The Silencers

XXV

It was that damn racket. I should have been watching the door, of course, and I thought I was, but you get in the habit of depending on your ears as well as your eyes- and ears were no use in there. My vigilance must have slipped for a moment. Suddenly Gunther was there, pistol in hand-the little nickel-plated weapon with which he'd shot LeBaron, by the looks of it-closing the door behind him.

We were all acting much too cozy and friendly, sitting there like three monkeys on a stick. Something had to be done about it fast, and I did it. Maybe it was a little rough on Gail, but on the other hand, it gave her a good springboard from which to dive into her act. After the first moment of shock, I saw understanding come to her. She started to look around, but checked herself in time. Her face puckered up nicely, and a couple of real tears trickled down her cheeks, as she stared at me reproachfully.

Gunther was above us now. "I declare," he said, "a real pretty tableau. Let's see those ropes!"

He checked my bonds and Romero's, then went over to Gail, who was curled up in a woeful little ball, watering the floor with her tears. He tested the ropes on her wrists and ankles, and nudged her with his foot.

"Turn it off, honey," he shouted. "This is Sam, Precious. Remember Sam, the guy who knows you like a book?

Anyway, he said something like that. It was hard to make out the exact words through the steady, pounding racket. I wanted to tell him he was dead, standing there in his big hat and high-heeled boots. That was what he'd been put here for, of course. He thought he was being given the responsible job of watching the prisoners, but Wegmann had given me the hint, and I knew Mr. Gunther was merely being kept on ice, so to speak, until Wegmann decided how best to dispose of him along with the rest of us. He'd been groomed for the part of Cowboy, and he was going to play it dead.

I started to shout at him, to tell him so, but he would have thought it a trick to turn him against his friends-an old, corny trick to try on a smart man like him. It was better to let Gail handle it. She'd stopped sobbing at the touch of his foot. Now she raised her head, turning her streaked face up to him.

"Oh, Sam!" she cried. "Sam, I'm so glad to see you, honey! You're going to help me, aren't you? We've always been friends, haven't we, Sam? You're not going to let them…" She stumbled prettily and convincingly over the words, "… kill me?"

"Why the hell should I help you, Precious?" he asked.

"Oh, Sam," she said, "you can't fool me, honey. I know you're good and kind…"

I lost the rest of that, as she lowered her voice slightly. She wasn't following the script I'd roughed out for her, which was all right, but I was afraid she was overdoing it a little. It was pretty crude. But she knew her man better than I did.

"Good and kind, am I, honey?" Still interested, he laughed at her, lying at his feet.

"Yes, they tried to tell me you killed Janie-had her killed-but I know you didn't do anything of the sort. I just know it!"

I didn't like that at all. I could see that she might want the final word on her sister's death, but it was the wrong place for detective work. I was getting the belt buckle around back where I wanted it, under cover of my disordered shirt, but if she annoyed him and lost his attention I'd have a hard time preparing and using it with him watching, particularly since my fingers seemed to have no feeling and hardly any strength.

I lost some more conversation with all the noise. He was laughing again. "… so you think you know Sam Gunther, all you rich bitches doling out a little money here and a little there in return for a lot of flattery and a bit of loving? Well, the time is coming, Precious, when you'll be doing the flattering and I'll be handing out the money… As for your sister, she was sent to kill me, did you know that. To kill me!" He sounded shocked. "She broke down and told me so herself!"

Gail said something I couldn't hear over the noise.

"That's right," he shouted back, "but I could always get around her, remember? I had her eating right out of my hand. She was still in love with me, and she had a guilty conscience a mile wide, after what she'd tried to do. Also, she was a sucker for Dr. Naldi's pitch, the silly little fool… Well, she wasn't so little, come to think of it. She was a well-stacked kid; she really looked good on that stage, I'll give her that. It was kind of a pity. But she knew too much, and things were getting tight. I didn't want her delivering the evidence to me with a couple of coppers watching. So I snapped my fingers, just like that." He snapped his fingers. "I can kill, too, Precious, if they force me to it. And when I'm through, I'll have more men around me like the man who threw the knife that night, tough men, dangerous men, just waiting for me to snap my fingers again!"

She said something else, and he said something else, still telling her what a big man he was going to be some day. Or words to that effect. His type are always going to be big men some day. I'd heard the routine before so many times I didn't bother to listen to the Gunther version. They're always small men wanting to be big, and they never make it. They always wind up stooges for pros like Wegmann.

But he was giving me time, and that was fine, but then he stopped talking and started to move away. That wasn't good. If he got to sitting down on the wooden stool over by the engine with his gun ready, watching, I'd never manage to do what needed to be done, unseen, with my clumsy, bound hands.

"Sam!" Gail pleaded desperately. "Please, Sam! I don't care about Janie; I'm sorry I mentioned it! She hated me anyway, and you know why! Sam, please, you've got to help me! You've got to! Why, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you!"

He stopped and frowned and came back. "Who're you trying to kid, Precious?" he shouted. "You came up here with this guy, because you were so mad at him. You told us all about it down in Carrizozo, remember? You were getting back at him because he'd treated you disrespectfully, or something, back in El Paso."

"Yes, that's what I told you," she admitted. "I was too proud to admit that I… Not to your face, Sam; not with people listening. Don't you understand? He was going to kill you. I had to do something to prevent it, to warn you, to help you… Don't you understand, Sam? I did it for you!"

I didn't think he'd buy it. It was pretty damn corny. He looked down at her for a moment in silence, thinking it over. I saw to my surprise that he was flattered and intrigued. He'd made his living off women for years. I guess it came as no real surprise that there was one more in the world who found him irresistible.

He started to speak, then changed his mind. He laughed shortly, and turned away. He went over to the engine, with a backward glance and sat down on the stool with his elbows on his knees, both hands supporting the little nickel-plated pistol aimed at us.

"Sam!" Gail cried. "Sam, please! You've got to believe me!"

He laughed, over there, and pointed to his ear, indicating that he couldn't hear a word. She started to move, and he watched with great interest, clearly wondering if she'd really do it. I mean, it isn't every man who can get a beautiful woman to come crawling to his feet, proclaiming her love.

I tried not to watch it. I mean, there are only three ways you can transport yourself any distance when your hands and feet are bound. You can roll like a log, you can squirm along on your side like a snake, or you can sit up and kind of skid yourself along on the seat of your pants. None of these modes of locomotion is anything you really want to see being employed by an attractive woman for whom you have respect and affection…

But it held his attention, that was the main thing. I guess he'd had to take a certain amount of stuff from her in the past; she might play, but she had kept him in his place. Watching the rich, arrogant and lovely Mrs. Hendricks, bound hand and foot, making her way across the oil-stained floor at considerable expense to her dignity and clothing, was a real treat to him.

The gunbarell drooped, as his eyes remained fixed on the slender, struggling, disheveled figure slowly drawing closer. It was time for me to reach under my shirt in back and peel the metal foil from the sharp edges of the trick belt buckle Mac had given me and cut the ropes on my wrists.

I got hold of the buckle all right. I even found a purchase for my fingernails, but that was as far as it went. I didn't have the strength to take it from there.