Danny waited till John had passed the window again. Then he broke across the street, trying to do it on his toes, but it sounded loud. He ran into the shadow between the houses and hugged the wall and waited for his chest to stop hurting. His breathing sounded loud, bouncing off the buildings.
He started inching along the wall toward the back. The gun worked itself up and fell out of his pants, and he grabbed it in midair above a pile of cans and junk. He shook, the sweat rolling down his face.
Below him he saw a cellar window, the kind you push in. Danny stooped and gave it a small shove and it moved a little, squeaking. He coaxed till it was back far enough for him to slide under. He landed with a thump on a dirt floor.
He waited.
The house wasn’t quiet. He could hear rats moving, a radio playing. It must have been playing all the time. It sounded like a hillbilly band.
Someone came down the stairs from the top floor to the first. They were light steps and in a hurry. John? They went to the back of the house, where the kitchen probably was. A refrigerator door opened and closed, and after a while the steps went upstairs again. A door closed. Where was Mike?
Danny pulled out a pencil flashlight and shone it around. It found the stairs and the door at the top. He took the gun out of his belt, snicked off the catch, and went up. At the top he put the light away, and listened. He wished he knew where Mike was. The hillbilly band was gone on the radio and something sweet with a lot of violins was playing. It didn’t do anything for him. He figured he had been in the house a half-hour now.
It was time.
The door knob turned easily and the latch clicked softly. The door moved. He stepped into a dark hallway, waited. Then turned toward the front of the house, where the stairs should be. Two arms whipped under his armpits and over his shoulders. Heavy hands locked behind his neck. Danny had found Mike.
His chin was on his chest. The pressure pain came down from his ears to the back of his neck. The blood was rushing black behind his eyes.
Danny went limp and the pressure let up slightly. He whipped his left foot behind Mike’s right and fell backward, both of them falling, the hold broken.
Danny frantically tried to roll. But Mike caught him, hugging him around the chest, and the pain was terrible... Slowly Danny brought the hand with the gun in it over his body and pointed it behind him. The blast was loud. He could feel the bullet singeing his side. Mike jerked. The grip loosened and Danny squirmed around in it and the gun blasted again.
The big man’s breathing was noisy, fighting. Blood came out of his mouth.
A door banged upstairs, and John came, yelling, “Did you get him, Mike?”
Danny’s mouth grinned and he backed off into a shadow.
“Mike?”
More light filtered down now. Mike’s face was dulling.
“Mike! Where are you? What happened?”
Mike died.
John was a worrier. He couldn’t wait. He came edging down the stairs, a gun gripped in one hand, peering over the banister, trying to see into the darkness. A step at a time.
Danny inched under the stairs.
John was at the bottom of the steps now. He turned and saw his partner. Fear made his eyes roll. He stood in a half-crouch, trying to see into the shadows. Then he bolted for the front door.
John tried to jump off the porch, but his foot came down on the broken step, sending him sprawling, the gun flying out of his hand into the street. His scream was high and shrill like a woman’s.
Danny moved up to him. The tic gave his mouth a wolf’s grin. John lay whimpering, squirming with the pain.
“My foot. It’s caught. Help me!”
His foot was held by the broken step at a crooked angle.
Danny said, “Answer me first.”
John closed his eyes and moaned. “All right, all right. But hurry.”
“Why was Nick killed?”
“I don’t know.”
Danny set one foot on the step and put a little weight on it.
“Don’t! Don’t! I tell you I don’t know why. Don’t!” Sweat was running down his face. Danny took his weight off.
“You killed Nick.”
“We didn’t. Honest. We didn’t!” Danny started to shift his weight again.
“What did Nick have that you wanted so bad?”
John’s eyes were ready to pop. “Help me, please...”
“Tell me.”
“It was money. A hundred thousand dollars. In hundred dollar bills. It was tied up in five packets, see. And Nick was the banker... My leg is killing me!”
Danny said, “Keep going.”
“It was a payment for a shipment. And he died before it was split. We had nothing against Nick. Honest. We were friends. But Nick died and the dough’s gone, and the people we work for want it. He didn’t have to die. Honest. He didn’t have to.”
“But he did.”
“Help me now. I talked.”
The porch creaked, and Danny whirled, gun up. Detective Buchanan stood there. Danny hadn’t heard him.
They stared at each other.
Danny said, “Any more dirty work I can do for you?”
Buchanan looked back where Mike was, then at John. “You’re doing fine.”
Danny put the gun back into his belt.
“I can go?”
“Not too far. There’s still some questions.” Buchanan rolled a cigarette around his square mouth.
Danny looked down at John. He had stopped squirming.
“I don’t have all the answers.”
Buchanan bit too hard on the cigarette and it shredded. He picked the tobacco off his lip. “Zimmerman’ll be here with a squad car. Want a lift?”
“No.”
The climb up the stairs seemed longer. His wind was heavy and whistling.
The lights were still on, spilling from under the door. They hurt his eyes when he opened the door, and he stood there blinking. He saw the tall clocks first. The paneling had been smashed and the hollow insides gaped. Harry was in a chair facing the door and looking surprised. He had a woman’s overnight bag cradled in his arms. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
The light was on in the other room, too, and Danny could hear Terry moving around.
He said, “Hello, Harry.” Harry clutched the bag tighter. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
The sounds in the bedroom stopped. There was a dead spot, then he heard Terry running. She stopped when she saw Danny and stood stiffly against the door. “Danny. Danny, I thought...”
Harry had got out of the chair. His eyes didn’t look surprised any more. Danny nodded at the clocks with the splintered cabinets. He said, “You found it?”
Harry held the case tighter.
“Where were you going with it, Harry?”
Harry wet his lips. “I was going to take it away. Where it would be safe. So Nick wouldn’t lose it. Me and Nick, we’d have a good time with the money.” He screamed, “It’s ours. Nobody else can have it. Mine and Nick’s!”
Danny glanced at Terry. Her eyes were closed. She still leaned against the door.
He said, “Nick’s not coming back any more. He’s dead. Remember?”
“You lie! He’s coming... Oh, he’s smart, Nick is. He wouldn’t let anyone know.”
Danny walked over to the clocks on the mantelpiece.
“No, Harry. He’s not coming back. Look, would I do something like this if I thought Nick was coming back?” He took down one of the clocks and dropped it on the floor. The wood split and parts of the mechanism fell out.
Harry cried, “No, don’t!”
Danny threw another. “Or this?”
Harry clawed at him. Danny threw him aside and turned to Terry. “What about Nick? Where did he fit?”
Terry took a couple of steps into the room and she stretched her arms out from her body, palms out.