Killer's Town

by Lee Falk

  That was all, but it was enough. He just had time to alert his teams, when the gates were flung open and armed men rushed out of Killer's Town.

  Searchlights hit them in the face, and voices shouted at them through megaphones.

  "We are the Jungle Patrol and the police. Surrender. You are under arrest."

  The men were caught by surprise.

  They leaped into the bushes, some behind trees, some running back into the town, taking cover as best they could, and opened fire on the teams. The teams replied with a concerted blast. It was the closest thing to modern warfare the jungle had ever seen. Several criminals tried to escape over the walls. They threw blankets over the broken glass on the wall and started over, when powerful searchlight beams sprang out of the dark to pin them there. Automatic rifles were trained on them; they had nowhere to go but into the waiting Patrol cars. The battle between the criminals of Killer's Town and the law was short. The relentless pressure of the mysterious Phantom, the civil war waged among themselves, the earth-shaking explosions, and now the trap formed by the Patrol and the police sapped whatever fight remained in them. None carried enough ammunition for a sustained effort. So after the first minutes of gunfire, they dropped their empty guns and began to surrender.

  At the first sound of the Patrol guns, Pretty and Moogar had raced back into the town. They ran to the small gate near the wharf area. The wharf itself was blazing, and small shells and grenades were still detonating inside the inferno that had been the warehouse. Reaching the gates, they looked back to see that no one had followed or noticed them in the confusion. But one had noticed them. As they started for the gate, a scraggly old man blocked the way. Matthew Crumb. He held a rusty old saber in his hands, found in one of his ancient attics. The old man waved the saber threateningly.

  'I saw you shoot Mr. Koy," he shouted. "He owed me money for this town and never paid."

  Pretty raised his gun to shoot the old man, but Moogar touched his arm. He knew Matthew Crumb and pitied the old derelict.

  "Mr. Crumb," he said, "you can have your town back. Nobody wants it any more."

  "There's been crime in this town and killing but the time's come for justice," said Matthew Crumb defiantly. "And you're not getting away," he said, pointing the saber at Pretty, "because I seen you shoot Mr. Koy and I'm handing you over to the Jungle Patrol."

  "Wait, let me talk to him," said Moogar as he saw the wild light in Pretty's eyes. But Pretty grinned and fired.

  Matthew Crumb dropped the saber, clutched his stomach, and dropped to the ground.

  "You didn't have to do that," shouted Moogar.

  "You coming with me or you going to stand here and argue?" said Pretty, the wild light still in his eyes.

  "Let's go."

  They jumped over Matthew Crumb and ran to the water. In the distance they saw a Jungle Patrol speedboat in the flickering firelight of the burning wharf. A searchlight beam sprang out toward them like a long finger and a voice boomed through a megaphone.

  "Stay where you are. You're under arrest."

  Pretty and Moogar dashed behind a clump of trees near the shore.

  "Are you kidding?" yelled Pretty.

  He fired a quick shot at the distant boat. Then the two men raced into the bushes as a barrage of bullets zinged into the trees behind them. Ahead was the swamp fringing the shore. They plunged into it, and began to move as fast as they could away from the sea. They could hear the roar of the motorboat following them along the coast. A voice called through the megaphone; an occasional bullet whizzed near them. Soon, motorboat and voice became faint, then were gone as they went deeper into the swamp.

  They had reached a small area of dry ground when Pretty stopped suddenly. His mouth fell open, his body tensed as he drove his fist angrily into the palm of his other hand, then dug his fingers into his hair.

  "What's the matter?" said Moogar, amazed by this sudden anger that seemed to come for no reason.

  "Matter?" screamed Pretty between clenched teeth. "We got to go back."

  "Back there? You crazy?"

  "The diamonds. All the stuff we brought from New York. In Koy's safe. That's the matter," shouted Pretty, shaking with fury. He turned and started to go back. "Come on," he growled.

  Moogar shook his head and didn't move. His rifle was in his hands.

  "We can't go back. Don't be crazy. Cops and Patrol took over the place. They're cruisin', looking for you and me right now. Know what they'd do if they found us, Pretty?"

  Pretty stared at him, too frustrated to talk.

  "In this country, they hang you, man. They hang you by the neck till you're dead. I'm not going back."

  Pretty breathed deeply, then sat on the ground. His moods could change like the breeze.

  "After all that in New York. And that's not all. All that other stuff sitting in that safe. The cash from the bank job. You know, Frenchy and Dutch, and that stuff Sharp brought from Hong Kong—jewels and drugs. And the London heist, Ossie and Pug. And lots more we never knew about. We coulda blown that damn safe, brought it with us. What a fool. I was stupid. Stupid," he shouted, his voice rising. He pounded his legs, lowered his head, and, to Moo- gar's amazement, began to cry.

  While the battle went on at the gates and wall, the Phantom roamed through the alleys and buildings of the town. A few thugs had hidden in cellars and attics. He flushed some of them out with gas grenades he'd brought from the warehouse. They came out, staggering, choking and blinded by the fumes to perceive the grim, menacing figure, masked and hooded like a medieval executioner. The sight was enough to send most of them stumbling in a panic to the gates and into the hands of the waiting Jungle Patrol. For the remainder, a few well-placed shots within an inch of a nose or big toe sent them hurriedly after the others.

  The Phantom found Matthew Crumb lying at the small gate near the wharf. He knelt beside him and held the frail old man in his arms.

  "Who shot you, Matthew?"

  The old man coughed and choked.

  "That one they call Pretty," he gasped, talking with difficulty. "He was the worst. Shot Mr. Koy in the back. Good riddance. He was a rat. Never did get my money." He had a fit of coughing, then went on, "I'm gonna kick that whole crowd out. Bunch of bums. Say," he said in sudden alarm, "did that poor girl get out?"

  "She did, Matthew, thanks to your help. Where did Pretty go?"

  "That way," he said, pointing feebly. "Had the black with him."

  Matthew relaxed. He smiled and looked at the masked face.

  "I know who you are," he said. "I saw the mark. I mean ... are you really him ... the one?"

  "Yes, Matthew," said the Phantom, as he felt the old man's life slipping away.

  "Heard about you for years. Always wanted to see you. Here you are. Now ain't that something."

  He looked toward the smoldering warehouse.

  "Who done that?"

  "I did. Sorry, but I had to to get them out."

  "I know. Like we usta, to clear cobra out of the sugar cane," he said, his mind wandering to other times and places. "You did good." Those were his last words. His eyes remained open, staring as the light and shadow of the flames flickered across his face. The Phantom closed his eyes, then walked across the town carrying Matthew Crumb in his arms. He went to the veranda of the inn, the former Governor's mansion. There was new furniture. He put Matthew on the chaise lounge, and folded his arms on his chest. Matthew was back where he belonged, on his own front porch.

  The Phantom went through the inn, searching every room from roof to cellar. The huge mansion was empty. He paused in one large, luxuriously furnished room that held a huge safe. Koy's office. He looked at it thoughtfully. The loot of Killer's Town must be kept somewhere. Probably here. He examined the safe. It was big, heavy, old-fashioned. He looked at the big dial, and, half-smiling, twirled it. Then, kneeling by it, he began to twirl and listen. He had once captured a celebrated safecracker who had hidden in the jungle. In the long trip back, the wily criminal talked ab
out the tricks of his calling. From time to time after that, it had amused the Phantom to practice what he had been told. He had found a warehouse full of new and old safes, all empty and open. He closed one, spun the combination dial, then tried to reopen it. That took three hours. The next one took an hour. He opened a dozen more in the next hour. In his pursuit of evildoers, this ability had become useful on more than one occasion. This was such an occasion. He opened Koy's safe in five minutes, and quickly examined the contents: loot worth several millions. He closed the safe door, leaving it unlocked, and moved on.

  He went through the town once more, checking buildings and all other possible hiding places, satisfying himself that no one else remained. It was an eerie sight, these three blocks of renovated town, all the lights blazing, taped music still coming through the windows of the casino and bar. An empty town, all the people gone, as though stricken by a plague. In the distance, he could hear more gunshots, then quiet. The Patrol and police had evidently finished their work. He held the tiny watch-transmitter close to his mouth and spoke into it.

  "Calling Colonel Weeks. Do you receive me, Colonel Weeks? Over."

  A faint voice replied.

  "Colonel Weeks here. Receiving you. Over."

  "What is the situation outside the walls? Over."

  "Under control, sir. Are you in the town?"

  "I am. The town is empty. Two men escaped along the coast. My guess is they headed east through the swamp. One was called Pretty, as in pretty girl. A killer. Another from here went with him, a black. Check the records to identify them, then alert border guards. Over."

  "Anything else, sir? Over."

  "The body of Matthew Crumb is on the porch of the inn. Send in a detail in the morning. I suggest he be buried in front of the inn. Over."

  "Sir, what will happen to this place now? Over."

  "I have an idea about that. First, search the records tomorrow to see if Crumb had any heirs. Over."

  "Right away. Anything else, sir?"

  "One more thing, Colonel. In ten minutes, come into the town yourself with two men. Go to the big building with the sign, Killer Hilton."

  "Killer Hilton?" said the Colonel, interrupting.

  "Yes, Colonel. On the top floor, there is a large safe. Remove the contents. All stolen property. Understood? Over."

  "Understood. Sir, may I ask? How did you do it all? Over."

  "All what, Colonel? Over."

  "Sorry. Silly question. Sir, I have no words, no words"— the faint voice paused for a moment—"to thank you for my daughter, Caroline. Over."

  "Is she all right, Colonel? Over."

  "Sleeping like a baby when I left. Over."

  "Good."

  "Sir, may I ask one more question? Will we ever meet? Sir, are you still receiving me? Over."

  There was no answer.

  The small Mawitaan jail and the few cells at Jungle Patrol headquarters were crowded with the former citizens of Killer's Town. The town rocked with excitement. Newsmen and TV crews from America and Europe poured into the tropical capital. Three dozen vicious criminals, some escapees from prisons, all of them on the "most wanted" lists in their home countries, all bagged together in one roundup, one of the biggest shootouts in the history of the perpetual battle between crime and law. Fingerprints flew around the world as the prisoners were identified and deported to authorities in their homelands. Some of these authorities were more annoyed than grateful, having hoped to be rid of them. When lists were finally complete, a few of the Killer's Town citizenry were not in hand. The bank robber, Frenchy, was found dead in the town. A few others had been downed in the battle. Among them, Killer Koy himself, said to have been shot in the back by one of his own men, a wild killer called "Pretty," wanted in the States for several especially vicious murders.

  The town gave a collective sigh of relief when the last of the captured Killer's Town crowd, wearing handcuffs, was shipped out at the airport under the watchful eyes of Colonel Weeks and Chief Togando. The populace was advised to be on the lookout for two of the criminals who were still at large, a foreigner named Pretty (some name for a killer) and a local named Moogar, an Oogaan boy who had gone bad. Wanted signs for the two were posted, offering a large reward. Now that the criminals were gone, crowds went out to have a look at the fabulous Killer's Town. Though the warehouse and wharf had burned down, the remainder was intact. They could only peer through the gates, and from the high branches of trees outside the wall, as the Patrol permitted no one to enter. All wondered what was to become of the place?

  Town Hall records at Mawitaan, including an old law-

  suit, proved that Matthew Crumb had no living heirs. The authorities had been assured, by an unknown but unimpeachable source, that no one related to Killer Koy had any claim to the place. Then who had? That question was soon answered.

  Several miles inside the jungle, there was a cluster of low buildings, the jungle hospital of Dr. Axel. The doctor had built this place thirty years before as a young man. It was the only modern medicine available to jungle folk, and they waited patiently, sometimes for days to see the beloved doctor. Though there were occasional bandits in the area and no guards in the hospital, no one dared attack or rob the complex. For on the gateposts on either side of the main gate was an odd symbol that looked like two crossed sabers. Or the symbol might have been crossed "P's." No one was. certain. But everyone in the jungle knew what it meant. This was the good mark of the Phantom. Wherever it appeared, it meant that place or person was under the protection of the Phantom. Only the most foolish, ignorant, or desperate of men would violate it.

  This night, while Dr. Axel relaxed after his usual tiring day, reading Shakespeare by lamplight (the sonnets this time), there was a knock on his shuttered window. Most unusual. He opened the shutters and peered out. A figure loomed in the darkness. At first glance, it seemed gigantic. Then, as his eyes became more accustomed to the dark, he could make out a rider on a white horse. The horse moved slightly. Light from the kerosene lamp touched the figure. Dr. Axel gasped in surprise. He had not seen him in—how many years?

  Their relationship had a long history. As a young man, Dr. Axel had first seen this awesome figure when he had been brought blindfolded by the pygmy poison people to a strange place in the Deep Woods. There he had assisted at the birth of a baby in a cave, the strange figure's son. Later, the strange figure had helped him build his first hospital. Still later, he had come to the hospital seriously wounded. Dr. Axel always believed those wounds were fatal. Yet, here was the man again, so many years later! Dr. Axel didn't know, hadn't guessed, that the baby he had helped to deliver in the cave was now the figure on the white horse. And the man he had first seen long ago was this man's father, now dead. All Dr. Axel knew was that this was the Phantom.

  Through the years, Dr. Axel had heard a good deal about this Phantom from his jungle patients. The Ghost

  Who Walks—the Man Who Cannot Die. With the strength of ten tigers, and the wisdom of the ages. The fabulous Skull Throne. The Skull Cave with its fantastic treasures. Feared by evildoers, loved by good people, the Keeper of the Peace. What does one say in the middle of the night to a man of mystery, to a legend?

  "Hello," said Dr. Axel. "How are you?"

  It was a question that appeared to need no answer. The man radiated health and power. The question was not answered. Instead. . . .

  "Dr. Axel, the coastal tribes, the Mori, the Llongo, and others have always lacked good medical care. This hospital is too far for them."

  "True," said Dr. Axel, feeling slightly confused. Had this man of mystery ridden out of the night to tell him this?

  "There is a place called Killer's Town, formerly New Metropolis, about forty miles south of Mawitaan. It has three city blocks of new one-story buildings, perfect for staff rooms, clinics, and schools. It has a four-story, forty- seven-room modern inn, perfect for a branch hospital. All the utilities are in—electric power, water. It is well furnished with beds, modern plumbing. Y
ou might even call it luxurious. Do you want it for a branch hospital?"

  Dr. Axel's head reeled. As the Phantom had described it, he had visualized it and was thinking, What a place for a hospital complex!

  "Do I want it? Is this possible?" he stammered.

  "I would not be here otherwise. This is the best possible use of that place for the jungle people."

  In his years of daily emergencies and makeshift equipment, Dr. Axel had learned to make quick decisions.

  •Yes," he said.