He stared at Perry. “You and me are going to keep company.” His thick lips moved into a sneering grin. “Like the idea, Perry?”
“I’d rather have you here than be on my own in this goddam rain,” Perry said mildly. “At least, we won’t starve. I was planning a fishing vacation. When I fish, I like to be on my own, but when I can’t fish, I like company.” He was making a desperate effort to keep this man relaxed. “You like fishing, Jim?”
Brown looked at the wall clock, then got to his feet and went into the kitchen. He returned with Perry’s transistor. He sat down.
“Time for the news,” he said and switched on the transistor.
The announcer was finishing the headlines. This country at war with that country. Vandals smashing shop windows. A black riot. Soldiers in Ireland getting shot. A bomb exploding in a Swiss bank. A Senator facing corruption charges.
Brown said, “They’re all crooks, Perry. We live in crap.”
“I guess,” Perry said. “No one’s happy.”
“Yeah, because most people like me have nothing.”
The announcer went on, “Before the weather forecast, we are again reading a police message. Chet Logan, the man who brutally murdered six people last night, is still at large. It is believed, wearing a Stetson hat and the slicker of a murdered patrol officer, he stopped a motorist and is heading south. Although this warning has been broadcast throughout the night, no motorist, so far, has notified the police.
“It is feared that the motorist could have been murdered and Logan is using the victim’s car. You are asked to watch for this man. His description is as follows: age around twenty four, powerfully built, blond. He has a cobra snake tattooed on his left arm. If you see a man resembling this description, telephone the Florida State Police immediately. No attempt should be made to approach him. He is armed and very dangerous. Police roadblocks have been set up between Jacksonville and Miami. The National Guard are cooperating with the State police. Every effort is being made to capture this man. This warning will be broadcast every hour.”
Brown snapped off the transistor and shoved it aside. He stared thoughtfully at the cobra snake tattooed on his arm, then he looked at Perry.
There was a long moment of silence. Perry felt cold. The words of the radio announcer were ringing in his mind: who brutally murdered six people last night... no attempt should be made to approach him... he is armed and very dangerous...
Perry felt his mouth turn dry and his hands clammy, but he made a tremendous effort to appear casual.
“Chet Logan?” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound so husky. “That you, Jim?”
Brown’s thick lips twisted into a mirthless grin.
“Who else?” He again stared at the tattoo on his arm. “You know something? Kids do stupid things... like this tattoo. This is just the kind of thing cops love. Stupid!” He rubbed the tattoo. “When I was fifteen, I joined up with a gang. We called ourselves the Cobras. There were five of us. We had nothing... no money, no nothing. We went out nights and mugged suckers. That way I kept my old man in food, and paid the rent of our one room. Each of us had this snake tattooed on our left arm. Stupid. At the time, we thought it was terrific.
“Stupid!” He again rubbed the tattoo. “Yeah, well, we were kids, and kids dig symbols. Stupid!” He looked up and stared past Perry. “We were working over a rich mug when the cops arrived. I was the only one who got away.” Again his mirthless grin appeared. “I’m good at getting away. The other four went into the slammer, but they didn’t talk. It was a good gang while it lasted, so I got clear. When I returned home, I found my old man dead. I knew the finks in our block knew about my tattoo and would squeal to the cops, so I left my old man to rot and took off. I’ve been hoofing ever since... eight goddam years, mugging, knocking off gas stations, living somehow, but the cops didn’t catch up with me until last night. I’m good at getting away, so I got away. No cop is ever going to catch me. Maybe, if I’m unlucky, he could kill me, but he’ll never stick me behind bars.”
Perry had to know. “Did you kill six people last night, Jim?”
“Oh sure.” Brown shrugged. “What are six goddam people in this crappy world when people are always killing each other? These six were stupid. They put pressure on me, and when anyone puts pressure on me I hit back. That’s natural, isn’t it?”
Perry felt in urgent need of a drink. He got up, went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot of Scotch.
He heard Brown mutter something.
“I didn’t get that, Jim. What did you say?” Brown stared at him, his expression suddenly vicious.
“I said you can count yourself goddam lucky you’re not the seventh.” Perry emptied his glass in one long gulp.
“How come I’m lucky?” he asked as he refilled his glass.
“I thought of knocking you off last night when you were drunk,” Brown said. “Then I had a better idea. I listened to the radio. The National Guard! The cops! Sooner or later, they’ll come here. They’re going to check everywhere. So I got this better idea.”
He paused, then went on, “You’re going to be my front. When the cops come, you’ll tell them you’re alone here. You’ll cover for me.” He stabbed his short finger in Perry’s direction. “You give me away, and I promise you one thing.”
Perry waited, aware his heart was thumping. As Brown continued to glare at him, he asked, “What do you promise me?”
The unattractive, square shaped face turned into a snarling mask.
“We’ll share a double funeral,” Brown said. “That’s what I promise.”
Chapter 5
“The footpath is just ahead,” Ross said, peering through the windshield. “Pull into this lay-by.”
Hollis slowed, then steered the car into the lay-by and cut the engine.
“From here, we walk,” Ross said. He fiddled with the radio and got Jenner’s headquarters, “Carl, Ross,” he said. “We are at position on the Miami highway. We’re using the footpath to get down to the river.”
“Hold it!” Jenner said, his voice sharp. “You wait. Jacklin has sent four National Guards and they’ll be with you in half an hour. I don’t want you to go into the forest without support, Jeff.”
“I have all the support I need,” Ross said. “I have Hank. I don’t want four trigger happy kids losing themselves in this jungle. Keep them off my back. Over and out.” He switched off. “Okay, Hank, let’s get wet.”
The two men reached into the overhead rack for their rifles. Ross put the plastic sack of sandwiches in the pocket of his slicker, then both men got out into the rain.
After locking the car, Hank followed Ross’s tracks back along a narrow path that led into the forest. Coming under the heavy foliage of the trees, they were sheltered from the pelting rain, but water dripped on them.
Water and mud flooded the path, making the going slow and precarious.
This walk reminded Hollis of his trips into Vietnamese jungles. Often it rained like this, but as he had led his patrol, he hadn’t bothered about the rain. All he then bothered about was a concealed sniper. He felt pretty confident that this killer wouldn’t be lurking in shrubs. All the same, he kept his rifle at the ready as he plodded after Ross.
Here was a man! Hollis thought. One of the real old toughies. A man to be admired.
This is my territory, he had said to the top shot of the Florida police, no one gives me orders.
That’s telling them, Hollis thought, and grinned.
Ross paused and turned.
“Another mile, Hank, then we reach the river. The first fishing lodge is immediately at the end of the footpath. I’ll go forward, you cover me. We don’t stop to argue. We shoot first and apologize after. Okay?”