Die Now, Live Later (A Mike Faraday Mystery Book 5)

by Basil Copper

  I was just about to move on when I heard the gritty tread of feet on the road. I stayed glued behind my bush. I kept my head down and focussed my eyes on the edge of the track. Two big feet came into view and stopped. A match flared and a small cone of light split the darkness; the light flickered on a harsh, ugly face surmounted by white hair.

  The body was as big as the size of the feet promised. The watchman puffed at his pipe; he grunted as it lit and skimmed the match off the road. The light died as the match hissed out in the wet foliage. The gorilla went off slowly, his pipe burning a small hole in the darkness. He held a shotgun cradled in the crook of his arm and he looked like he could use it. I gave him five minutes and then set off straight up the hill to cover the last few hundred yards to the main buildings.

  It started to spit lightly with rain and the going was heavy underfoot. When I got up near the place I could hear the clanging of metal above the thin hiss of the rain. A sharp blade of light broadened out and stamped a path across the wet ground. There were two men in white coveralls man-handling steel cylinders; they seemed to be heavy, judging by the swearing going on. One of them wheeled out a rubber-tyred trolley from a storage bay in the building. The two slid the cylinder out of the back of a silver-painted ambulance parked in front of this side of the building. They went back in with it.

  I stayed where I was behind a bush, turned up my collar and kept my eyes open. In about ten minutes or so they came back again. They loaded another of the metal cylinders and started to wheel it back inside. Looked like business was booming. I remained still for perhaps ten minutes longer. The two men finally returned, this time without the trolley. One of them slammed the ambulance door. Cigarette smoke came out to me behind the bush. There was a low mumble of conversation which I couldn’t catch.

  Then one of the men went around the side of the ambulance and into the driving seat. Lights sliced the darkness and he pulled slowly out, down the hill road towards the main entrance. The other man went back inside. He pushed a sliding door to on rollers; it made a thin, echoing sound in the darkness and the rain. He slammed it to from the outside and then went back in through a small door set in the main casing. A lozenge of light showed from under the door sill. I gave him another three minutes and then crossed the road and knelt down by the small door.

  It was unlocked, held only by a ring which operated a latch on the inside. I opened it a crack, glued my eye to it. All I could see was a strip of concrete floor, piles of metal drums and crates. The place looked like a storage bay. A naked electric bulb burnt at the end of a long wire strung from a ceiling girder and cast a pale yellow light. I wouldn’t find the answer to a lot of things by staying out here so I slid the door open, closed it behind me and made myself scarce behind some crates.

  Noise was coming from farther up the big room. This was a part of the Gardens I hadn’t been in before. There came a series of metallic clangs, the sliding of steel runners. Footsteps died out on concrete. The lights still burned on in the hollow vault of the shed. After a few seconds more there was the final slam of a door at the far end of the building. I eased out from behind the pile of crates and went down the room.

  Open boxes and packing straw were strewn about here. On one side of the large hall were sets of metal doors on the front of steel cabinets. On a metal table was one of the stainless steel capsules I had just seen unloaded. The other stood on the rubber-tyred trolley, just as it had been wheeled in. There was a gallery up above, but I couldn’t see the far door through which the attendant had gone out. The place was completely empty.

  I took a turn round the table and then looked along the row of cabinets. There were push buttons set in front of them. I pushed one and the door sprang open with a click. I looked inside; the entire storage space was taken up by a capsule. Icy air came out uninvitingly. I shut the door again. The front of it had an index card in a Perspex holder; on it was typed numbers and dates. I went and stood in the middle of the room and looked at the two capsules.

  Then I went back over to the capsule on the table. There was a hair-line running across the upper portion, near the top, which indicated a hinged lid. I fooled around in the recess, trying for the secret of the catch. It gave at last and I pulled back the top of the capsule. Morey Wilson’s face looked quite thoughtful under the ice. I put back the lid over him and secured the catch again. I’d seen some perfect rackets in my time but this was the best ever.

  I turned to the capsule on the trolley and wrestled with that. I was prepared this time so the contents weren’t quite such a surprise. Van Rieten looked as dead as one of his own dummies. Frost glistened on his stiff hair and on his cheek-bones and eyeballs. Looked like the questions I wanted to put to him would have to wait.

  I was off balance, of course, finding the two like that, but there was really no excuse. I was just putting the lid back over Van Rieten when someone suddenly came through a door on the gallery and stared down at me.

  *

  It was Dr Krug. He stood and clutched at the balcony rail with knuckles which stood out white. Saliva dribbled out of the corners of his mouth and his eyes were like pieces of black paper pasted on the top of his head. I thought he was going to throw a fit.

  ‘I see you’ve been operating again, Doc,’ I said. I stood away from the table and got ready to dive behind the chemical drums. ‘It must have been a sudden epidemic. They were in good health when I saw them recently.’

  Dr Krug found his voice. When he did it came out in a shrill shriek. ‘Faraday,’ he shouted. ‘A dirty peeper. You won’t find it so easy to get out. We have a way with snoopers here.’

  ‘So I see,’ I said mildly. ‘How did you know my name? Mr Beale been talking out of turn?’

  Krug made strangled noises in his throat. He looked around like he was expecting help. He opened his mouth to call out.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ I said sharply. I picked up an iron bar used for opening packing cases and hefted it in my hand. It wasn’t far to the balcony and I could hardly have missed Krug if I’d thrown it. He took my point.

  ‘Let’s talk this over,’ he said, straightening his death’s-head.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Anything to be friendly.’

  Krug turned and went along the balcony. I followed him, keeping at a uniform distance and watching him carefully. He got down a ladder set against a gap in the railings and came down the room towards me. Up close his face looked uglier than ever; he had white patches round the mouth. Combined with his dark eyes they made him look like a panda.

  ‘Take it nice and easy,’ I said. ‘I’m a gentle character but I’ve seen enough things about this set-up to make me turn nasty.’

  Krug sneered, showing those yellow teeth of his.

  ‘You don’t object to my smoking?’ he asked with a sidewise leer.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I said. ‘It’s your place.’

  I stepped back towards the crates, so that I could keep my eye on him. I still kept hold of the iron bar. I pointed towards the two capsules.

  ‘Why Morey and Van Rieten?’ I said.

  ‘Mr Beale,’ he said with a thin smile. ‘He’s a violent man. I have difficulty in restraining him.’

  ‘Just what I figured,’ I said. ‘Where’d you meet up? Belsen or Buchenwald? It was one of the two wasn’t it?’

  There was a long silence. Krug made a choking noise and his face went two shades greyer. His fingers trembled as he put one of his black cheroots in the hole in his teeth. He steadied his lobster-claw against his lapel and dug into an inner pocket.

  ‘You have been delving into things which do not concern you, Mr Faraday. I do not like that.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ I said.

  Dr Krug coughed. He adjusted his cheroot in the corner of his mouth and brought out his little metal cylinder. He pressed the clasp and lit the cheroot with the thin white flame. He snapped the flame out and revolved the lighter in his hand.

  ‘You were lucky the last time you paid a visit to
my establishment, Mr Faraday,’ he went on in that same rusty voice. ‘Fortunately, a great deal more information about you has come to hand since then. You will find it rather more difficult to leave on this occasion.’

  I shrugged and turned to face the door. I had the iron bar in my hand and was resting it on the edge of the crate. When I swung back to the doctor he was fiddling with his lighter in an abstracted manner. Maybe it was something in his eyes or my old intuition but I flung myself behind the crates. The lighter gave a bang and something hummed angrily past my head.

  The miniature bullet tore a great splinter out of one of the crates. I flung the bar towards Krug, heard it thud against stringy flesh. He went down with a yell and then started pumping bullets at me. There were four more dwarf explosions. But I had shifted my position and went along on all fours behind the boxes. The shots all missed by a mile. I had now gotten halfway between him and the door and I hadn’t finished with him yet. When I heard the little gadget click uselessly, I got up again and went towards him. He lay on the ground and scowled at me. A thin smear of blood ran down his angular cranium.

  ‘Put down that peewit-exterminator and we’ll talk,’ I said.

  He opened his mouth to answer but just then the door in the back burst open and two men in white coats came in. Something smacked into one of the steel capsules and went spanging off down the storage bay.

  ‘I’ll take this up some other time,’ I said.

  I went down the room at a run. There were shouts behind me. I went at the small door very fast. I turned then and saw Krug get up in a tottering heap.

  ‘Stop him,’ he shouted shrilly.

  By this time I had got halfway through the door and into the comfort of the night. Unfortunately I didn’t get the significance of Dr Krug’s last shout before it was too late. A bunched fist like a side of pork caught me on the head and slammed me against the edge of the door. I heard angel choirs and the scene heaved alarmingly. I tasted blood and the hammers of hell started pumping. I saw blue velvet shoes before I ceased to take any more interest.

  Chapter Ten - Sunset and Evening Star

  Hell of a fright Dr Krug must have had when I pointed the trick lighter at him. I laughed again and then the laughter turned into a groan. I guessed it was myself groaning only it didn’t seem to be my own voice.

  ‘Give him another one,’ said someone.

  Water slopped over my face, ran down my clothing. I swallowed and started to gag. Something hit me across the side of the face. It helped to bring me round. I fought waves of nausea and started to get focussed up. I was lying near the crates, where I’d spoken with Krug. Whoever laid me out must have dragged me back inside. Several people were standing over me. Someone’s shoe kicked me methodically in the side. Through the stabbing pain I saw the kicking was being done by the blue velvet shoes.

  ‘Don’t pamper me,’ I said between my teeth. ‘Think what a treat I’ll have when you leave off.’

  ‘A wise boy,’ said the strange voice. The blue velvet shoe came forward again.

  ‘That’s enough, Rex,’ shrilled Dr Krug urgently. As I blinked my eyes I noticed with satisfaction that dried blood caked one side of his face. The floor heaved less violently. I started to get to my feet. Someone put a hand under my armpit to help me up. My groping fingers touched a thin metallic object in the shadow of the crates. I palmed it and slid it in my pocket almost without thinking. I was slithering around the floor so much no-one noticed.

  There was a blur of white on my left side as somebody caught my other arm. It was the blond muscle boy. He and the other man sat me down clumsily on an upturned box. I leaned against the crates at the back of me and fought to keep conscious. Blood ran down the side of my head. Some situation.

  My vision cleared and I took in the scene. Apart from Krug there were two white-coated attendants, including the blond boy. Krug had been calling him Milo a while back. It was my dancing partner I was interested in right now. Rex Beale was built like the side of a house. Apart from the blue velvet shoes he sported a yellow pullover under a light green suit, and a red bow tie. The colours were so bright I had to close my eyes again.

  He had a face like hammered sheet-iron. He was about forty-five I should have said; his forehead was thickly corrugated with lines and he had a simian look about his jaw. His deep-gouged eyes were the colour of grey mud. He had very white, square teeth that made a marble quarry of his ugly mouth. He was taking off his jacket. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal arms coated with black hairs and thickly roped with muscle. His arms were very sunburnt.

  ‘Nice tan,’ said Milo to no-one in particular.

  ‘That’s rust, not sunshine,’ I told him.

  Beale didn’t change his expression. He put a fist like a hambone under my nose. ‘A funny man,’ he said. ‘Well, peeper, we’ll see how funny.’

  ‘Are you just naturally offensive or do you have to train for it?’ I said.

  The big man sighed. ‘They always have to act so smart,’ he said to Milo. The hammer of muscle and bone came down on the side of my head again. The sting of the blow and the sharp crack came together and with it a shooting pain that seemed to go from the top of my skull right down to the soles of my feet. I went over among the boxes and tasted blood again. The strength of this gorilla would have been frightening if I’d been able to think consciously about it. Beale picked me up patiently and set me back on my perch.

  I shook my head and presently his ugly face began to recompose itself in front of me like the dancing motes in a sunbeam. Except that he was no sunbeam. My lips felt cracked and puffed. I explored them with my tongue.

  ‘Your methods figure, Beale,’ I said. ‘Just about as clumsy as the Alloway and Janssen jobs. Or that phone call you made me, come to that.’

  My remarks had a spectacular effect on Beale. His blotchy face went bright red, then faded to a blue, congested shade and finally white. I figured he could have made a fortune by hiring it out to advertisers. He moved in again with his fists raised. I closed my eyes and waited for the coup de grace.

  Then I opened them again. Milo jumped forward and got hold of the big boy’s arm. It made no difference at all. The blond man went up in the air, still clinging to Beale’s biceps. I’d never seen anything like it. I thought Beale would use Milo to beat my brains out. Before anything else happened Dr Krug stepped forward. His whole manner radiated authority.

  ‘I’ve said once already that that’s enough, Beale,’ he said softly. The barrel of a Browning pistol was lined up steadily on Beale’s navel. Krug pushed it forward until it sank into the huge man’s fleshy midriff. I heard a click as the safety-catch came off. ‘Do I make myself quite clear?’ said Dr Krug again. The doctor’s quiet voice had an astonishing effect on Beale. He nodded, and tried to speak twice. His voice ended up as a strangled grunt in his throat. He put Milo gently down, scowled over Krug’s shoulder at me, and then moved away. He went and sat down on a crate at the other side of the loading bay.

  Dr Krug glanced at me and looked around. Milo brushed down his coat. The other attendant, a thick-set man with a Joe Stalin moustache stood impassively cradling a shotgun. He hadn’t moved all through.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Dr Krug with satisfaction. ‘I need not reiterate that I am in charge around here. For some time there seems to have been an impression gaining ground that this is not so. If anyone has other ideas, I should like to hear them.’

  His eyes were like two blued-steel gun barrels as he swivelled them round the three men. They visibly wilted before him. His lips set in a thin, crooked line of satisfaction.

  ‘I thought not,’ he said. ‘Kindly remember that.’

  He clicked the safety-catch on again. He came over towards me and gave me one of his lop-sided smiles.

  ‘Unfortunate for you, Mr Faraday, that you should have busied yourself in our affairs.’

  I didn’t feel any good answers coming up, so I kept silent. Dr Krug cleared his throat with a glutinous rasp. He turned
away and put the Browning back in his pocket.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ I said. ‘There’s one or two questions I’d like to ask.’

  Dr Krug turned back. He brought the Browning out of his pocket again. The barrel looked as big as a freeway tunnel.

  ‘No questions, Mr Faraday,’ he said softly. ‘I reserve the right to privacy.’

  ‘Not even Knoxtown?’ I said.

  The click of the safety-catch going off sounded absurdly loud; even Beale seemed to catch his breath. Dr Krug’s puffy eyelids lowered themselves like hoods in the black caverns of his eye sockets.

  ‘Knoxtown least of all,’ he said. ‘The time for talk is over. Rex, you come with me.’

  Beale got up. He put his coat back on and followed Krug up to the end of the room. They disappeared behind the crates. The blond man stood looking at me unblinkingly. He got out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. I had difficulty in getting it out of the package. He stooped and lit it for me. He was studiously professional in everything he did. The character with the black moustache didn’t move but I noticed he had his fingers on the twin hair-triggers of the double-barrel shotgun.

  I drew the smoke in. The blond man stood back and went and sat down on the crate vacated by Beale. I finished the cigarette. I was pleased to see that my hands weren’t trembling. I noticed they’d been through my pockets. Most of my stuff had been stacked on one of the metal tables. I found I was still wearing my empty holster. The blond boy must have been psychic.

  ‘What did you do with it?’ he asked.

  ‘I left it home tonight,’ I said.