Read Online Find This Woman by Richard S. Prather - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard S. Prather
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me and fell full on them. I could see them plainly enough, but I doubted that anyone back at the wrecked Cad could see much, if anything, this far away.
Neither of them said a word and I pulled the barrel of the .38 over and held it two feet from Baldy's head and pointed right at his nose. He said suddenly, "Just walking. Walking back to town."
"You son of a bitch! Drop that thing. You always walk around with a sap?" He dropped it. I went on. "Both of you, stretch. Hands nine feet up. Stretch!"
They put their hands high over their heads and stretched. I looked from one to the other. "Start talking, and do it fast or I'll ruin you, so help me. Who worked the job on the car? Why are you bastards after me?"
They didn't say anything and for about ten seconds I waited for them, and every second I got hotter and sicker and the knots curled tighter inside my stomach. One or both of these guys were going to tell me what this was all about or wind up half dead, and remembering what Freddy had looked like under that blanket, I wasn't sure I'd stop at halfway measures.
They didn't speak. I lowered my gun down to the level of my hips.
"O.K.," I said. I took one step forward, slipped my finger outside the trigger guard, and slashed the gun up in a fast arc that began at my hips and ended against Baldy's chin with a shock that I felt in the tight muscles of my forearm. He let out one small gasp and started to sag, but I grabbed the front of his coat with my left hand and flipped the gun in my right hand over toward the other man. He was down off his toes, standing flat-footed, looking at me, but I said, "Up! Stretch, damnit," and he almost went clear off the ground. While he was still looking it me I let go of Baldy, and as he fell toward my feet I slashed the revolver down and across the top of his head. He crumpled up silently at my feet.
The tall guy blurted, "For crisake, you might of killed him."
"You think you'll talk to me now?" I let him hear the double click as I pulled the hammer all the way back. The metal was a little slippery and I had to press harder than usual on the checked surface of the hammer, but it clicked twice and he heard it, all right.
"Hold it, wait a minute. I don't know nothing. He got me. Him. Abel. Nils Abel. Oh, Jesus."
"Who's Nils Abel?"
"Right there. You hit him." His voice was shaking.
"Keep it going."
He kept it going. He talked a blue streak with his voice cracking once in a while, but he didn't say anything I wanted to hear. He was Joe Fine, a local handy man: handy with a gun or sapâor anything requiring little intelligence, apparently. Nils, the guy on the ground, had picked him up earlier, saying that they might go out to the airport. Nils hadn't said why, but by now Fine did know that somebodyâhe didn't know whoâhad wired the dynamite in the Cad. I thought he was telling me all he knew. About the only other thing I found out was that Nils Abel was a box man at Victor Dante's Inferno.
Then light splashed full upon us. Headlights. I risked a quick look, then swung back to Fine, wondering what the hell I did now. It could be Colleen, or somebody of the curious, or the law. At first the law seemed one hell of a good idea, but out of the back of my brain I remembered Freddy saying something about Dante's influence: "Political and police." I wasn't in my own back yard now and there was no Captain Samson on my side or anyone else I could be sure about. Right now there was just me.
I didn't have time to stop and add up all the pros and cons, think it out logically, because while we stood there full in the glare of the headlightsâJoe Fine with his hands over his head and me holding a gun on him, and Baldy crumpled on the groundâsomebody back at the airport yelled loudly and a bright spotlight on one of the sheriff's cars swung over and outlined us even better than before.
The first car slid to a stop alongside me. It was Colleen, and I made up my mind. I called to her,
Neither of them said a word and I pulled the barrel of the .38 over and held it two feet from Baldy's head and pointed right at his nose. He said suddenly, "Just walking. Walking back to town."
"You son of a bitch! Drop that thing. You always walk around with a sap?" He dropped it. I went on. "Both of you, stretch. Hands nine feet up. Stretch!"
They put their hands high over their heads and stretched. I looked from one to the other. "Start talking, and do it fast or I'll ruin you, so help me. Who worked the job on the car? Why are you bastards after me?"
They didn't say anything and for about ten seconds I waited for them, and every second I got hotter and sicker and the knots curled tighter inside my stomach. One or both of these guys were going to tell me what this was all about or wind up half dead, and remembering what Freddy had looked like under that blanket, I wasn't sure I'd stop at halfway measures.
They didn't speak. I lowered my gun down to the level of my hips.
"O.K.," I said. I took one step forward, slipped my finger outside the trigger guard, and slashed the gun up in a fast arc that began at my hips and ended against Baldy's chin with a shock that I felt in the tight muscles of my forearm. He let out one small gasp and started to sag, but I grabbed the front of his coat with my left hand and flipped the gun in my right hand over toward the other man. He was down off his toes, standing flat-footed, looking at me, but I said, "Up! Stretch, damnit," and he almost went clear off the ground. While he was still looking it me I let go of Baldy, and as he fell toward my feet I slashed the revolver down and across the top of his head. He crumpled up silently at my feet.
The tall guy blurted, "For crisake, you might of killed him."
"You think you'll talk to me now?" I let him hear the double click as I pulled the hammer all the way back. The metal was a little slippery and I had to press harder than usual on the checked surface of the hammer, but it clicked twice and he heard it, all right.
"Hold it, wait a minute. I don't know nothing. He got me. Him. Abel. Nils Abel. Oh, Jesus."
"Who's Nils Abel?"
"Right there. You hit him." His voice was shaking.
"Keep it going."
He kept it going. He talked a blue streak with his voice cracking once in a while, but he didn't say anything I wanted to hear. He was Joe Fine, a local handy man: handy with a gun or sapâor anything requiring little intelligence, apparently. Nils, the guy on the ground, had picked him up earlier, saying that they might go out to the airport. Nils hadn't said why, but by now Fine did know that somebodyâhe didn't know whoâhad wired the dynamite in the Cad. I thought he was telling me all he knew. About the only other thing I found out was that Nils Abel was a box man at Victor Dante's Inferno.
Then light splashed full upon us. Headlights. I risked a quick look, then swung back to Fine, wondering what the hell I did now. It could be Colleen, or somebody of the curious, or the law. At first the law seemed one hell of a good idea, but out of the back of my brain I remembered Freddy saying something about Dante's influence: "Political and police." I wasn't in my own back yard now and there was no Captain Samson on my side or anyone else I could be sure about. Right now there was just me.
I didn't have time to stop and add up all the pros and cons, think it out logically, because while we stood there full in the glare of the headlightsâJoe Fine with his hands over his head and me holding a gun on him, and Baldy crumpled on the groundâsomebody back at the airport yelled loudly and a bright spotlight on one of the sheriff's cars swung over and outlined us even better than before.
The first car slid to a stop alongside me. It was Colleen, and I made up my mind. I called to her,
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