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Authors: Clifton Adams
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to tell me off if he ever saw me again, but before he could say anything I stuck the .38 in his face. I put it right under his nose where he could smell the gun oil and steel.
“What the hell is this!”
“Nothing yet,” I said, getting into the back seat. “Just stay where you are. Don't move or make a sound.”
“By God, if you think…!”
I jammed the muzzle into his throat and he almost fainted. “Listen to me, punk, and listen good! I want you to sit there like a goddamn statue. You move one muscle and I'll blow the roof of your mouth through your skull!”
He could be a very smart boy when it suited him. He didn't move a muscle. He sat just like a statue. I leaned over the back of the seat, moving the muzzle of the .38 until it was pressing against the base of his skull, then I patted him down. He wore a .38 automatic in a shoulder holster, just like in the movies. His only trouble was that automatic might as well have been a chocolate bar, for all the good it had done him. He hadn't even made a move in its direction.
I never cared for automatics. There are too many things to go wrong with them. I shoved it in my coat pocket, then reached back with one hand and pulled down the folding jump seat by the door.
“If it's money,” he said tightly, “I ain't got any.”
“It isn't money,” I said.
“What is it, then? For God's sake, what is it?”
“All right, Humphrey,” I said, “I'll tell you what it is. I'm going to kill your boss. When he come out of that apartment building, you're going to just sit there behind the wheel and say nothing and do nothing. Is that clear?”
“Kill Mr. Burton? Why?”
“I've got my reasons, Humphrey.”
“For Christ's sake, Mr. Burton's the finest guy in the world! Why in the world would you want to kill him?”
“He's so goddamn nice, why does he dress his chauffeur in a .38?”
“Jeez, for protection!”
I laughed. “A fine lot of protection he's going to get out of you, Humphrey. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you didn't lose your job over this.”
He was sweating plenty. I kept grinding the muzzle of my revolver into the back of his neck and I could see the nervous sweat oozing out on his face.
“Jeez, won't you take that thing out of my neck!”
“Sorry, Humphrey, it's necessary. It's a reminder of what will happen to you if you should feel any hero impulse coming on.”
He sat very still and quiet for several minutes, and so did I. After a while I heard a soft hiss, a bare whisper of a hiss, and then I recognized it as the vacuum stop on the apartment building's front door. Then a figure grew out of the darkness, heading toward the limousine.
“Remember, Humphrey.”
He whimpered a little. A very small whimper.
Then suddenly the night was alive with noise. The twin air horns on that limousine exploded a steady stream of sound into the darkness. I jerked my pistol out of Humphrey's neck and clubbed him with the barrel. I hit him again and again, and finally the noise of the horns stopped as abruptly as it had begun. I jumped out of the car and almost ran over Burton.
“Listen,” I said, jamming the revolver hard into his gut, “you make one sound and you're dead! You understand that?”
“What… What's going on here! Where's Robert!”
“If Robert's your chauffeur he's nursing a fractured skull. Now get in under the wheel and do it quick!”
“No!” His eyes were wild. He was completely panic stricken. He tried to shove himself away from me, and I knew immediately that it would have to be done here and now.
To muffle the sound I jammed the muzzle hard into his soft stomach-still the noise sounded like a TNT plant going up when I pulled the trigger. Burton's mouth flew open. He started clawing at his middle, but that action was pure reflex. Alex Burton had died almost instantly.
His body was a hell of a thing to handle. He had weighed almost two hundred pounds and there didn't seem to be any place to grab hold. However, I
“What the hell is this!”
“Nothing yet,” I said, getting into the back seat. “Just stay where you are. Don't move or make a sound.”
“By God, if you think…!”
I jammed the muzzle into his throat and he almost fainted. “Listen to me, punk, and listen good! I want you to sit there like a goddamn statue. You move one muscle and I'll blow the roof of your mouth through your skull!”
He could be a very smart boy when it suited him. He didn't move a muscle. He sat just like a statue. I leaned over the back of the seat, moving the muzzle of the .38 until it was pressing against the base of his skull, then I patted him down. He wore a .38 automatic in a shoulder holster, just like in the movies. His only trouble was that automatic might as well have been a chocolate bar, for all the good it had done him. He hadn't even made a move in its direction.
I never cared for automatics. There are too many things to go wrong with them. I shoved it in my coat pocket, then reached back with one hand and pulled down the folding jump seat by the door.
“If it's money,” he said tightly, “I ain't got any.”
“It isn't money,” I said.
“What is it, then? For God's sake, what is it?”
“All right, Humphrey,” I said, “I'll tell you what it is. I'm going to kill your boss. When he come out of that apartment building, you're going to just sit there behind the wheel and say nothing and do nothing. Is that clear?”
“Kill Mr. Burton? Why?”
“I've got my reasons, Humphrey.”
“For Christ's sake, Mr. Burton's the finest guy in the world! Why in the world would you want to kill him?”
“He's so goddamn nice, why does he dress his chauffeur in a .38?”
“Jeez, for protection!”
I laughed. “A fine lot of protection he's going to get out of you, Humphrey. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you didn't lose your job over this.”
He was sweating plenty. I kept grinding the muzzle of my revolver into the back of his neck and I could see the nervous sweat oozing out on his face.
“Jeez, won't you take that thing out of my neck!”
“Sorry, Humphrey, it's necessary. It's a reminder of what will happen to you if you should feel any hero impulse coming on.”
He sat very still and quiet for several minutes, and so did I. After a while I heard a soft hiss, a bare whisper of a hiss, and then I recognized it as the vacuum stop on the apartment building's front door. Then a figure grew out of the darkness, heading toward the limousine.
“Remember, Humphrey.”
He whimpered a little. A very small whimper.
Then suddenly the night was alive with noise. The twin air horns on that limousine exploded a steady stream of sound into the darkness. I jerked my pistol out of Humphrey's neck and clubbed him with the barrel. I hit him again and again, and finally the noise of the horns stopped as abruptly as it had begun. I jumped out of the car and almost ran over Burton.
“Listen,” I said, jamming the revolver hard into his gut, “you make one sound and you're dead! You understand that?”
“What… What's going on here! Where's Robert!”
“If Robert's your chauffeur he's nursing a fractured skull. Now get in under the wheel and do it quick!”
“No!” His eyes were wild. He was completely panic stricken. He tried to shove himself away from me, and I knew immediately that it would have to be done here and now.
To muffle the sound I jammed the muzzle hard into his soft stomach-still the noise sounded like a TNT plant going up when I pulled the trigger. Burton's mouth flew open. He started clawing at his middle, but that action was pure reflex. Alex Burton had died almost instantly.
His body was a hell of a thing to handle. He had weighed almost two hundred pounds and there didn't seem to be any place to grab hold. However, I
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