The Cobra

Turning to him, Lana said, "You'd better put the gun away. If you walk in with that in your hand . . ." She shook her head.

"Right," Blake said. He pushed the slim barrel under his belt.

Lana knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open. He followed her into the apartment. Across the room stood a skinny, long-haired man with an M-16 automatic rifle. The muzzle was aimed at Blake. He pictured himself leaping aside, rolling, drawing his pistol. But before he could act, Lana said, "It's all right, Willie. Put down the gun. Meet the Cobra."

Willie looked amazed. He lowered the rifle and propped it against the wall. "The Cobra?" he asked.

Irma Getz looked up at him from a card table where she was playing chess with a strong-looking bearded man.

The door slammed shut behind Blake. He turned around and looked into the eyes of Blitzer Hogan. Blitzer pushed his revolver into his shoulder holster. "You're the Cobra?" he asked.

Lana answered for Blake. "He's got the Walther with the snake. Show him," she told Blake.

It could be a trick to disarm him, he thought. But this wasn't the right time to try to take them. They were too spread out, and too close to their weapons. He decided to play along. He pulled the pistol from his belt and handed it to Blitzer.

As the man stared at the ivory snake on its handle, Lana said, "He saved me from the cops. That's how we met." She opened her purse.

"I was about to have supper at Bestburgers, and . . ." Then she pulled out an automatic and aimed it---right at Blitzer Hogan's stomach.

"Drop it, Blitzer," she said.

"What the . . . !" he said with shock on his face.

"NOW!" Lana yelled.

The Walther fell from his hand. Willie leaped for the M-16. Lana turned and fired. He grabbed his side and fell. She swung her pistol toward Blitzer again. "Don't move! FBI! You're under arrest! You're all under arrest!"

Getz and Leonard, at the card table, looked at Lana with disbelief. She waved her pistol at them. "Don't even think about moving!"

Blitzer made a try for her. Blake drove a knee into the man's belly, then dropped to a crouch and grabbed the Walther.

Lana's small weapon swept toward him.

"Don't shoot!" he snapped. "Douglas, San Francisco Police!"

Her eyes went wide. She said, "Holy smoke."