by Douglas Hirt
“She probably had secretarial training, among her many other talents. Personally, I haven’t been able to figure out exactly what she is, except, of course, a consummate liar.”
Stratterford seemed to appreciate my summation of Marcie Rose. “What about the others?” he asked.
“Sherri Lane. She’s a friend, and the daughter of a very rich and powerful family who’ve lived in Colorado Springs for several generations. Her father has money... enough to find out what happened to his daughter should she turn up missing. Ditto for the chubby fellow, Brian Landerfelt. He and Sherri grew up together among the well-heeled of the Broadmoor neighborhood. Sherri is a sort of champion of the poor and underprivileged. Brian didn’t qualify in that regard. I on the other hand was eminently qualified. Both of them are completely innocent of whatever it is Marcie is involve in, and both come from families that can make big trouble if you harm them.”
“More trouble if allowed to leave here, especially if the girl is a crusader as you claim she is.”
There was no arguing that. I said, “Since it can’t matter too much now, I’m curious why it is you’re involved in this? I mean, a United States Senator is a plush job. Why risk it?”
“Yes,” he considered a moment, “it can’t matter now.” There was a finality in his tone that drove home the stark reality of the situation the four of us were in. “Like your friend, Miss Lane, I have my own cause that I champion.” He paused considering how to continue. “I don’t know how, but Manquist discovered that someone was exchanging high quality components for faulty one in the assembly of the RD 35 Detonator package. The swapped units had been manufactured in a nation that is...well, shall we say not on friendly terms with the west.”
“It’s not hard to guess which one that might be.”
Stratterford smiled thinly. “The units are brought in by way of diplomatic pouch. They function flawlessly for a specified time and then burn out, rendering the detonators inoperative.”
I said, “A warhead containing such a detonator would slam harmlessly into its target.”
“He nodded. “That is the general idea.”
“Alexander, being head of quality control, passed them through the system and no one was the wiser...until Carl Manquist discovered what was happening.”
“How did he figure it out?” I knew what Marcie had told me. I wondered how far his people had gotten on the problem.
“We are in the process of learning how that happened and rectifying the matter.”
“By rectifying the matter, you mean the elimination Carl Manquist and the four of us?”
“Unfortunate, but it is necessary.” He sounded sincere. “Anything else, Mr. Granger?”
A gift of a few sips of brandy and a couple moments of civilized talk—well, he’d done his best to prove to me and to himself that he wasn’t a heartless murderer, and now with a clean conscience he was free to get rid of me...us. “Just one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Marcie said you intend to replace the entire US arsenal with these new detonators. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“That’s quite clever. Disarm the country without removing its weapons.”
“You disapprove?”
“The plan has a certain charm, if you think the USSR blowing the US off the map is charming.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. We shouldn’t mention names. Your deduction has a flaw in it.”
“That is?” I asked.
“What good is a radioactive chunk of real estate to anyone?”
“Ah, I think I understand. Not war, but ransom?”
“War is so messy,” Stratterford said, “and unnecessary. “New York City should suffice. If the message goes unheeded, then maybe Los Angeles will make our intentions clear. I doubt we’ll have to go so far as to incinerate Washington, DC. The simple fact is, Americans haven’t the stomach for a real war, nor the ability to win one. Vietnam proved that.”
I was aware of Louis standing behind me like a giant attack dog waiting for his master’s command. I said, “I don’t suppose it will do any good to say you won’t get away with it?”
He gave a short laugh and said, “I was expecting something more original. Clichés don’t become you Mr. Granger.” He removed the glass from my fingers and nodded at Louis. “Goodbye, Mr. Granger.”
Louis’s baseball mitt covered my shoulder and turned me toward the door.
Chapter Eighteen
“Paul!” Sherri rushed to where I’d landed and took my hand. With her assistance I got myself up off the floor in time to see Louis back out of the room and close the door.
“Are you all right, Paul?”
My shoulders screamed, my arms were rubber, and my head pounded. Any halfway competent doctor would have ordered me to bed for a week. I didn’t know what kind of damage being bounced about by a fellow like Louis would do to a brain suffering from a concussion, but I was pretty sure no good could come from it. “I’m okay,” I lied as she helped me to a chair and helped me ease into it.
The room was moderately sized, comfortably furnished, a coppery carpet giving it a warm, cozy feeling. A row of windows near the ceiling was the only indication that we were in a basement. Brian, bent forward in a chair in the corner, had stopped dabbing his split lip with a handkerchief when Louis had cast me across the room. Brian watched Sherri and me a moment, then turned his gloomy view away and resumed pressing the bloodied handkerchief to his lips.
Marcie stood against the wall near a table, left arm folded across her stomach, right hand bringing a cigarette to her lips. She’d managed to bum a smoke off of someone and was hungrily inhaling the nicotine. Like Cockran, she was hooked. She pushed away from the wall and came over to us.
“They work you over?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Not too bad,” I said not much in a mood to relate the details of Louis’s exploits of the last half hour.
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth,” I said bringing a finger to my lips and pointing at the speaker grille overhead. She was still supposed to be angry with me and she grasped the situation without any further coaching.
“So you told them everything about you, about them, about me?” Marcie said loudly, and then whispered, “What’s the setup?”
“Already told you that, Miss. Rose, I explained that Sherri, Brian and me, we’re victims of the wrong place and wrong time syndrome. It didn’t make any difference to Senator Stratterford,” then quietly added, “They’re taking us out of here in something called a speeder, to arrange an accident.”
“Stratterford? You mean that wacko peacenik is involved in this?” she nearly shouted with mock surprise in her voice. No one will discover our bodies full of bullet holes then,” she whispered matter-of-factly.
“I guess we shouldn’t be surprise considering who his friends on the left are. Bullet holes make for unconvincing accidents.”
Marcie said, “You’ve turned out to be one hell of a partner. We’ll need to make our move now or it’s never.”
“Cut the crap, Marcie. I told Stratterford everything, remember? Anyway, I never asked to be a part of this, if you recall. This is what I...we...get for trying to help you out of a tight spot. Our best chance is some kind of diversion while they’re taking us out of here.”
Sherri, suddenly suspicious, came over and said, “What are you two doin-”
I clamped a hand over her mouth and put my lips close to her ear. A delicious remnant of perfume clung to her messed hair. “The room is bugged. Careful what you say.”
She stared at me a startled, wide-eyed moment, then the light of understanding snapped on. “You’re making plans?” she whispered, glancing at Marcie.
I nodded.
“What can I do to help?”
Brian was watching us from the chair in the corner, giving me a look that made me uneasy. More trouble on the wind, I worried, coming from his direction. To Sherri I said, “When the time comes bite and scratch
and kick like hell.”
“How will I know when it’s time?”
“You’ll know because I’ll be biting and scratching and kicking like hell too.” Then in an angry voice I barked, “This is between Marcie and me. Stay out of it.” If someone was actually listening in on us, I didn’t want them to think all was chummy here. Let them waste time wondering.
Brian slid off his chair and said, “Don’t talk to Sherri that way.”
I was right. The trouble wind had begun to blow. The big boy was angry. Maybe there was some hope after all. “I’ll talk to her any way I want to.” Anger was good, I decided. When Stratterford’s goons came for us, the more anger the better.
Sherri went to him and took his arm. “It okay, Brian,” she said.
He freed himself from her grasp in a reckless show of bravado. “It’s not all right for him to talk to you like you were a nobody.”
“Brian! Just stay out of it.”
For a moment I thought he’d become a changed man, but I was mistaken. His head dropped to his chest and the determination in his voice drained away. “We can’t just sit here doing nothing.”
I said, “We’re open to suggestions.”
“We can try to break down the door,” he said with a catch in his voice.
“It’s made of steel,” I said mildly.
“We can at least try.”
I offered him the door. “Give it your best shot, Mr. Landerfelt. Once you burst through it, assuming you can, what do you propose to do with the armed guard that’s likely standing on the other side?”
His voice rose an octave. “But we can’t just sit here waiting for them to return and...and shoot us...or something.”
In spite of having lived a largely sheltered life, Brian Landerfelt had a realistic grasp of the situation facing us. “I don’t see as we have much choice at the moment,” I said for the benefit of any ears that might be listening in on the drama playing out here.
He gave me a disbelieving look. “You’re being awful calm about all this, Granger.”
Marcie laughed. “It’s just his easygoing nature,” she said mockingly. “Don’t let it fool you, Landerfelt, Granger is this close to shitting his pants full.”
Sherri gave her a disapproving look.
Marcie turned on her. “Don’t get all high and mighty little Miss Prissy. Maybe if you got off that marble tower and played in the dirt a while, you’d be able to hold onto your man.”
Sherri’s face showed a viciousness I’d never expected to see there. “Why you little hussy!” Fist clenched she went for Marcie.
I caught her wrist just in time. “You don’t want to tangle with her, Sherri,” I said soothingly.
“You heard what she said.”
“Believe me, you don’t want to mix it up with her.”
Marcie laughed. “Afraid I’ll break your china doll, Granger?” She put her hands on her hips and stood there, a grin on her face. “The three of you deserve each other.”
Sherri looked wildly at me. I said softly, “Hold that feeling for when it’s needed.”
She glared hotly, and then the fire cooled and she glanced up at the ceiling grille. “This is all part of some plan, isn’t it, Paul?”
I nodded. “We’re all one big unhappy family here. Understand?” Her expression told me we were all on the same page now. She took Landerfelt by the arm and tugged the big, reluctant fellow off to one side and spoke quietly into his ear. I don’t know what she said, but afterwards the anger had left him too.
Marcie had smoked her cigarette down to the filter and jabbed it into an ashtray on one of the tables. Sherri remained near Brian while I watched the door. There was some noise on the other side of it. Muffled voices came through the steel panel. I took a couple deep breaths, getting ready. After a little while a lock clicked and Alexander, Raymond, and Louis came in.
I noted only the one pistol among them, the .45, but I hadn’t forgotten the pip-squeak .25 in Raymond’s pocket. They weren’t heavy in the firearms department, but then with Louis there, they probably didn’t think bringing in an arsenal was necessary.”
“Time to take a ride,” Alexander said jerking the pistol at the door. We gathered up our coats, Marcie moving like a spring wound tighter than a mousetrap. My heart felt like a pile driver trying to burst my chest, my breathing coming in short, harsh gasps. I shrugged into my coat and wiped sweat from my forehead. They herded us together outside the door, Raymond taking the lead with Alexander riding drag and Louis following off to one side.
We were passing the pool table when Marcie made her move. She stopped abruptly, glared at me and said, “I’d rather walk beside a skunk than that SOB.”
“You’re the fucking skunk, bitch, not Paul,” sweet, always-proper Sherri snarled. I winced at her back-alley language. Her tongue must be burning, I mused, but the attack had been the perfect catalyst to get things moving in the right direction.
Marcie swung around and glared at her. “Bitch? I can do without anymore of little Miss Prissy’s whining.”
“Oh, shut up.” It wasn’t as shocking a retort as Sherri’s had been but coming from Brian I figured it was a step in the right direction.
Marcie looked at him, genuine surprise on her face. “So, we finally hear from the Goodyear blimp.”
Brian was hefty but blimp wasn’t exactly an accurate description. It was a cruel but effective jab. Sherri silently watched Marcie deride Brian, and although Sherri understood Marcie’s purpose, I saw that she hated her for it.
Raymond gave Alexander a concerned look. Alexander might have been enjoying the exchange; it was hard to read his expression because there wasn’t any.
I hadn’t expected the whole crew to get in on the charade, but it did make it more convincing, and I suspected it was a well needed emotional release for all of us. I said to Marcie, “Get off his back. This is between you and me.”
She wheeled and slapped me hard enough to make my eyes sting; probably leave finger marks on my cheek. Anything less violent would have been suspect and I’m glad it was Marcie doing the slapping and not Sherri who would have held back, not wanting to hurt me too much because, well, that’s just Sherri.
I snatched her wrist and wrenched her arm around behind her—she let me do this because if she didn’t want it to happen it never would have. Sherri and Brian moved aside scattering Alexander neat grouping. Alexander ordered us to break it up. I pretended not to hear him, struggling to contain a kicking, bucking Marcie Rose in my arms. Alexander moved closer raising the pistol. Calculating he’d come close enough, I let go of the lady tornado and the gates of hell opened up right there in Senator Stratterford’s basement.
A foot rocketed out and the pistol sailed from his hand and bounced off a wall. A look of surprise didn’t have time to come to his face before the female polecat was all over him. I figured Alexander was history and put him out of mind, crouching and spinning about to face Raymond and Louis.
Raymond was grappling in his pocket for the tiny gun. My fingers found the only object available, which happened to be a blue, ivory billiard ball in the middle of a sea of green. I’d seen enough baseball to know what a sizzling fast ball looked like, and it’s amazing what a big shot of adrenaline will do for one’s aim. The sizzler went right down the middle of home plate and Raymond went down hard, spitting up blood. Strike one. The ump called him out! A dentist was going to make a bundle of money off him.
A huge shadow moved over me from the left. I leaped aside as a pair of tree limbs came down. With both fists clenched together, I swung into the small of Louis’s back. It had the resiliency of a bag of wet sand. The giant stumbled a half step, caught himself on the edge of the pool table. He recovered amazingly fast for a man his size and came at me like an animated forklift. The stretch of his arms fenced me in forcing me back against the long, cool glass of the built-in fish tank; wide shoulders obscuring the light from the big wagon wheel chandelier over the pool table. I zeroed in on the most vulnera
ble target, snapped up the toe of my boot, and missed. The clumsy maneuver toppled me onto the carpet. Staring up, Chicken Little must have felt a little like this as Louis’s bulk obscured the ceiling, big excavator buckets reaching down.
CRACK!
Louis arched backwards as half a cue stick flew past me. The other half, the narrow half, remained in Sherri’s white-knuckle grasp. A look of shock stretched her pretty face, realizing what she’d done and surprised at the results. I scurried out between Louis’s widespread legs. He shook the fogginess from his brain and staggered to keep his balance. I leaped atop the pool table, pulled back on the chandelier and sailed out feet first driving my weight into the center of his chest. Momentum impelled him backwards and his thick skull crashed through the plate glass aquarium and torrents of water and flopping fish poured from the shattered hole around his neck.
The chandelier brought me back to the table and I jumped off, my feet sloshing onto the wet carpet. Marcie was reaching for something behind a chair. Alexander lay curled on the floor gurgling foamy blood and having a hard time breathing. Brian’s wide, startled face stared from the other side of the room where he’d backed up against the cowboy saloon bar. Sherri, still clutched the broken cue stick as if it were made of gold, wore wide eyes too. Not so much frightened or terrified like her ex-boyfriend, they appeared more stunned at the carnage that had occurred in what might have been all of a minute if that long. It hadn’t been so long that reinforcements had arrived, but that would be changing soon.
“Thanks,” I told her.
She blinked and swallowed a couple times and gave a single nod. Shock had strangled the words in her throat.
Marcie straightened holding the .45. That pistol was making the rounds, I mused. In a glance she took in the massacre, a flicker of a smile reaching her lips when she spied Louis, weakly trying to extradite himself from the shattered tank, tinting the water a pale pink color in the process.
Raymond groaned from the floor, blood dripping through fingers cupped over his mouth. I found the .25 automatic in his pocket and pulled back the slide a quarter inch to check the chamber for a glint of brass. It was loaded.