Dinah’s head cocked to one side, and for a moment she looked strikingly like Nipper, the dog on the old RCA Victor labels.
“No,” Bob said, “I think—”
“Watch out!” Dinah cried sharply. “I hear some—”
She was too late. Once Craig Toomy broke the paralysis which had held him and he started to move, he moved fast. Before Nick or Brian could do more than begin to turn around, he had locked one forearm around Bethany’s throat and was dragging her backward. He pointed the gun at her temple. The girl uttered a desperate, terrorized squawk.
“I don’t want to shoot her, but I will if I have to,” Craig panted. “Take me to Boston.” His eyes were no longer blank; they shot glances full of terrified, paranoid intelligence in every direction. “Do you hear me? Take me to Boston!”
Brian started toward him, and Nick placed a hand against his chest without shifting his eyes away from Craig. “Steady down, mate,” he said in a low voice. “It wouldn’t be safe. Our friend here is quite bonkers.”
Bethany was squirming under Craig’s restraining forearm. “You’re choking me! Please stop choking me.”
“What’s happening?” Dinah cried. “What is it?”
“Stop that!” Craig shouted at Bethany. “Stop moving around! You’re going to force me to do something I don’t want to do!” He pressed the muzzle of the gun against the side of her head. She continued to struggle, and Albert suddenly realized she didn’t know he had a gun — even with it pressed against her skull she didn’t know.
“Quit it, girl!” Nick said sharply. “Quit fighting!”
For the first time in his waking life, Albert found himself not just thinking like The Arizona Jew but possibly called upon to act like that fabled character. Without taking his eyes off the lunatic in the crew-neck jersey, he slowly began to raise his violin case. He switched his grip from the handle and settled both hands around the neck of the case. Toomy was not looking at him; his eyes were shuttling rapidly back and forth between Brian and Nick, and he had his hands full — quite literally — holding onto Bethany.
“I don’t want to shoot her—” Craig was beginning again, and then his arm slipped upward as the girl bucked against him, socking her behind into his crotch. Bethany immediately sank her teeth into his wrist. “Ow!” Craig screamed. “owww!”
His grip loosened. Bethany ducked under it. Albert leaped forward, raising the violin case, as Toomy pointed the gun at Bethany. Toomy’s face was screwed into a grimace of pain and anger.
“No, Albert!” Nick bawled.
Craig Toomy saw Albert coming and shifted the muzzle toward him. For one moment Albert looked straight into it, and it was like none of his dreams or fantasies. Looking into the muzzle was like looking into an open grave.
I might have made a mistake here, he thought, and then Craig pulled the trigger.
5
Instead of an explosion there was a small pop — the sound of an old Daisy air rifle, no more. Albert felt something thump against the chest of his Hard Rock Cafe tee-shirt, had time to realize he had been shot, and then he brought the violin case down on Craig’s head. There was a solid thud which ran all the way up his arms and the indignant voice of his father suddenly spoke up in his mind: What’s the matter with you, Albert? That’s no way to treat an expensive musical instrument!
There was a startled broink! from inside the case as the violin jumped. One of the brass latches dug into Toomy’s forehead and blood splashed outward in an amazing spray. Then the man’s knees came unhinged and he went down in front of Albert like an express elevator. Albert saw his eyes roll up to whites, and then Craig Toomy was lying at his feet, unconscious.
A crazy but somehow wonderful thought filled Albert’s mind for a moment: By God, I never played better in my life! And then he realized that he was no longer able to get his breath. He turned to the others, the corners of his mouth turning up in a thin-lipped, slightly confused smile. “I think I have been plugged,” Ace Kaussner said, and then the world bleached out to shades of gray and his own knees came unhinged. He crumpled to the floor on top of his violin case.
6
He was out for less than thirty seconds. When he came around, Brian was slapping his cheeks lightly and looking anxious. Bethany was on her knees beside him, looking at Albert with shining my-hero eyes. Behind her, Dinah Bellman was still crying within the circle of Laurel’s arms. Albert looked back at Bethany and felt his heart — apparently still whole — expand in his chest. “The Arizona Jew rides again,” he muttered.
“What, Albert?” she asked, and stroked his cheek. Her hand was wonderfully soft, wonderfully cool. Albert decided he was in love.
“Nothing,” he said, and then the pilot whacked him across the face again.
“Are you all right, kid?” Brian was asking. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” Albert said. “Stop doing that, okay? And the name is Albert. Ace, to my friends. How bad am I hit? I can’t feel anything yet. Were you able to stop the bleeding?”
Nick Hopewell squatted beside Bethany. His face wore a bemused, unbelieving smile. “I think you’ll live, matey. I never saw anything like that in my life... and I’ve seen a lot. You Americans are too foolish not to love. Hold out your hand and I’ll give you a souvenir.”
Albert held out a hand which shook uncontrollably with reaction, and Nick dropped something into it. Albert held it up to his eyes and saw it was a bullet.
“I picked it up off the floor,” Nick said. “Not even misshapen. It must have hit you square in the chest — there’s a little powder mark on your shirt — and then bounced off. It was a misfire. God must like you, mate.”
“I was thinking of the matches,” Albert said weakly. “I sort of thought it wouldn’t fire at all.”
“That was very brave and very foolish, my boy,” Bob Jenkins said. His face was dead white and he looked as if he might pass out himself in another few moments. “Never believe a writer. Listen to them, by all means, but never believe them. My God, what if I’d been wrong?”
“You almost were,” Brian said. He helped Albert to his feet. “It was like when you lit the other matches — the ones from the bowl. There was just enough pop to drive the bullet out of the muzzle. A little more pop and Albert would have had a bullet in his lung.”
Another wave of dizziness washed over Albert. He swayed on his feet, and Bethany immediately slipped an arm around his waist. “I thought it was really brave,” she said, looking up at him with eyes which suggested she believed Albert Kaussner must shit diamonds from a platinum asshole. “I mean incredible.”
“Thanks,” Ace said, smiling coolly (if a trifle woozily). “It wasn’t much.” The fastest Hebrew west of the Mississippi was aware that there was a great deal of girl pressed tightly against him, and that the girl smelled almost unbearably good. Suddenly he felt good. In fact, he believed he had never felt better in his life. Then he remembered his violin, bent down, and picked up the case. There was a deep dent in one side, and one of the catches had been sprung. There was blood and hair on it, and Albert felt his stomach turn over lazily. He opened the case and looked in. The instrument looked all right, and he let out a little sigh.
Then he thought of Craig Toomy, and alarm replaced relief.
“Say, I didn’t kill that guy, did I? I hit him pretty hard.” He looked towards Craig, who was lying near the restaurant door with Don Gaffney kneeling beside him. Albert suddenly felt like passing out again. There was a great deal of blood on Craig’s face and forehead.