Read Online The Crowning Terror by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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"When he gets burned, he says things just to be contrary. A little light in the head, you know?"
Joe's eyes widened with a rush of comprehension, and he narrowed them again before Starkey saw. He finally understood what his brother was up to.
Frank poured his own tea while watching Mickey carefully. Mickey, a chain-smoker, drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with one hand, forcing a cigarette out with his thumb. He grasped it with his teeth and put the pack back. Then his hand went into another pocket and came out with a wooden match. All the time, he kept his eyes on Frank and Joe.
"Any lemon?" Frank asked. Mickey scratched the match head with his thumbnail, lighting it.
"This isn't a restaurant," Starkey said. A'Drink up." Mickey raised the match to his lip.
"I would like some tea, Frank," Joe Said. He sprang off his bed, moving toward Mickey with a teacup in his outstretched hand. Mickey kept the gun aimed at Joe.
Frank grabbed the teapot and threw the steaming water into Mickey's face. Mickey shrieked, one hand flying to his eyes, his pistol swinging toward Frank. Twisting out of the way, Frank clamped a hand on Mickey's wrist and pinched. The gun dropped out of his hand.
Joe caught the revolver in midair and turned it on Starkey while Frank smashed the teapot on Mickey's head. The gunman dropped to his knees, clawed at the air, and then plunged forward. The cigarette rolled from his lips and Frank ground it out underfoot.
"Out like a light," Frank said, looking down at Mickey.
"Your flunky should have known smoking was hazardous to his health," Joe told Starkey. Slowly Starkey's hand moved toward his coat. "Huh - uh," Joe said, wagging the gun up and down. "Hands where we can see them."
Starkey moved his hands out to the side and splayed his fingers. Joe seized Starkey's shoulder, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall.
"The shoe's on the other foot, pal," Joe said. He jabbed the revolver's muzzle into Starkey's spine.
Frank frisked Starkey. He had a forty-five in a coat pocket, plus a thirty-eight special in a holster on the back of his belt. Frank took them. "What my brother's trying to say is that the three of us are marching out of here. Together. You're going to lead us right past all your men."
"You cross me, you cross the United States government," Starkey said angrily. "You'll never be safe anywhere — "
"Shut up!" Joe barked. Roughly, he shoved Starkey to the door. "Move."
Frank reached the door first and looked down the hall. There was no one. "Looks like your men aren't staying as close as you thought." He pulled Starkey out of the door. "We'll give you a better deal than you gave us. Just play along until we're outside, and you'll come out of this in one piece."
"But remember who has the guns," Joe said.
At a normal pace they walked down the hall and rounded a corner. On a chair next to the bank of elevators, a balding man in a business suit was seated, reading a newspaper. He was overweight, and his extra bulk pushed the outline of a gun and shoulder holster into his coat. A walkie-talkie hung from his belt.
"One of yours, right?" Joe asked Starkey. Starkey said nothing, but his gritted teeth were answer enough. "Be cool."
The seated man looked up with a big grin as they approached. "Hey, Starkey," he said cheerfully. "What gives? Thought you were working late tonight."
With a wink and a smile, Starkey said, "You know what they say about all work and no play."
Frank hit the elevator button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. Joe stood a few feet behind Starkey as Starkey and the seated man chatted on. It was meaningless talk about the weather in San Francisco. Frank almost laughed. He had no idea Starkey had such trivial talk in him.
At last the bell chimed and the elevator doors slid open. As they moved into the elevator, Starkey cried, "Danger, Charlie. Move!"
With dazzling speed, the man on the chair drew his pistol. His jovial smile warped into a
Joe's eyes widened with a rush of comprehension, and he narrowed them again before Starkey saw. He finally understood what his brother was up to.
Frank poured his own tea while watching Mickey carefully. Mickey, a chain-smoker, drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with one hand, forcing a cigarette out with his thumb. He grasped it with his teeth and put the pack back. Then his hand went into another pocket and came out with a wooden match. All the time, he kept his eyes on Frank and Joe.
"Any lemon?" Frank asked. Mickey scratched the match head with his thumbnail, lighting it.
"This isn't a restaurant," Starkey said. A'Drink up." Mickey raised the match to his lip.
"I would like some tea, Frank," Joe Said. He sprang off his bed, moving toward Mickey with a teacup in his outstretched hand. Mickey kept the gun aimed at Joe.
Frank grabbed the teapot and threw the steaming water into Mickey's face. Mickey shrieked, one hand flying to his eyes, his pistol swinging toward Frank. Twisting out of the way, Frank clamped a hand on Mickey's wrist and pinched. The gun dropped out of his hand.
Joe caught the revolver in midair and turned it on Starkey while Frank smashed the teapot on Mickey's head. The gunman dropped to his knees, clawed at the air, and then plunged forward. The cigarette rolled from his lips and Frank ground it out underfoot.
"Out like a light," Frank said, looking down at Mickey.
"Your flunky should have known smoking was hazardous to his health," Joe told Starkey. Slowly Starkey's hand moved toward his coat. "Huh - uh," Joe said, wagging the gun up and down. "Hands where we can see them."
Starkey moved his hands out to the side and splayed his fingers. Joe seized Starkey's shoulder, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall.
"The shoe's on the other foot, pal," Joe said. He jabbed the revolver's muzzle into Starkey's spine.
Frank frisked Starkey. He had a forty-five in a coat pocket, plus a thirty-eight special in a holster on the back of his belt. Frank took them. "What my brother's trying to say is that the three of us are marching out of here. Together. You're going to lead us right past all your men."
"You cross me, you cross the United States government," Starkey said angrily. "You'll never be safe anywhere — "
"Shut up!" Joe barked. Roughly, he shoved Starkey to the door. "Move."
Frank reached the door first and looked down the hall. There was no one. "Looks like your men aren't staying as close as you thought." He pulled Starkey out of the door. "We'll give you a better deal than you gave us. Just play along until we're outside, and you'll come out of this in one piece."
"But remember who has the guns," Joe said.
At a normal pace they walked down the hall and rounded a corner. On a chair next to the bank of elevators, a balding man in a business suit was seated, reading a newspaper. He was overweight, and his extra bulk pushed the outline of a gun and shoulder holster into his coat. A walkie-talkie hung from his belt.
"One of yours, right?" Joe asked Starkey. Starkey said nothing, but his gritted teeth were answer enough. "Be cool."
The seated man looked up with a big grin as they approached. "Hey, Starkey," he said cheerfully. "What gives? Thought you were working late tonight."
With a wink and a smile, Starkey said, "You know what they say about all work and no play."
Frank hit the elevator button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. Joe stood a few feet behind Starkey as Starkey and the seated man chatted on. It was meaningless talk about the weather in San Francisco. Frank almost laughed. He had no idea Starkey had such trivial talk in him.
At last the bell chimed and the elevator doors slid open. As they moved into the elevator, Starkey cried, "Danger, Charlie. Move!"
With dazzling speed, the man on the chair drew his pistol. His jovial smile warped into a
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