Read Online Dirty Harry 08 - Hatchet Men by Dane Hartman - Free Book Online
Authors: Dane Hartman
Ads: Link
trotted back up to his car. As he reached the throng of curious onlookers, two patrolmen were already working their way through the throng from the other side.
“I’m Inspector Callahan of the homicide office,” Harry told them as they broke on through. “There’s two witnesses in the yacht with the lights on, two D.O.A.’s on the pier and three more in the water. The corpses were pirates.”
“Christ!” the first officer breathed, seeing the blood on the planking and the crumpled van in the water. “You got any idea what killed them?”
“I did,” Callahan said, moving toward his car.
“Shit!” he heard the second man call after him. “You must be Dirty Harry!”
He did not deign to reply to the correct guess. Nowadays it seemed as if he needed only to wave his gun and not his badge for identification. Leaving the messy scene to the rest of Frisco’s finest, Harry pushed his auto into gear and shot off toward Chinatown. He took Jefferson to Hyde to Beach and then onto Columbus, which led him right to the east side of the Oriental center.
The streets were relatively clear, given that it was four-thirty in the morning. There was a bit more activity outside the Chinatown Wax Museum on Grant and California streets. As soon as he got into visual range, his car was stopped by some officers manning a police barricade. Harry saw the van parked in front of the museum, but he had to spend ten minutes convincing the boys in blue that he was one of them. His wallet, badge, and driver’s license were back in his apartment, along with his jacket and speed loaders.
Finally, it got to the point that the patrolmen weren’t sure whether to arrest him for carrying a cannon without proper I.D., driving without a license, or going on police business without a shield. Instead of doing any of these, they let him through. As they rationalized later, anyone looking like Harry who carried a .44 Magnum had to be either a cop or a very curious gunfighter.
Callahan approached the scene slowly, the hanging lanterns giving the misty street a wet glow in the early morning light. Sudden flashes of red and blue danced across his face from the silent, spinning turrets of the cop cars. The whole scene disquieted Harry. There were much too many officers at the scene to make it just an ordinary abandoned car. He got the sinking feeling that Suni might have been abandoned with the vehicle—both lifeless.
Cops were crawling all over the van and the museum entrance. As Harry grew near, the van’s back doors suddenly flew open. The cop was taken by surprise, freezing in his tracks. He relaxed when he realized that the van was empty and dry, while the men bursting out were fingerprint specialists.
As soon as he assimilated this, the doors of the museum swung wide and two teams of paramedics wheeled out two covered bodies. Harry moved away from the van to catch the people just before they hauled the corpses into the waiting ambulance. Harry placed a hand on the first paramedic’s shoulder.
“What have you got?” he asked blandly, his stomach boiling.
“Two Orientals,” the medico replied. “A boy and a girl. The male had enough lead in him to make a set of barbells. As near as I can tell, the girl was raped and suffocated.”
Harry pulled back the first sheet. What used to be a young Chinese face looked back up at him. Miraculously, the eyes were open and untouched. But the rest of the face looked like moldy red apple sauce. Someone had done a dance on this boy’s face with a machine gun. Harry waved that one on, and had the second sheet-covered body served to him like a picky gourmet at a royal meal.
He pictured Suni’s face underneath the covering and then pulled the sheet back. His fantasy and what he saw did not match. This was a young Chinese girl, whose normally pretty features were distorted by purple mounds of puffed-up skin. As if someone had inserted an air pump into her head.
The sight of the viciously murdered girl
“I’m Inspector Callahan of the homicide office,” Harry told them as they broke on through. “There’s two witnesses in the yacht with the lights on, two D.O.A.’s on the pier and three more in the water. The corpses were pirates.”
“Christ!” the first officer breathed, seeing the blood on the planking and the crumpled van in the water. “You got any idea what killed them?”
“I did,” Callahan said, moving toward his car.
“Shit!” he heard the second man call after him. “You must be Dirty Harry!”
He did not deign to reply to the correct guess. Nowadays it seemed as if he needed only to wave his gun and not his badge for identification. Leaving the messy scene to the rest of Frisco’s finest, Harry pushed his auto into gear and shot off toward Chinatown. He took Jefferson to Hyde to Beach and then onto Columbus, which led him right to the east side of the Oriental center.
The streets were relatively clear, given that it was four-thirty in the morning. There was a bit more activity outside the Chinatown Wax Museum on Grant and California streets. As soon as he got into visual range, his car was stopped by some officers manning a police barricade. Harry saw the van parked in front of the museum, but he had to spend ten minutes convincing the boys in blue that he was one of them. His wallet, badge, and driver’s license were back in his apartment, along with his jacket and speed loaders.
Finally, it got to the point that the patrolmen weren’t sure whether to arrest him for carrying a cannon without proper I.D., driving without a license, or going on police business without a shield. Instead of doing any of these, they let him through. As they rationalized later, anyone looking like Harry who carried a .44 Magnum had to be either a cop or a very curious gunfighter.
Callahan approached the scene slowly, the hanging lanterns giving the misty street a wet glow in the early morning light. Sudden flashes of red and blue danced across his face from the silent, spinning turrets of the cop cars. The whole scene disquieted Harry. There were much too many officers at the scene to make it just an ordinary abandoned car. He got the sinking feeling that Suni might have been abandoned with the vehicle—both lifeless.
Cops were crawling all over the van and the museum entrance. As Harry grew near, the van’s back doors suddenly flew open. The cop was taken by surprise, freezing in his tracks. He relaxed when he realized that the van was empty and dry, while the men bursting out were fingerprint specialists.
As soon as he assimilated this, the doors of the museum swung wide and two teams of paramedics wheeled out two covered bodies. Harry moved away from the van to catch the people just before they hauled the corpses into the waiting ambulance. Harry placed a hand on the first paramedic’s shoulder.
“What have you got?” he asked blandly, his stomach boiling.
“Two Orientals,” the medico replied. “A boy and a girl. The male had enough lead in him to make a set of barbells. As near as I can tell, the girl was raped and suffocated.”
Harry pulled back the first sheet. What used to be a young Chinese face looked back up at him. Miraculously, the eyes were open and untouched. But the rest of the face looked like moldy red apple sauce. Someone had done a dance on this boy’s face with a machine gun. Harry waved that one on, and had the second sheet-covered body served to him like a picky gourmet at a royal meal.
He pictured Suni’s face underneath the covering and then pulled the sheet back. His fantasy and what he saw did not match. This was a young Chinese girl, whose normally pretty features were distorted by purple mounds of puffed-up skin. As if someone had inserted an air pump into her head.
The sight of the viciously murdered girl
Similar Books
