Comeback p-17

by Richard Stark

  "Why? Why do we have to?"

  "You want him behind you, the rest of your life?"

  Quindero didn't say anything to that. They were shuffling around down there in the dining room, doing something Parker couldn't see, because he didn't want to descend the stairs far enough that he might be noticed, and then Liss said, "Okay, go on down and let him out."

  Parker rose, silent, as he heard Quindero thump down the next flight of stairs. He eased downward, step by step, until he could see into the room, bluish gray in the moonlight, the boxes and trash throwing long black shadows across the gray floor. He looked left and right, and at first he didn't see Liss at all. Where was he?

  Oh. Smart. Liss was seated on the floor directly under the windows, in the middle of that long wall. It was the one place in the room where he'd be hard to see, and he'd stay there until he was sure things were going right with Quindero.

  But things wouldn't go right with Quindero. And where Liss had placed himself, Parker couldn't get at him. He'd never get across that large room without being seen, and shot.

  "Hey! Mr. Parker! Come on out!"

  Parker eased back up the stairs. He'd have to come at them in some other way.

  It was too late now to get away from here. If he took the car, he wouldn't be able to drive it at better than a walking pace between here and the main road. Liss would have no trouble catching up. If he went on foot, Liss could get close enough to him with the car's headlights to bring him down.

  He had to stay here, and finish it.

  11

  When the house had been divided into two, the main staircase had been segregated from the top floor area by a new wall, but when the failed attempt had been made to restore the place to its original condition that extra wall had been removed, which meant Parker could now come up to the top floor, go to his left, and in the far corner find the additional set of stairs that had been added to give access to what had originally been the maid's quarters.

  As he moved, he could hear them shouting back and forth:

  "He's not coming out! He isn't coming out!" "Ralph! Go over and open the door!" "I don't want to!"

  "Shit. Parker! Ralph doesn't have the gun, I do! Come on out of there!"

  Construction materials were still scattered around, particularly up here where the duplex had been made and then unmade. Parker had earlier noticed a few scraps of plywood and other junk along the partition where the second staircase had been cut in, and now, while Liss and Quindero went on shouting at one another, he felt around in that rubbish, and came up with a stub of two-by-four about two feet long. He hefted it, and it wasn't very heavy, but it was the best he could find.

  Carrying the two-by-four in his right hand and the L bracket in his left, he went quietly down the new stairs into the maid's quarters, and from there into the original kitchen. He was now one room away from Liss, who was yelling, "Ralph! Dammit, open the door!"

  Silence. Parker edged around the doorway between kitchen and dining room, and Liss hadn't moved, except to go up on one knee. But he was still in the same place, against the windows, unreachable.

  "He isn't here! Jesus, I almost fell! There's a hole in the floor!"

  "Parker!" Liss shouted, looking from doorway to doorway. "Parker, dammit!"

  "He's gone!"

  "Ralph! Come up out of there!"

  But still Liss wouldn't move away from that safe position against the outer wall. Parker could see his head framed against the window, now that he was up on one knee. He was turning left and right, watching everything. He was going to be hard to get at.

  Watching him, Parker considered. What if he were to come out now, show himself to Liss, go back to the idea that they were all traveling together?

  No. Not any more. Liss was too spooked by now. He would put a bullet into Parker, just to slow him down.

  Quindero came clattering up the stairs. When he appeared, Liss at last got to his feet, still wary. Quindero hurried across to him, crying, "He got away! He's gone!"

  Quietly, Liss said, "He's here."

  Quindero, bewildered, looked around at the moonlit room. "What? But he escaped."

  "He's in the house," Liss said, "waiting his shot at us."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Pull those rags and shit into the middle of the room," Liss told him. "What we need is more light."

  "You mean a fire?"

  "Then we go upstairs and wait. When he gets hot enough, he'll come up and visit."

  Parker watched them shift the trash to a low mound in the middle of the room. Liss used Quindero's newspaper to start the fire, then stood over it until a few rags and some scraps of wood also caught. Then, looking around, he called, "Parker! Whatever you got in mind, it isn't gonna work. Come on out."

  Voice hushed, Quindero said, "He must have heard us before, what we were talking. What we were gonna do."

  "Shut up, Ralph," Liss said, almost absent-mindedly. "We didn't say anything he didn't already know." He now had his own pistol in his right hand, Thorsen's automatic in his left. "Okay, it's burning," he said. 'Time to go upstairs. You watch for him, in case he comes up over there. Let me get about halfway, and then follow me."

  "All right."

  Parker waited in the kitchen doorway, as Liss started up the stairs to the top floor, going almost immediately out of sight. Quindero stood staring at the stairs from below until Liss called down to him, "Come on, Ralph."

  "I don't see him," Quindero said.

  "You will," Liss said. "Come on up."

  The instant Quindero turned toward the upper staircase, Parker came out from the kitchen. Moving fast, two-by-four cocked over his shoulder, he crossed the dining room, firelight throwing his shadows around the walls, and reached the staircase when Quindero was only up to the third step.

  Liss yelled, "Ralph! Down!"

  But Quindero was too slow. He didn't drop, the way Liss wanted, but spun around, open-mouthed, so the two-by-four, instead of hitting him in the back of the head, smacked into his left ear and cheek.

  Liss fired anyway, and the slug punched into Quindero's right shoulder blade, spinning him farther around. Dazed, stunned, Quindero would have fallen, but Parker grabbed him with his left arm and held him as a shield, the way Liss had done in the hospital. The difference was, Liss didn't care about shields. He fired three more times, trying to hit Parker around Quindero or through him, he didn't care which.

  Parker felt the impacts in Quindero's body, felt him go limp. His hand that held the L bracket pressed Quindero tight to him, and he backed hurriedly away from the stairs, dragging the body. In the middle of the room, he tossed Quindero across the small fire, hoping to smother it, or at least cut down on all that light.

  Liss would come down, so Parker had to go up. Below here, there was only the one staircase, and he'd be trapped. On the top floor, where the glass was covered by plywood all around, there was almost no light. A two-by-four and an L bracket and darkness, that was what he had. Liss had two guns.

  12

  Parker eased off the stairs into the darkness of the top floor. He stopped, and listened, and heard nothing. Liss must be doing the same thing. But where? Had he gone down where the light is, to be safe? Or was he still up here?

  He waited, hand against the partition wall, trying to see shapes in the dark. Ahead of him, where the main stairs would be, there was no light at all, but faint gray lines of light were visible at the periphery, where sheets of plywood didn't quite meet.

  Very slowly, Parker moved to his right, along the partition wall. He meant to circle around until he was the other side of the main stairs. Then he could look down and see if Liss was framed against the light down there.

  Two quick shots, in this room, echoing in the big open empty space. Then a third, from a different gun, that bit into the wall just to his left. In the flashes, Parker got an afterimage of Liss, at the head of the stairs, firing both guns. Then he realized what Liss was doing. He was firing his pistol just for
the flashes of light, shooting it anywhere, not aiming at anything in particular, and then firing Thorsen's automatic at Parker when he had him fixed.

  Parker crouched and hurried along the wall, and now there were two shots, one from each gun, and he heard one bullet whack into the wall above his head. Liss was closing with him. It was a good system, it was going to work, Liss firing one gun for the light, the other for the kill.

  Parker stopped, stepped back the other way, and threw the two-by-four at the spot where the flashes had been. Then he ran forward, hearing Liss yell when the two-by-four hit, following that sound, seeing the flash very close when Liss fired again to use the light. The afterimage of Liss's staring face was with him as he launched himself low, under the second shot, and crashed into Liss's legs.

  They went down in a tumble, Parker grabbing for anything he could find, Liss swinging with the gun in his right hand, Parker chopping with the L bracket. Liss screamed, and a gun went skittering away across the floor. Parker chopped and chopped with the L bracket, climbing up Liss as though he were a steep hill. Liss shrieked again, and kicked out, desperately, and rolled free.

  Parker sat up and heard Liss tumble down the stairs. He went over onto hands and knees and scrambled to the head of the stairs, and saw the bulky shape of Liss crawl away across the dining room down there.

  The fire on the floor was out, though from the smell it must have burned a little of Quindero before it died.

  Parker sat still, trying to remember. He'd heard the rattle of one of the guns, spinning away across the floor. Which way? Not down the stairs. Left? Yes; over there, to the left.

  He crawled in that direction, patting the floor. There was silence from below, but Liss wasn't done, not yet. Where was the gun? Where was it? Where was it?

  Here. Parker touched it, picked it up. It was Thorsen's automatic. How many rounds were left in it? Three or four at most.

  He'd hurt Liss, he knew that, but didn't know how badly he was wounded. Was Liss still agile? Was he coming up the other stairs, or had he retreated to that position under the windows again? Or would he try to restart the fire?

  Parker went on hands and knees back to the head of the stairs. He heard scuffling sounds from down below, but couldn't see Liss. He slid forward, and went slowly down the stairs head first, keeping his descent under control with his elbows on the steps. At the bottom, he looked over at the windows, but Liss wasn't there. He looked the other way, still saw nothing, and slid from the stairs down to the floor.

  He had just started to rise, getting hands and knees under himself again, when Liss's head and arm and pistol appeared just above the stairs down to the next level. He'd been standing down there, just out of sight. He fired one shot, but Parker had dropped back to the floor when he heard the first sound of Liss's movement. The bullet hit the wall behind him, and lying there he twisted around to fire at Liss's retreating face, but missed.

  He rolled away to his left, came upright, and Liss popped up again, aiming, firing.

  They both heard the click.

  Liss made a small strangled sound and dropped out of sight. Parker got to his feet and ran across the room and could just make out Liss's retreating shape at the foot of the stairs. He fired, but didn't hit anything, and Liss scurried away.

  Parker went rapidly down the stairs. This level was the little maze of bedrooms and bathrooms, and the closet where they'd held him for a while. Standing at the foot of the stairs, Thorsen's automatic in his hand, he listened. Sooner or later, he'd have to hear Liss's breathing.

  "Parker."

  Liss was off to the right, sounding as though he'd taken cover inside one of the rooms off this central hall. Parker turned in that direction, and waited.

  "Parker, I'm hurt."

  Parker moved two quick quiet steps forward while Liss spoke, then stopped.

  "I just want out of here. Parker? Take the car, do what you want. Call it quits. We can only mess each other up even more. Call it off."

  Parker moved when Liss spoke, stopped when he was silent. He'd reached the doorway now. Liss would be in the darkness just inside this room.

  "Parker, why should we—? You son of a bitch, you're right here!"

  There must have been some light behind Parker, that he'd now blocked with his body. Liss suddenly leaped at him, punching, kicking, trying to get past him. Parker pushed him off, to get a good shot, but Liss bounded away into the hall, and Parker fired after him, at all the noise he was making.

  They both heard the click.

  Silence. Parker reversed the automatic, gripping it by the barrel. What would Liss do now?

  "Parker? Parker, listen, we're done, we're both done. Quit it. Neither of us has anything any more. Forget it, it's over."

  Parker had moved forward while Liss talked, and now he swung the butt of the automatic at the spot where the voice had come from. He hit something, something solid that recoiled away. Liss yelled and retreated, and suddenly he went thundering down the final flight of stairs, down to the first owner's study.

  Parker stood at the head of the stairs, listening to Liss gasp and curse down there. Bottom of the house. No way out.

  Time to go down there and end it.

  13

  The moon was higher now, and only one narrow band of its light reached into the study, a stripe of silver-gray along the floor next to the windows. In that stripe Liss stood, panting, hunched, his right arm across his torso, protecting wounds.

  Parker came down the stairs and stopped, still in darkness. Liss couldn't see him, but he looked across to where he knew Parker must be, and said, "I'm all done, Parker. Leave me here."

  "I'm going to," Parker said, and moved toward him.

  Liss waved his left hand back and forth, as though to stop him. His breath was heavier and more ragged, his body hunched in tighter. "Let it go!" he cried. "You'll get the money, you'll get everything. Let it go."

  "If I leave you here," Parker said, "you'll rat me out, for a plea bargain."

  "Then take me along. Not to the money, just to get away from here."

  "I don't need you," Parker said, and reached for him, and Liss came around hard with the knife he'd been concealing under his right hand and arm, pressed to his torso. A switchblade, with four inches of knife.

  Parker jumped back, and the knife sliced shirt and skin just under his heart, scraping on bone. Parker kicked Liss's knee, but then had to retreat again as Liss swung the knife once more.

  Parker still held the automatic by the barrel, but it wouldn't be any good as a club against that knife. He'd have to be in too close, and Liss could cut him up from farther out.

  They moved in little jerks and pauses, back into the darkness, away from the band of light beneath the windows. The knife was a faint gleam, moving like a dowsing rod in Liss's hand, dowsing for blood.

  Parker paused, and Liss lunged. Parker chopped the butt of the automatic at Liss's wrist, but only hit it a glancing blow, and then had to skip backward again.

  They circled one another in the large room, slowly, with sudden dashes by Liss, trying to get that knife in among Parker's ribs. Parker dodged a dozen lunges, but Liss cut him twice more, and then again.

  Parker's back was to the windows. There was nothing useful down here, no trash on the floor, nothing he could turn into a weapon. And Liss was crowding him closer, trying to get him into the corner of the room, the windows to his right, the solid wall to his left.

  He couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let Liss corner him. He was still a few feet from the windows, there was still time. He feinted left, and then right, and then threw the automatic at Liss's head. He jumped in when Liss ducked, grabbed a double handful of shirtfront, and then rolled himself backward down onto the floor. His feet went up as he went down and back, his ankles catching Liss in the groin, lifting him up, the double grip on his shirtfront pulling him inexorably up and over, Liss swinging desperately back and forth with the knife, slicing Parker's forearms as Parker heaved him up into
the air and over in a midair somersault, and through the window behind him with a great shout of smashing glass.

  Parker rolled quickly away from descending dishes of jagged glass. A scream rolled back into the window from the cool outer air, cut short.

  Parker sat up. His chest and forearms stung where the knife had drawn its lines, and his body was sore all over, but he had no serious wounds. The dizziness he felt right now would soon pass.

  Leaning forward, he put his watch into the moonlight, and forced his eyes to focus. Almost quarter past ten. Just time enough to make the meet with Brenda and Mackey.

  Slowly he got to his feet, and looked around, at the ruined house and the gaping hole in the window. Then he went up the stairs.

  CLICK

  "I'm getting bored," Brenda said.

  Ed kept on looking at the TV: CNN, multi-vehicle collision in fog on an interstate in California, blonde-haired woman solemn over her mike with ambulances in the background. He was waiting for the TV to tell him something new about events in this town right here, far from California and its fog. Outside this motel room, halfway around town from their first motel, the late afternoon sky was clear, visibility perfect. Inside, nobody on television, not local or network or cable, wanted to tell him what was happening here.

  Brenda said, "Ed? When are we getting out of here?"

  "Late tonight," Ed told her, pretending to be patient. "You know why. You saw the TV."

  "California," she said, and gave the television set a look of scorn.

  "Come on, Brenda. Before."

  She knew, of course, he meant the business about Liss shooting up the local hospital, then taking off with some goon called Quindero that the cops wanted back unharmed for some reason. The law had been irritated already with just the robbery, but then you throw in Liss killing a guy the cops have under guard, right in front of them, and you could expect the locals were truly itching by now to get their hands on somebody. Anybody at all.