From another room I heard the annoyed sound of a buzzer. It rang again, then a voice I knew so well said, "Stanley, go see what's keeping her."
I stepped away from the door and crowded behind the angle of an ornate china closet. The door opened and clicked shut on its own closing device and I saw the face of the man who had come in, a still angry face at having been chewed out for bungling the job. It wasn't a new face. I had seen it twice before this night, once in a burst of gunfire at the top of the stairs and again coming out of an elevator in the hotel where Beaver had been sliced to death like Lippy Sullivan.
Like Lippy Sullivan.
The man called Stanley crossed the room and pushed open the swinging door that led into the kitchen calling loudly for somebody named Louise. He never heard me follow him in, but when he didn't find Louise he spun around and I let him see me, one big surprised look, and he knew who I was and why I was there and before he could get the knife out of his belt with an incredibly fast snatch and thrust, I leaned aside and threw a fist into his face that sent his features into a crazy caricature of a human and left teeth imbedded in my knuckles and a sudden spurt of blood spraying both of us.
I should have shot him and had it over with, but I didn't want it to happen that fast. I was a pig and wanted him all for myself and slowly and almost made a mistake. He was a pro and strong. He was hurt and death could be the next step and he was moving and thinking even before he hit the floor. He didn't waste breath yelling. What strength he had left kept the knife in his hand, his feet scrabbling for survival.
The blade flashed around when I jumped him, the gun forgotten now. All I wanted was to use my hands. I got my fingers in his hair and yanked his head around, pounding my fist against his ear. I saw the knife come up and blocked it with my knee, the razor edge slicing into my skin, then I let go of his hair and grabbed his wrist.
He was strong, but I had gotten to him first and he wasn't that strong any more. He was flat out under me and I was bringing his own knife up under his throat and this time he knew it couldn't be stopped and he tried to let out the yell he had held in. Then my knee caught him square in the balls with such impact he almost died then, eyes bugging out of his head in sheer agony.
He still fought, and he was still able to see what was happening when his own hand drove the knife completely through his neck until it was imbedded in the floor behind.
I picked up my rod and eased the hammer back.
Okay, Lippy, it was almost paid for.
You shouldn't stop and think back. I should have known that. All the years in the business and I forgot a little thing that could kill you. It wasn't instinct that turned me in time. It was accident. I should have known they'd send another one out to see what had happened and he was standing there behind me with a gun coming out of his pocket, a flat, ugly little thing with a deadly snout ready to spit.
But you don't beat a guy to the draw who already has a gun in his fist, and I triggered the .45 into a roaring blast that caught him just off center from his nose and threw the entire back of his skull against the door. I was over him before he had crumpled to the tiles and met the other one coming in and this time I was ready. He only saw me as the slug was tearing his chest apart, dropped the Luger and stood there in momentary surprise, then fell in a lifeless heap, blocking the doorway.
Chairs crashed backward outside and there was a shrill scream cutting through the curses. I kicked the corpse out of the way, yanked the door open in time to see that smiling, pleasant Mr. Kudak who was so political, who had come from one regime into another without anybody ever knowing about it, picking himself up off the floor. He didn't have a gun, but he had a mind that was even more
dangerous so I blew it right out of its braincase without the slightest compunction and ran across the room, jumping the knocked-over furniture, and reached the door just as it was locked in my face.
They shouldn't have bothered. One shot took the lock away and I kicked the door open and stood there with the .45 aimed at William Dorn who was pulling a snub-nosed revolver from the desk drawer, then swung the .45 to cover Renée Talmage who was standing there beside him. They never saw me thumb the empty .45 back into the loaded position.
"Don't bother, William," I said. "Toss it in the middle of the floor."
For a second I thought he'd try for me anyway and I got that strange feeling up across my shoulders. I knew what would happen if he did. But there are those who can plan violence and those who could execute it. He wasn't one of those who could pull the trigger.
Right now he was thinking and I knew that too. I could take them in, say what I had to say, and while the police held them the big death would be released and all he had to do was wait long enough and everybody would be gone except them and they could walk out easily enough.
I grinned and said, "It couldn't happen that way, William."
They looked at each other. Finally he straightened and tried to regain his composure. "What?"
"You could be in a cell. So everybody's dead. You'd still be in a cell and you'd starve to death anyway."
Renée spoke for the first time. "Mike . .."
"Shut up, Renée. For a whole lifetime I'm going to have to look back and remember that I liked you once. It's going to be a damn nasty memory as it is, so for now, just shut up."
Now there was something about the way they looked at each other. And I was enjoying myself. It was going to be fun bringing them in like this. They'd hate me so hard after it they would never be able to live with themselves.
"You never should have killed the wrong man, William," I said. "Just think, if your bright boys had really been on the ball when they went after that pickpocket and found where he was living, you would have won the whole ball game. But no, they put the knife to the wrong boy, and the right one hit the road. He was a sharp article too and when he knew what was chasing him he pulled out all the stops. Right then he knew what he had was important and started playing his own game."
"See here ..."
"Knock it off. It's over, William. The trouble with Beaver was, he didn't know who really was out to kill him. The only stuff worth while was what he had from you and Woody Ballinger. He tried to tap you both and almost got tapped out by Woody first. Old Woody has manpower too.
"I guess you thought I was a real clown getting into the act, stumbling all over trying to square things with a nobody who had gotten himself knocked off. Brother, you should have done your homework better. I work on the dark side of the fence myself."
Renée was watching me, her hands clasping and unclasping, something desperate in her eyes. "You're a cutie, honey," I told her. "The act in your apartment was neat, real neat. You saw those pictures I had of Beaver and slipped one out of my pocket when I was lying there all nice and naked and getting beautifully vibrated. You slipped it to your maid to deliver to William here when she was supposed to go to the drugstore. It doesn't take a half hour to go to a drugstore a block away. Then all the manpower went into high gear again. I went and laid out the story for you in detail that made things nice and easy. You got bullet-creased by an enemy I was on to so I thought you were square with me ... not the real enemy after all. I'm getting old, chums. I'm just not thinking hard enough, I guess. In my own way I have a little luck here and there, and people make mistakes. Like William's maid mentioning the meeting here tonight and you not being sharp enough to have your maid tell me you were sleeping in case I called.