After standing for a long time with my back to the door, I was able to make her out. The poor frightened child had gone to sleep atop the spread. Five feet from the bed I stepped on a board which creaked. She stirred and made a sleepy sound in her throat. When at last I stood over her, I could see her quite distinctly.
With my hand in readiness, I whispered, “Pat! Pat!”
Chapter Four
You Kill Me!
I saw the gleam of her eyes as the lids shot up and I heard the harsh intake of breath. Before it could be expelled in a scream, I clamped my hand over her mouth. I imagine it was very like falling onto a live panther. I began to understand why she had felt relatively safe with a stranger. She had an amazing variety of muscles, all of them in excellent tone. She also seemed to be equipped with eight hands, all of them ending in claws, six knees which thumped me with sickening rapidity, while all the time she grunted and made muffled sounds and tried to sink her teeth into the palm of my hand. I protected my face by burrowing it into her neck and whispering as loud as I dared, “Please don’t fight. I want to talk to you.”
Suddenly she lay quite still. I thought it was a ruse. Without removing my hand from her mouth I whispered, “I’m a prisoner in this house, too. I want to help you. I’ve got to talk to you. Please don’t scream when I take my hand away.”
I cautiously took my hand away. As I removed my face from its protected position, a hard little fist came out of nowhere and hit my jaw just under the ear. I sat abruptly on the floor beside the bed. Her face appeared above me. “If you want to talk, talk from there,” she whispered.
The ringing in my ears slowly subsided. Organizing my thoughts in a coherent pattern, I recounted in detail all that had happened to me, starting with the stranger’s request for a change of compartments. What I could not understand were the odd sounds that came from her at intervals during my recountal. It was absurd to think that a girl in her dire situation could giggle, thus it had to be sobs of panic.
I finished and she said, “You went over to Dave and tried to tell him that you were going to kidnap me?”
“Exactly.”
Again she made that odd, muffled sound. I said, “And I do not believe that your sister is a very nice sort of person, Patricia.”
She was silent for a moment. “Did I hurt you, Omar?”
“My face feels as though... considerable areas of it are missing.”
We went into the bathroom. She shut the door and turned on the light. She cluckled with sympathy as she saw my face. I sat on the edge of the tub while she washed the gouges. There was cotton and adhesive tape in the cabinet. She put small bandages over the more serious wounds. She stood and looked at me for a moment. The impudent eyes went soft, suddenly. She put her hands on my shoulders and leaned over and kissed me full on the lips. It was a most odd sensation. I tried to cling to my loyalty to Martha, but in spite of my attempts at immobility I found that I was on my feet and my arms were wrapped around her small frame with a curious tightness.
She murmured, “Omar, you’re kind of cute and silly.”
My guilty conscience forced me to thrust her away. I said firmly, “This is hardly the time to go into character analysis. Tomorrow I shall be expected to shoot Mr. Dermody.”
That sobered her. “But you can’t!”
“That is the cause of the problem, Patricia.”
We turned out the light and went back in and sat side by side on the bed, and I found that her fingers were tightly linked with mine. It was strangely pleasurable.
“What will they do with me?” she demanded.
“Since you are of no further use to him, Patricia, I shall suggest to him that it may be possible to force you to sign a release wherein you state that you came here of your own free will and left when you were ready. If it works, you will be released, and I suggest that you then hasten to the police and convince them that it would be wise to... ah... raid the joint.”
“Gee, you’re cute,” she sighed, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Must you keep saying that?”
She seemed to radiate an air of intense vitality. Accustomed as I am to Martha’s quiet ways, I found her aura most disturbing. In fact, after I had returned to my own room, the memory of her parting kiss kept me tossing with an odd restlessness.
Mr. Artigan, bristling with excitement and determination, joined me at breakfast. I said, “As to Miss Kelly, Mr. Artigan, I feel it would be possible to work out—”
“Skip her, Anderson. What happened to your face?”
“Dull razor,” I said.
“We haven’t got any time to waste. Right now Dermody is in the City Hall on some business. We’ll get him as he comes down the steps. Rather, you will. Artie’s gone out to grab a car. He ought to be back any minute. Artie’ll drive for you. He’s better on a getaway than George is. George’ll be along to cover you just in case. George’ll have the rest of the dough with him. As soon as the job is done they’ll hand it over and drop you at the bus station. You’ll have time to take the first bus out before they clamp the lid on the town. That means I won’t be seeing you again, Anderson. Give my regards to Nicky. Better run up and get your bag. I think Artie’s out there now.”
“But Miss Kelly—”
“Skip that. That’s our problem. There won’t be any trouble about her. I can promise you that.”
I had no time to think, they hurried me so. Artie had stolen a small green sedan. George and my suitcase were in back. I had placed the box of our new items in the suitcase with the sole exception of the Zing-Bang pistol, which was tucked into my belt. I sat beside Artie. He seemed awfully nervous, but George, in the back seat, minus his chauffeur’s uniform, was humming happily, checking the load in his silenced pistol.
Artie drove fast and expertly, but without breaking any traffic laws. I had a difficult time swallowing a lump that kept coming up into my throat. They parked across from the wide marble steps of the City Hall. A small man standing on the corner made a furtive gesture with his hand and scurried away.
“Good,” said Artie, “He’s still in there.”
“Artigan says do it this way,” George said in his silky voice, “Get over there on the other side like you were waiting for a bus. Dermody’s wearing grey slacks and a white sport jacket, a tan straw hat with a green and grey ribbon. He’s tall and heavy. When we spot him, we’ll roll the car forward a few feet. You keep watching us. We’ll be covering you every minute, baby. This would be a hell of a time to cross Artigan, believe me. Walk along the sidewalk and time it so you get him when he’s halfway down the steps. Empty that cannon of yours into his fat belly and then sprint for that corner down there. We’ll be going around the corner with the door open just as you get there. Pile in fast and we’ll dump you at the Greyhound Station in four minutes. There’s a bus to L.A. leaving at nine ten. You ought to make it okay.”
I walked woodenly across the street. It seemed that all colors were intensified. The sun shone brightly and it was a very poor day for dying. All the women were beautiful and the air smelled sweet, even impregnated as it was with gasoline fumes.
Sweat ran in streams down my ribs. In too brief a time the green sedan moved forward. I turned slowly and saw the man they had described coming out of the City Hall. He was smiling and chatting with another man of much the same type. No policeman had appeared to resolve my dilemma. My mind had ceased to function. All I could think of was the deadly weapon in George’s capable hand. I walked slowly along the sunlit sidewalk, stopped and turned, looking up the wide marble steps. Mr. Dermody glanced at me. I gave him what I guess must have been a painfully shy smile as I took our new product out. I pointed it at him. The man with Dermody gave a little yelp and scrambled back up the steps. Dermody stared at what I must admit is a most vicious looking weapon, his face slowly going grey.