounding in my temples, and suddenly I realized that I had been holding my breath. Storch gave Jeanie an angry shove when they reached the garage and she stumbled and almost fell against the Chevy. My every instinct yelled,Now! But he was too far away. He grabbed Jeanie's arm, twisted it behind her back and was prodding her again with the gun. Then he turned his anger on me.
“I said four minutes, Buster. You don't listen so good, do you?”
“It's almost ready,” I said. “Have you got a knife?”
“Do I look stupid?”
“I've got this wire to skin before I can make the jump.” I had both hands under the hood. He shot me a narrow, coyote look from those steely eyes. At last he released Jeanie's arm, but forced her against the side of the Chevy and held her there with his hip. Then he said, with an iciness that prickled my scalp:
“For the girl friend's sake, I hope you're not thinking of anything stupid, Buster.”
“Look, do you want this switch jumped or don't you?”
Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket with his left hand and came out with a little silver penknife. It looked ridiculous in that hairy fist; a switchblade would have seemed more natural. “Here,” he said impatiently. I took a deep breath and didn't move. His right hand, the gun hand, still held the .38 steadily at Jeanie's head.
Without looking up, I said, “Hand it down here. I've got both hands full.”
I turned my head just a little and saw Jeanie's wide, anxious eyes watching me. Then she dropped her head a fraction of an inch—a bare suggestion of a nod.
“The knife,” I said again to Storch.
Impatience and anger got the best of him. Suddenly he thrust the knife into the dark cavity under the hood. It was now or never. So I hit him with the lug wrench.
I had a choice of two targets, his left hand or his face, as he leaned toward me. I chose the face and prayed that Jeanie could twist out of the way during the split second of shock.
The killer's instinct warned him that something was wrong. Suspicion darted in his eyes as he leaned in with the knife. I made him lean as far as I could —enough, I hoped, to pull his gun hand out of line. Then I jerked with all the strength in my arms and shoulders and smashed the length of steel in his mouth.
The .38 roared. And I died a little as Jeanie went reeling back against the garage wall.
With the instincts of a wolf, Storch took a single backward step, then recovered. Quicker than it takes to think it, he had the situation pegged.
Even if he killed us, he must have known that he couldn't get away, but the knowledge seemed to bother him not at all. He was a killer. It was the one thing in the world that he was good at. And I could see that he meant to die doing the one thing he truly enjoyed.
I imagined that I could almost see him smile in anticipation as he pivoted, swinging the gun once more on Jeanie. These had been his orders. The girl first. Then me.
For an instant the scene was frozen. I saw Jeanie crashing against the garage wall. It was incredible, but there was no sign of blood. Either Storch's gun hand had been pulled out of line by his reaching with the knife, or Jeanie had twisted away at just the right second. Somehow, the slug had missed her—a fact Storch took in stride. For that frozen instant, he stood there, his loose lips thick and red like the fleshy petals of some carnivorous hothouse plant. Then, almost leisurely, he began to squeeze the trigger.
I must have gone crazy. I remember charging into the muzzle of the assassin's gun. I didn't even have the lug wrench. Somewhere in my frenzy I had lost it. With my bare hands I lunged at Storch's throat, only one thought in my mind. I was going to kill him!
These hands of mine had fought the wheels of Coopers and Maseratis. These arms and shoulders had wrestled formula cars over the toughest race courses in the country. If he didn't pull the trigger in my face, I was going to kill him.
Then, with shocking ease, he brushed me aside. I could have been a yelping pup for all the effort he used in doing it. The strength of his arm was unbelievable. His fist loomed in my face and went off like a grenade.
I was on my back on the cement floor of the garage, shocked and shamed and unable to move. I could almost hear him sneering,You'll get yours, Buster, all in good time. But this job is going to be done right.
Once again, he turned the gun on Jeanie. Explosion after explosion shattered the gray morning stillness. I was blinded with tears more bitter than gall, and still I was unable to move.
Everything went quietly mad. Jeanie was still huddled against the wall. But Storch wheeled with an abrupt, unreal grace of some nightmarish ballet. Then he jerked three times like a monkey on a string and crashed against the car.
I got a good look at the killer's face. Those small eyes burned white hot. His rugged jaw set like a bear trap, he made an almost superhuman effort to lift the .38 the inch or so he needed to kill me. He couldn't do it. That was when I saw the crimson ooze just above his left shirt pocket. Another spot appeared, red and glistening, about ten inches lower and a little to the right of his belt buckle. There was still another spot, spreading fast, this one right in the middle, bracketed in like expert artillery.
I didn't understand it. I could only stare as he began to fall. Those small hot eyes still fixed on me, he started a limp glide down the Chevy's rear fender. The .38 fell from his hand.
At last, other sounds got through to me. The sound of voices. And running. A face dark with anger was looking down at me. It belonged to Garnett.
“You all right, Coyle?”
They were just words. His eyes said what he really thought of me. He didn't care a damn whether I was all right or not. But I nodded.
Sergeant Lavy was bending over Jeanie. He turned on one knee and called, “The girl isn't hit, Lieutenant.”
I raised myself to one elbow. Then to my hands and knees. After a while, things came into uncertain focus, and I looked at Jeanie and grinned weakly. It must have been a lousy grin. I put my hand to my mouth and it came away bloody.
But we were still alive. I didn't know how it had happened, but the nightmare was over. I got to my feet and went to Jeanie.
I took her in my arms and held her. “It's all right,” I said. “It's all over.”
Sergeant Lavy shot me a look of guarded anger. “You better get her back in the apartment, Coyle, before she starts screaming. I've seen that look before.” He sighed and pocketed his revolver. “You're lucky to be alive, mister. But you just have to play it big, don't you?”
He turned and walked over to where Garnett was bending over the assassin's body. Several Palmer residents, in varying states
of shock, were trying to crowd out through the back door and a uniformed cop was trying to hold them back. Another bluecoat was trying to block the alley. Jeanie clung to me like a poor swimmer going down for the third time. At last, she said:
“I'm sorry, Buck. I can't stop shaking. I never went to pieces like this before.”
“You've never been a killer's target before. But he's dead now. It's all over.”
“I know.” But she was still trembling.
At last, she stopped trembling. She looked toward the killer's body and then away quickly. “Buck, it's a nightmare. I keep telling myself that I'll wake up any second...”
“Youare awake,” I said. “The nightmare is over.”
In the distance we could hear a siren cutting a long gash in the early morning silence. Then Garnett came over and said:
“You'd better go back to your apartment and rest a while, Miss Kelly. A doctor's on the way; he can give you something...”
Jeanie shook her head. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I'm all right now.”
Garnett gestured to one of his bluecoats. “Take Miss Kelly to her apartment and see that she's not disturbed.”
Meekly, Jeanie allowed herself to be led away. An ambulance pulled into the alley. The driver and a white-jacketed intern took one look at the body and covered it with a sheet. Garnett directed the doctor to Jeanie's apartment, then he turned to me. “How about it, Coyle? You still feel you don't need the cops?”
“I didn't have a choice. I had to do exactly as Storch said or he would have killed Jeanie.”
“Yeah,” Garnett said with heavy sarcasm. “I noticed how good you were doing, taking Storch's orders.”
He had me and he knew it. I said, “All right, Lieutenant, I was wrong. I should have come to you. But I was scared. He had a gun at Jeanie's head.” Then I thought of something that left me chilled. “How did you know where to find us? You didn't know all along, did you, that Storch was pulling the strings?”
Garnett grinned, but not pleasantly. “All I knew for sure was that you were lying about escaping from Storch. And if you were lying about that, it figured you'd be lying straight down the line. So we watched you, betting that sooner or later you'd lead us to the killer.”
The Long Vendetta Page 6
