Read Online Cop Out by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online Page B

the sun. He was wearing a black leather jacket and tight black pants and blue Keds, and he had red hair that bushed down over his bull’s neck. He had a broken nose and a face that went with it, brutal and stupid.
    Here’s one guy I’d better stay out of his reach. He’d stomp me to death and not even breathe hard.
    Malone stopped thinking and started tracking.
    He slid back on his belly until he was protected by the trees and then he got up in a crouch and keeping to the ground pine made a rapid quarter circle to the east, traveling on his toes. He knew where Hinch was headed, the other dirt road that led to the cabin. They must have their car hidden there.
    He was right. They had parked it off the road and made an attempt to hide it but it was clumsily done and Malone could see it from the bushes across the road. It was the black sedan, the Chrysler New Yorker, covered with dust.
    Hinch was bulling around in the underbrush. He got to the trunk and unlocked it and dug in for something inside. When the hand reappeared it was holding a half gallon of whisky by the neck. The seal on the bottle looked intact. He closed the trunk lid and shambled back toward the clearing.
    Malone backtracked. He was just in time to see Hinch step into the cabin and shut the door.
    He settled himself in his original hiding place. It would be a long wait if they were starting on another bottle. He did not know exactly what he was waiting for. A chance. A break. Anything. They might not show at all. Or they might all get drunk and pass out. The whisky might do the trick. I’ll have to see where I go from there.
    I should have taken the rifle. Why did I chicken out? I could have shot this Hinch in the brush. From ten yards away even the measly .22 cartridge in the right spot would have taken him out for good.
    Yes, and what would the other two do to Bibby when they heard a shot?
    No. Wait them out.
    If only they hadn’t taken his revolver. There was always something reassuring about the Colt’s weight on his hip, even though he had never fired it except on the state police pistol range during refreshers, and once at a marauding bobcat.
    He could see Ellen’s face. Waiting.
    Ellen’s face wavered, and Malone became aware of another, immediate danger.
    His eyes insisted on drooping.
    Those damned four days and nights on duty, and that heavy cold before that. The couple hours’ sleep I got last night were an appetizer, worse than nothing. He began to fight the droop.
    His eyes kept doing it.
    He fought them desperately. He pushed them up with his fingers. But even holding them open did no good. The clearing shimmered, fogged over.
    If they’re drinking in there they’re maybe frightening Bibby. Don’t be scared, baby. Daddy’s coming.
    The sky began to swing like Bibby’s swing in the backyard. Up … down …
    If I maybe shut my eyes for just a few seconds.
    Bibby I’m out here. It won’t be long.
    He was still talking to her when sleep washed everything out.
    â€œNo more,” Furia said. He took the bottle from Hinch and screwed back the top. Hinch was left with a few drops in his glass.
    â€œAw, Fure,” Hinch said.
    â€œI said that’s enough.” Furia was not drinking. He never drank anything but soda pop, not even beer. You’re scared to let go Goldie once told him, laughing.
    â€œOkay, Fure, okay.” Hinch upended the glass and let the drops trickle into his mouth. He tossed the glass into the sink. It hit some dirty dishes and shattered.
    â€œWatch it,” Furia said. “You’ll wake up the kid. That’s all we need is a bawling kid.”
    â€œShe’s out like a light,” Goldie said. She was still nursing hers, her third; she knew there would not be a fourth, not with Fure around. “It’s wonderful what a mouthful of booze will do to a nine-year-old. She’s gone on a real long trip.” She giggled.