Halfway through the pancakes Velda said, "What did we miss, Mike?"
I shook my head in annoyance. "Dooley went through a lot of trouble to plant those numbers. He wanted me to find them and locate the spot. OK, I did both."
Velda sat there pensively a minute or so, idly tapping her teeth with a thumbnail. "Mike... Don Ponti is a pretty hotheaded guy, isn't he?"
"Yeah, when he was young."
"Then how come he's lying low? How come he hasn't sent anybody out to put a hit on you? You challenged Ugo, he knows your connection with Dooley - yet he lets you alone."
"Damn, Velda, you talk just like a street cop."
"I carry a gun, too. Now tell me, Mike."
"He's waiting to see how far I get." When we got back to the thruway, I pulled into the left lane and turned onto the ramp heading north. Velda's head jerked around, surprised. "Where are you going, Mike?"
"Back to Slateman's place."
Velda said, "What's the matter?"
"Remember Slateman telling us he spotted the car a mile away?"
"So?"
"The bootlegger probably cut a seethrough opening in the trees."
"What difference does that make?"
"I don't like gimmicks, kitten."
We hadn't gone an eighth of a mile when she held out her hand and said, "Stop!" I hit the brakes quickly, then, with the engine running, got out of the car and walked around the front of it. Velda had spotted it just in time. Running straight as an arrow up the side of the mountain was a path through the tree line. The brush had grown headhigh, but the line of sight was perfect. Anybody up there could spot movement on the road below. A car driving past would never notice that strip of emptiness, and a beautiful ambush would be waiting for him above unless he had a prearranged signal set up.
Very slowly I drove past the opening. It would be movement that attracted the eyes, and at my pace nobody was going to notice. We passed the wreckage of an old chain-drive Mack truck, carefully followed the ruts in the road and finally came out on the edge of the estate.
We got to the door of Slateman's house and stopped. Nothing happened. The only sounds were those of the wind whistling through the trees. Over to the west was a rumble of faraway thunder.
I got out of the car and made Velda walk behind me. There was something left in the old wood and fieldstone that seemed to radiate trouble.
The door was latched, the fire was out and the place was deserted. There were no dirty dishes, the garbage can was empty and everything seemed to be in place. There was just a feeling of aloneness that shouldn't have been there.
Velda had taken it in too. She said, "He must have gone to town, Mike. He didn't leave the stove going."
"That's a long walk, kid. Come on, let's go see the cave."
Slateman had left his heavy-duty torch on the table. I took it and gave Velda the one out of the car.
Finding the entrance was easy this time. Velda balked a moment until I said, "No bats, remember?"
She took a deep breath and walked in behind me. We followed the wall, stepping over the junk on the floor, kicking away things that made small tinkling sounds and avoiding the broken remnants of whiskey bottles that had been sampled, drained and dropped by workers getting a few perks for their labors.
Three quarters of the way around we came to the place I had wanted to see again. It was the rubble from the roof that had come crashing down many years ago and had been pushed out of the way against the back wall. I ran the light up at the ceiling and saw some scars in the stone, then lowered it to cover the angled pile to my left. Dirt and dust were thick on everything. I reached down, picked up a handful and let it sift through my fingers.
Odd, I thought. The dust wasn't dusty. It had an abrasiveness like fine sand. Velda's light hit me right in the eyes.
When she realized it was blinding me, she turned it down to the ground and said, "What are you looking for, Mike?"
I was just about to answer her when another voice said, "Yeah, Mike, tell her what you're looking for."
There was the faintest metallic click and I knew the hammer had gone back on a gun.
Velda sucked in her breath with an audible gasp.
The voice was young and hard, the kind that had death right behind it and wouldn't wait long at all to spring into a killing frenzy.
I said, "It's about time you got here, Ugo."
My tone slowed him down an instant. Ugo Ponti wasn't a fast thinker.
"And why do you suppose that, Hammer?"
"You were chasing us."
"Sure I was. I'm not so dumb."
My legs were starting to cramp up, but I had to keep him talking. "And now you're in a big, empty cave, Ugo."
"Yeah, but I got you and your woman here and you know where the stuff is."
"You don't see it, do you? What makes you think I can get to it?"
"Don't give me that crap, Hammer. Your buddy Dooley told you."
Velda's light was still pointing at the floor. Both of us were in the glow of our own torches and Ugo was in total darkness. Any movement either one of us made would lay us out. There was no telling by that click whether he had a small arm or a shotgun, but if it was a shotgun he could get us both with the first blast.
Without asking, I uncrouched from the floor very slowly, my mind racing, trying to line up the best odds.
Ugo said, "That's right, Mike. Nice and easy. Now, once more, what were you looking for?"
Now if Velda would only get the drift of my thoughts. It had to happen all at once and happen right or we were both dead. There was no way I could flash a sign to her, so she had to work on reflexes and that state of mind that exists between partners who have been together so long they can act in total unison.
I said, "I'm not looking, Ugo. I already found it."
And as I kicked off the torch on the ground, she flipped her switch and we both hit the dirt. Ugo pumped four shotgun rounds in our direction before he knew he hadn't hit either of us. But by then I had my.45 out, the safety off and the hammer back, and I aimed right where I had last seen the muzzle flash and let the deafening roar of the old Colt automatic thunder in the cave. The single bullet smashed into something that clattered but didn't kill, and when I flashed the torch light on, it caught Ugo scrabbling in the dirt for the mangled shotgun my slug had smashed into useless junk. When he saw what it was like, he let out a wild scream and raised the shotgun like a shield. I triggered the.45 again and the slug smashed into the metal breach of his weapon, which crashed into his chin. He went down with his eyes bugging out and his breathing hoarse with pain.
I walked up to the slob and let the torch wash him over. Blood ran from the cut on his chin, and his body made a few involuntary jerks before realization came into his eyes. He didn't know what was coming next, but the hatred that oozed from his pupils was filled with a violent venom that nothing could diminish. His eyes finally dropped to the gun in my hand, and when I started to raise it, his lips drew back with the fierceness of his crazy desire to kill me one way or another while knowing that once I had him looking down that.45, it would be the last thing he would see.
...
The dogs found Slateman. His body had been dumped in an old stone-lined cistern not far from the main house. The weathered wooden cover had been dragged back over the hole and loose dirt and rocks had been piled on top of it. There was a huge contusion on the side of his head and blood matted his hair. His body was hung up on an old oil drum that floated down there too.
It was a good, safe place to hide a body if nobody was going to look for it. And it would be much better if the body were dead.
Slateman hadn't reached that point. The club that Ugo had laid on him had almost but not quite killed him. There was hairline fracturing of his skull, but the prognosis was good. He could still live out his years.