Why Pick On ME?

by James Hadley Chase

  As he spoke there came a crack of a revolver and a bullet skimmed past his face, raising a blue weal on his cheek.

  “You may not want it,” Corridon said, “but you’re damn well going to get it.”

  Rawlins swerved to one side and dashed forward into the vast, dark hall of the department. He took cover behind one of the counters.

  Corridon joined him

  “Now then, young woman,” Rawlins shouted into the darkness, “this won’t get you anywhere. Better give yourself up. We don’t want to hurt you.”

  Corridon grinned.

  “Save your breath. If you get within her reach it’ll be you who’ll get hurt,” he said. “She’s as strong as a horse.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Rawlins said, and began to move along the length of the counter.

  Corridon let him go. He knew how dangerous Kara would be once she was cornered, and he wasn’t taking any risks. Gun in hand, he looked into the gloom, faintly lit by the distant street lights. He thought he saw a movement near the wrecked Buick. His hand groped along the top of the counter until his fingers closed on a glass jar. He picked it up and heaved it towards the shadowy figure he half imagined was crouching near the Buick. He heard a gasp, then a flash of gunfire greeted the arrival of the jar, and a bullet zipped unpleasantly close to his head. He caught a glimpse of Kara as she broke cover and sprinted down the long aisle, lined on either side by glass-topped counters.

  “There she goes!” he shouted to Rawlins, and leaving his hiding place, he went after her.

  At the end of the aisle she whirled round and took a snap shot at him, but he was ready for that move. As she turned, he dropped on hands and knees, and fired at her before she could alter aim. She swerved and made a dive round the corner and pelted down yet another aisle.

  “Don’t hurt her!” Rawlins shouted as he came thundering down the aisle after Corridon.

  Corridon didn’t wait for him but continued the chase. He saw her run into another vest hall that appeared to be full of shadowy figures. He paused at the entrance and peered into the dim darkness. The figures he could see were dummies, displaying women’s dresser, and he realized at once the danger of going in there where any of the figures could be Kara. He edged back and waited for Rawlins to join him.

  Rawlins came up, breathing heavily.

  “She’s in there somewhere,” Corridon whispered. “Better not go in. Without a light she could pick us off like sitting rabbits.”

  Rawlins looked into the department and grimaced.

  “My men must be in position by now. She can’t get away. I’ll get the light turned on.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so damned cocky,” Corridon said. “You keep telling me she won’t get away, but you haven’t caught her yet.”

  “And she hasn’t got away yet,” Rawlins said. “Wait here and keep an eye on her. I’ll get the lights on.”

  He went away, moving with surprising speed for a man of his bulk. Corridon peered into the department. Nothing moved and he heard no sound. It was an eerie experience to look into this dim, vast hall, peopled by shadowy figures, and not to know which of them was Kara. He knew as soon as the lights went on she would try to shoot her way clear. She would be as vicious and as dangerous as a trapped vixen. If he could only catch her before the lights went on, he might save a number of lives.

  He studied the room. To his right was an aisle, leading away into darkness. To his left was a raised dais on which stood a number of dummies. In front of him was an open space, and then another dais displaying more dummies. She could be anywhere, he thought.

  He decided to take the risk, and began to move slowly and silently into the hall.

  Once clear of the entrance, he paused, his heart banging against his ribs with excitement. Somewhere in the store he could hear the faint sound of voices, and now and then a distant shout. He guessed the police were searching for the main switches. Time was running out. He took two more cautious steps forward, then paused once again to listen. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him, but before he could turn, cold fingers gripped the back of his neck and a hard knee was driven into his spine. He stumbled forward, dropping his gun. A solid weight drove him to the floor, and fingers like steel dug into his throat.

  III

  Corridon heaved himself up on his knees with Kara clinging to him, her fingers squeezing into his flesh, throttling him. He reached up, groping for her head, but she leaned away, snarling like a wild cat, and increased the pressure. He knew in a moment or so he would black-out, and then he would be at her mercy. He threw himself backwards, going limp at the same time. His massive weight was too much for Kara to hold and as they crashed to the floor together, her fingers were wrenched from his throat. He squirmed round as she rolled clear of him, and as she got to her feet, his legs shot out, imprisoning one of hers. He exerted pressure, swung sideways and brought her down on top of him. She clubbed him with her fists about the head, hitting like a sledge-hammer. He threw her off, but she was on her feet before he could get to his knees. Her foot shot out, and the toe of her shoe caught him on the side of his head, stunning him. Not knowing what he was doing, he rolled towards her, smothering a second kick. His arms groped for her legs, grabbed them and brought her down on top of him again. Again she clubbed him about the head, but this time he managed to catch her with a swing right-hand punch that sent her away from him.

  The lights suddenly went on. Both scrambled to their feet. Her hand went to her hip-pocket as Corridon launched himself at her. She had her gun out as they went down in a kicking, struggling heap to the floor again. He tried to catch her wrist, but the gun came down on top of his head, knocking him silly. His hands slid off her as Rawlins and a constable came rushing in.

  Kara rolled clear, swung up the gun and fired at the constable as he blundered towards her. He fell sideways, upsetting Rawlins, bringing him down on his hands and knees.

  Kara was on her feet now, and as Rawlins scrambled up, expecting a bullet to smash into him, but not hesitating, he saw her dart away down the long aisle that led to yet another vast hall.

  Corridon got up slowly, shaking his head, still dazed. Rawlins was bending over the constable. Corridon didn’t wait. He set off, staggering slightly after Kara, and was in time to see her make a dart for a staircase. He arrived at the foot of the stairs as she reached the first landing. He went after her. When she was halfway up the stairs, she suddenly paused, leaned over the banisters and fired at him. But she was breathless and too hasty and the bullet went wide. Corridon levelled his gun, but she pulled back and continued up the stairs before he could get a shot at her. He went on after her.

  Rawlins, followed by three flat-capped policemen, came pounding up behind him. They reached the landing as Corridon was halfway up the second flight of stairs.

  When Kara reached the fourth floor, she again paused to lean over the banisters, but this time Corridon was ready for her, and he got in the first shot. But he was too breathless and unsteady to aim straight and she jerked back out of sight and he heard her continuing up to the fifth floor. Panting, he followed, and by putting on a burst of speed he was in time to see her pull open a swing door and disappear into the furniture department.

  He reached the door and paused to look into the brilliantly lit department. This was even more dangerous, for here she had unlimited cover. Wardrobes, chests of drawers, tall, heavy sideboards obscured his view. She had stopped running and taken cover. He made no attempt to enter the department, knowing she could pick him off the moment she caught sight of him. He waited for Rawlins and the three policemen to join him.

  A few seconds later they came panting up the stairs.

  “Don’t go blundering in there,” Corridon said. “She’ll have the door covered.”

  Rawlins took out his handkerchief and mopped his streaming face. The run up the five flights of stairs had completely winded him.

  “There’s no exit to this department,” a police sergeant said. “I’ve had
a look at the plan of the building.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Corridon said, and grinned. “But if she can’t get out, we can’t get in. What are you going to do?”

  “Hang on a moment while I get my breath,” Rawlins panted.

  “Playing hide-and-seek amongst all that furniture won’t be much fun,” Corridon said, edging once more to the swing doors and peering cautiously into the hall. “We’d better turn the lights off again or we won’t even get past the door.”

  Rawlins nodded.

  “Jackson, you go down to the switches. Get the lights off, then wait three minutes and turn them on again,” he said, still struggling to get his breath.

  “I’m scared she’ll find a phone in there and warn Homer,” Corridon said as one of the policemen ran off down the stairs. “There’s certain to be a phone somewhere in the department.”

  “I thought of that,” Rawlins said, continuing to mop his face. “I have a man on the switchboard. Unless there’s a phone in there with an outside line, she won’t get a call through.”

  They listened to Jackson pounding down flight after flight of stairs.

  “I wish he’d buck up,” Corridon said, and again peered cautiously through the glass doors. “By the way, any news of Ritchie?”

  “He’s all right, sir,” the sergeant said. “Just a flesh wound. The fellow in the spectacles has a broken arm, but the young bloke’s dead.”

  Corridon grunted. He glanced at his wrist-watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. He had over an hour before he kept his rendezvous with Ames.

  The lights suddenly went out.

  “Right,” Rawlins said. “Careful how you go. Once in, spread out and take cover.”

  While he was speaking, Corridon pushed open the door, and crouching, moved quickly into the darkness. He made for a heavy oak chest he had spotted before the light went out, and reaching it, he knelt behind it waiting for the lights to go on again. He heard the police taking up their positions. The minutes dragged by; then up went the lights.

  Corridon peered cautiously around the chest, spotted Rawlins standing behind a wardrobe also peering at the forest of furniture. There was no sign of Kara, nor any suspicious movement.

  They waited, knowing that as soon as they showed themselves she would shoot. It was a nervy situation, but Rawlins wasn’t going to remain doing nothing for long. He moved out from behind his cover and made a swift dart to a sideboard behind which he sheltered.

  “Hey, you!” he called. “You’d better give up! You can’t get away.”

  Corridon grinned. Rawlins didn’t know Kara. Corridon knew she wouldn’t give up. Crouching, he moved out into the aisle, his gun thrust forward. Halfway down the long aisle he spotted a movement and flung himself sideways behind a chest of drawers as Kara’s gun cracked. She nearly got him. The bullet knicked the heel of his shoe.

  He remained under cover as he caught a glimpse of the police sergeant, his face set, working his way cautiously from one piece of furniture to another along the wall, making for the end of the room. Another policeman was moving in the same direction on the opposite side. Slowly and cautiously they were drawing the net tighter.

  There was a sudden shout and Corridon jumped up to see Kara out in the open, sprinting the length of the aisle. He jerked up his gun, but Rawlins sprang forward and grabbed his wrist.

  “I’m taking her alive,” he said, pulling Corridon’s arm down.

  “You hope,” Corridon said, watching Kara as she darted into a room at the end of the aisle. The door slammed, and they heard a bolt shoot home. Across the door in gold letters was the word: Buyer, and beneath, Travellers seen by appointment only.

  “You’re growing soft,” Corridon said, twisting away from Rawlins. “You can bet there’s a telephone in there!”

  He made a dive for the door and his shoulder crashed against it. Behind the door a gun went off, and a bullet tore through the panel, missing him by inches. He jumped back as the gun banged again.

  “Look out!” Rawlins said unnecessarily.

  Corridon swung round and ran to a window. Throwing it open, he leaned out. There was a narrow ledge that would afford a precarious foothold to the window of the office Kara was in.

  “Hammer on the door to attract her attention,” he said to Rawlins. “I’ll go this way and see if I can grab her.”

  “Hey! Wait a minute. I’ll do that job,” Rawlins said, but Corridon had swung himself through the window onto the ledge. Holding his gun in his right hand and leaning his back against the face of the building, he began to edge along the narrow ledge, aware of the street some hundred feet below. He heard the police rapping on the door with a stick. Four more cautious steps brought him to the window.

  Kara was standing at a desk, her back to him, spinning the dial of the telephone. Her gun lay on the desk.

  He couldn’t bring himself to shoot her down in cold blood, but he knew she had to be stopped at once. He turned sideways, crouched and threw himself against the window pane. With a crash of breaking glass he fell into the room.

  Kara dropped the telephone, grabbed at her gun as Corridon kicked her legs from under her. He flung himself on her as Rawlins’ heavy shoulder slammed against the door.

  Kara fought like a wild cat, clawing at Corridon’s face. He used his weight to overpower her, but it was as much as he could do to pin her to the floor. The door burst open and Rawlins, followed by the policemen came.

  They grabbed Kara, pulled Corridon away from her and snapped on handcuffs. As they backed her against the wall, Corridon gently replaced the telephone receiver.

  “You dirty traitor,” Kara screamed at him, struggling to break the policemen’s hold. “I told them you weren’t to be trusted!”

  “All right.” Rawlins said curtly. “Get her out of here.”

  As they dragged her out, she spat at Corridon, her eyes twin explosions of rage and hatred.

  IV

  “I’ve got to get moving,” Corridon said.

  He was standing on the edge of the kerb. The police car taking Kara to the station had just driven away. Rawlins, puffing contentedly at a cigarette, stood by his side.

  “Ritchie knows what to do,” Corridon went on. “By now the news of his death should be in every newspaper office. I hope they’ll make a big splash. It’s got to be convincing.”

  “It will,” Rawlins said. “What’s your next move?”

  “I’m meeting Ames and we’ll go back to Baintrees. I’m hoping they’ll make me a full member, and with any luck I’ll find out who’s behind the racket. Once I know that, it’ll be simple to put a stop to it.”

  Rawlins eyed him thoughtfully.

  “You don’t seem to be getting much out of this,” he said. “Not like you. I thought you only worked for big money.”

  Corridon’s face was deceptively innocent.

  “I’m patriotic,” he said, and closed one eye. “Besides, there might be a bit of money to pick up if I’m lucky.”

  “Talking about money, you owe me a bob,” Rawlins said, and held out a huge, hairy hand.

  “Don’t spend it all at once,” Corridon said, handing over the coin. “Well, I’m off. Keep that Howard girl away from Baintrees. It’s dangerous.”

  Rawlins flicked the shilling into the air and caught it.

  “She can look after herself,” he said. “She takes after Ritchie.”

  “So it seems. All the same, don’t let her get too enterprising. Give my love to Ritchie.”

  Corridon moved off into the darkness, leaving a big crowd gaping at the shattered window of the store while police tried vainly to move them on.

  The time was half-past eleven. He walked quickly into the park and made his way towards Marble Arch Gate. Reluctantly he had left the Smith and Wesson with Rawlins, knowing if Ames found it on him, it would arouse his suspicions.

  As he approached Marble Arch Gate, he kept a lookout for Ames’ Humber. He spotted it, drawn up in the shadows, a few yards from the gate. A
mes was standing beside it, a cigarette burning in his fingers. As soon as he caught sight of Corridon, he waved to him and got into the car. Corridon joined him.

  “Where are the others?” Ames demanded. His face was set and hard, and Corridon guessed the long wait had tired his nerves.

  “Mac and Chicho are either dead or captured,” Corridon said. “I don’t know what’s happened to Kara.”

  “And Ritchie?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Ames swivelled round in his seat to stare at Corridon.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Corridon said curtly. “Chicho shot him through the head.”

  “What happened?”

  Corridon leaned forward to catch the light from a lamp standard to see his wrist-watch. It was two minutes to midnight.

  “We were lucky to get away with it,” he said. “Ritchie had a couple of armed guards. Don’t ask me why. He never had them during the war. Chicho’s first shot killed him. Then the two guards opened up. They got him and Mac. I scooted out of the telephone box. They fired after me, and nearly had me. Kara drove off without waiting for me. I had a hell of a job shaking them off.”

  Ames looked at his watch.

  “Twelve. Shall we wait any longer?”

  Corridon shook his head.

  “No. If she’s got away, she’ll be back at Baintrees by now. Let’s go.”

  Ames put his hand on Corridon’s knee.

  “Gook work,” he said. “You won’t find us ungrateful. From now on, you’re a full member and you can go where you please.”

  “Just so long as I collect the second five hundred,” Corridon said carelessly. “Let’s get going. I could do with a drink.”

  As Ames drove towards Shepherd’s Bush, Corridon wondered a little uneasily what was happening to Kara.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I

  Corridon sat in the full glare of Homer’s desk lamp. Behind the lamp, half-hidden in the shadows, Homer and Diestl watched him while Ames moved restlessly backwards and forwards at the far end of the room.