Kells reached back with his right hand, pulled the ice pick halfway out. He swayed, leaned against the door a moment, jerked it the rest of the way out. It fell and stuck in the floor, the handle quivering.
He straightened then, swung the door partly open, stuck the automatic in his big overcoat pocket and said: “Let’s go.”
Rose put his hands down. He opened the door the rest of the way and went out of the room. Kells went out behind him, closed the door, and said: “Wait a second.”
Rose half turned, looked down at Kells’ overcoat pocket. The muzzle of the automatic bulged the cloth.
Kells watched Rose, locked the door quickly with his left hand. They started down the long room together; Rose a pace to the right, a pace ahead.
There were perhaps thirty or thirty-five people — mostly men — in the room; most of them around the two crap tables, several at two small green-covered tables, drinking.
The lighting was as Kells remembered it: Two powerful shaded globes over the big tables lighting all the rear end of the room. Toward the front of the room — the street — the light faded to partial darkness, black in the far corners.
Kells said, “Talk to me, Jakie,” out of the side of his mouth.
Rose turned his head and twisted his mouth to a terribly forced grin. His eyes were wide, frightened. “What’ll I talk about?”
Several people turned to look at them.
Kells said: “The weather — an’ walk faster.”
Then someone crashed against the locked door behind them. In the same moment Kells saw Reilly. He had risen from one of the smaller tables, was staring at Rose.
He said: “Jack — what the hell?...”
Then he looked at Kells, his hand dipped toward his hip.
Kells shot from his pocket — twice. Someone yelled.
Reilly put his two hands against the middle of his chest, slowly. He sat down on the edge of the table, slid slowly down as his knees buckled, fell backward half under the table.
Another gun roared and Kells felt the shoulder of his coat lift, tear; felt a hot stab in the muscle of his upper arm.
Rose was running towards the other end of the room, zigzagging a little, swiftly.
Kells started after him, stumbled, almost fell. He jerked the big automatic out of his pocket, swung it towards Rose. Then the door beyond Rose opened and someone came in. Kells couldn’t see who it was; he staggered on after Rose, stopped suddenly as Rose stopped.
Borg said, “Cinch,” out of the darkness.
Kells’ gun roared and almost simultaneously another roared, flashed yellow out of the darkness near the door.
Rose’s hands were together high in the air. He spun as though suspended by his hands from the ceiling, fell down to his knees, bent slowly forward.
Kells went to him swiftly and put the muzzle of the automatic against the back of his head and fired three times., “Compliments of Flo Beery,” he grunted, and straightened and watched Rose topple forward, crush his dead face against the floor.
He turned to look towards the rear of the room, and in that instant the two big lights went out, and it was entirely black.
Borg’s voice whispered beside him: “Oh, boy! Did I have a swell hunch when I turned off the lights in the little room outside — they could pick us off going out if I hadn’t.”
Borg led him to the door and they went across the little room in the darkness. Kells stumbled over something soft — Borg said: “I had to sap the doorman — he wasn’t going to let me in.”
Borg swung the heavy outer door wide and they went through to the stairs.
About halfway down, Kells put his hand out suddenly and groped for the banister — his body pivoted slowly on one foot, crashed against the wall. He slid to his knees, still holding the banister tightly.
Borg put his hands under Kells’ arms, locked them on his chest and tried to lift him.
Kells muttered something that sounded like, “Wait — minute,” coughed.
Borg pried his hand off the banister and half dragged, half carried him the rest of the way downstairs.
It was raining very hard.
Kells straightened suddenly, pushed Borg away, and said: “I’m all right” Then he leaned against the building and coughed, and the cough was a harsh, tearing sound deep inside him. He stood there coughing terribly until Borg dragged him away, shoved him into the car that had come swiftly up to the curb.
Granquist was at the wheel. She said, “Well — hell...” sarcastically, as if she had been wanting to say that, thinking about saying that for a long time.
Kells’ head sagged to her shoulder. There was blood on his mouth and his eyes were closed.
Borg climbed in behind him, closed the door.
Granquist threw her arms around Kells suddenly and pressed his head close against her shoulder. Her eyes were wide, stricken; her lower lip was caught between her teeth — she almost screamed: “Gerry — darling — for God’s sake, say something!”
Borg was looking back through the side window at the dark archway that led to the stairs.
He said: “Let’s get going.”
Kells raised his head and opened his eyes. He waved an arm in the general direction of the car across the street — the car they had followed from Larson’s.
Borg said: “We ain’t got time to jim it up — besides, they got a flock of cars.” He reached in front of Kells, shook Granquist, shouted: “Let’s go!”
She looked up blankly, then she mechanically took her left arm from around Kells and grasped the wheel. She let the clutch in and the big coupé slid away from the curb.
“Duck down Gardner.” Borg snapped on the dashlight, pulled Kells’ overcoat and suit coat off his shoulder, ripped his shirt open and looked at the wound on the outer muscle of his left arm. “Just a crease,” he said. Then he glanced through the rear window and went on: “Turn right, here — no — the next one. This one’s full of holes.”
Granquist was bent over the wheel, staring intently through the dripping windshield. She jerked her head at Kells and asked: “Why’s he coughing blood?” She spoke in a small, harsh, breathless voice.
Borg shrugged, went on examining Kells.
He glanced again through the rear window, said: “Here they come — give it everything.”
They swung around a corner and the car leaped ahead, the engine throbbed, thundered. When Borg looked back again the headlights that marked the pursuing car were almost three blocks behind them.
He had bent Kells forward, was examining his back. He said: “God! He’s bleeding like a stuck pig from a little hole in his back. Wha’ d’ya suppose done that?”
Kells straightened suddenly, sat up, struggled into his coat. He looked at Granquist, smiled faintly and put up one hand and rubbed it down over his face. He said: “I guess I passed out — where we going?”
“Doctor’s.”
Kells said: “Don’t be silly. We’re going north — fast.” He started coughing again, took out a handkerchief and held it to his mouth.
Borg said slowly: “I thought south — I guess I’m a lousy guesser.”
“I told the cab driver who turned us in north — they’ll probably figure us for south — the Border.” Kells spoke hoarsely, with a curious halting lisp. He leaned forward and began coughing again.
Granquist swung the car right, around another corner.
Borg was looking back. After a couple of blocks, he said: “I think we’ve lost ’em.”
Kells sat up again as Granquist turned east on Sunset Boulevard. He said: “The other way, baby — the other way.”
“We’re going to a doctor’s.” She was almost crying.