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Authors: Max Allan Collins
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mouth. Tulip yiped and clubbed Nolan with the .45 again and kicked him in the back as he went down. From the floor Nolan could see Tulip spitting out a tooth. Just then Dinneck kicked Nolan in the kidney and pain won him.
He opened his eyes a few seconds later and saw Dinneck standing above him, contemplating kicking him again. Nolan grabbed Dinneck by the right heel and heaved him, hard enough, he hoped, to land Dinneck on his tail bone, snap it and kill him. But Tulip was there to brace Dinneck’s fall, and train the .45 on Nolan’s head.
Nolan reached for his towel and, sitting in a puddle of pool water and his own blood, cleaned off his face while Dinneck spat questions.
“What were you nosing around the Big Seven for? What did Hal Davis tell you?”
Nolan said, “Ask Davis.”
Dinneck said, “He cut out. Last he was seen was talking to you. We checked his apartment and all his things were gone. His car, too. Didn’t even leave a forwarding address at the Globe . Why did you visit George Franco?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah, try the truth for a change.”
“I’m doing a story on the Chelsey hippie scene. For my magazine. I heard rumors that Franco was a racket boss peddling LSD to the college crowd.”
Dinneck and Tulip glanced at each other as if they almost believed Nolan’s story.
Dinneck said, “I can just about buy you as a reporter, Webb . . . just about, but not quite. I picture you more as a man running. That’s the way you travel, anyway. Or hunting, maybe. Which are you, Webb? Hunter or hunted?”
“Maybe I’m neither,” Nolan said. Or maybe both.
“Two .38’s. Half a dozen boxes of cartridges. Unmarked clothing, not a laundry mark or a label or anything. Rented car. No address beyond Earl Webb, Philadelphia, on the motel register. Not any one thing to identify you as a living human being.”
“So what?”
“So . . . so I begin to think you’re a dangerous man, Mr. Webb. And I don’t think your presence in Chelsey benefits my employers.”
Nolan said, “What do I get? Sunrise to get out of town?”
“You’re a man with a sense of humor, Mr. Webb. Maybe you’ll like this, just for laughs . . .”
Nolan rose up, his muscles tensed, his back arched like a cat’s.
“Tulip, toss me the .45 and we’ll give Mr. Webb here a swimming lesson.”
As the ox was handing the gun to Dinneck, Nolan snapped his towel in Dinneck’s face like a whip. It made a loud crack as it bit flesh. Dinneck clutched his face and screamed, “My eyes! My God, my eyes!”
The .45 skittered across the tile floor. Nolan leaped for it, grabbed it. He whirled and saw Tulip coming like a truck. He waited till the ox was a foot away, then smacked the barrel of the .45 across Tulip’s left temple. Tulip cried out softly and pitched backward, stumbling into the pool; he hit the water hard but got lucky and didn’t crack his head on the cement. Water geysered upon the big man’s impact. He wound up in the shallow section, the top half of him hanging over the side of the pool, semi-conscious, his petal-like mouth sucking for air.
Dinneck was on the floor, screaming, fingers clawing his face.
Nolan slapped him. “Shut the fuck up, before the whole motel’s in here.”
Dinneck quieted, still a blind man, his eyes squeezed together and his face slick with tears.
“Who sent you, Dinneck?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll never tell you . . . you lousy cocksucker!”
Nolan seized Dinneck by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over to the pool. Nolan knelt him down and said, “Now I’m going to ask you some questions.”
Dinneck kept swearing at Nolan and Nolan pushed Dinneck’s head under water for sixty seconds. Dinneck came up gasping for air.
“Who sent you, Dinneck? George?”
“You son-of-a-bitch, Webb, goddamn you . . .”
Nolan put him back under for another minute. When he brought Dinneck back up he had quit talking, but his breath was heavy and his unconsciousness only a
He opened his eyes a few seconds later and saw Dinneck standing above him, contemplating kicking him again. Nolan grabbed Dinneck by the right heel and heaved him, hard enough, he hoped, to land Dinneck on his tail bone, snap it and kill him. But Tulip was there to brace Dinneck’s fall, and train the .45 on Nolan’s head.
Nolan reached for his towel and, sitting in a puddle of pool water and his own blood, cleaned off his face while Dinneck spat questions.
“What were you nosing around the Big Seven for? What did Hal Davis tell you?”
Nolan said, “Ask Davis.”
Dinneck said, “He cut out. Last he was seen was talking to you. We checked his apartment and all his things were gone. His car, too. Didn’t even leave a forwarding address at the Globe . Why did you visit George Franco?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yeah, try the truth for a change.”
“I’m doing a story on the Chelsey hippie scene. For my magazine. I heard rumors that Franco was a racket boss peddling LSD to the college crowd.”
Dinneck and Tulip glanced at each other as if they almost believed Nolan’s story.
Dinneck said, “I can just about buy you as a reporter, Webb . . . just about, but not quite. I picture you more as a man running. That’s the way you travel, anyway. Or hunting, maybe. Which are you, Webb? Hunter or hunted?”
“Maybe I’m neither,” Nolan said. Or maybe both.
“Two .38’s. Half a dozen boxes of cartridges. Unmarked clothing, not a laundry mark or a label or anything. Rented car. No address beyond Earl Webb, Philadelphia, on the motel register. Not any one thing to identify you as a living human being.”
“So what?”
“So . . . so I begin to think you’re a dangerous man, Mr. Webb. And I don’t think your presence in Chelsey benefits my employers.”
Nolan said, “What do I get? Sunrise to get out of town?”
“You’re a man with a sense of humor, Mr. Webb. Maybe you’ll like this, just for laughs . . .”
Nolan rose up, his muscles tensed, his back arched like a cat’s.
“Tulip, toss me the .45 and we’ll give Mr. Webb here a swimming lesson.”
As the ox was handing the gun to Dinneck, Nolan snapped his towel in Dinneck’s face like a whip. It made a loud crack as it bit flesh. Dinneck clutched his face and screamed, “My eyes! My God, my eyes!”
The .45 skittered across the tile floor. Nolan leaped for it, grabbed it. He whirled and saw Tulip coming like a truck. He waited till the ox was a foot away, then smacked the barrel of the .45 across Tulip’s left temple. Tulip cried out softly and pitched backward, stumbling into the pool; he hit the water hard but got lucky and didn’t crack his head on the cement. Water geysered upon the big man’s impact. He wound up in the shallow section, the top half of him hanging over the side of the pool, semi-conscious, his petal-like mouth sucking for air.
Dinneck was on the floor, screaming, fingers clawing his face.
Nolan slapped him. “Shut the fuck up, before the whole motel’s in here.”
Dinneck quieted, still a blind man, his eyes squeezed together and his face slick with tears.
“Who sent you, Dinneck?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll never tell you . . . you lousy cocksucker!”
Nolan seized Dinneck by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over to the pool. Nolan knelt him down and said, “Now I’m going to ask you some questions.”
Dinneck kept swearing at Nolan and Nolan pushed Dinneck’s head under water for sixty seconds. Dinneck came up gasping for air.
“Who sent you, Dinneck? George?”
“You son-of-a-bitch, Webb, goddamn you . . .”
Nolan put him back under for another minute. When he brought Dinneck back up he had quit talking, but his breath was heavy and his unconsciousness only a
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