“Billy!” Rocko called with a shrill note in his voice, dropping behind the chair which held Carla’s body.
Billy pounced on the gun the man had been holding. Cooper had gotten his legs under him by then. He thrust against the wall, drove hard for the corridor, grabbing Barbara’s unresisting wrist, yanking her along with him. Behind them he heard the deep-throated slam of the 38 revolver. He counted three shots. Barbara had come out of her trance of shock. She raced at his side. He ran to his room at the end of the hall, pushed her inside, yanked the door shut.
“Out the window,” he said. “Fast!”
He followed her out. He knew that he was losing blood, but as yet he could detect no weakness. He felt the raw pull of torn muscles when he tried to use his right arm. Each breath she took was a sob. He guessed that she was close to hysterics.
She went along the shadows as he directed. She fell and suddenly she screamed. He had forgotten Susler’s body and guessed at once that she had fallen over it, had touched it with her hands in the darkness. He yanked her up, swung her against the wall, slapped her. The scream stopped. She took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice completely calm.
“Take it easy. Look around the corner. If you don’t see anyone, run for the convertible. The key is in the ignition. I’ll be right behind you. You better drive. I’m not sure of my arm. You can horse it around in one swing.”
She looked around the corner, then began to run. He followed her. Their footsteps sounded too loud on the concrete. Both the doors were open as he had left them. She got behind the wheel and fumbled for the starter. He reached across her and pressed it. The big engine jumped into roaring life. He yanked on the lights and she swung the wheel hard, tires screaming on the concrete, the car rocking almost onto two wheels.
As the lights swung onto the road leading to the gate, they outlined a man running toward the house. Cooper saw at once that he was the fifth man, and guessed that he had been on guard at the boat.
As the car leaped toward him the man stopped, flat-footed. Metal glinted in his hand. He shouted something.
“Run him down,” Cooper ordered harshly.
The man fired twice at point blank range, jumped to the side and fired again. The car roared by. Cooper cursed as the motor began to cough and miss. They made the next corner and the motor died.
“Brakes,” he said. She jammed them on hard. He opened the door, yanked her toward him. She stumbled out after him and he pulled her along, plunging through brush that whipped his face, tore at his clothes. When he judged that he was twenty feet from the road he dropped and pulled her down into the circle of his left arm. With his lips near her ear he whispered, “Not a sound, now.”
Chapter 6
Come and Get Me
Insects droned around them. The bites were like hot needles. He felt her trembling and instinctively held her closer. Another shot came faintly from the direction of the house.
“I think he went up to the house,” Cooper whispered.
She said in a toneless whisper, “He took me into his room and he told me that he was Rocko Kadma and Carla had worked for him before he was deported and that Carla was still making money out of rackets. Money that sent me to school and bought me clothes. I knew when he told me that I had guessed the truth for a long time.”
“Don’t talk about it.”
“I have to talk about it. He said he liked me. He said that if I was nice to him, nothing bad would happen to Carla. Then I had to sit while they played cards and he kept giving me drinks and winking at me. A horrid pasty little man like that. Then Carla came in and tried to get me out of there. He said no. She started to scream at him and he hit her. I saw him hit her. Her face went funny and she fell back into the chair. She’s dead. I didn’t know she was dead. I wanted to be nice to the little man so he wouldn’t hit Carla again. But she was already dead.”
He put his hand across her mouth. “Easy, easy.”
Again she took a deep shuddering breath. He took his hand away. “I’m all right, I guess. I should have known. But you see, I’m so much younger than she is. I can remember when we lived in the apartment. I guess I was twelve. Nick used to come there. Then he died. She sent me away. There was always enough money. Maybe too much money. But she was good. Tell me she was good. Please.”
“She was good to you, Barbara. Maybe that’s enough.”
She began to weep. It was a release for her. She made very little sound as she cried. It did not last long. Enough starlight came through the thick branches overhead so that he could make out her face. She lay on her back, his left arm under her shoulders.
“What will we do?” she asked quietly.
“Try to get through the gate and across the causeway.”
“What will happen back at the house?”
“They’ll kill Rocko and Billy. I think the man I shot will die. The one who was in the road will tell the others we’re here in the brush someplace. I think they’ll look for us.”
“Shall we go to the gate now?”
“Stay close behind me. Take hold of the back of my belt. Try not to make any noise.”
Though they tried to be quiet, they seemed to make a great deal of sound. Cooper stopped every few feet to listen for any sound of pursuit. He risked going out onto the road. Once on the road they hurried recklessly. They turned the last corner and saw the heavy gate ahead. A gasoline lantern made a blue-white glare that showed a man in silhouette, his back against a tree, head bowed, rifle across his lap.
“Sleeping,” Cooper whispered. He pushed her back into the shadows. “Wait right here.”
He walked with enormous care, picking each step, circling to come up behind the tree. At last his outstretched fingers touched the rough bark. He moved to the side, poised, then jumped out and grabbed the rifle barrel and yanked with all his strength. It came free with so little resistance that he stumbled and fell to one knee. The man leaning against the tree had toppled over onto his side. It was the old man who had opened the gate for him. He was breathing. The sparse white hair over his right ear was matted with blood.
He turned at the quick sound of her steps as she ran to him. The gate was closed but not locked. He pushed it open and she went through first.
At that moment he heard the shout behind them, on the road. He glanced at the hundred yards of causeway and cursed himself for not putting out the gasoline lantern. Even with it out, the starlight would be too bright on the exposed causeway.
“Down the shore line,” he whispered, pushing her ahead of him.
She ran. Once she slipped and went into the water up to her knees, scrambled back up onto the slope of the bank.
Ahead he saw the basin, the jetty, the two cruisers, one moored on either side of the narrow wooden jetty. He told her to stop and listen. There was the sound of someone crashing through the brush on the other side of the fence. Then that sound ceased.
He forced her down below the angle of the bank. Even at that distance the lantern made highlights and shadows. The rifle was a bolt action. He crouched and yanked the bolt back, shoved it forward and locked it. The noise it made was loud in the silence of the night. The small waves of the bay lapped against the sleek sides of the launches.
He lay diagonally along the bank, aimed carefully and slowly squeezed the trigger. The glaring white light went out and for a moment the night seemed twice as dark. Immediately he regretted his decision. The light had given him his best chance to prevent anyone slipping out the gate. Now all shadows seemed to move with stealth and silence.
He doubted if the pursuers would know English. Even if they didn’t, the sound of their voices might give him a clue as to number and position.