Whistler's Angel

by John R. Maxim

  “I’m not either.”

  “That’s good because if you should get Claudia hurt, you’ll never hurt anyone else.”

  “Adam,” said Claudia, “there was no need to say that.”

  Whistler ignored her. His eyes bored into Carla’s. He said, “The same goes for Leslie if you get her killed. Do you hear what I’m telling you, Carla?”

  Carla smiled at him. “I hear you. Now will you lighten up? Not that I wouldn’t like to see what you’ve got, but you won’t have to fight me on this one.”

  “That’s a promise?”

  “It’s a promise. Now get down there.”

  Aubrey opened the kitchen door just a crack as two figures came into view. The first thing he saw was the gaudily striped jacket and the flat straw hat worn askew. No mistaking that one; it was Kaplan. And he saw that Kaplan was leading the girl. The girl could only be Whistler’s friend, Claudia.

  Her hands appeared to be bound behind her back. Her head was covered by what looked to be a towel held in place by a wrapping of tape. She was bound and blindfolded, but apparently not gagged. He heard Kaplan telling her to be quiet.

  It was only the lack of a gag across her mouth that kept Aubrey from opening the door. He wanted to let Kaplan know that they’d arrived, but his sudden appearance might cause her to cry out. The last thing he needed was for Lockwood to hear a shout of “Who’s that?” from outside.

  “Mr. Aubrey,” Robert whispered, his breath at Aubrey’s ear, “where is he going with her?”

  Aubrey pushed him away. He mouthed, “Shush.”

  But Robert persisted. “Mr. Aubrey, he’s taking her to a bedroom. All those rooms where he’s going are bedrooms.”

  “He’s got to put her somewhere. Be still.”

  “If he means to take his pleasure with her, we cannot allow it, Mr. Aubrey.”

  “Robert…you were told not to speak or to think. He has no such intention. Be quiet.”

  Aubrey chanced a better look. He opened the door slightly. He saw that they indeed had gone into a bedroom. He heard sounds coming from it. They were rustling, scraping sounds. It seemed the sort of noise that one makes in a closet, sliding hangers of clothing out of the way. Robert was beginning to breathe heavily.

  Robert said, “That’s a bed. The springs of a bed.”

  “No, it isn’t. All you’re hearing is clothing.”

  “Clothing? Do you mean he’s removing her clothing?”

  “He is not. And for the last time, shut up.”

  “He’s assaulting that woman,” Robert said through his teeth. “You said that you wouldn’t permit it.”

  “Must I shoot you?”

  “I will stop it,” hissed Robert. “I’ll be quick. I’ll snap his neck.”

  Before Aubrey could stop him, he had pushed through the door. Aubrey reached to snatch Robert’s collar. He missed. Briggs took a step from his place of concealment, frantically waving his arms and then pointing. He mouthed the words, “Lockwood. He’s coming.”

  In that instant, the door from the gagrage was thrown open. Aubrey heard a deep-throated grunt from outside. The cause of the grunt was immediately apparent. Lockwood was pulling a body behind him, backing his way through the door. But the body was a live one. It had started to squirm. Aubrey saw that it was Joshua Crow.

  Lockwood called, “Hey, Arnie. Come give me a hand.”

  Crow became more aware of what was happening to him. He felt for the hands that were dragging him. Flailing, he raked Lockwood’s wrists with his fingernails. Lockwood cursed and called, “Forget it. I got him.”

  He snaked his left forearm under Joshua Crow’s jaw, seizing him in its crook. He stood up, lifting Crow. Crow was choking and kicking. Lockwood’s arm had formed a vise. He squeezed harder. He said to Crow, “I’m really sick of you, pal. You’re dying now. You feel yourself dying?”

  Aubrey saw that Robert had been frozen in place a few feet from the door to the bedroom. Lockwood still hadn’t seen him. His back was turned to him. Now Robert was lowering himself to a crouch, the better to reach the ankle holster that he wore. He seemed to be descending an inch at a time. Aubrey could no longer stand it. He heard himself shouting, “Well, shoot him, you dolt.”

  Robert unsnapped his pistol. Lockwood spun at both sounds. Crow’s dangling, kicking body shielded his own as Lockwood groped for the gun in his belt. Lockwood recognized Robert. “Where the fuck did you come from? Did I just hear Aubrey? Was that Aubrey?”

  Arnold Kaplan, in the bedroom, was as startled as Lockwood. He had seated Leslie on the floor of the closet. He had quickly covered her mouth with his hand. He whispered, “Like I told you. Bad people. Sit tight.” But damn it, he thought, now she’s heard Aubrey’s name. He might not be able to save her.

  Robert hadn’t fired. He had no clear shot. Aubrey called, “Robert? Do it now. Shoot them both,” to which Briggs responded, “No, he’s mine.”

  Briggs had emerged, his gun aimed at Lockwood’s head, his free hand touching his paper-like face. He said, “See this? You did this to me. They got me because you left me, you shit.”

  Lockwood had yet to tear his own weapon free. The big silencer was stuck in his belt. Briggs said, “What’s that? You got a problem there, Vern? Let me give you a hand. I’ll shoot it loose.”

  And Briggs did. He lowered his sights and he fired. Lockwood, in that instant, had hurled himself backward. The muzzle blast was deafening, but the bullet missed its mark. Instead, it struck Crow in the buttocks. Crow squealed and bucked. Lockwood struggled to hold him. Lockwood managed to back up into the garage where at last he got the Glock free. He could no longer see Briggs, but he could hear Briggs moving toward him. He had a clear view of Robert who was bobbing and weaving, still trying to get a clear shot. He heard Aubrey again shouting, “Shoot them both. Shoot.”

  Lockwood’s best shot was at Robert, couldn’t miss him at this range. But enraged by Felix Aubrey’s betrayal, he swung the silenced barrel toward the door to the kitchen. He snarled, “You little faggot, you’re dead,” and squeezed the trigger. He added the word “Fuck” when nothing happened.

  Suddenly there was Briggs. Briggs was filling the doorway, his pistol squarely aimed at the part of Lockwood’s face that was visible behind that of Crow. Briggs asked, “What did you do? Forget to chamber a round? Go ahead. Slap one in there. I’ll wait.”

  Aubrey gasped, “Are you out of your mind? Get this done.” He had stayed out of sight in the kitchen.

  Briggs called back, “No, you see…he needs two hands to do that. This prick’s got himself in a quandary here. He’s got to let go of Crow or he can’t work the slide. That’s unless he can work it with his teeth.”

  “Then please end it,” called Aubrey. “Do it now.”

  “In a minute,” answered Briggs. “Don’t forget I’m entitled. Let’s all take a little time to smell the roses.”

  Aubrey called, “Robert? You do it. Do it now.”

  Briggs raised a hand to Robert without turning his head. He said, “No, you don’t. You stay back.”

  Aubrey called, “Mr. Kaplan, why are you not out here?”

  Briggs said, “Hear that, Vern? A good question, don’t you think? You’ve been standing here waiting for your guy to save your ass. I got news. He’s with us. He’s not your guy.”

  Robert said, “I’ll go see what he’s doing with that woman.”

  Aubrey hissed, “Don’t you move. Don’t you lower your weapon.”

  Briggs agreed. He said, “Yeah, stay. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing. We can’t leave her either. Even Vernon knows that.” He added, “Mr. Aubrey? Why don’t you come out here? It’s worth it to see the look on Vern’s face. Besides, you got questions to ask, am I right?”

  “You say he’s under control?”

  “No, he’s thoroughly pissed.”

  “Under your control, you idiot.”

  “Yeah, come look. I got him cold. Right now, old Vern is trying to think. You can tell because he
’s pushing at his lips with his tongue. Right now, he’s deciding what to do with the loony. Drop him, try to run, try to throw him, or what? Except he knows that if he twitches, he gets my whole clip, the first half of which goes through Mr. Crow here.”

  Aubrey called, “Then ask him what he’d done to Adam Whistler. Ask the damned fool…never mind…I’ll ask Kaplan. Shoot him, Mr. Briggs. Shoot him now.”

  Briggs fired, but he shot to hurt, not to kill. He aimed to the right of Crow’s swollen face. He aimed at Lockwood’s left elbow. Lockwood twisted away; he tried to swing Crow between them. The bullet missed the elbow, but it creased Lockwood’s arm. The muzzle blast caused another ringing in the ears of everyone there except Aubrey. The kitchen door had shielded Aubrey’s ears.

  It was only Aubrey, therefore, who heard the sound that was coming from the street and was building. He heard the roar of an engine, a powerful engine, and he heard the grinding sound of gears trying to mesh. He heard the groaning thump that large vehicles make when their wheels go over a curb. Aubrey pushed the door open to see what it was. He saw nothing because the front room’s drapes had been drawn, but the sound almost seemed right on top of him.

  He did see Briggs with his pistol still extended toward the door that led out to the garage. He caught a glimpse of Lockwood, Lockwood backing away, still desperately clinging to Crow. He was conscious of Robert, standing frozen in place, his face turned toward the front of the house. Robert was, only then, becoming aware of the sound that was building from outside the house. The house itself was starting to vibrate. In that instant, the wall of the front room exploded. The whole row of draperies and the windows behind them seemed to rise up and surge toward where Robert was standing. They enveloped him. They swathed him in fabric and glass. He seemed to melt under their weight.

  But it wasn’t the weight of the draperies alone. The draperies were followed by a great silver mass that thundered through the front wall behind them. It had a rounded top, a red star on its side. Aubrey realized, of course, that he was looking at a truck, but his brain had not yet allowed him to believe that a truck could be driving through the house. He saw something else red in the cab of the truck. It was hair. On the driver. Red hair.

  He saw a burst of flame come from the driver’s side window and he heard a jackhammer’s roar. He saw that Briggs had spun to confront this hellish thing, but his reaction had been far too late. For an instant, Briggs rose up. He seemed to be floating. He’d been standing on his feet, but they’d been pulled out from under him. His legs, in that instant, were as high as his head. Briggs settled to the floor, it seemed, in slow motion. He had dropped his gun. He was grasping his knees. He was trying to hold them together. He was screaming.

  Felix Aubrey felt himself go light-headed. One part of his brain was telling him to run and another was telling him that this couldn’t be real. It had begun to seem dream-like; it was all in slow motion. As the truck rumbled toward him there were other fleeting images. One was of Lockwood. He saw Lockwood again. Lockwood was now unencumbered by Crow. He was working the slide of his pistol. He was looking at the truck and he was looking at Briggs. He seemed undecided as to what he should do. Suddenly, he was shouting at Briggs. He wanted Briggs to look up at him, to stop writhing and look. Lockwood seemed intent on shooting Briggs in the face. He wanted Briggs to see the bullets coming.

  But another burst of flame came out of the truck. Another jackhammer’s roar. The door where Lockwood stood erupted in splinters down at the level of his legs. The eruption made him jump; he did a jig in the doorway, but he didn't seem as badly hurt as Briggs. He staggered out, stepping over still another pair of legs. These other legs were bare except for socks and they were moving. They belonged to Joshua Crow. He was crawling. Lockwood, in a blink, had vanished from sight. Crow was trying to get to his feet.

  The truck had paused, but it was moving again. Aubrey thought he heard another engine starting. Yes, he did. In the garage. Lockwood must have reached a car. Next he heard the tearing and the snapping of metal as the car pushed another car aside. He only heard these sounds; he wasn’t able to look because he couldn’t take his eyes off this mass moving toward him. It was grinding over furniture, splintering the floor. A woman had jumped from the passenger side. In her hands she held a weapon, some sort of a shotgun. She had it at her shoulder. She was calling a name.

  She called, Letty…Leslie…something like that. It seemed to Aubrey that she should have been calling something else. She was looking for the girl that Kaplan had brought here. Whistler’s girl’s name was Claudia, but she didn’t call that name. She was calling for someone named Leslie.

  She looked his way. She saw him. But she paid him no mind. He found himself staring at her. She was lovely. This was hardly a time to make that observation, but for some reason he couldn’t help it. Shotgun or no, there was a gentleness about her. She seemed perfectly calm and unafraid. It was strange, but he found himself wanting to help her. He started to say, “Over there. In that bedroom.” But he could no longer see where she was, where she’d gone, because the big silver truck had kept coming.

  He tried to back up, to get out of its way. He managed a few steps back into the kitchen. Beyond those, his legs, like his brain, would not function. He stood as if frozen in the middle of the kitchen. There were cabinets on the walls to his left and to his right. They began to tilt toward him, spilling out all their contents. The walls, the counter, bulged toward him as well. Dishes and glassware fell and shattered around him. He raised his hands to his face and he covered his eyes because he knew that the truck would be coming through next. It would crush him if he looked. So he tried not to look. A part of his brain thought that seemed to make sense. He had no recourse but to trust it.

  From what seemed a great distance, he heard spoken voices. A man’s voice called a name, that name Leslie again. A woman’s voice answered, “I can’t find her. She’s not here.”

  The man answered, “Then let’s go. She must be in that van. They had to have stashed her in the van.”

  Suddenly, there was a great flash of light. It was blinding. And hot. Yet Aubrey heard no explosion. The sound it made was more of thump and a whoosh.

  The man’s voice said, “This house is going up. Get out now.”

  Aubrey’s legs must have started working again. He found himself moving toward the rear kitchen door that opened on a patio outside. It was the door at which he had waited for Robert while Robert was parking their car. Had Robert come back yet? He was no longer sure. He seemed to remember Robert going under that truck, but that, too, now seemed only a dream.

  The car, thought Aubrey. Where did Robert put the car? He would have to wait for Robert to come back. Then he’d ask him. In the meantime, he might as well sit. There were no chairs on the patio, but there were wooden planters. Aubrey sat down on the edge of a planter. He kept his hands over his face.

  He heard a woman’s voice, this one very near. This one was calling his name. He thought at first that it must be that same lovely woman. He giggled.He had no idea why.

  The woman spoke again. She was nearer than before. From the sound she stood only a few feet away. She said, “Felix…the girl. Where did they take her?”

  He parted his hands. He saw the woman who had spoken. It was not the one who had jumped from the truck. This one was much smaller, even smaller than he was. And she had red hair. And her eyes were very strange. This was the one who had driven that truck. Her face and her hands were blackened with soot and the sweater she was wearing was scorched. One eye had been injured. She did not seem to mind. Her eyes were like the eyes of a cat.

  She asked again, “Felix? Where is she?”

  A man’s voice called out from inside the house. He said, “Carla? Let’s get out of here. Now!!”

  Aubrey saw that this woman had only one shoe. In one hand she was holding an oddly shaped firearm. She held a long thin knife in the other. Shesaid, “Felix…last chance. Where’d they take her?”


  He must have asked who she was talking about. It did seem that he spoke the word, “Who?”

  This one, the small one, peered at him very closely. She asked, “Are you still with us, Felix?”

  He heard himself answer, “Yes, I think so. I’m here.”

  He then paused to listen to the sound of his voice. Aubrey knew that he had just spoken those words and yet they’d almost seemed to come from some other place.

  The woman said, “Felix, snap out of it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she? Five seconds. I’m counting.”

  He said, “She’s with Kaplan. She came here with Kaplan. She hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s there.” He raised a hand and pointed. He was gesturing toward that bedroom. It was over there someplace. Or it was a while ago. “She’s there,” he repeated. “No one took her.”

  She held up her knife. She touched it lightly to his face. She said, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  He didn’t.

  She said, “See this knife? Take a look at this knife. Will it help if I show you where you’ve felt it before? Is it starting to come back to you, Felix?”

  He felt himself beginning to weep. Again, he wasn’t sure why. It was as if some sad and distant memory had returned, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

  “Look at me, Felix. Don’t say nobody took her. Two seconds, Felix. Last chance.”

  He heard himself say, “Kaplan. She was only with Kaplan. Ask Kaplan. He was with her. Where is Kaplan?”

  She was peering again. She said, “Shit. You’re not acting.” And that man’s voice was calling again.

  She said, “Well, I have to go. I can’t miss my ride. I guess it’s time to say goodbye to you, Felix.”

  He didn’t respond. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. All his thoughts, all the sounds, drifted farther away. He was vaguely aware that she had touched him with her knife. He felt nothing. No pain. He wanted only to sleep.

  Very soon, this dream faded. Then nothing.