In the next block she stopped at a newsstand and bought a magazine, then entered a restaurant. It was on a corner, with large plate glass windows on both sides. I could see her without going in myself. She ordered a sandwich and coffee and looked at the magazine while she was eating. The corner where I was standing was a bus stop. In about twenty minutes she paid her check and came out I moved back, and she came over and stood on the curb where I had been. I sighed. Maybe she was going home at last.
She boarded a Montlake bus, the number seven line. Two more passengers got on after her, and then I climbed aboard. She had found a seat and opened the magazine and didn’t look up as I went past. I went on to the rear and sat down.
I opened the paper and pretended to read, keeping my face down. The bus turned north along a heavily traveled arterial. We passed a district of apartment houses. Several passengers got off. She went on reading. After awhile the bus swung off onto quieter streets and we went past a large housing development. At every stop one or two passengers debarked. Soon there were only five of us left. I wondered why she lived so far out; we must be miles from downtown. Then she put the magazine away and started watching the stops.
“Stevens,” the driver called out. She gathered up her things and came back to the rear door. The bus stopped and she got down. The door closed, but just before we got under way again I glanced up suddenly from my paper and asked, “This Stevens?”
“That’s right,” the driver said. I grabbed the briefcase and got off. The bus went on. I took out a cigarette and stood momentarily on the corner as I lighted it. It was a run-down district of older frame houses. Diagonally across the intersection a service station was a glaring oasis of light, but there were few cars on the street. She crossed the intersection and turned right opposite the service station, going up the sidewalk under the trees on the far side. As well as I could tell, she never had looked back, but I hoped we didn’t have far to go. In this lonely and outlying district she’d be almost certain to spot me before long. When she was about halfway up the block, I crossed the street and fell in behind her.
It was shadowy under the trees, and there were street lights only at the intersections. She crossed the next street, still going straight ahead. It was very quiet, even this early in the evening, and I could hear her heels tapping on the walk. There were fewer houses in this block. One car went past, splashing us with its headlights, but she didn’t look around.
There were no houses at all in the third block. It was a playground or park, enclosed in a high wire fence. The sidewalk was in heavy shadow from the eucalyptus trees along the curb. Across the street was a dark building that appeared to be a school. She went on at the same unhurried pace, about fifty yards ahead of me. Somewhere near the middle of the block I made out the dark bulk of a car parked at the curb. She passed it. I tensed up, suddenly wary, but I was too late. A massive shadow detached itself from the bole of one of the trees and stepped right in front of me. I tried to duck to one side, but the gun crashed at point-blank range, the little tongue of flame licking at the sleeve of my topcoat.
Something slammed into me just below my ribs. It was like being hit in the belly with a baseball bat. I rocked backward and spun halfway around and my knees caved under me and I fell. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t even breathe. Cold pavement was against my face, and I could feel it grinding under my cheek and the side of my jaw as I kept opening and closing my mouth in a silent and futile spasm as if I were trying to bite loose some air and swallow it. I could hear. Her heels were clicking on the walk as she ran, coming nearer, and his shoes scraped as he took two steps and squatted beside me. A hand touched my arm, and groped its way across my chest.
She ran up. “Hurry!” she gasped. “What are you doing? Let’s get out of here.”
“He’s just gut-shot. You want him talking when they find him?”
The hand moved again and was on the side of my throat. He grunted. He was coolly locating my head, so he could put the gun muzzle against it. My whole torso was still numb, as if I’d been cut in two, but suddenly I was breathing again. I grabbed the hand and pulled. He came down on top of me like a falling horse. The gun went off. I heard it clatter on the pavement, and then slide as somebody hit it with a thrashing arm or leg. He swung at me and I heard his fist smash against concrete, He sucked his breath in sharply and cursed.
“Find the damned gun!” he snapped.
He was as strong as a bull and could have broken me in two if he’d ever been able to get hold of me squarely, but I was thrashing like a wild man. We tumbled over and rolled again.
“I can’t find it,” she cried out. “I don’t even know where it went.”
“Well, get the knife out of my pocket! I can’t hold him and reach for it.”
“We haven’t got time. There’s somebody coming, at the next corner.”
I broke free of him momentarily and tried to scramble to my feet. A big hand caught me in the chest and slammed me over backward. My head hit the pavement and lights exploded in it. I wasn’t completely out, but I was helpless. I felt myself being lifted and dragged, with my legs trailing limply along the walk. A voice said, “Open the door.” I fell on my back. Somebody doubled my legs up and the car door slammed. I must have gone out then for a moment, for the next thing I was conscious of was the high-pitched scream of rubber as we took a corner.
I was sick and still had that sensation of having been cut in two. I realized dimly that I was lying on the floor in the back of the car and that they were in the front seat.
“Watch him,” the man said. “If he comes to, sing out.”
It was strange there,wasn’t more pain. Being shot in the belly was like having your wind knocked out at football. Well, it would start in a minute. Except that they’d finish the job as soon as they found a place to stop. I thought of that knife, and could feel the nausea welling up in me.
“How in the name of God did you miss him?” she asked.
“Miss him, hell! It knocked him down.”
She gasped. “You hit the briefcase! I told you he was carrying a briefcase under his arm.”
“Oh, Christ!” We swung another corner. “Well, here! Take this.” I heard the metallic tunnnk a switch-blade knife makes as it opens. “You can reach him. Right in the bottom of the throat and then down—”
“In the car?”
“Of course in the car, you fool. We can’t stop here.”
“You’ll have to do it. This is beginning to make me sick.”
“Well, of all the chicken-livered—!”
“I can’t help it!” she cried out. “It’s taking too long.”
“All right, all right. Just watch him till I can find a street.”
My head was clearing a little and some sensation returning to my body. I was lying on something hard that was gouging into my hip. Moving my hand very slowly, I reached down and touched it. It felt familiar, a smooth of wood tapering to a point and rounded and heavier on the other end. I worked my fingers around the small end of it. She was probably looking over the back of front seat at me, but it was very dark down here and all could see was my face.
It was now or never. I pushed myself erect and slid onto seat. She cried out a warning and tried to reach me with the knife. I ignored her and swung the fid as hard I could at his head. It wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage, but he grunted and slammed on the brakes. I hit her across the arm with it. The knife dropped. She kneeling on the front seat, still reaching for me, while he tried to get out the door. He took his foot off the brake, and the car started forward again, but stalled. I swept an arm, caught her across the chest, and dropped backward across him and the steering wheel. The horn began blowing. For the first time, I was conscious there were lights around us. On the front seat, beyond her threshing silken legs, was the big alligator purse. I grabbed it, pushed her back on top of him again, and jumped out. Brakes screamed, and a man’s voice cursed me. He’d come behind, and tried to swing around us. One of his fenders bumped me and threw me off stride, but I didn’t fall. I danced sidewise, swinging the purse to keep my balance.