I had already taken a step in that direction when I saw the burning bar. Beside it was an oxygen tank, and I didn’t even have to weigh the choice. A burning bar is a 6-foot long, inch-and-a-half-in-diameter pipe with special incendiary packing. When used with pure oxygen under pressure, it produces a flame of fantastic temperature. A burning bar will slice through feet of reinforced concrete as easily as lightning passes through copper wire. Such a tool would be quicker, quieter, and safer than dynamite.
But not lighter.
It would take more time and effort to get the equipment to the road, but I felt it was worth it. I turned off the light and went to work. I muscled the oxygen tank up into my arms and carried it outside. I set it down while I closed the door of the shed. The tank was really heavy. I alternately lugged and dragged it across the yielding sand and left it in the ditch beside the truck. My mouth was dry, my breathing was heavy, and my body was soaked with perspiration under the heavy work clothes. Candy’s boots were half-filled with loose sand and felt like lead weights on my feet.
I was still gasping for breath when I reached the shed again. Inside I picked up the bar, much lighter since it was only a hollow metal tube, and turned to leave. I hadn’t turned on the light the second time because I knew where the bar was, but the darkness was split by a flashlight beam that caught me full in the face. “W’at you do here, hah?” a suspicious voice said harshly.
I couldn’t see the man behind the flashlight, but I could see a hand in a light blue windbreaker sleeve holding a four-foot section of half-inch reinforcing rod. This time the watchman had shaved ten minutes on his round. When I didn’t answer, the steel rod moved up and then down in an arc aimed at my head.
There was no time to draw my gun. Instinctively, I countered with the burning bar in my hands. The rod hit the bar, slid off, and came down like a whip across my left shoulder. I could hear my own grunt of pain as I staggered against the door frame. The flashlight had shifted, and I couldn’t see the steel rod, but I knew it must be on the way again. I swung the bar sideways in desperation and felt it hit something solid.
Flashlight, steel rod, and watchman hit the floor of the shed with three separate, identifiable thuds. The flashlight didn’t go out even after its jarring fall, and in its beam I could see the watchman’s face on the floor. He was out cold. I balanced myself precariously against the door frame, dizzy with pain, trying to keep from blacking out.
Finally I made myself move. I jerked the unconscious watchman out of his jacket, which I ripped into strips. I tied his hands in back of him, tied his ankles, and then tied his hands to his ankles in back of him. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile. The flashlight beam was aimed at a lightweight hand truck that was probably the best method of transportation for the oxygen tank anywhere except in the surrounding loose sand.
I picked up the burning bar again and took hold of one of the twin handles of the hand truck. I dragged the whole business out to the roadside and the truck. Before opening the truck’s back doors, I swung my left arm in circles to prevent the shoulder from tightening up. It wasn’t only my recent labor that had my forehead beaded with sweat.
I loaded the loot into the truck. The oxygen tank almost did me in when its weight pulled at my left shoulder. No cars came along the road during the loading process. I climbed under the wheel again and headed for Candy’s apartment, driving with my right hand, remembering to stay on the left hand side of the road.
I parked in the rear of the building and walked around front to the massage parlor entrance. I didn’t have to knock; Chen Yi opened the door. Hazel was right behind her. “You were gone so long,” she said anxiously. “Did — ” She interrupted herself when she saw my face. “What happened?”
“I’ve got everything I need,” I said.
Chen Yi’s eyes were upon me as I moved inside. “What is the matter with your shoulder?” she asked.
“I scuffed it up getting the material. Run upstairs and call Hurricane Ronnie and tell him we go tonight.”
The Chinese girl approached me and ran her hands lightly over my sore shoulder. Despite the delicacy of her touch I couldn’t avoid flinching when she reached the throbbing tender spot. “I think it’s more than that,” she declared. “Take your shirt off and stretch out on one of my tables, and I will see what I can do for it when I return.” She disappeared through the door leading upstairs to the apartment.
“It’s not necessary,” I protested to Hazel.
“You do what she says,” Hazel scolded me. “Here, let me unbutton your shirt.”
I was still fending Hazel off when Chen Yi returned. “He will be there as agreed upon,” she said.
“That’s the best news I’ve had tonight,” I sighed.
“Take your shirt off,” Chen Yi directed.
“It won’t really be lame until tomorrow,” I told her. “It’s just stiffening a bit now.”
“You may need every possible bit of freedom of movement tonight,” the Chinese girl said gravely.
“She’s right,” Hazel chimed in.
They advanced upon me in tandem. Together they relieved me of shirt, holster, and undershirt, then stood by while I climbed onto one of Chen Yi’s massage tables. Naked to the waist I stretched out on my back while she worked liniment of some kind onto her hands and then spread it onto my shoulder and upper arm and began working it deep beneath the surface.
At first it hurt like hell, but then a soothing warmth began to spread through the shoulder. Hazel was standing on the other side of the table from Chen Yi. “Don’t you think you should postpone the attempt until tomorrow night?” she asked.
“No,” I said. The tied-up watchman was added inducement not to postpone the job for another twenty-four hours. And I’ve found when the critical point in a project is reached, postponement always seems to be the start of an unraveling process in even the best-laid plans. “I’ll go while I’ve got the momentum.” A chill little breeze started at my beltline and ran up my back. “Do you have a window open in here?” I asked Chen Yi.
“No,” she said. Her strong, skillful fingers were probing ever more deeply into flesh and tissue. “Does the shoulder feel better? You are really going to have a livid bruise.”
“It feels a lot better,” I said truthfully. “My only concern now is about the seagoing end of the expedition.”
“You can depend upon Hurricane Ronnie,” Chen Yi said tranquilly. “When he says he will tie up at pier nine next to the oil company wharf at 1:30 tonight, he will be there.”
Hazel looked fidgety standing there. “How about making me a cup of coffee?” I asked. I wanted to give her something to do.
“Right away,” she said. She walked around the massage table and passed through the curtain hanging over the booth entrance. There was the sound of a collision and a breathless squeal. Two voices spoke simultaneously.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry!” Hazel exclaimed.
“I’m here for my regular massage,” the other feminine voice said huskily, “but if Chen Yi is busy — ”
The curtain was parted again.
Flaxen blond hair surrounding a beautiful face with an English, schoolgirl complexion was thrust into the booth. Two bright blue eyes examined me curiously in the instant before Chen Yi flung a sheet over me.
“Oh, you’re busy,” the newcomer said. “I’ll come back later.”
The curtain fell again.
I felt paralyzed. The beautiful face belonged to Hermione, my erstwhile partner that first brandy-fogged night at Candy’s.
Hermione, who intimately knew my chest scars, which she had just seen again.
Hermione, who had turned Candy in to her syndicate boy friend, resulting in Candy’s hospitalization.
Hermione, who could be expected to do no less for me.
Hermione, who had just overheard that I would be rendezvousing with Hurricane Ronnie on pier nine at 1:30 A.M. tonight.
TEN
I BOLTED from the table with a lunge
that set my shoulder to throbbing all over again. “Stop her, Hazel!” I shouted at the same instant I heard a slamming door.
I burst through the booth doorway and ran into Chen Yi standing just beyond the concealing curtain. Hazel was at the front door, peering up the street. “She’s gone,” she said. “Was it important? I don’t see her. Should I go after her?”
“It will do no good,” Chen Yi said. “Her boy friend lives somewhere near here.” Her tone was bitter. “Why didn’t I remember that Candy had given her a key?”
“Never mind,” I said, struggling into my undershirt. “We just move up the timing of the operation, that’s all. Chen Yi, run upstairs and get word to Hurricane Ronnie to get started now.”
“Do you think Hermione overheard about the boat?” Chen Yi asked quietly, already on her way to the door leading upstairs.
“We won’t worry about it.” Chen Yi disappeared. I hoped my voice carried conviction. I wasn’t feeling too confident at the moment.
Hazel closed the massage parlor front door and came over to me. “What will you do now, Earl?”
“What I planned to do, except we’ll move it up two hours.” I couldn’t leave Hazel and Chen Yi here by themselves now that Hermione was sure to start syndicate henchmen moving in the direction of Candy’s place. “Tell Chen Yi I said you should both change into something warm. We’ll all be leaving here together.” One of the very minor problems confronting me afterward would be what to do with Chen Yi.
“But will you be able to — ”
“Move!” I blazed at Hazel. “If Hermione’s boy friend lives close by, we haven’t much time!” Hazel trotted through the doorway which led to the upstairs apartment.
I was three-quarters of the way into Candy’s work clothes again when I realized I didn’t want them. Hermione could describe them for one thing. And for the job at the back of the jail I had something better upstairs, the black sports outfit Hazel had purchased for me in Miami.
I drew my .38 and checked its action a couple of times. Then I removed the beret and work gloves from pockets of the work clothes before pulling the clothes off. I bundled everything under my arm and carried it up the stairway. I really had to lean on the bell before Hazel opened the door. “Chen Yi can’t get hold of Hurricane Ronnie at the marina,” she said.
“Tell her to stop trying and get dressed,” I said. “It’s not important.” I tried to say it as though I believed it. “We’ll just have to kill a little time until he shows up.”
I went into our bedroom and opened dresser drawers until I found the black sportshirt and slacks. I strapped on my shoulder holster over the sportshirt, then did a couple of deep knee bends to make sure there was no binding. I was ready to go when Hazel and Chen Yi entered the bedroom. Both were dressed in dark, snugly fitting trousers and high-necked coolie jackets of quilted material secured down the front by decorative frogs. I was pleased to see that both wore shoulderbags which left their hands and arms free.
Hazel had her hair skinned tightly to her head, held in place by a silk scarf knotted into a headband. Chen Yi had on some kind of form-fitting, wrap-around headgear that contained her long black hair. Both wore flat, thick-soled Chinese slippers that enabled them to move almost noiselessly. They looked villainous enough to be Chinese river pirates.
Chen Yi removed a dark green windbreaker from her arm and handed it to me. “Put on this jacket of Candy’s,” she said. “It will be chilly on the water.”
If we make the water, I thought to myself, but I took the jacket. “You two go downstairs and around to the back and get the truck started,” I said, handing Hazel the keys. “Don’t use too much choke. I’ll be right there.”
They left the bedroom. I slipped into the windbreaker and zipped it up. Then I experimented with high and low zipper levels while I practiced drawing the .38 until I was sure I had complete freedom of movement.
When I was satisfied, I stuffed the work gloves into a hip pocket, pulled on the beret again, and started downstairs after the women. Two-thirds of the way down to the ground floor level, I froze. A harsh masculine voice was yelling something inside the massage parlor. I drew the .38 again and crept down the remainder of the stairway and tiptoed to the open door.
Hazel and Chen Yi were standing slightly apart, each confronted by a man. Both men held guns. “Hell, this one’s a broad, too,” the man in front of Hazel was saying disgustedly. He was a stocky type with dark jowls. “What do we do now, Leo?”
“Where is he?” the dapperly dressed Leo snarled menacingly at Chen Yi. Both men had on white Panama hats. Hazel was closest to me and in my line of fire. I knew that anything less than an outright kill and these two would cut down on the two women. “All right, Cisco,” Leo continued when Chen Yi remained silent. “Give this one about three raps in the teeth with the butt of your gun.”
The stocky Cisco started past Hazel toward Chen Yi, his right arm already drawing back. I saw Hazel’s right hand snake into her opened shoulderbag and emerge swathed in a handkerchief, and I knew what was coming. The unsuspecting Cisco walked right into Hazel’s roundhouse swing.
She unloaded the roll of nickels in her clenched fist alongside his jaw so hard his hat popped off his head. He lurched into a silly, sideways stagger as his gun clattered to the floor. He hit the wall and caromed from it, then slid to the floor and sprawled there unconscious.
Leo had turned his head at the sound of the SPLAAAAT! of Hazel’s wallop landing. Before I could move, Chen Yi had clamped both hands on the dapper gunman and swung him clear of the floor completely above her head. She had discarded her slippers and was barefoot. Leo yelled hoarsely as Chen Yi slammed him down so violently that he bounced. His white hat rolled away. Chen Yi leaned down and slapped the gun from his limp hand, kicked him in the throat, then stamped twice on his Adam’s apple with her heel, crushing it beneath her weight.
It all happened so fast one of the white hats was still rolling on the floor when I came out of my trance and sprinted into the room. Hazel was blowing on her knuckles. Chen Yi was stepping into her slippers again. “You two kind of make a guy feel like a fifth wheel,” I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
I ripped down a cubicle curtain and tore it into strips to serve as tie cords. If I’d been alone, I’d have put a bullet into each man on the floor, but I couldn’t see the women doing life for a murder rap if we didn’t make it all the way. I tossed the strips to Hazel, and she knelt quickly and began tying up her victim as deftly as a calf roped for branding.
“You will not need to tie this one,” Chen Yi said. She wasn’t even breathing hard. There was a strong note of satisfaction in her voice. “He was the worst in what they did to Candy.”
A closer look at Leo indicated what she meant. The least that had happened to that formerly dapper individual under Chen Yi’s lethal footwork was a badly damaged larynx and voice box. He wouldn’t be making a sound for a long time, if ever.
I gagged Cisco with a strip of curtain material, then herded the women outside. The syndicate rat pack was sure to have reinforcements on the way. We rounded the building and crowded into the truck’s front seat. “What will you do now?” Hazel asked in a hushed voice.
“What I planned,” I repeated. Psychologically, once an operation is initiated, its outcome should never be questioned. Lay it out and follow it through is the basic rule. Improvise only when you find a need for it.
The panel truck started up with a jerk as I headed for Cartwright Street. This time I remembered to keep to the left-hand lane. The equipment in the back of the truck began to rattle as we hit a few potholes in the side streets I drove on to avoid the main intersections.
Hazel twisted around in the front seat to peer into the body of the paneled rear. “What’s that thing that looks like a length of steel tubing?” she wanted to know.
“That’s a burning bar. It’s what will spring Karl.” There was a dull thud as the heavy oxygen tank hit the floor of the truck after a bounce. “And that�
��s a tank of oxygen to fire up the bar.”
“A left turn here will eliminate a main street,” Chen Yi interposed. Her voice was composed. The Chinese girl had a lot of mustard in her system.
I turned left, then nudged Hazel with my elbow. “The bar and the tank make it a two-man job, kid, so buckle up your girdle. You’ll be the second man. After we get rolling and I tell you to do something, you do it like five minutes ago, catch?”
“I catch.” There was a moment’s silence in the swaying truck. “You sound awfully confident.”
“I am.”
And I was at least about getting Karl Erikson out of his cell. The walls of the building holding him would be about as effective as papier-mâché against the assault of the burning bar. After that I wasn’t nearly as confident Since I’d had to move the operation up, there was a knotty question about where we were going to spend our time until the Matilda showed up and I was able to slip Erikson aboard.
I switched off the lights of the truck as we turned into Cartwright, and I located the alley. I tried to remember how far along it the loose board in the fence had been, then braked to a stop. We all climbed out into the alley’s pitch blackness.
Hazel and Chen Yi waited at the rear of the truck while I trailed my hand along the fence in search of the loose board. It was farther away than I expected, but when I found it, I wrenched it free as rusty nails squealed shrilly, a heart-stopping sound in the stillness.
I tried the opening to make sure I could actually get through the gap. There was no problem. I returned to the women at the rear of the truck. “Chen Yi, after we unload the stuff, you move off in the truck and circle the block. Do it slowly. Keep your lights off in the alley and keep looking for Hazel. She’ll come through the hole in the fence first and my partner and I will follow in a couple of minutes. If we don’t show in that length of time, you two take off. No waiting, understand? You keep circling with the truck until Hazel comes back through the hole in the fence. Got it?”
Operation Breakthrough Page 15
