Woppy came charging out into the lobby. He looked like a rabbit hunted by a fox. As he started towards the front entrance, Flynn yelled at him, "Don't do it or I'll cut you to pieces!"
Woppy spun around and glared frantically at Flynn.
"I've got to get out of here!" he yammered. "I don't want to get killed! I just want to get out of here!"
"You've got nowhere to go now," Flynn said. "You have no future either. Come here."
A gun banged behind Flynn. Woppy's face suddenly became a crimson smear. He fell forward and rolled over, his hands clawing the air.
Crouching, Flynn spun around. Above him at the head of the stairs, two cops had appeared guns in hand.
As Flynn nipped back the trigger of the Thompson, he realized the cops had found a way into the club through the warehouse and this was indeed the end of the road.
The Thompson hammered out its message of death. The two cops seemed to dissolve under the hail of lead. Then another Thompson started up from somewhere above the stairs.
Flynn crouched down as a sheet of lead swept just above his head. He was sweating and grinning, thinking this was the way to die--hit and be hit.
He twisted around, lifted the barrel of his gun and peered around the edge of his cover. The Thompson above yammered out its deadly, roaring note. Four slugs took the top of Flynn's head off. He was firing back as he slumped down onto the carpet in a mess of blood and brains.
Four cops moved cautiously into sight. They looked down into the lobby. Brennan joined them.
"That leaves Doc, the old woman and Slim," Brennan said as Fenner came up.
"One of them got away in the Buick," Fenner reminded him. "Could have been Slim."
Brennan moved out into the open. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he bawled, "Hey, you! Come on out! You haven't a chance! Come out with your hands in the air!"
Doc Williams pushed himself out of his chair.
"Well, Ma, as you said, this is the end of the road. I'm no fighting man. I'm going to give myself up."
Seated behind her desk, her big hands on the machine gun, Ma grinned at him, showing her yellow teeth.
"Suit yourself," she said. "They'll send you away for life or they'll even put you in the gas chamber. It would be better to go quick."
"I'm no fighting man," Doc repeated. "So long, Ma. It looked good, didn't it? But you remember all along I said I didn't like kidnapping. See what's come of it."
"Come, on out, you in there!" Brennan bawled. "This is the last time! Come on out or we'll come on in!"
"So long, Doc," Ma said. "Go out slow with your hands in the air. Those guys sound trigger happy."
Doc turned and walked slowly to the door. He opened it and then paused.
"I'm coming," he called. "Don't shoot."
Ma grinned contemptuously. She lifted the Thompson and aimed it at Doc's back.
As Doc began to move out into the dimly lit restaurant, Ma squeezed the trigger. The gun fired one quick, violent burst and Doc was thrown forward. He slid to the ground, dead before he hit the carpet.
"You'll be better off dead, you poor old fool," Ma said and she got to her feet. Holding the machine gun in both hands, she moved silently and steadily to the door. At the door, she paused.
"Come and get me!" she yelled. "Come on, you yellow punks! Come and get me!"
2
Gripping the steering wheel, Slim leaned forward, staring with fixed concentration as he drove the Buick at a furious speed down the main road out of the city. His loose mouth hung open; his pale dirty skin shone with sweat. He could hear the wailing sirens as the motorcycle cops chased him. In another mile he would be on the main highway and if he could once get there he was sure the souped-up engine of the Buick would outstrip anything coming after him.
A car came out fast from a side turning. A crash seemed inevitable. Miss Blandish cried out, shielding her face. Grinning, Slim stamped down on the gas pedal as the other driver frantically braked. The Buick swept past with inches to spare.
A hundred yards further on there was a main intersection and as the Buick roared towards the intersection the green lights flicked to red.
Slim put his hand down on the horn button. The motorcycle cops, seeing he wasn't going to stop, opened up then-sirens to warn crossing traffic to get out of the way.
The Buick shot across the intersection as the traffic squealed to a standstill. One driver wasn't quick enough. The Buick caught his wing a glancing blow, smashing his offside headlamp.
Slim, cursing, steadied the Buick with a twist of the wheel and kept on. Then suddenly he was on the freeway. He relaxed slightly, squeezing down on the gas pedal, feeling the big car surge forward.
The light was fading now. In a few minutes it would be dark. The wailing sound of the sirens irritated him. He was pretty sure they wouldn't catch him now he could use his superior speed. He glanced in the driving mirror. About two hundred yards behind he could see two of the motorcycle cops, leaning over their handlebars, belting after him. The third cop had disappeared. He saw a sudden flash and then heard a bang. One of the cops was firing at him. Slim snarled to himself.
"Get down on the floor," he said to Miss Blandish. "Go on--do what I say!"
Shaking, she slid off the seat and onto the floor. He flicked on his sidelights. At least the sirens behind him were keeping the road clear. Traffic coming into the city had slowed and was pulling to one side. One of the cops had fallen back, but the other kept after him.
Slim suddenly eased his foot on the gas pedal. The Buick lost speed. Watching in the mirror, Slim saw the lone cop surging up behind him. Slim waited, his face a vicious snarl. The cop drew alongside, yelling something which Slim couldn't hear above the noise of the motorcycle engine. Grinning, Slim swerved the Buick violently. He felt the side of the car hit the motorcycle. He wrestled madly with the wheel, trying to keep out of a skid. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the motorcycle careening across the road. It hit the verge and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Slim righted the Buick and shoved down the gas pedal. The car tore on into the gathering darkness. Without the distracting sound of the pursuing siren, Slim was able to consider what to do.
He was on the run, he told himself. He was out in the open. The girl was going to be poison from now on, but he didn't for a moment consider getting rid of her.
He glanced at the gas gauge. He had plenty of gas. But where to go? He could think of no one who would hide him. He reached down and touched Miss Blandish on her shoulder.
"Come on up," he said. "It's okay now."
Miss Blandish struggled back on the seat beside him. She crouched away from him, staring through the windshield at the long, wide road that stretched endlessly in front of them.
She had had no drugs now for fifteen hours and her mind was slowly clearing. She tried to remember what she was doing in this racing car. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she had a picture of a small, dark man with blood on his coat.
"They'll come after us," Slim said. "They'll hunt us. You and me are in this together to the end. We've got nowhere to go."
Miss Blandish didn't understand what he was saying. She just felt a cold sick feeling of fear at the sound of his voice.
Slim shrugged. He was used to her silences, but he wished she would talk now. He wished she would help him. He knew before very long the cops would be setting up road blocks and the highway wouldn't be safe. He would have to get off the highway and get lost in the country. He wished Ma was with him. She would know what to do.
A few miles further on he came to an intersection and he left the highway, driving along a secondary road for another few miles until he came to a dirt road. He swung the Buick off the secondary road and drove up the twisting hilly dirt road that led quickly to wooded country.
By now it was dark and Slim became aware he was hungry. After driving for several miles, he spotted ahead of him the lights of a farmhouse. He slowed down, then seeing the open farm gate, he swung the Bui
ck up the rutted track leading to the farmhouse.
"I'm going to get some food," he said. "You wait in the car." He put his damp hot hand on Miss Blandish's wrist.
"Don't run away, baby. You and me have got to stick together now. You sit quiet."
He stopped the car and got out. Taking his gun, he walked silently to the lighted window and peered in.
Three people sat at the table: a thickset man of around fifty in a checked shirt and blue jeans, a thin-faced woman who was probably his wife and a fair girl of about twenty, probably his daughter. They were eating and the sight of the meal spread out on the table made Slim's mouth water.
He moved to the door, gently turned the handle and pushed. The door yielded.
The three at the table looked up as he pushed the door wide open. Slim grinned to see the sudden fear on their faces. He showed them the gun, his yellow eyes gleaming.
"Sit still and you won't get hurt," he said.
He moved into the room as the man half started up, only to sink back on his chair as Slim swung the gun in his direction.
"I'll take this," Slim said reaching out and picking up the remains of a meat pie from the table. "You got a phone?"
The man nodded his head to where a telephone stood on a table by the wall. Slim backed to it. He put down the pie and then jerked the cable of the telephone from its socket.
"You all relax," he said. "Just forget you've seen me." He looked at the girl, his eyes running over her figure. She was about Miss Blandish's size. "You!" The gun pointed at her. "Gimme that dress you've got on. Hurry it up!"
The girl went white. She looked at her father.
"One of you want to get shot?" Slim snarled.
"Do it," the man said.
The girl stood up, unzipped the dress and took it off. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand.
"Throw it here," Slim said.
The girl threw the dress at him. He caught it and tucked it under his arm.
"Just take it easy," he said. He picked up the pie and backed into the darkness. He hurried to the Buick and got in.
Miss Blandish cringed away from him as he tossed the dress into her lap.
"Here's something for you." He set the pie down carefully between them, then started the car. "It'll fit. When we get away from here, you put it on. I don't like seeing you in that punk's suit."
He drove a mile or so up the road, then stopped the car. He looked back along the road, but could see no following lights nor did he hear anything to worry him.
"Come on: let's eat," he said. "It smells good."
He scooped up some of the pie in his dirty fingers and began to eat. Miss Blandish sat huddled away from him.
"Come on," he said impatiently. "It's good."
"No."
He shrugged and went on wolfing the pie down. In five minutes he had finished it and he threw the empty pie dish into the darkness.
"That's better." He wiped his greasy fingers on his trousers' leg. "You get into that dress. Go on... hurry it up!"
"I don't want to."
He caught hold of her by the back of her neck and shook her.
"Do what I tell you!" His voice became high pitched with sudden rage. "Get into it!"
He pushed her out of the car, still holding her by the back of her neck.
"You want me to strip those clothes off you?"
"No."
He let go of her.
"Get on with it!"
In the light of the roof lamp of the Buick, he watched her struggle out of Rocco's suit and put on the dress. He picked up the suit and tossed it into the back of the car. He pushed Miss Blandish back in her seat. She leaned forward, her head in her hands. She was shaking. Her body was now craving for the numbing bliss of the drug Doc gave her regularly. Misty pictures that had haunted her mind during the past four months were gradually coming into focus.
Slim looked uneasily at her. He guessed what was happening to her. He had seen junkies in prison blow their tops because they had been deprived of drugs. If only he could have a word with Ma. She would tell him what to do. Then a disturbing thought entered his head. What had happened to Ma? Had she got away? Had she been trapped in die club? All his life he had regarded her as indestructible. He couldn't believe anything really bad could ever happen to her.
The dirt road abruptly ended at a secondary road and once again Slim found himself driving on a road with other traffic. This worried him. There wasn't much traffic, but every now and then he overtook a truck or a car and he wondered if the Buick would be recognized.
A little later he came upon a small filling station standing at the junction of another dirt road that cut across the secondary road. He swung the car onto the dirt road, then pulled up. He looked back at the filling station. He could see a man sitting in the lighted office reading a newspaper. There would be a telephone in there, Slim thought. He had to get news of Ma. Who could he ask? He remembered Pete Cosmos. Cosmos and Eddie Schultz had always been good pals. Maybe Pete would know something.
"I'm going to telephone," he said to Miss Blandish. "You wait here... understand? You wait here for me."
She remained crouched forward, her head in her hands. He could feel the violence of her trembling. He could see in her present state she wasn't capable of standing, let alone running away.
He got out of the car, pushed the .45 into the waistband of his trousers and walked quickly back to the filling station. He went to the office. The man, fat and beefy, glanced up as Slim pushed open the door. His face registered startled surprise when he saw Slim. He got to his feet.
"I want to use your phone, pal," Slim said. "That okay with you?"
There was something about Slim that scared the man.
"Go ahead, "he said. "You want gas too?"
"No... just the telephone." Slim crossed to the desk. "Give me some air, pal."
The man left the office and stood by the pumps. He kept glancing uneasily through the window at Slim and then hopefully up and down the long dark road.
It took Slim several minutes to find the Cosmos Club in the book. He wasn't used to handling a telephone book and he was swearing and sweating by the time he finally tracked down the number.
Pete answered the telephone himself.
"This is Grisson, Pete," Slim said. "Give it to me fast. What's cooking?"
"All hell's broken loose," Pete said as soon as he had got over his first shock of surprise to hear Slim's voice. "Eddie's been picked up. There was a hell of a battle at the club. Woppy, Flynn and Doc were knocked off during the fight." Slim felt his insides contract. Cold sweat dripped from his face onto his hands.
"Never mind about those punks," he snarled. "How about Ma?"
There was a pause on the line. Slim could hear violent swing music from the club band. He could hear Pete's heavy breathing.
"Wake up!" he shouted. "What's happened to Ma?"
"She's gone, Slim. I'm sorry. You can be proud of her. She knocked off four cops before they got her. She fought it out like a goddamn man!"
Slim felt the bile rise in his mouth. His legs sagged. He let go of the receiver and it fell onto the floor.
Ma gone!
He couldn't believe it. He felt suddenly defenseless, lost, trapped.
The sound of an approaching motorcycle engine made him stiffen. He looked quickly through the window. A State trooper, slowing down on his machine drifted past the filling station, heading towards the Buick.
Slim jumped to the door and opened it. The State trooper stopped by the Buick, got off his machine and leaned in through the Buick's window.
Slim drew his gun.
The filling station attendant, who Slim had forgotten, suddenly let out a yell of warning as he saw the gun in Slim's hand.
The State trooper straightened, looking around, his hand dropping onto his gun butt, but he didn't have a chance.
Slim jerked up the .45 and squeezed the trigger. In the silence of the darkness, the bang of the gun was loud and
violent. The State trooper went down, knocking over his motorcycle...
Slim spun around snarling, but there was no sign of the attendant. He hesitated, then ran to the Buick. He stepped over the State trooper's body, got in the car as Miss Blandish opened the off side door and made to get out. Slim grabbed her arm and jerked her back. He reached across her and slammed the door shut.
"Stay quiet!" he shouted, his voice shaking with panic and rage. He started the car and then drove furiously up the dirt road, heading for the woods.
The filling-station attendant came out from behind an oil drum. He ran over to the State trooper, bent over him, then turning, he ran back to his office and grabbed up the telephone.
3
Brennan and Fenner were bending over a large-scale map spread out on a desk in the Operations Room at Headquarters when a police officer came over.
"Mr. Blandish is asking for you, sir."
Brennan made an impatient movement.
"I'll handle him," Fenner said, and leaving the room, he followed the officer to one of the waiting rooms.
John Blandish was standing by the window, looking out across the lights of the city. He turned as Fenner came in.
"I got your message," he said curtly. His face was grey and drawn. "What's happening?"
"We're pretty sure your daughter is alive," Fenner said, joining him at the window. "She has been kept at the Paradise Club these past three months. We broke in there not an hour ago. There's evidence she was kept a prisoner there."
Blandish's face hardened.
"What evidence?"
"A suite of rooms; a locked door; women's clothes."
"Where is she then?"
"Grisson got her out of the club just before the raid. She was dressed in a man's suit. Later we had a report that Grisson raided a farmhouse and took a woman's dress. Since then we've lost them for a moment, but we know more or less which way he is heading. He can't get away. Every road is sealed off. As soon as it is light enough we'll have aircraft searching. It's just a matter of time."
No Orchids for Miss Blandish Page 17
