“He dead?”
“No. You got him in the shoulder. He’s sitting right here beside you. If you turn your head you can visit with him.”
Toad tried. The pain shot through his head so badly he felt himself going out again. He lay absolutely still and the feeling passed.
After a moment he opened his eyes and swiveled his head a millimeter, then another. Yocke was applying a bandage to a man who was naked from the waist up. They were on the floor of the armory bay.
Toad held his head and turned it. All the prisoners were gone! The three of them were the only ones in the whole room.
“How long I been out?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Something like that.”
“Damn you, Yocke.”
“Hey, Toad.” The reporter came over and stared down at him. “You could have killed Shannon.”
“If he was the asshole in front, I was trying to. I’m damn sorry I didn’t.”
Yocke looked tired. “I didn’t know you were carrying a pistol under that coat.”
“I told you, being around Grafton, you gotta …”
“Lie still. You probably have a concussion.”
“Jerk. Reporter jerk. Spectator.” Toad tried to sit. The effort nauseated him and made him so dizzy he had to steady himself with his hands on the floor.
When he opened his eyes he was looking straight at Shannon. “So you took ’em, huh? We’ll get ’em back. Those fucking dirtballs won’t get away with killing soldiers and all that shit just because a damn mob turns ’em loose.”
Shannon just stared at him.
Yocke came over and used his fingers to part the hair on the back of Toad’s head. He looked carefully. “You got a real bad goose egg, Toad.”
“We’ll find those assholes, Shannon, even if we have to flood this damn town and comb all the rats with a wire brush.”
“Toad,” Yocke said gently. “They didn’t let those people go.”
Toad Tarkington gaped. It didn’t compute. He looked again at the maintenance bays where the prisoners had been held. It was empty. “What d’ya mean?”
“They didn’t turn them loose, Toad. They’re hanging them. All of them.”
By some ironic quirk of fate, they brought Sweet Cherry Lane to the same light pole where they were hanging T. Jefferson Brody.
“Bitch, cunt, nigger slut! I hope we end up in the same furnace in hell so I can kick the shit out of you for a million years!”
The man in front of him put the noose around his neck while two women and two men held his arms. He struggled. They couldn’t do this to him! He was a member of the bar!
“I got money. I’ll pay you to let me go. Please! For God’s sake.”
He could feel the noose tightening as eight people in front of him pulled the rope. Holy shit! It was going to happen! They were really going to do it.
T. Jefferson Brody peed his pants.
Sweet Cherry Lane was standing there silently, watching him, as two men held her arms immobile and a third draped a noose around her neck.
“Why?” he croaked at her. “Why did Freeman McNally protect you?”
“I’m his half-sister,” she said.
Before he could reply the people holding his arms let go and the rope around his neck lifted him clear of the ground. He grabbed the rope and held on with both hands as it elevated him higher and higher and the merciless pressure on his neck began to strangle him. He was kicking wildly, which caused him to spin slowly, first one way, then the other. His vision faded. Can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t …
He heard a step. Lying there against the curved wall, he could hear a soft sound, followed by another. The sounds weren’t like leather heels clicking on a wooden floor, but like something soft brushing against something that … The sound carried well against the wall. They were footsteps. That was all they could be.
Jake Grafton tightened his grip on the rifle and thumbed the safety off. He had it pointed at the ramp opening. As soon as this dude stepped into that square of faint light…
Another step. He was coming slowly, methodically, step by step. But how far away was he? How far would sounds carry around this curved concrete wall? Maybe a hundred yards, he speculated. Maybe twice that. Naw. Fifty was more like it.
The steps paused, then resumed.
He’s coming.
Sweat dripped into Jake’s eyes but he didn’t move. He merely blinked and tried to ignore the stinging.
Suddenly he realized what a damn poor position he had chosen. He should have picked the doorway to a rest room to lie in, something that would have allowed him to look both ways. For the thought came in all its horror that the man he sought was probably behind him in the darkness.
Jake started to turn around.
“No, friend,” the voice said softly. “Just hold it right there.”
Jake froze.
“Well, we had ourselves a nice little hunt, didn’t we? We stalked and stalked and now we are at the end.”
“You’ll never get away, Charon.”
The man laughed. “I’ll outlive you by quite a while.”
He was behind Jake. But which side of the concourse? Probably near the exterior wall or his footsteps wouldn’t have carried so well.
Jake tried to decide what to do. He knew to the depths of his soul that anything he tried would be futile. But he couldn’t let this guy just shoot him like a dog! If he spun, he would have to rise to his knees and swing the rifle.
Jake thumbed the selector to full automatic fire. He turned his head, looking.
“You’re thinking about turning and trying a shot, aren’t you? Go ahead. I’ll put the first one up your ass.”
“Who hired you?”
Another soft laugh. “Would you believe I never asked? I don’t know.”
“How much did they pay you?”
“A lot of money. And you know something funny? I do believe I would have done it for nothing.” Another chuckle.
The next time the guy spoke. While he was speaking Jake would spin and let this guy have a magazine-full of hot lead. “You really don’t have to kill me, do you? You’ve had your fun.”
“That’s an interesting—”
A burst of gunfire strobed the corridor. Jake had just started to spin. He completed the maneuver and flopped down with the rifle aimed into the darkness in front of him.
In the silence that followed he heard something soft and heavy fall to the concrete. And he heard a sigh.
“Captain, don’t shoot! It’s me.”
Rita!
He got up slowly, almost falling. Then a light came on. She had a small flashlight and she was shining it down on Henry Charon. He lay on his back, the rifle just out of reach of his right hand.
Jake walked up and stood looking down. He kept his rifle pointed at Charon and his finger on the trigger.
“How …?” Charon said. He had been hit in the chest by at least three bullets. The red stain was spreading rapidly.
Rita seemed to understand. She flashed the light on her feet. They were bare. “I took my shoes off.”
When she put the light back on Charon’s face he was grinning. Then he died. The smile faded as the muscles went slack.
Jake bent down and felt for Charon’s pulse. He straightened slowly.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Rita extinguished the penlight. Together they walked along the concourse toward the light.
The bodies hung from every pole. Jake Grafton stared, trying to comprehend. Some poles had one, some had two. But they all hung lifelessly, stirring only as the cold night breeze moved them.
Inside the armory he found the soldiers gathered around Toad Tarkington, who was sitting on the concrete floor nursing his head. Jack Yocke was beside him talking to a civilian.
“You want anything in the paper about why you did it, Tom? You know they’ll try you for a dozen felonies, perhaps even a dozen murders?”