He gibbered with pain, got close, his evil-smelling head under my chin. He clawed at my body with steel fingers. I continued to hit him about his face and head with the gun butt. I couldn’t get much steam into the blows because he was lying on top of me, but I succeeded in making a mess of his face.
He got sick of it before I did, scrambled away, opened his mouth to yell. I rammed the gun barrel into his open mouth.
“Make a sound and I’ll blow your top,” I said.
The cold gun barrel in his mouth terrified him. He gagged, tried to wriggle away, but I forced the barrel further down his throat. He grabbed my wrists, yanked. The barrel shot out of his mouth, but the gun-sight caught his front teeth; they shot out too. He yammered in his throat, flung me off, raised himself up, half crazy with rage and pain, slammed down at me with both fists. If they had landed he would have flattened me, but I rolled against him, stabbed him in his belly with the gun barrel.
He gave a croaking howl, fell back, holding on to himself. Blood oozed between his fingers.
I knelt over him, panting, belted him between the eyes. He passed out.
Getting to my feet I fought to recover my breath. My legs felt weak, my heart thumped furiously. We had only fought for a couple of minutes, but it had been an experience. He had been as strong as an ape.
I left him, made for the stairs. I started up, my hand on the wall, treading cautiously. The stairs were in a bad way, gave under my weight. I kept on, mounted to the first floor, listened.
From one room I heard voices. A woman cursed in a shrill hard tone. A man yelled to her to shut up. I walked along the passage, made for the next flight of stairs.
The door behind me jerked open. I glanced around. A thin, miserable-looking woman half fell into the passage. She wore a dirty kimono, and her hair hung loose.
“Save me, mister,” she gasped, crouching against the wall.
A big, red-faced man, in shirt sleeves, stepped into the passage, grabbed the woman by her hair, dragged her into the room again. The door slammed. The woman began to squeal.
Ignoring her, I mounted the next flight of stairs. I was sweating, uneasy. This was a hell of a joint, I decided.
A naked gas-jet burned at the head of the stairs. It hissed and flickered in the draught. I paused as I reached the landing, looked back. Nothing moved. No one showed.
If Little Louis had been telling the truth I was now facing
Bat’s door. I stepped across the passage, put my ear against the door, listened.
A woman said: “God! I’m sick of this. I was crazy to throw in with a mean jerk like you.”
I frowned, slipped back the safety catch of the .38, put my hand on the door handle.
Bat said: “Aw, the hell with you! I’m sick of you too.” His harsh Brooklyn accent was unmistakable.
I opened the door, went in.
8
A girl, wearing black lace underwear, had her back to me as I entered. Her legs and feet were bare, her blonde hair piled untidily to the top of her head. A cheap imitation tortoise-shell comb failed to capture the straggling ends of hair from her neck. She was standing by a table on which was the remains of a meal and several bottles of whisky.
She turned swiftly as she heard the door open, stared at me. All I could see of Bat was his foot and leg. The girl stood directly in front of him. She was sharp-featured and she stared at me with sultry eyes, one of which was puffed and the other had been socked several days ago. She also had a bruise on her throat and her hand held a tall cool glass of amber fluid.
“Beat it,” she said to me. “You’ve picked the wrong room.”
“I want Bat,” I said between my teeth. “Get out of the way.”
She saw the gun, screamed, dropped the glass.
Bat recognized my voice, grabbed the girl around her waist, crushed her to him. He peered over her shoulder at me, grinned.
“Hello, bub,” he said. His brutal face was the colour of mutton fat.
“Let go of the frail,” I said. “What’s the matter with you. Bat? Milky?”
The girl struggled frantically to get away, but Bat easily held her. I could see his thick fingers sinking into the loose flesh above her hips.
“Shaddap, you,” he snarled in her ear, “or I’ll break your goddamn back.”
She stopped struggling, faced me, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the gun like an idiot child at a moving shadow.
It puzzled me why Bat didn’t go for his gun. I saw his pig eyes glaring, followed the direction. A Luger lay on the mantelpiece, out of his reach.
I laughed. “For God’s sake,” I said, “getting careless, aren’t you, Hat?” I jumped across the room to the gun. It was my own Luger.
Bat shuffled round, still holding the girl in front of him. He cursed softly, vilely, backed.
I had left the door unguarded by my move to the gun. Bat jerked it open, stepped into the passage, dragging the screaming girl with him. The door slammed.
I snatched up the Luger, shoved the .38 into my pocket, ran to the door. The passage outside was in darkness.
A door opened at the end of the passage, a man’s head appeared. I fired above it. The head jerked back, the door slammed. Voices sounded below. A man bawled up to know what was going on. At the head of the stairs the blonde screamed wildly for help. Her scream was throttled back into her throat.
If Bat had been on his own I’d have nailed him then, but I couldn’t see, and I didn’t want to kill the girl. I swore softly, moved out into the passage.
Bat suddenly yelled: “Gimme a gun, Mike. Quick!”
I ran towards the sound of his voice. I could just see him with the girl held in front of him, crouching against the wall at the head of the stairs.
“Come out of it, you yellow rat,” I said, caught hold of the girl’s arm.
She kicked out, screamed like a train whistle.
Bat made himself small behind her, cursed me, hung on.
“Let go of her,” I panted, dodging her kicks. One of them caught me in the stomach, winded me for a moment.
I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, turned.
The red-faced man from the next landing was rushing up, a gun in his hand. He fired wildly at me. The bullet slapped into the wall above my head. I shot him between the eyes. He went down like a pole-axed bull.
I heard a grunt from Bat, spun around. I hadn’t a chance to get out of the way. Bat had caught up the girl, held her above his head. He flung her at me as I tried to dodge. Screaming frantically, she sailed through the air like a shell. She hit me chest high. I went over, heard her wail, then crash through the rotten banisters and thud to the landing below.
Bat rushed down the stairs, missed his step, jumped. He landed with a crash as I fired after him.
I waited, listened.
A ghastly sobbing sound from the girl drifted up the wall of the staircase.
I peered over the rotten rail into darkness.
A spurt of flame lit the landing below. A slug cut through my coat sleeve, slicing a piece out of my arm. For blind shooting, it was impressive. I fired back, flung myself down as Bat opened up. He fired three times, stopped.
I crawled towards the stairs, began to go down them head first, flat, pulling myself forward with my hands.
“You there, bub?” Bat called. “You won’t get away this time.”
The girl began to scream again.
“Oh, my back!” she gasped. “Bat! Help me. My back—it’s broken. Help me, Bat.”
I heard Bat curse her. I crawled on, the hair on the back of my neck bristling at the whimpering screams from the girl.
“Shaddap,” Bat hissed at her. “I can’t hear him with all this racket. Shaddap!”
“It’s my back,” she sobbed, screamed again.
Half-way down I crawled into the body of the man I had shot. I paused, touched him, tried to satisfy myself that he was dead. He didn’t move as I pawed him over in the sticky darkness. I decided to crawl over him.
Bat said to the girl. “I’ll finish you if you don’t shaddap.”
I was nearly on him now. He couldn’t hear me because of the noise the girl was making.
I heard him curse. The girl suddenly stopped screaming.
“What are you doing?” she moaned. “Take that gun away. Bat!” Her voice shot up in a shrill note of terror.
A single crack of gunfire exploded close to me. There was silence.
I caught a glimpse of Bat as he moved, lifted my gun, fired. He must have seen my movement for he fired at the same time. His bullet ploughed a weal along my cheek. I watched him. He rose up, tottered back, his gun slipping out of his hand. I fired again. The slug socked into him, throwing him back. He fell down, stretched out.
I pulled out my electric torch. The beam lit up a nightmare scene. The girl lay on her side, bent back, half her face was shattered by the heavy bullet from Bat’s gun. Bat lay near her, his hand touched her naked foot. Blood seeped out of him like water from over-boiled cabbage I turned him over. He moved, blinked his eyes, snarled at me.
“So long, Bat,” I said, put the gun to his ear. Before I could squeeze the trigger, his eyes rolled back, fixed. I stood up.
My arm ached. Blood dripped down from my fingers, from my face on to my collar. My side hurt. I didn’t care. It was over—finished. I could go back to Clair now and start afresh.
I walked to the front door, slid back the bolts, stepped into the night. I was still holding the Luger. I looked at it, wondering if I should get rid of it. Maybe I wouldn’t need it again. Maybe I would. It was hard to believe that I was going to settle down. I had tried it for a few months and it hadn’t worked. Well, I was going to try it again, but I was going to be prepared. Some wise guy might try to crowd me again, and I would be ready for him. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. Right now, I wanted to get back to Clair. The future, I decided, as I set off in the darkness, could take care of itself.
THE END
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I'll Get You for This Page 24
