Four cops moved cautiously into sight. They looked down into the lobby. Brennan joined them.
“That leaves Doc, the old woman and Slim,” Brennan said as Fenner came up.
“One of them got away in the Buick,” Fenner reminded him. “Could have been Slim.”
Brennan moved out into the open. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he bawled, “Hey, you! Come on out! You haven’t a chance! Come out with your hands in the air!”
Doc Williams pushed himself out of his chair.
“Well, Ma, as you said, this is the end of the road. I’m no fighting man. I’m going to give myself up.”
Seated behind her desk, her big hands on the machine gun, Ma grinned at him, showing her yellow teeth.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “They’ll send you away for life or they’ll even put you in the gas chamber. It would be better to go quick.”
“I’m no fighting man,” Doc repeated. “So long, Ma. It looked good, didn’t it? But you remember all along I said I didn’t like kidnapping. See what’s come of it.”
“Come, on out, you in there!” Brennan bawled. “This is the last time! Come on out or we’ll come on in!”
“So long, Doc,” Ma said. “Go out slow with your hands in the air. Those guys sound trigger happy.”
Doc turned and walked slowly to the door. He opened it and then paused.
“I’m coming,” he called. “Don’t shoot.”
Ma grinned contemptuously. She lifted the Thompson and aimed it at Doc’s back.
As Doc began to move out into the dimly lit restaurant, Ma squeezed the trigger. The gun fired one quick, violent burst and Doc was thrown forward. He slid to the ground, dead before he hit the carpet.
“You’ll be better off dead, you poor old fool,” Ma said and she got to her feet. Holding the machine gun in both hands, she moved silently and steadily to the door. At the door, she paused.
“Come and get me!” she yelled. “Come on, you yellow punks! Come and get me!”
Chapter twenty-eight
Gripping the steering wheel, Slim leaned forward, staring with fixed concentration as he drove the Buick at a furious speed down the main road out of the city. His loose mouth hung open; his pale dirty skin shone with sweat. He could hear the wailing sirens as the motorcycle cops chased him. In another mile he would be on the main highway and if he could once get there he was sure the souped-up engine of the Buick would outstrip anything coming after him.
A car came out fast from a side turning. A crash seemed inevitable. Miss Blandish cried out, shielding her face. Grinning, Slim stamped down on the gas pedal as the other driver frantically braked. The Buick swept past with inches to spare.
A hundred yards further on there was a main intersection and as the Buick roared towards the intersection the green lights flicked to red.
Slim put his hand down on the horn button. The motorcycle cops, seeing he wasn’t going to stop, opened up then-sirens to warn crossing traffic to get out of the way.
The Buick shot across the intersection as the traffic squealed to a standstill. One driver wasn’t quick enough. The Buick caught his wing a glancing blow, smashing his offside headlamp.
Slim, cursing, steadied the Buick with a twist of the wheel and kept on. Then suddenly he was on the freeway. He relaxed slightly, squeezing down on the gas pedal, feeling the big car surge forward.
The light was fading now. In a few minutes it would be dark. The wailing sound of the sirens irritated him. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t catch him now he could use his superior speed. He glanced in the driving mirror. About two hundred yards behind he could see two of the motorcycle cops, leaning over their handlebars, belting after him. The third cop had disappeared. He saw a sudden flash and then heard a bang. One of the cops was firing at him. Slim snarled to himself.
“Get down on the floor,” he said to Miss Blandish. “Go on — do what I say!”
Shaking, she slid off the seat and onto the floor. He flicked on his sidelights. At least the sirens behind him were keeping the road clear. Traffic coming into the city had slowed and was pulling to one side. One of the cops had fallen back, but the other kept after him.
Slim suddenly eased his foot on the gas pedal. The Buick lost speed. Watching in the mirror, Slim saw the lone cop surging up behind him. Slim waited, his face a vicious snarl. The cop drew alongside, yelling something which Slim couldn’t hear above the noise of the motorcycle engine. Grinning, Slim swerved the Buick violently. He felt the side of the car hit the motorcycle. He wrestled madly with the wheel, trying to keep out of a skid. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the motorcycle careening across the road. It hit the verge and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Slim righted the Buick and shoved down the gas pedal. The car tore on into the gathering darkness. Without the distracting sound of the pursuing siren, Slim was able to consider what to do.
He was on the run, he told himself. He was out in the open. The girl was going to be poison from now on, but he didn’t for a moment consider getting rid of her.
He glanced at the gas gauge. He had plenty of gas. But where to go? He could think of no one who would hide him. He reached down and touched Miss Blandish on her shoulder.
“Come on up,” he said. “It’s okay now.”
Miss Blandish struggled back on the seat beside him. She crouched away from him, staring through the windshield at the long, wide road that stretched endlessly in front of them.
She had had no drugs now for fifteen hours and her mind was slowly clearing. She tried to remember what she was doing in this racing car. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she had a picture of a small, dark man with blood on his coat.
“They’ll come after us,” Slim said. “They’ll hunt us. You and me are in this together to the end. We’ve got nowhere to go.”
Miss Blandish didn’t understand what he was saying. She just felt a cold sick feeling of fear at the sound of his voice.
Slim shrugged. He was used to her silences, but he wished she would talk now. He wished she would help him. He knew before very long the cops would be setting up road blocks and the highway wouldn’t be safe. He would have to get off the highway and get lost in the country. He wished Ma was with him. She would know what to do.
A few miles further on he came to an intersection and he left the highway, driving along a secondary road for another few miles until he came to a dirt road. He swung the Buick off the secondary road and drove up the twisting hilly dirt road that led quickly to wooded country.
By now it was dark and Slim became aware he was hungry. After driving for several miles, he spotted ahead of him the lights of a farmhouse. He slowed down, then seeing the open farm gate, he swung the Buick up the rutted track leading to the farmhouse.
“I’m going to get some food,” he said. “You wait in the car.” He put his damp hot hand on Miss Blandish’s wrist.
“Don’t run away, baby. You and me have got to stick together now. You sit quiet.”
He stopped the car and got out. Taking his gun, he walked silently to the lighted window and peered in.
Three people sat at the table: a thickset man of around fifty in a checked shirt and blue jeans, a thin-faced woman who was probably his wife and a fair girl of about twenty, probably his daughter. They were eating and the sight of the meal spread out on the table made Slim’s mouth water.
He moved to the door, gently turned the handle and pushed. The door yielded.
The three at the table looked up as he pushed the door wide open. Slim grinned to see the sudden fear on their faces. He showed them the gun, his yellow eyes gleaming.
“Sit still and you won’t get hurt,” he said.