Shearing stood up. "It's worth a try. I'll stay here, and you take Doug and Janie out to check it over. Remember, we want him alive." He looked straight at me. "If possible, we would also like him without bullet holes in his leg too."
I grinned. I felt good. I had a job to do, and somebody seemed to think I could do it. Just what every kid wants to be.
Janie made the same arm signal Shearing had given back at Roger's apartment, and a little guy with hornrimmed glasses and buckteeth showed up just as we got to my car. He wasn't as ugly as you thought at first glance, but he sure wasn't any Gary Grant. He looked like a skinny little accountant who didn't get enough exercise.
As we got in, Janie said, "Paul, meet Doug. Quiet night, wasn't it?"
His voice surprised me. With the rest of him so funny-looking, I expected something unusual about that too, but it was just a voice. "Yeah, quiet. Sorry about the girl, Paul. I saw the guy run to the car, but he was on the wrong side for a shot. Nothing I could do. I would have collared him, but Alessandro come busting out, and it figured I could let him handle it. Alessandro don't know me. What now?"
As I eased the car out of the lot, Janie told him. "Paul thinks he may know where Balsinger is, and we're going to look."
"Sure beats hell out of watching your house all night. Figure it's safe to leave the chief alone in there?"
"Oh, you don't know about that, do you? Paul caught the man who ordered the grenade, and we think he was the only one on to us." Janie laughed. "And I feel sorry for anybody who wants Mr. Shearing."
We drove out 45th through Ballard. The beach house wasn't far from where the canal opened into the Sound. Like a lot of places along there, the house itself wasn't much, but the land underneath was worth more than I'd ever make in my life. We crossed over the Ballard Bridge and went on westward toward Fort Lawton. I remembered Carole used to go demonstrate in front of Fort Lawton, until the peace crowd found out the only thing there was an air defense computer. They were fooled because the Army called it a "Missile Master."
The house is on a bluff looking down at the canal. It has a view of the locks and Shilshole Marina, and you can sit on the sundeck and watch the ships come in and out. Roger used to have little parties there, and the place is so nice it was worth going to even though you had to listen to Roger. Well, worth it once in a while. Roger's friends had run to the drippy set, undergraduates and people he could impress, but he'd invite anybody he thought was respectable.
You can't drive right up to the house. There's a dirt driveway you can use when it's dry, but in Seattle that almost never happens, so you have to park at the bottom of the hill and walk up. There's a carport down there, and I took a look inside, then waved to the others.
"That's his car," I told them.
"Pretty snazzy," Janie said. "A silver TR4. I wouldn't mind having that."
"Neither would I. But maybe he got a lemon, the thing's in the shop half the time," I told her. I gave them my best sour grapes look.
"I guess you're supposed to be in charge," Janie told me, "but maybe Doug ought to organize this."
"All right by me," I said. "The house has two entrances. One is at ground level just at the end of this path. Well, almost ground level, there's a couple of steps. That leads to a living room. The other entrance is up some stairs over to the left as we face the house, and it lets you in the kitchen. There are two bedrooms on the back side with a little central hall that connects with all four rooms, and there's a daylight basement fixed up as a game room under the kitchen. Roger usually uses the right-hand bedroom. Oh, and you see the deck there. It runs right around the house on three sides."
"We'll do this simple," Doug said. "Paul, you know him, so you knock on the front door. Be ready to hit him with something hard. I'll get behind the house and go in a bedroom window while he's answering the door. Janie can cover the door on the other side. Okay?" We nodded. "Give me a few minutes to get in back."
We struggled through the mud and up the hill, and I waited for the others to reach position. Janie took her gun out, and I noted that I'd been right. She kept it in a little holster strapped low on the inside of her left thigh. You had quite a view when she drew it.
When they were all set, I rang the doorbell. Nothing happened. I rang it again, then pounded on the door.
There might have been a noise inside, and there might not. I pounded some more then I heard something around the corner to my left. I jumped down two steps and ran around the corner just in time to see Roger taking off down the hill. He'd gone out on the deck and jumped the eight feet or so to the ground. He had shoes and trousers on, and a coat, but his pajama tops were sticking out under the coat. He was carrying what looked like a briefcase.
I cocked the pistol and aimed at his legs. The gun made enough noise to wake everybody in town, but he didn't stop. Then I ran after him, hit the mud in the driveway, and went on my face. As I got up, I heard his car start.
It was fifty or sixty feet to the carport from where I was, and he was pulling out when I reached there. I had to jump to keep from being run down, and he was off.
A Barracuda doesn't have the turning radius of a true sports car, but she'll do a U-turn on most streets. I got her started and around, and couldn't see Janie and Doug, so I wound her up. Roger's little Triumph would do tricks my buggy couldn't dream of, but on the other hand the acceleration of my big 4 bbl. Detroit gas eater isn't anything to sneeze at. I was doing sixty in fifteen seconds, then braking for the sharp turn onto the asphalt.
Roger didn't have any choice as to where to go. There is only one through-street from where he was to the rest of the city, and it doesn't wind much. My car isn't as good as his, but I knew I was a better driver than Roger. He'd once tried to take his then-current Singer around the track at Shelton after a race, and spun out twice. He'd be more careful than me. I was pushing a hundred in half a minute, and damn glad for the Formula S package. Those Blue Streak tires are advertised as the best road holding jobs made for a production car, and I'll give the Goodyear people a testimonial any day they ask for it.
By the time I reached any turnoffs, I could see him ahead of me. He had distinctive taillights, and it was a relief to see I hadn't lost him. Then I poured it on, and began catching up.
The road twists down the side of Magnolia Bluff after you get away from the fort, and his car had all the advantages there, with its low center of gravity and quick steering, but he was cornering sloppily. When he missed a shift, I thought I had him, but that beautiful piece of mechanism saved it for him. We shot across the valley and down the causeway, and there we were, on a freeway stretch that runs to the Ballard Bridge. Just short of the bridge, he cut off to the right and headed along the base of Queen Anne Hill, and I closed up to forty feet or so of him. The problem was, what to do now. I didn't trust my shooting, and at that speed if I hit him anywhere he'd be dead anyway. In a few minutes, the police were going to get into the act, and since I was in the tail car, they might stop me and not him. I figured to try a stunt you see in movies, but nobody in his right mind would do, namely cut him off and force him over. Roger always was chicken, and maybe he hadn't been putting on such an act. I hoped not, anyway, because if he just held straight we'd both be meat.
We tore down the hill past Seattle Pacific College, and I kept edging up to try it. Whenever I'd get close, he'd get enough guts to floor it and swing across the road, forcing me back and about then my nerve would give just enough, and he'd be off again. We played tag all down that hill, then around a wide sweeping curve and up to the approach to the Fremont Bridge. I thought he was going past it and up Queen Anne Hill, but when he'd almost passed the bridge he threw that little bug sharp left and drifted a nice turn.
There wasn't any time for calculation. He'd be away from me if he got across while I had to turn around. I didn't give it any thought, I just twisted the wheel, slammed the brake enough to break loose, and brought that beautiful transmission into second. Then it was a question of which wo
uld happen first, the wheels having traction or the car going sideways through the bridge railing. When I gained control again I had some more reasons to be thankful for the tires, not to mention the positraction rear end. Detroit does make some good machinery, even if the stylists get in the way of the engineers once in a while.
Roger blew it when he was across. He turned up a dead end. I didn't figure he knew that's what it was, but the street leads to some dirt under the Aurora high bridge, and nothing else. The Barracuda had lost some ground in that turning duel, putting me forty or fifty yards behind Roger when I lost sight of him, but at the speed we were making that wouldn't be much time. He was out of sight for maybe twenty seconds. Then I saw the TR coming to a stop under the bridge.
His car looked empty. There wasn't any place he could have gone to, but I didn't see him. I got out and ran over to the Triumph, and when I looked around it for him, I heard him behind me.
"Drop it, and stand still, Paul," he said. I turned to face where I heard him, but I couldn't see a thing. He was outside the pool of light coming down from the street lamps on the bridge sixty feet above us, while I was right in it.
"Drop it, Paul. I won't tell you again." There wasn't much to get behind. It seemed like a hell of a thing to do after chasing him that far, but what else was there? I let the hammer down on the pistol and tossed it out in front of me.
He was lying in the dirt just outside the light. I didn't see him until he got up, and from where he was he could have hit me six times before I had a chance. He must have dived out over the top of his little bug and let it roll on, counting on the slight incline to stop it. That way he ended up behind where I thought he'd be. Well, short of letting him get away, I didn't see what else I could have done.
"Okay, what now?" I asked him. I could figure he didn't want any noise if he could help it, and if he got close enough I might have a chance.
"Now we take a walk. In case you're trying to make plans, I'd better tell you something. I don't think I can get out of this, but you're all I have right now. Before they kill me, I'll make sure you're dead. If they don't get me, you might get out of this alive. It's a slim hope, but it's all you have."
"Yeah, Roger. Come down to it, neither one of us has a chance. They'll turn the city over looking for you."
"Enough talking. Stand right over there while I get something. If you look this way I'll shoot you. I'm afraid of you, Paul, and I don't intend to let you get me." He went over toward his car. There was enough of an edge to his voice that I didn't want to test him. The little bastard was cornered, and I didn't know what he'd do. I was more worried about him getting away than what he'd do to me. That wasn't courage, it was just that I couldn't get used to thinking of Roger as anything more than a boob.
He got his briefcase or whatever it was out of the car, and switched off the lights of both vehicles. "Now walk. That way." He motioned me off to the right, toward the University District. "Just walk," he told me. "I'll tell you where to turn. Keep your hands where I can see them, and remember, if you give somebody a signal I'll shoot you first and worry about them later."
We headed east and south toward the old gasworks. He could shoot off a cannon there and nobody would pay any attention. I tried to get him talking on the way, but he growled at me to shut up or he'd crack me across the head, and it seemed he might mean it. We walked about a mile, and the sky was starting to get gray when we reached the little cove next to the gasworks. There are houseboats there. It was also where I kept Witch of Endor.
"You see, Paul, you are going to help me. You're going to take me up the Sound and out toward the ocean. They may be watching my boat, but I'll bet they won't be looking for yours. Now get aboard."
Once on Witch, he made me strip to the skin. While I spread-eagled myself on the double berth, he went through my clothes and took everything out of my pockets. Then he let me dress again. It was getting light fast by the time all this was over.
"Get moving. Come on, get this damn boat headed out," he said. There was that same desperate quality in his voice. The guy was about to give up and before he did he'd shoot.
Once I got the boat moving he went below. "Sit where I can see you. When we get to the locks, you say one word and both you and the tender are finished. The only way you can help them get me is to kill yourself. It's all up to you."
He put the gun down and started messing with the stove to make coffee. By the time I could get close to him, he could have picked the thing up and shot off the full string so there wasn't any point in trying. I had another plan in mind anyway, so I acted cooperative. We motored down the lake.
The Fremont Bridge opened at my signal, and I looked up at where we'd been not long before. The canal was too deep to see our cars. By the time we got through the bridge, the coffee was ready. Roger poured me a cup, but he kept it until it got lukewarm before he'd give it to me. Hell, I wouldn't have thrown it at him. I needed the coffee just to stay awake.
As we came into the locks he gave his spiel again. "Remember, one word to the tender and you both get it. Maybe you don't care about you, but think of his wife and kids. And here—leave this where I can see it until you give it to him." He handed me a lock paper. He must have found mine in the cabin and filled one out while I was drinking the coffee. There went the plan I'd had.
It took forever to get through that damn lock. The tender was friendly and cheerful, chatted about the weather, which was going to be good for sailing up the Sound, and with Roger sitting down there, nervous as hell, that was the last thing I needed. When I went forward to fix up the bow line, Roger came out into the cockpit and handed the tender the lock paper. I hadn't had a chance to mark it.
"Sure going to be a beautiful day for a cruise," the tender told us. "You boys are headed for Victoria, eh? That's a nice trip. Wish I could head out on a Monday morning. Mind the weather tonight, hear there's going to be a blow." He cast the line off. "Good luck," he shouted after us. Roger got back in the cabin when I took the tiller, and we headed off into the Sound.
We motored on out and headed north. I was about to pass out at the tiller, and told Roger that he might as well get it done with, because I wasn't going to steer any more.
"Oh, that's all right, Paul. I could use some company. You just sit up against the cabin there and I'll take it. I don't know much about sailing, but with a motor anybody can hold a tiller. I'll wake you up when the wind comes up."
"How in hell did you get in this racket?" I asked him. "I thought you were too smart for this crap. You can't possibly believe in it as some kind of cause, you never believed in a cause in your life." I settled myself against the aft side of the cabin and tried to get comfortable, while he took the tiller. He put his gun in his belt after I was well sprawled out. The cockpit is better than six feet long, which was a long way to jump from a prone position.
"You ought to have joined yourself, Paul. You could be a big man. When they told me they might be able to recruit you, I knew better than to swallow that line about how you were beginning to believe, but I thought you'd be smart enough to see the advantages. I even had it in mind to make you my second in command. I liked you, Paul. You didn't slap me around, and you even stood up for me when somebody else did. Why'd you have to go and ruin everything?"
I gave him a sick grin. "I didn't know it was you, you know. Maybe I'd have been more interested if I had. I thought those losers were running the show. No point in getting in on an operation where you have to be a true believer to get ahead. How'd you manage that?"
"It's easy to make those guys believe anything. You'd be surprised how many there are like me in the movement. But I was different. Most of them were scared of what they were doing. I'm a realist. If something had to be done, I did it. It didn't take long for them to realize how valuable I could be. There aren't many in the state more important to them than I am."
"Yeah, I found that out," I told him. "You can still be a big man, you know. Think about it. If you join up with us, you c
an show how to catch everybody in the state. After that's done, maybe they'll send you overseas. The only thing against you that would stand up in court would be holding a gun on me right now, and that's easy to take care of. What could they convict you of?"
"Come off it, Paul. You think I don't know what happens to people like me? Courts, huh. You know damn well I'd be more likely to end up in the Sound with an anchor around my feet and my belly slit open so I wouldn't float. Maybe there would have been a chance, but not now. You'd kill me yourself to get even for Carole if you could."
He startled me. "Carole? John Murray had Carole killed. He did it on his own. What did you have to do with that?"
"You didn't know? John ordered it done, but he couldn't give an order like that without my permission. He told me all about how she was in love with you, and how you felt about the dope racket, and how she was beginning to think there was something besides film in those cans. So I let him go ahead with it. When I looked out the window and saw it was you knocking on the door, I thought you knew and were there to kill me. Weren't you? What were you doing there, anyway? Didn't Murray talk?"
Red Heroin Page 14
