Lucifer's Weekend (Digger)

by Warren Murphy

  "Never mind. If it happens, you’ll know it. But this bag doesn’t go to anybody except the name on that card. You got it?"

  "Right. I got it."

  "Gus, do you keep a gun around here?" Digger asked.

  "A gun?" The young man hesitated. "Yeah, I keep a little gun. It’s a .22 pistol—it ain’t worth shit."

  "I need it," Digger said.

  "I don’t like this. What for? I can’t go giving anybody my gun."

  "Gus, this is life or death. I need that gun. Where is it?"

  "I keep it…here under the register."

  "Turn your back," Digger said.

  The young man did and Digger fished the small pistol from the back of the shelf under the register.

  "I just stole your gun," he said. "Tonight when you find it missing, report the theft."

  "Hey, what’s going on?" Gus asked.

  "Later. I’ll tell you everything later," Digger said.

  "It’s Burroughs, isn’t it?" There was a large smile on Dr. Leonardo’s face as he answered the door after Digger’s incessant ringing of the bell. "I met your assistant today."

  The smile vanished as Digger stuck the gun into the doctor’s ample stomach and pushed him back inside the house. He slammed the door behind him.

  "Where are they?"

  "Where is who?" Leonardo said.

  "Belton, Harker, the girl. Where are they?"

  "I don’t know what you’re talking about," Leonardo said.

  "I’m going to tell you once," Digger said. "You met my assistant today. You were the only one who knew she worked with me. Now they’ve taken her. That’s because you told them who she was. Who’d you tell?"

  The doctor hesitated and Digger pressed the muzzle of the gun under the doctor’s nose. "Who’d you tell?"

  "Only Lucius, when I got home."

  "Where was he when you talked to him?"

  "At his house."

  Digger herded the doctor toward the back of the house, to a small private office.

  "Pick up that phone. Find out if he’s home. That’s all I want to know. Don’t make any mistakes and don’t mention me." He cocked the hammer on the pistol.

  Nervously, Leonardo dialed a number from memory.

  "Lucius, it’s Vince." The doctor nodded to Digger. "Oh. I understand. I’ll call you tomorrow. It wasn’t important."

  He hung up the phone and said to Digger, "He’s home. He said he’s busy now." Beads of sweat rolled down Leonardo’s forehead. "Can you put that gun away? What’s this all about?"

  "Lie on the floor there," Digger said. He found a roll of surgical tape and taped Leonardo’s hands together behind his back. Then he taped his ankles together and pulled them up and fastened the wrist bands to the ankle restraints with even more tape.

  "You’ve got a big mouth, Doctor," Digger said. "How deep were you in it? Did they have you phony up Gillette’s autopsy to cover the murder?"

  "Murder? I don’t know what you’re talking about," Leonardo said.

  "We’re going to find out, aren’t we?" Digger said. He put five big strips of tape across the doctor’s mouth. "You just stay there and don’t you try moving," Digger said. "I’ll be back for you. If it hurts, take thirty aspirin and call me in a month."

  He ripped the telephone junction box from the wall and then locked the office door behind him. A minute later he was in his car, pedal to the floor, speeding up the side of the bowl toward Lucius Belton’s mansion.

  Digger parked fifty yards away from the gates of the Belton home, out of sight of the guard booth. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes left before he was due to receive his next phone call from Harker, and suddenly he hoped that the big stupid cop was able to tell time correctly.

  Digger walked up to the gate. The guard, a wiry man in his mid-forties, was in the booth reading a magazine.

  "Hey, buddy," Digger called. The guard looked up and Digger gestured to him to come to the gate.

  "Yeah? What is it?" the guard said.

  Digger motioned for him to come closer.

  "Is Harker here?" he asked.

  "Who wants to know?" the guard said. He was too close, and Digger was able to reach through the bars of the gate and grab the collar of his windbreaker. He pulled the man even closer to the gate and pushed the gun into his face.

  "This wants to know," he said.

  "He’s here. He’s here. What do you want?"

  "Now here’s what you’re going to do," Digger said. "I’m going to let go of you. You’re going to back up to that booth. Don’t take your eyes off me because I’m not taking mine off you. You’re going to reach inside that booth and trip the lock on this gate. Fuck up and you’re dead. You got it?"

  "I got it," the guard said. There was blind terror on his face.

  "Do it," Digger said. He released him, and, keeping his eyes locked on Digger’s, the guard backed up to the gate house. Just to emphasize the point, Digger cocked the pistol and kept it pointed at the man’s chest. Carefully, the man reached inside the shack. His hand fumbled with something.

  "No tricks," Digger said. "You’re not faster than a speeding bullet." He heard a click in the gate lock in front of him, pushed the gate open and slipped inside.

  "Is that the only way it unlocks?" Digger asked.

  "Yes."

  "No keys—just the electric lock release?"

  "Yes. That’s right."

  "When’s your relief coming?"

  "Not till four o’clock. Two hours."

  "All right," Digger said. "Go out through that gate and start walking down that road ahead of me." He herded the man through the gate, first propping it open with a stone. At his car, he opened the trunk and ordered the man to crawl inside.

  "You’re kidding. I’ll die in there," the guard said.

  "Maybe," Digger said coldly. "But you’ll surely die out here. Get inside."

  The man clambered in and Digger slammed the trunk lid closed, then ran back to the gate. Once inside the grounds, he closed the gate and heard it click shut again.

  The Belton home stood at the top of a hill. The long driveway curved up toward the house and then looped back down to rejoin the roadway about fifty yards from the gate.

  If he went up the roadway, Digger thought, he’d stand out like ink on a white shirt, so he cut off into the trees that bordered the right side of the roadway and ran through them toward the back of the house. As he got close to the house, he heard dogs barking and he felt a chill at the base of his neck. But as he turned the corner of the house he saw that the dogs, four German shepherds, were enclosed in a kennel behind the house. They snarled and growled as Digger drew close, but he ignored them, stooping low below the level of the windows as he ran along the back of the house.

  Twenty-two minutes left.

  At the far corner of the house, Digger saw a large, open garage-type door. It led to a storage area that probably once housed an old carriage. A door in the corner of the area led to the house. Digger looked through the small glass windows in the door. A hallway stretched in front of him. The doorway was unlocked and he opened it and stepped inside. He paused for a moment, but heard nothing and started down the hall. He was in the wing of the house that served as quarters for Belton’s domestic staff. On the left side of the hallway were small bedrooms and a tiny parlor. To the right, there was a large kitchen, but there were no sounds coming from it. Digger remembered it was Sunday; perhaps the Belton workers had been given the day off.

  The hallway ended at a small flight of steps, and Digger took them two at a time. The stairway stopped with a door, and Digger listened at it for a moment, before opening it carefully. He was in the main entrance hall of the Belton home. Still he heard and saw no one.

  The long, wide hallway, lined with oil paintings, led off to the right and Digger moved quietly along it. Behind a set of closed double doors, he heard voices, and he moved his ear close to the door.

  He heard Koko’s voice:

  "I don’t know what you�
��re talking about."

  And Belton’s:

  "It’s too late for lying, miss."

  And Harker’s:

  "It doesn’t matter. We’re going to take care of everything in a while anyway. It won’t matter what you know."

  Digger cocked the hammer of the .22 pistol in his hand, then released it gently. He had forgotten to look to see if Gus’s damn gun was loaded. He checked the cylinders and saw the brass bases of shells. He recocked the gun and gently turned the doorknob. It turned smoothly and he felt the door start to move open.

  Thinking, here goes nothing, he took a deep breath, slammed the door open and jumped into the room.

  Belton was sitting behind a desk in the far corner, Koko sat on a chair facing him across the desk and Harker stood behind her.

  "Hold it!" Digger shouted.

  Harker spun around and his hand went toward the holster on his hip.

  "Koko, duck," Digger yelled, and the young Oriental woman dove onto the floor. Harker hesitated.

  Digger said, "Try it, Harker. I won’t need much excuse to kill you where you stand."

  Harker stared at Digger for a second, then let his hand drop limply to his side.

  "Turn around, you stupid shit," Digger said. "Face that wall." Harker did as he was ordered and Digger stepped up behind him and took his gun from his holster.

  It felt sturdier, more businesslike in his hand, and he replaced Gus’s gun in his pocket and with the barrel of Harker’s gun, slapped the big uniformed cop across the skull behind his ear. Harker groaned and his legs buckled for a moment. "That’s for nothing," Digger said.

  He then turned and pointed the gun at Belton, who sat at the desk, his sickly colored hands clenched into fists.

  "Get out from behind there," Digger ordered. He glanced around the office. There was a sofa under bookshelves across the room from Belton’s desk. "Both of you, move over there. Sit on that couch." He herded them with the point of the big pistol while he asked Koko, "You all right?"

  "I’m fine," she said.

  "They didn’t hurt you?"

  "Not yet. They were planning to. Both of us."

  "It’s get-even time," Digger said. "Get on the phone and call the state police. Tell them you’re reporting a murder and get them up here. Tell them no local cops." As he turned back to Belton and Harker, sitting uncomfortably on the small sofa like two ugly bookends, he transferred the pistol to his left hand and casually reached inside his jacket to turn on his tape recorder.

  "She doesn’t have to call the police," Belton said. "I’m sure we can come to some kind of understanding."

  "You mean money?" Digger said.

  "Of course. A great deal of money."

  "Fuck him, Digger," said Koko. "They were going to take us up the cabin tonight and burn it down with us in it. And the fat bastard called me a slant."

  "You heard the lady," Digger said. "You should have known better than to cross a Japanese woman. They never forgive and they never forget."

  "But this is all a misunderstanding," Belton said. His pasty-white face had reddened, Digger noticed, and he was working his hands together in his seat. Harker held a hand to the bruise on his skull. His little pig eyes glared hatred.

  "Just like it was a misunderstanding when you sent this gorilla up to the cabin to kill Gillette?" Digger said. "What was it, Belton? Was he trying to blackmail you? Or couldn’t you just stand the idea anymore that he was the father of your kid?"

  He heard Koko’s voice ask the operator for the number of the nearest state police barracks. The old man heard her too.

  "Please," Belton said. "Let’s talk. We can work this all out."

  "You talk, I’m listening," Digger said. "Hold the call," he told Koko. "Now I want the truth." He wanted it on tape.

  "Vernon Gillette’s dead," Belton said. "Nothing can bring him back now."

  "He’s dead and you ordered him killed," Digger said.

  The old man hesitated. "Yes. Okay. Yes, I did. He was blackmailing me. After I had gone to so much trouble selecting him. He seemed just right and…"

  Something clicked in Digger’s mind. "Selecting him? For what?"

  The old man didn’t answer.

  "Gillette didn’t seduce your wife. You and your wife seduced him. You hired him to father a kid for you. That’s why you had all those physical tests, sperm counts, IQ tests, all that examination crap you ran on him for three days. You weren’t hiring an executive—you were hiring a father."

  Belton was silent and Digger shouted, "That’s right, isn’t it?"

  "All right," the old man snarled. "Yes. That’s right."

  "Did Gillette know that he was being hired to service your wife?"

  "No. Amanda and I, well, we just made it possible for the two of them to be together and she seduced him. I wanted that baby, Mr. Burroughs. To carry on the line."

  "And then you were afraid he was going to shake you down, and you killed him. You had this moron go up and electrocute him. Isn’t that right?"

  Belton was silent, and Digger took a step toward Harker and raised the pistol as if to slap the cop across the face with it. "Talk, you creepy fuck."

  "Yeah, yeah. That’s right," Harker said. "He told me to do it."

  "But you had fun doing it, didn’t you?" Digger said. "Whose brilliant idea was it to bring an electrical fuse up there? To a cabin that didn’t use fuses?"

  Harker looked pained and Belton shook his head. Then the old man leaned forward.

  "How much do you want, Burroughs? How much?"

  "You don’t have that much money, Belton," said Digger. "Koko, make that call. I want this dimwit for murder, and Belton…I want you for a half-dozen things—murder, conspiracy to commit, kidnapping my assistant, probably a half dozen other charges, including impersonating a father. And a man."

  The old man’s face strained at the boundary between red and purple. The cords on his fragile neck stood out. He roared, "You can’t talk to me like that."

  "I’ll talk to you any way I want, you impotent old bastard," Digger growled.

  There was another voice and Digger turned to see Amanda Belton standing in the doorway of the room.

  She was staring at her husband. "You had Vern murdered?" she said.

  Belton looked down at the floor.

  "Answer me," she screamed.

  He was silent, and Digger said, "Maybe the cat’s got his tongue."

  She walked over to her husband and stood alongside the small sofa. "He’s right," she screamed. "You are an impotent old bastard. And a fucking murderer. Lucius, you son of a bitch." She turned to Digger. "Whatever your name is, get the police here. I’ll testify against this son of a bitch. I hope he fries. And when he does, I’m going to inherit that entire goddamn company, and you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take my son, my son, goddammit, and I’m going to change his name to Gillette. And then I’m going to change the name of the company to Gillette. Lucius…fucking murder?" She shook her head as if mystified.

  "You’ll do nothing like that," Belton shouted. "He’s my son. And it’s my company."

  "Not anymore," Amanda said. "Not anymore."

  Belton hopped to his feet, his face twisted with rage and fury. Suddenly, his body seemed to shake uncontrollably and his face contorted. He clapped both hands to the center of his chest. His eyes looked as if they were going to burst from their deep sockets.

  "You can’t…" he rasped from deep back in his throat, and then he fell. He hit the carpet face first and then crumpled onto his side. His eyes were wide open, staring at nothing and at everything. Instinctively, Amanda Belton started to his side, when Harker leaped off the sofa and threw his arm around Mrs. Belton’s neck. He turned her so that she was between him and Digger like a shield.

  "You’re so goddamn smart, Burroughs, aren’t you? Go ahead. Shoot. Kill her. Go ahead."

  He dragged the woman toward the door to the office. Digger pointed the gun in their direction, but he knew that he could not fi
re for fear of hitting the woman.

  "How far you going to get, Harker?" Digger asked.

  "Anyplace away from here," Harker said. He was in the doorway now. He stepped back through the doorway, pushed Mrs. Belton toward Digger and fled down the hall.

  "In a pig’s ass," Digger said. He turned to Koko, who was just hanging up the telephone. She looked as cool as an executive’s secretary who had just finished booking him an airline flight.

  "They’re on their way," she said.

  "Take care of Mrs. Belton," Digger said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Gus’s small pistol. He dropped it into Koko’s hand and said, "Here. Shoot anybody who pesters you." Then he turned and ran out the door.

  Harker’s police car was already speeding down the driveway when Digger got outside. He looked around and saw the Mercedes Benz limousine parked in the circular drive. The keys were in it, and Digger started it up, dropped the automatic shift lever into "drive" and sped off around the circular parking area. Down at the gates, he saw that Harker’s green-and-yellow prowl car had stopped and that the cop was getting out to go to the booth to unlock the gates. Digger stepped on the gas harder as the cop vanished into the booth. A split second later Harker peered out, saw the onrushing Mercedes Benz and raised a pistol.

  Damn, Digger thought. I should have known he’d have another gun in the car.

  Harker stood in the doorway of the booth, firing at the speeding limousine. Digger heard two bullets ping off the metal body of the car and then the windshield went star-burst crazed as a bullet hit it. Digger spun the wheel and aimed the big armored sedan at the guard booth. It hit with a thump and then a cracking sound of wood. He saw Harker’s body flying through the air and landing in a lump on the grass, five feet away.

  Digger stopped the limousine and walked over to the cop. He was conscious and groaning, and when he saw Digger standing over him, he hissed, "You bastard."

  Digger rolled him over with his toe, removed the policeman’s handcuffs from the back of his belt and handcuffed a wrist and ankle behind his back. He stood up and looked down at his handiwork, pleased with the day’s work.