When I arrived outside her apartment, the door was half-open, but being real polite 1 pressed the buzzer and waited.
“Mr. Boyd?” Patty Lamont’s voice called from somewhere inside.
“Sure,” I called back.
“Please come right in—the door’s open.” Her voice sounded shrill with the hysteria still hovering around the edges.
I pushed the door open a little wider and stepped into the apartment. A runaway truck slammed into the back of my neck and sent me sprawling onto the floor. Before I had a chance to think, it circled around and slammed into my ribs a couple of times, rolling me across the carpet, then came to a sudden stop sitting on my chest. Fingers like steel hooks ripped open my coat and explored under each arm with ungentle thoroughness, checked all my pockets, then patted my legs like they were granite to be sculpted with a couple of hammers. While I was still wondering if anybody had gotten the number of the truck, the weight was suddenly lifted from my chest.
“Okay, Marty,” a sandblasted voice growled. “The punk’s clean.”
I sat up quickly, which was a mistake, and waited for the room to stop jazzing around. When it finally did, I got
61
a clear glimpse of the two guys looking down at me with concentrated venom in their faces. One I recognized already—the runaway truck that masqueraded as a human being and was named Pete. The other one I hadn’t met before.
The second guy was around average height but so thin it made him look taller. His gaunt face, with its hollow cheeks and bloodless lips, looked like a textbook illustration of malnutrition. The deepset eyes were pale blue and I wondered for a moment if he’d stolen them from a morgue. There was a wiry thatch of red hair on top of his head and it didn’t help the overall picture at all. The most charitable thought 1 could come up with right then was his doctor must have ordered him destroyed at birth, but somebody goofed.
“How do you like that, wise guy?” Pete asked happily. “And I ain’t even started yet.”
I hauled myself onto my feet, then noticed for the first time that Patty Lamont was sitting on the couch, watching me with fear-frozen eyes. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Boyd,” she whispered. “They just pushed their way in here and they made me call you. I didn’t want to, but the big one—hurt me!” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed convulsively.
“Shut up,” the cadaverous character said, without any particular inflection. “Or if you don’t, I’ll have Pete arrange it for you.”
Patty managed to stifle her sobs down to an incoherent murmur, and he nodded, apparently satisfied.
“You must be Marty Estell?” I said.
“Sure,” he said, nodding. “And you’re the flip private eye from the East. I’ll tell you a funny story, pal. When Pete claimed he’d found this guy beating my time with Louise, I didn’t believe it, even.”
“I got into town the same day Pete and I had the argument,” I said easily. “I pride myself on being a fast worker—but not that fast!”
“So—” he shrugged his thin shoulders indifferently— it’s old friends and that kind of jazz— who cares? Louise figures to get real smart and double-cross me, so she needs help.”
“Maybe you’re not right out of your mind?” I suggested pleasantly. “Just got a couple of hinges loose?”
Pete moved fast for all his bulk, and a hamlike fist buried itself in my solar plexus. For a timeless moment I figured I was about to die—and for another timeless moment worried in case I didn’t. Bent double, with both arms wrapped across my middle, I managed to stagger to the couch and flop down on it beside Patty Lamont.
“How do you get that way, being rude to the boss?” Pete asked in an aggrieved voice. “Ain’t you got no respect?”
“I’m not even sure if I’ve got insides,” I wheezed painfully.
Marty EstelTs face twitched suddenly. “Let’s get to the point, shall we?” he said in a flat voice. “I’m not here for my health, Boyd. I want the tiara.”
“Don’t we all?” I wheezed.
Pete started lumbering toward the couch, his eyes staring greedily through the coarse black hair that hung down over his forehead.
“Lay off!” Estell said curtly, and the giant came to a reluctant stop. “There’s plenty of time for that,” Marty continued. “Maybe Boyd doesn’t realize his exact situation?”
“Have Pete slam you in the gut the way he did me,” I suggested balefully, “then ask a stupid question.”
“You and Louise double-crossed me out of that tiara,” he said, ignoring my suggestion. “Then you double-crossed her, grabbed the ice for yourself, and gave her a bullet between the eyes in ever-loving memory.” He shook his head slightly. “Do you think that was nice, Boyd?”
“I found her body in the shower, with the tiara sitting on her head,” I snarled.
“Oh, sure.” His face twitched again suddenly. “You played it real cool—the real tiara in your pocket and the fake on top of her head—then call in the cops and walk out of there while they’re still busy looking for clues or something.”
The volcanic eruption in my insides had quietened down to an occasional spurt of molten lava, so I managed to straighten up slowly.
“You’re”—I stopped suddenly when I saw the gleam in
Pete’s eye and quickly rephrased the words—“mistaken. I only came into Santo Bahia because Elmo hired me to get back his stolen tiara. I had a list of all the people who were in the room when the switch was made. Louise’s name was on that list. It so happened I called on her while Pete was there and he didn’t wait to hear any explanations. That’s all there is to it.”
Estell stood, his face expressionless, as if he was considering the reasonableness of my explanation. For a few moments I figured the Boyd logic might prevail, even, but then he shook his head again.
“The way Pete tells it, you were real nervous and jumped him first opportunity you got, when he wasn’t looking,” he said. “I don’t believe in coincidence, pal. So I had Pete keep an eye on your hotel—and who does he see real cozy in the bar last night but you and this snotty-nosed broad!” He gestured contemptuously toward Patty.
“Then you’re the guy that finds Louise’s body and the stolen ice yet—only the way it turns out it’s not the genuine tiara after all. You spent all day running around in that fancy convertible, then you’re back in the bar again, only with a different broad—that redhead from the jewelry store. It all stacks up to a hell of a lot more than coincidence, pal.”
“Coincidence or no,” I snarled at him, “it’s the truth.” “Maybe I should take him apart a little more, boss?” Pete asked hungrily. “See what falls out when we open him up a little?”
“It would be a long and tedious process,” Estell said in the same flat monotone. “We don’t have the time. There’s a quicker way.” His right hand slid inside his coat and reappeared holding a .38, and a moment later I was looking straight down the barrel.
“Don’t think I won’t use it, pal,” he said easily. “You don’t want to believe me, that’s fine—just remember you can only be wrong once.”
He didn’t need to convince me. From the first time I’d seen those pale blue eyes that had been dead for a long time already, I’d picked him for a psycho killer, which is one stage worse than a pro. However uncomfortable, at least you know where you are with a pro—these are mostly the competent guys who kill for money and take an assignment the same way a photographer would. But a psycho like Marty Estell would likely kill his mother if she didn’t have his dinner ready on time.
“Yeah,” he said flatly, still watching my reactions. “I can see you’re about to take my word for it, huh, Boyd?” He didn’t bother to look in the giant’s direction. “Pete!” “Yeah, boss?”
“Work the broad over,” Marty suggested evenly. “Maybe the big private eye will get a real kick out of that.” “This is the kind of work I call real pleasure,” Pete said throatily.
He came toward the couch with both his hands outstretched in front of him, the fingers quivering with eager anticipation. Patty thrust herself against the back of the couch, her eyes dilating with horror. “No!” she whimpered. “You can’t—” The broad, stubby fingers hooked into the collar of her blouse and ripped it open right down the front, exposing the lacy black bra beneath.
“Relax, baby,” Pete almost chuckled. “You could get to like it, even.”
Again the fingers worked, and Pattie screamed thinly as the brassiere was literally torn off her body. He knocked her hands away with a scornful gesture as she tried to cover her exposed breasts.
“Hold it,” Estell said. “You want to change your mind, Boyd? From here on in, it’ll get real interesting.”
Patty’s face was a deep scarlet color with mortification, and terror glistened wetly in her eyes. I looked at her exposed bosom, the twin ivory mounds so softly feminine and completely vulnerable, and I knew I couldn’t let those obscene squat fingers violate her any further.
“I didn’t kill Louise and I don’t have the tiara,” I said to Estell. “But I can tell you who did kill her, and who’s got the tiara now.”
“So tell me?”
“You tell Pete to move away from the girl first.”
He shrugged impatiently. “You want to get sentimental about that sniveling broad?”
“The same way you want those diamonds,” I told him. “Okay. Get the hell out of the way, Pete.”
The giant moved away slowly, giving me a look of
animal-like hatred on the way. His fingers were still twitching as he backed off, and I figured maybe one day soon I might get lucky and do the world a favor at the same time.
“All right,” Marty said. “Now let’s hear it”
“The guy you want is Willie Byers,” I told him.
“Byers?” He looked questioningly at the giant, who stared back blankly and shook his head. “Who the hell is Byers?” Marty said coldly.
“He works for Elmo,” 1 said. “He’s the guy who made the original tiara and—”
“And he’s the man who was seeing an awful lot of I Louise a few months back,” Patty said suddenly in a \ cracked voice. “I knew he was no good for her the very first time I saw him! She wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell-—”
“Shut up, will you?” Estell snarled at her. “Boyd’s telling the story.”
Patty froze fearfully, her mouth hanging wide open. Then her whole body started to shake convulsively. 1 went on with the story, giving Estell every detail because I had to have him convinced, the way I was convinced. Byers was the expert and who better to make a paste imitation of the real tiara? The painting on his wall that had to be Louise Lamont—the art classes that both of them had attended. How she must have suckered him into the plot by dangling her dazzling body in front of his eyes. Then somehow he must have found out about her and Marty Estell and realized just how he had been suckered—so he’d killed her and taken the stolen tiara for himself.
There was an agonizing silence after I stopped talking. I watched Estell’s face but it remained completely expressionless—I might just as well have watched the wall. Then one side of his face twitched suddenly. “You got this Willie Byers’ address?” he asked.
“Sure—right here.” I took out my wallet and read out loud.
“You figure it is this Byers character, boss?” Pete asked dubiously. “You figure Boyd’s leveling with you and it's not just a stall?”
“I think there’s a reasonable chance he’s telling the truth,” Marty said flatly. “That’s why we’re going to find out.”
“Sure—anything you say,” Pete said hastily. “But what about these two?—tie broad and all? She could give us a lot of grief if she calls the cops.”
“We’ll leave them here,” Marty said. “If Boyd’s right and we lift the ice from this Willie Byers, we won’t be back. If he’s been kidding us a little, then we’ll be back for another little chat. So we got to make sure they don’t go anyplace meantime.”
“Scout’s honor?” I queried.
“You’re a very funny man, pal,” he said softly. “I got a good mind to come back here anyway and have Pete work you over some more, just for kicks.” The pale blue eyes were even more remote as they looked straight through me for a while. “Pete,” he said slowly, “look around and see if you can find anything to tie them up with.”
The giant hunted through the apartment, noisily opening closets and desecrating Patty’s bedroom. Around five minutes later he triumphantly emerged from the bedroom, carrying a bunch of luggage straps.
“You sure took your goddamned time,” Marty said thinly. “Take the broad into the bathroom and tie her to the faucet.”
Pete smiled nastily at Patty. “On your feet, baby!”
She stood up slowly, trying to pull the shredded blouse across the front of her. Pete grabbed her arm, nearly jerking her off her feet, and propelled her toward the bathroom. “You got no reason to feel shy, baby,” he bellowed, “I seen it all already!”
Another sixty seconds of miserable silence, then he returned with a satisfied grin on his face. “She’s fixed up real good, boss,” he said smugly. “Tied so tight she can’t blink even.”
“All right,” Marty nodded. “Now take care of Boyd and snap it up, will you?”
“Sure, sure,” Pete mumbled hastily.
He did a good job all right—my hands strapped behind my back, both my ankles and my knees strapped tight together. The leather dug cruelly into my flesh and I figured I didn’t have a hope in hell of moving one solitary muscle even, until someone untied the straps again.
“Where will I put him, boss?” Pete grunted.
“In the bathroom with the broad,” Estell snarled. “Where the hell else? They can keep each other company, and we’ll leave the radio on when we go, in case they start yelling any.”
The giant picked me up like I was a trussed fowl, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me into the bathroom. There was a bath and shower combination; Patty’s wrists were strapped to the shower faucet and she . was standing with one side pressed against the tiled walL Pete propped me in a standing position against the side of the bath and chuckled loudly. “Ain’t nothing like being really clean, pal!” Then he nudged my shoulder with the palm of his hand and I toppled sideways into the bath, banging my head painfully against the side. I lay full-length with my head close to Patty’s feet, writhing impotently while the sound of his raucous laugh faded into the other room. The door slammed shut after him, and a few seconds later the radio flooded the whole apartment with loud jazz.
“Danny?” Patty’s voice sounded remote from where I lay. I squirmed a little, twisting my neck, until I could look up at her face.
“Yeah?”
“I’m terribly sorry I got you into this!”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, I told her in a slightly terse voice. “You didn’t have any choice.”
“You’re very kind,” she said softly. “That was the first thing I thought when I met you, do you know that? Under that awfully good-looking and tough guy facade, I said to myself, there’s a wonderful soft, kindly man!”
“I don’t wonder you get into this kind of trouble if you go around saying things like that to yourself all the time!”
I grated. “How about we try and figure a way out of this?”
“I’ve tried.” Her body jerked suddenly as she pulled against the straps that held her wrists to the faucet. “But I can’t loosen them at all.”
“Well, keep right on trying, Patty,” I snapped. “We don’t have too much time before the boys will be back
—and frankly, I don’t want to be here when they arrive.” “Maybe they won’t be back?” she said hopefully. “If your theory about that Mr. Byers is right, they’ll—” “They’ll be back,” I said bleakly. “You remember when Estell asked for Byers’ address and I read it out loud to him?”
“Of course, but what difference does that make?”
“It wasn’t Byers’ address I read out loud,” I snarled. “It belonged to one of the other finalists in the beauty contest. I bet she’ll be about as surprised as Marty and Pete when she opens the door.”
“You fool!” she almost spat the word.
“Maybe you’re right,” I acknowledged. “But keep pulling against that faucet while you call me names, honey, because time’s running out on us fast.”
Her body jerked frantically as she threw her weight against the straps for maybe a minute, then suddenly went limp. “It’s no good, Mr. Boyd!” she said tearfully. “They don’t give at all.”
“You could call me Danny, after all we’ve been through together,” I said. “And keep pulling away—it’s the only hope we’ve got.”
“I’ll try,” she said, and sniffed loudly.
“That’s the girl,” I said encouragingly.
The faucet made a faint clanking sound as she jerked the straps again. “These straps will cut right through my wrists if I keep on much longer!”
“So what’s losing a pair of hands compared with your whole life?” I snarled at her. “Keep pulling.”
Maybe five minutes later when I was about ready to tell her to turn on the faucet because death by drowning would be infinitely preferable to Pete, she suddenly yelled excitedly.
“Danny! They slipped a little.”
“So pull some more,” I said fiercely.
The clanking sound was stronger, then Patty suddenly squealed in triumph. “I did it! I did it! I’ve got my hands loose, Danny!”
“So don’t just stand there making a big deal of it,” I yelled at her. “Get me loose.”
She got down onto her knees awkwardly and after what felt like a hell of a long time, managed to get my wrists
fret. 1 massaged the circulation back into them, then undid the straps around my knees and ankles. My walk back into the living room was strictly Chaplinesque, until the blood had gone down to my toes and back up again a couple of times.
Patty sank wearily onto the couch and heaved an immense sigh of relief, then remembered too late that the sigh was not only audible but visible, too. Maybe she saw the look of admiration on my face, because she blushed a fiery red and covered herself with her arms.
“You know something, Patty?” I told her. “You have a beautiful body—you should be proud of it.”
For a moment a look of pride showed in her dark eyes. “Louise and I had exactly the same measurements," she said shyly. 44We could wear the same size dress and everything. We used to borrow each other’s clothes all the time and—” Her voice stopped suddenly and she fumed her head away. 1 figured the memory of how Louise had died was still a hell of a lot too close for comfort.
“We still have a problem that's likely to return pretty soon,” 1 said briskly. “So we’d better get the hell out of here fast before we have company.”
“But where—”
“HI get you a room at the hotel for the night,” I said. “1 don't want to bring the cops into this just yet— 1 want to get to Byers first.”
*'111 go get some clothes together and I guess I'd better put some on as well.” She looked down at herself, then added daringly, “I bet the clerk wouldn't give me a room if he saw me like this!”
“Don't sell yourself short, honey,” I said mildly, “he might give you a whole suite yet.”
“Danny!” She gave me a delighted smile, then vanished into the N*droom. I lit a cigarette while 1 waited and I was just mashing the butt when her head suddenly reappeared around the door.
“Danny,” she said excitedly, “I just checked my watch.”
“And how is it?—still working?” I growled.
“You don't understand!” If she stamped her foot I didn't hear it but then maybe she wasn't wearing shoes right then. “Ifs only fifteen minutes since they left." she continued rapidly. **and that address you gave them is a twenty-minute drive ax absolute minimum—one way. So they can't possibly get back in less than another Twenty-five minutes, not counting the time it takes them to realize you gave them the wrong address. Why don’t you go straight over to Byers' place now? You don’t need to wait for me—I can get a cab to the hotel. ”
“Sure, but—” I said doubtfully.
“But nothing.” Her voice was determined. “You do as I say, because you're only wasting time waiting here for me—m be at kast another ten minutes."
“Okay.” I finally agreed. “But you make that ten minutes an absolute deadline.”
“I wffl."
She suddenly darted out from behind the door and ran barefoot toward me. A sheer nylon slip openly proved the rest of her figure was equal to the perfection of what I had already seen. She ran straight into me, threw her arms around my neck, then kissed me fiercely on the mouth. For a short time we were molded together in a businesslike clinch. Then she broke free and ran back to the bedroom, her face glowing like a danger signal.
I walked out of her apartment with that old. old gag running through my mind—“When is a broad not a broad0" Fd forgotten the punch line but it hardly mattered. and besides, I was punchy enough already. You never know where your fun's coming, and that's a fact.
The last time I was in Santo Bahia Td learned the hard way that the guy who's real smart carries his gun under his armpit, and not in the suitcase back at the hotel. Now Td learned it over again from Marty Estell and the lesson hadn't been any easier to come by. So I stopped off at the hotel first, went up to my room, and put on the shoulder harness under my coat. The weight of the .38 was comfortably reassuring as I rode the elevator hack to the lobby again. All in all. the detour hadn't taken more than ten minutes at most and I figured it had been worth it. Not that I expected any real trouble from little Willie, but sometimes you never can tell until it's too late.
The first time I'd visited his apartment house, the peace and quiet surrounding it—both inside and out—had seemed both dignified and elegant. This time I wasn’t too sure. The subdued hush that pervaded the atmosphere was more in keeping with a morgue than a place where people lived-
When Byers’ door opened so promptly to my discreet buzz, I figured maybe he was lonely and I’d get a warm welcome—well, some kind of welcome—almost any damned kind of welcome except the one I got. The door opened wide like WhoooshI and there I was staring down the barrel of a .38 that seemed somehow familiar. With a hell of an effort I raised my eyes and stared into the bloodless death mask that Marty Estell passed off as a face.
“Come right on in, pal,” he said tightly. “We’ve been expecting you right along.”
I did like I was told—who argues with the wrong end of a gun?—and he slammed the door shut behind me. The gigantic Pete stood solidly in the middle of the room, soiling its elegance, while the flamboyant, sprawling nude still dominated one wall.
“You were expecting me?” I said blankly to EstelL “How? You have a crystal ball, maybe?”
“The phony address didn’t fool me one minute,” he said coldly. “But I knew the name was right—it checked out with the broad—so we looked in the phone book before we took off. Then once we got here and found what you’d left for us, pal, I knew it had to be either you or the cops knocking on the door. And cops make a hell of a lot more noise than you did.”
“It’s like I’m confused, Marty,” I said honestly. “Figuring out the address was a phony, I can understand. Whatever it was I left for you here, I don't understand. How you knew I’d get out of those straps that Pete tied so tight he nearly severed some arteries—this I don’t understand, either. Or the optional bit about it had to be me or the cops?”
“I guess Pete softened you up more than I figured,” he said. “Maybe we should refresh your memory, pal?” He gestured with his gun toward the bedroom door. *’In there, huh?”
In there was the bedroom and it contained all the things you expect to find, including a bed. The unexpected lay on the bed, flat on his back, legs neatly together, fully dressed, one arm outflung, the other in a crooked position, the hand near the head, the gun on the pillow, and the bullet hole two inches above his right ear.
In death, Willie Byers looked even less impressive than he had in life, which was saying a hell of a lot. The graying brown hair looked like chaff the cattle had rejected a couple of weeks back, and the vacant expression on his face was a memory to keep even a morgue attendant awake nights.
“You think I killed him?” I said incredulously.
“Who else?” Marty said flatly.
“I wish I could remember what it was I ever did to you, that you hate me so much?” I said feelingly.
“It was real neat,” Marty said. “If the phony address worked, we’d be gone long enough for you to figure a way out of that bathtub. If we were smart and found the real address, we wound up with a corpse—so we’d beat it fast and keep right on running. Or you could have pulled a switch, called the cops and let us be taken right here with a body in the bedroom.”
I took another look at the mortal remains of Willie Byers. “Don’t you think he suicided?” I asked cautiously.
“Like I said, real neat,” he repeated. “You told us the whole bit, remember? Louise and Byers pulled the job between them. Then he knocks off Louise for all the reasons you said—his nerve cracks and he puts a slug into his brain. Real neat. Only one thing missing, pal, and that’s the ice. Where’s the tiara, huh?”
This time there was nothing I didn’t understand and it made me feel kind of nervous. Marty had me figured as the mastermind who double-crossed his girl, took the tiara away from her, then killed her—and this was only a starter—then knocked off Willie Byers and made it look like suicide. Yeah, there was one more thing— maybe I’d intended to stick him with a murder rap if the cops wouldn’t buy the suicide bit.
“You mind if I have a cigarette?” I asked him.
“Yeah—” he nodded “—I mind. I got other plans for you, pal. Like we’ll go back into the living room and you tell us what you really did with that ice?”
His wish was the .38’s command, so we went back into the living room. “Sit down,” Marty told me, and Pete cuffed my shoulder a second later, sending me backwards at a fast rate until the edge of my knees hit the couch and I was sitting down already.
“Let’s keep it simple,” Marty said. “You tell us, or Pete takes you apart, like before. Only this time there’s no dame—only you.”
There was no chance of convincing him I didn’t know where that damned tiara was, so all I could do was play it cagey. “What’s the percentage in it for me?” I asked him. “What happens if I do tell you where the ice is stashed?” I figured it might help a little if I spoke his language for a while.
“You save yourself a whole mess of grief, pal,” he said. “If you don’t tell me now, you will pretty soon. Nobody can stand up to a workout from Pete for too long without spilling their guts—trouble is you maybe won’t be able to put them back by that time.”
“This I dig,” I said fervently. “But what happens then?” “I owe you for a whole lot of trouble, Boyd.” The side of his face twitched violently. “Like you killed my broad and heisted the ice from under my nose—you know just how much trouble you caused me already. So I pick up the gun from in there” —he nodded toward the bedroom—“use it on you, wipe off the prints, stick it in your mitt, and we walk out.”
“The cops won’t buy it,” I said in a sneering voice. “They’ll have the same problem you got, Marty. Where’s the ice? Where’s the red tiara all this time?”
“It won’t worry me too much if they buy it or not, pal,” he said flatly. “But I think they will—my bet is that’s the gun you used on Louise and the three slugs will match up. So maybe you dropped the tiara over a cliff or something—who’s to know?”
He glanced at the heavy, oversized watch on his wrist. “You got five seconds before I tell Pete to go, pal. And once he starts, I’m not about to stop him even if you’ve told where the ice is stashed five times already!”
In a tactical situation, I didn’t have much advantage with Marty standing directly in front of me, his gun pointing straight at my chest, and Pete standing to one side only six feet away.
“Okay,” I said nervously. “You win, Marty. Now can I light a cigarette while I talk?”
“What difference? But don’t stall, pal!” For the first time there was the faintest animation in his voice.
“I’m not stalling,” I told him, while I slid my right hand gently inside my coat.
“Hold it!” Pete shouted. “Boss—maybe he’s got a gun?”
“Sometimes you’re so stupid I wonder how you ever learned to eat all by yourself!” Marty said bitterly. “What was the first thing you did when he walked into the broad’s apartment?”
“I slugged him!” Pete said triumphantly.
“Okay—so I boobed,” Marty said flatly. “After you slugged him—what then?”
“I frisked him, of course,” Pete answered in an injured tone of voice. “In case he was carrying a—oh, yeah! I see what you mean.”
My fingers wrapped around the butt of the .38 in a loving but firm grip. “That painting of Louise up on the wall in back of you, Marty,” I said. “You take a real good look at it?”
“I got no time to waste with paintings!”
“Right in back of the painting is a wall safe,” I lied. “And that’s where I stashed the ice.”
“Here?—in Byers’ apartment?” The doubt showed in his eyes, but the impulse to find out was irresistable. “Pete! Take a look.”
The giant lumbered across to the painting, got both hands under the massive frame, and gave it a sudden upward jerk. It moved fractionally and the veins stood out in his forehead as he tried again. This time it moved all right. There was a sound of ripping plaster as the supports tore away from the wall, then the whole damned thing came crashing down onto the floor. It was the noise, I guess, that made Marty turn his head away.
“He’s lying, boss!” Pete stared at the blank wall not long enough, then swung around in time to see me pull the .38 out of its harness. “Look out!” he bellowed frantically.
Marty Estell moved faster than any guy had a right to move, throwing himself sideways so the two shots I fired at him missed and plowed more plaster from the wall. Then I didn’t have time to worry about him any more—Pete,was lumbering toward me, moving real fast and only six feet away. His large and brutal hands were extended in front of him, reaching for me in lusting anticipation. I knew if once those squat obscenities of fingers got hold of me, he wouldn’t stop until some time after I was dead.
It was like shooting at the side of a house from maybe four feet away—I just couldn’t miss. The first shot hit him squarely in the chest and I relaxed my pressure on the trigger. He kept on coming and I fired again and hit him in the chest a second time. He still kept on coming and sudden terror engulfed my mind. The third shot took him in the throat and for a moment of sheer insanity it was raining blood. Then the lights went out.
I didn’t think—the compulsive reflexes took over, hounded by a flood of adrenalin. I went off the couch in a froglike leap the moment before it shuddered with a splintering sound as Pete’s huge bulk cannoned into it. When I started to think consciously, I found myself on my hands and knees, straining my eyes in what I vaguely figured was the direction where I’d last seen Marty Estell heading. It seemed like reckless suicide to think even, in case he heard the sound, never mind breathe.
How long I stayed that way I wouldn’t know but after what felt like a couple of long nights in a row, I realized there was a faint sliver of light showing from the corridor outside. Marty had slammed the door shut in back of me when I first came in, I remembered, and now it was open. So he was either playing it awfully cute, or he’d gone. There was one sure way to find out—I fired another shot and started rolling at the same time. I rolled maybe ten feet and there was still no answering shot. Nobody could play it that cool, I figured, so I climbed onto my feet and headed toward the fractionally open front door and the light switch beside it.
In the sudden harsh illumination, the room looked like a battlefield—the huge painting face down on the floor, the plaster wall in back of it chipped and scarred. There was no sign of Marty Estell and I guessed maybe he chickened out when he realized Pete wasn’t going to be any more help at all.
I walked across to the couch, which had been slammed up against the opposite wall, and looked down at Pete. He was on his knees, his body bent forward across the couch, with his face buried in the plump cushions. Both arms were still outstretched in front of him, and the rigid fingers were half-buried in the back of the couch where they had punctured the upholstery. It was about where my face would have been if I hadn’t made that froglike leap at the last moment. Where his face was buried, the cushion was saturated with a glistening wet stain.