I could feel the amazement in the short laugh I let out. I cut it off, grinned, and handed her the .45. "Okay, kitten, have it your way."
She dropped the gun in her pocket, went to kiss me, and then everything out in the bar went quiet. Before she could move, I shoved her in Sonny's arms and whispered harshly, "Take her, damn it!"
When the door closed behind them I turned, ran to the bank of windows at the side of the room, and felt for the catch. Slowly, a drop of sweat trickled down my back. The windows were the steel casement awning type and somebody had removed the crank handles. Another second and they'd be back here and there wasn't time to break out.
At the end of the room were the Johns and on a sudden thought I turned into the one marked WOMEN. If they searched the place they'd go to the other one first instinctively. There was no lock on the outside door, but a waste basket fitted under the knob. Another couple of seconds maybe. The window there was the same as the others, steel casement with the handle gone. It was shoulder-high and the opaque, wire-impregnated glass was practically unbreakable.
Outside, I heard muffled voices. I cursed softly, fighting the stem of the window handle. It wouldn't budge. I reached back, grabbed a handful of paper, and wrapped a section around the toothed edges. This time when I twisted, the stem gave a little. With exasperating slowness the window began to swing out. On the other side of the wall a heavy foot kicked the door open and somebody said, "Come on out of there!"
If the men's room was the same as this, they could see the shut window and know I didn't go out it, but they couldn't see into the closed toilet booth and would figure I was holed up there. I grinned, thinking that it was a hell of a place to be trapped.
The window was out far enough then. I hauled myself up, squirmed through the opening as a hand tried the door.
Under me was a driveway. One end was blocked by a building, the other was open into the lighted street. I ran toward the light and was a second too late because somebody cut the corner sharply and I could see the gun in his fist.
But the edge was still mine. He had not yet adjusted to the deep black of the alley, and for me he was a lovely silhouette. He could hear my feet and raised the gun. Before he could pull the trigger I crossed one into his jaw that took bone and teeth with it and he hit the ground as if he were dead and I spilled on my face across him.
The other guy was on top of me before I could get up. I dove for the gun the first guy had dropped, fumbled it, and the other one had me.
He should have shot me and been done with it. Instead he cut loose with a running kick that seemed to splinter into my bad side like I had lain on a grenade. It was the amazing agony of the kick that saved me. I arched away from the next one with a tremendous burst of energy and my spasmodic kick spilled the guy on top of me.
I had the other gun then. Grabbing it was instinctive. Slamming it against his ear was instinctive.
Never before had the bulging fire in my side been like this, not even when it happened. I tried to wish myself unconscious . . . anything to get away from it. And instinctively I realized that the only thing that would stop it was up in my room at the hotel.
Then it's over and you don't know how it happened. You don't remember the route, the obstacles, the staircase. You can almost forget instinct as you open the door, then it's there again, because the door should have been locked and you throw yourself on the floor as a little bright flash of light winks in the darkness. Getting the gun up is instinctive and as something tugs into the flesh of your upper arm you put out the light that has been trying to kill you.
A few feet away something crumples to the floor and you get up, flip the switch, and see Benny Quick lying face up with a hole between his eyes.
I didn't waste time. I shook out six capsules and washed them down. For a minute I stood there, waiting for the relief to come. And gently it came, like a wave of soft warm water, so that once more I could think and act like a person instead of an instinct-led animal.
They were looking for me on the street. They'd come here next to check with Benny. They'd find Benny dead and the big hunt would be on. My mind was fuzzy now. I shoved the gun under my belt, stuck Benny's in my pocket, and got my hands under his arms. Benny had died quickly. A scatter rug covered the signs of his final exit and I dragged him outside, closing the door after me.
I could think of only one place to put him. I got him down the back stairs and around the corner to the door of Dari's room. I dragged the body in and dumped it on the floor because it was as far as I could go with it.
Across the room a girl was trying to scream. She watched me with eyes so black they seemed unreal and when she got done trying to scream she collapsed on the floor.
The girl began to sob. I knew who she was. Tentatively, I said, "Ruth? Ruth Gleason?"
She seemed to realize that I wouldn't hurt her. The glazed look left her eyes and she got her feet under her. "Y-yes."
"Dari . . . have you see Dari?"
"No . . . I tried to . . . I waited . . ."
Think, I thought, damn it, THINK!
The Holmes kid would have taken her somewhere. Dr. McKeever had the Evans girl at his wife's sister's place. The kid would go there.
"Would you know Dr. McKeever's wife . . . or her sister?" I asked.
For a second Ruth Gleason stopped being scared and bobbed her head, puzzled. "Her sister is Emma Cox . . . Captain Cox's wife. They . . . don't live together anymore."
"Can you drive?"
She nodded again. I reached in my pocket and threw her the truck keys. "Willie Elkins' truck. It's out back. You call Doctor McKeever and tell him to meet us at his sister's. You'll have to drive."
I could hear her voice but couldn't concentrate on it. I felt her hand on my arm and knew I was in the truck. I could smell the night air and sometimes think and cursed myself mentally for having gone overboard with those damned capsules.
Time had no meaning at all. I heard Dr. McKeever and Dari and felt hands in the hole in my side and knew pieces of flesh were being cut away from the hole in my arm. There was Dari crying and the Gleason girl screaming.
All she could say was, "You're a doctor, give it to me, please. You have to! Oh, please . . . I'll do anything . . . please!"
Dari said, "Can you . . . ?"
There were other voices and McKeever finally said, "It'll help. Not much, but it will quiet her."
"And Kelly?" she asked.
"He'll be all right. I'll have to report this gunshot wound."
"No." There was a soft final note in her voice. "He has to get away."
Ruth Gleason was crying out for Lennie to please come get her.
The pain-killing fog I was wrapped in detached me from the scene then.
"You've been withdrawing, haven't you, Ruth?" Dr. McKeever asked.
Her voice was resigned. "I didn't want to. Lennie . . . took it away. He wanted to . . . get rid of me."
After a moment McKeever continued, "When did it start, Ruth?"
Her voice sounded real distant. "On the hill. Flori and I . . . went there. Flori needed the money . . . her father . . ."
"Yes, I know about that. What about you?"
"A man . . . before Lennie. We met downtown and he . . . invited me. It sounded like fun. He gave me some pot."
Dari said, "What?"
"Marihuana," the doctor told her. "Then what, Ruth?"
"Later we popped one. For kicks. Week later."
"Flori, too?"
Ruth giggled. "Sure," she said, "everybody. It was fun. He danced. Nude, you know? No clothes. Mr. Simpson came in and watched. He gave me five hundred dollars, can you imagine? Flori too. And that was only the first time. Oh, we did lots of dances. We wore costumes for Mr. Simpson and we made his friends laugh and we . . ."