“What’s that to you, Red?”
“He’s got no guts. You found out about him somehow. He’ll spill. But take a look at this.”
He kept the gun on me and fumbled in his desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper and held it where I could read it.
It was a confession. My eyes jumped down to Nolan’s signature and then up to the paragraph which said, “Robert Kirk found out I was taking the firm’s money. He followed me to the Mill House. I got him out in the dark and hit him with a piece of pipe. I got his girl to leave the car. I dragged him into the front seat and drove down the road. I waited until I found a stretch with big trees on either side and no cars coming. I slowed down and opened the door. I stood on the running board and pulled Kirk’s body behind the wheel. Then I pulled out the dash throttle as I jumped off. The car went down the road for a hundred yards before it turned over and crashed into the tree. I went back through the lots, found my own car and drove home.”
Red grinned at me and said, “And how do you like that?”
“It’s very pretty, but not good enough. No witnesses to the statement. I have a guy who can prove you were into Nolan for twenty thousand. I got another one who cracked up a little and... shall we say got trapped in a statement? A lawyer will make hash out of the whole thing at Nolan’s trial.”
“Who else knows all this?”
“Just me,” I said, and then looked alarmed. I made it good. My cigarette shook as I lifted it up to my mouth.
The blue eyes glazed with thought and there were wrinkles in the tan forehead. He leaned over and punched a buzzer. In a few seconds the little dark one came in. Warren called him over and whispered in his ear, without taking his eyes off me. We sat in silence after the little one left. I heard the distant grind of gears and a roar as a car sped off. I prayed that it was the taxi and that my driver was in it — alone.
The little man came back and said, “He run off before I could get to him, Red.”
“Get out! — No, wait. Stand here and keep an eye on junior.” I kept silting while Warren dashed out. The little citizen covered me with a .38 police positive.
I sat quietly until Warren was out of earshot. Then I said, “This whole set-up is due to blow sky high.”
He grinned and said, “Sure it is. Sure it is. The boss don’t know the angles.”
“He can probably figure a new angle on the Kirk killing. There’s a thousand cops coming out here and snag you all in. They got a good story from Nolan.”
His eyes widened and he gasped, “No kiddin’! Did they get onto that little stinker?”
“Sure they did. I don’t envy you guys.”
“What’s Warren going to do?”
“Try to knock me off. He may do it. That taxi guy is wise. That’ll make two killings. Maybe you chumps can go in for fifteen years when they burn Warren. And all for a lousy fifty grand.”
“Fifty! Hey, it was only twenty-five.”
“Is that what Red says?”
The muzzle wavered and he turned out to be one of those people who look at ceilings when they have to think — as though the ideas were written out up there. My toe caught him right under the chin as he was bringing his head back down. His feel left the floor and the back of his head smacked into the plaster wall. I scooped up the gun as it rolled out of his hand. There was a shell under the hammer.
I hauled the little guy’s limp frame away from the open door. I didn’t want Red to see it when he stepped in. I stood by the door and wailed. Two sets of footsteps were coming up the stairs. That made it rougher. I didn’t want Red to be the first one in.
I swung the revolver back and held it poised like a pitcher wondering whether to throw to third. I gauged the footsteps, and swung just as somebody stepped into the room. The full blow crunched into the lower part of the man’s face. As he fell in a heap, I saw that it was the brush-cut. I shifted the gun in my hand and stepped quickly over him.
Red, his eyes wild, had the little gun out of the belly holster. We stood for a second or two, both guns leveled.
“Go ahead, Red. Try a shot,” I murmured. I watched his finger whiten on the trigger and I dropped the barrel toward the lower part of his stomach. He paled and his finger regained normal color as he let off the pressure.
“Drop it and step in here,” I ordered. It thumped onto the hall rug. I backed into the room, remembering just in time to step over brush-cut. I knew from the heft of the blow that he would dream for a long time.
Red came in warily, his fingers held stiff and tense.
“Back up against that wall,” he did as he was told. I stood eight feet from him, feeling the red haze of blood lust well up inside of me. I saw his handsome tense face as through a pinkish mist. I thought of Bob and I wanted to see Warren on the floor, roughing his life into the bright rug. He whimpered as he read in my eyes what I was going to do.
Then I remembered George’s advice. “Stay cold.” The mist cleared. I stepped forward and slapped his pockets and armpits. He had only been carrying one gun. I stepped over to the door. Brush-cut’s breath was burbling through a froth of blood. Fragments of teeth dotted the rug near his head. I booted him aside and swung the door shut. I turned the key in the lock and stuffed it in my pants pocket. I flipped the gun crashing through the window.
Red grinned and said, “So now we play hero, hey, sucker?” He started to inch toward me, his fists swinging low and ready. I love to counter-punch. I backed away, feeling cold and efficient, seeing every movement he made, gauging his height and weight.
He rushed me and swung. I stepped inside the punch and smashed my right up into his mouth, a short heavy chop.
He backed off, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand.
“So you’re that good, Rich! Then we do it this way.” He rushed me again, his long left smacking me under the eye. He jabbed again and again, backing me into the wall. I covered high, but he hooked a right deep into my gut. He tried to kick, but I spun sideways. I couldn’t get my breath. My arms felt heavy from the numbing blow in the solar plexus. But I dropped my chin and we slugged it out, swinging heavily, all thoughts of technique or defense gone. Dimly I could hear the meaty smacks of fists on flesh and knew that he was tagging me hard and often. I swung in a blind haze at his smeared face, thinking of nothing but the importance of keeping my fists moving.
Then I was staggering forward and the deadening blows were no longer clouding my sight. Slowly I began to see more clearly. He was staggering, his eyes puffy and glazed. I backed him into the opposite wall ignoring his feeble blows. I held him up against the wall with my left hand on his throat.
Then, with heavy monotony I hooked blow after blow into his middle, twisting hard with each one to get my shoulder and back into it. His arms dropped, and as he began to slide down the wall, I shifted to his face. It was like a strange game. I was swinging automatically, watching with almost detached objectiveness, as one by one his features matted together in a pulped, unrecognizable mass.
I stepped back and heard the sirens in the distance. I sat and forced a cigarette between my battered lips. I looked at Warren. He didn’t look back.
When the sirens screamed into the yard, it was only a matter of seconds before someone started hammering on the door. I found the key and opened it. A large man in grey stepped into the room, took one slow look at the three quiet ones and caught me as I fell against him. As the darkness welled over me I heard his muted whistle of awe...
I sat in George’s office. The clock on the wall said five-thirty.