Suddenly Bruno muttered, “Watching us. Eyes.”
The gun went off. Frieda stiffened. He had fired at the Toltec eye on the bookcase. Taking more careful aim, he fired again. He hit the fragment, shattering the earth-colored terracotta. The pupil of the eye remained. He fired twice more. It danced to a new position.
“Can’t do anything right,” he whispered.
He went closer. Putting the muzzle less than an inch from the glinting bit of stone, he fired again.
“Now we can be alone for a minute.” He began fumbling at the strap across her chest. “I’ll take you with me. Call him again, call Shayne. Tell him if anybody tries to stop us, if I hear a siren, I’ll kill you. And I will, Frieda! I won’t want to, but I surely will. You’re so lovely, the best of the four.”
He fell on her heavily, kissing her neck, her shoulders.
“You should hurry, Bud,” she whispered. “They have the address.”
He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Yes. We can do this later.”
He pointed the gun at her. “Now you understand? I’ll unfasten the straps carefully. You will come to the garage with me after you make the phone call to Shayne. Remember every minute how dangerous I am.”
“Bud, the gun’s empty. You used up the bullets.”
He looked down, perplexed. To make sure, he aimed the gun at Frieda, then changed his mind and pressed it against his own forehead, and to make a joke out of it, crossed his eyes and put on a goofy look.
“Me worry?”
The hammer clicked.
“I love you, Frieda. Passionately. You handled me very well. I hope you’ll be happy.”
He threw the gun down and ran from the room. In a moment more a car left the garage and went careening away.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, her fingernails digging into her palms. She breathed deeply and relaxed.
Rourke had taken back control of his program. The calls continued to come in. The listener across the street had seen Bruno’s car burst out of the garage. She described it. Another listener spotted it heading toward the interstate. A truck driver left a luncheonette and swung his trailer across the ramp and the approach road. Bruno reversed and darted away. Blocked again, he left the car and ran. He was caught in a cemetery some minutes later by three women, all regular listeners to the Rourke show, the wife of a banker, a waitress on a late shift, and a call girl between calls.
Shayne and the police were careful about breaking into the building. They made the final move only when it was absolutely clear that the reports coming in were true and Bruno was elsewhere. Frieda was crying as Shayne unbuckled the straps.
“Mike, you bastard. Telling everybody we went away for a weekend when Harry was alive.”
He smiled down. “I know it didn’t happen. I have a better memory than that. I wanted people to realize I was serious.”
He freed her wrists. Her arms closed around his neck.
“At the same time,” he said a moment later, “I don’t like to be known as a liar. What’s today — Tuesday. As soon as we can get rid of these cops, let’s find a motel and start the weekend early.”