“Lie down flat,” he shouted at her. “You’re all right.”
She didn’t seem to hear him; she stood trembling against the wall, a shrill, keening moan forcing itself through her compulsively locked hands.
Ingram ran to the side door and twisted the key in the lock. Pulling open the door he plunged into the darkness, fear like a mad animal at his heels. The sound of another shot brought him to a skidding stop. He had to get away from the firing, he thought wildly. To his right was a haven of darkness, the side street stretching away to safety. To his left was Main Street, its wet pavement gleaming colorfully under the light from the traffic signal at the intersection. Rain was coming down again, driven like hard pellets through the swaying black trees. He needed an overcoat; they’d catch him trying to run away in the waiter’s jacket. And he needed something hot to drink. His thoughts were broken into crazy splinters by fear. Forget about something to drink... run and hide. That was the only thing that mattered. Find a place to hide.
A few people were coming down Main Street toward the bank, but their progress was slow and cautious; the sound of the last shot had driven them all into alleys and doorways.
Something moved in the darkness near the curb, and a gasp of terror tightened his throat. He turned to run into the safety of the side street, but then he heard a metallic clicking coming from one of the parked cars. Ingram crept forward slowly, stepping off the sidewalk onto the sodden plot of grass that bordered the street.
“Earl?” he whispered frantically. “Earl? You there, Earl?” It had to be Earl; he must have stumbled around here after getting shot...
“Goddam!” The voice was just a few feet from him, tight with pain and fury.
Another shot exploded in front of the bank, and a man shouted an order in a huge, powerful voice.
“Ingram?” Earl cried softly. “Ingram! Come here.”
“Where?”
“Here, you fool.”
Ingram crept swiftly toward the angry whisper and found Earl kneeling in the gutter, supporting his weight against the side of the car and pulling impotently at the door handle with his good hand. “Go around the other side,” he whispered, the words coming in painful little gasps. “You got to drive. I’m hit. Move, damn you.”
Ingram crouched low and ran to the driver’s side, prodded by the anger in Earl’s voice. He wasn’t thinking any more; his mind was a vacuum, empty of everything, empty even of fear.
Sliding into the car he opened the opposite door and hauled Earl in beside him, tugging frantically at his awkward, pain-cramped body. Earl cursed weakly and Ingram saw the sweat standing out on lips and forehead.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said foolishly.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Earl bent forward and shoved the key into the ignition. “The starter’s on the left. Let’s go.” Ingram fumbled around beside the steering post and Earl said, “On the floor! On the floor!”
The motor caught with a swelling throb of power. Ingram tramped on the gas, and the car shot out from the curb like something blown from a cannon.
“Easy, damn it,” Earl yelled at him. Ingram was fighting the spinning wheel, trying desperately to keep the car in the street. “Feed it slow.” Earl twisted around, breathing harshly and stared out the rear window. “Make the first left. Then give it everything.” In spite of the pain and weakness, his voice cracked like a whip. “You want to live, Sambo, you make this crate move.”
“What happened? What went wrong?”
“Never mind that now. You just drive. Left here — left, you fool.” Ingram hurled the car into the turn without checking his speed; the tires screamed hideously as they clawed into the wet pavement, and Earl grabbed the yawing wheel with his good hand. “Hit the gas now,” he yelled. “Give it everything.”
The rain was coming harder now, flailing at the side of the car and driving through the fog lights in thick crystal streaks. They swept through a slum area, and up a swerving incline that brought them onto a straight stretch of road.
“Let her out,” Earl cried. “Pound it. We got to get to Novak.”
“I can’t drive any faster. I’m doing sixty now.”
“Faster, I’m telling you.”
“I can’t.”
“You afraid of getting a ticket?” Earl’s foot came down hard on Ingram’s, pushing the accelerator flat against the floorboards. The car leaped ahead like an angry animal into the walls of rainwater, the motor snarling under the full load of power.
“You’re crazy!” Ingram shouted the words over the roar of the engine. The car swayed wildly as the tires spun and hissed on the slick surface of the road. “We’ll kill ourselves.”
“So will the sheriff if he catches us,” Earl said. “Drive, damn you. We got to get to Novak.” He leaned forward and rubbed the mist from the windshield with the sleeve of his coat. “I’ll tell you when to stop,” he said. There was no pain in his shoulder. He was weak from shock and loss of blood, but the pain wouldn’t start for a while yet... Why hadn’t he dropped the sheriff, he wondered. He had seen his tall black figure behind the parked car. One shot would have settled him for good. But he hadn’t even tried. And he hadn’t tried to pick up the money. It was lying right next to Burke’s hand, thousands and thousands of dollars stuffed into a long linen bag. Why hadn’t he grabbed it?
He shouted suddenly, “Slow down. Here he is.”
As Ingram drove his foot against the brake he saw the red taillights of a car shining ahead of them through the rain and darkness. He was thrown forward by the skidding, wrenching stop, but the steering wheel kept him from smashing into the windshield. Earl had nothing to hold onto and only his instinctively outflung arm saved him from a split skull; his forehead struck his wrist instead of the dashboard, and the blow merely stunned him for an instant. He straightened slowly, feeling that he might be sick; the pain in his shoulder was starting now, spreading nauseatingly into his stomach and loins. A bullet never hurt much at first. That was the only good thing about getting shot up. His thoughts drifted. It was funny, damned funny...
“Get out,” he said to Ingram. “Tell him the job went wrong. Then come back here and give me a hand.” He found a reserve of strength and said harshly, “Go on, move.”
Ingram climbed out and ran through the driving rain to Novak’s car, his feet slipping on the treacherous surface of the road. Novak cranked the window down and stared at him, his wide, hard features softened by the faint light from the dashboard.
“What’s the matter?” he yelled over the drumming rain; he could see the haggard fear in Ingram’s face.
“We got caught,” Ingram said, gripping the door with desperate, grateful fingers. “Burke’s shot and killed. And Earl’s got a bullet in him. He’s hurt bad. We got to get out of here. They’re coming after us.”
“How about the money, for Christ’s sake?”
“We didn’t get nothing. It all went wrong. We’re lucky to be alive. I’ll get Earl. He can’t make it alone.”
“Yeah,” Novak said, staring at him with narrowing eyes. “You do that.”
Ingram ran back to the station wagon and jerked open Earl’s door. “Come on,” he said. “We got to hurry.”
“Pull me toward you,” Earl said. He ground his teeth together, and his voice came out thin and cold and hard. “Pull me, Sambo. I got to get my feet under me. I can walk okay.”
“Sure, sure,” Ingram said. “Try your damnedest. We got to make it fast.”
But as he took hold of Earl’s lapels, the sudden accelerating roar of Novak’s car sounded through the rain-drumming silence. The noise froze him; he stared at Earl’s sweat-blistered face, unable to move or think, conscious of nothing but the giddy fear flowing through his body. Earl twisted away from him, cursing as he rubbed the steam from the windshield. Ingram ran down the road shouting, “Wait, please wait, Mr. Novak,” in a shrill, imploring voice. But finally he stopped, his breath coming in long, shuddering sobs.