Chapter XII
WIFE OR PRISONER?
Something cold and damp against his forehead brought Gordon part way outof his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed underhim and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried tomove, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at theexpense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion.
There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, andthen hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a doorclosing.
Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound oftwo men crossing the room, one with the heavy shuffle of Mother Corey.
"No wonder the boys couldn't find where you'd stashed him, Mother. Mustbe a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress ofyours!"
"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy," Mother Corey's wheezing voiceagreed. "Had to be big to fit me."
"You mean you hid Trench out, too?" Izzy asked.
There was a thick chuckle and the sound of hands being rubbed together."A respectable landlord has to protect himself, Izzy. For hiding and aconvoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from theMunicipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get yourMayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't wantMother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, soyou're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserveit."
"Lay off, Mother," Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I takecare of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulledthe plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join theLegals."
"And get your rating upped to a lieutenant," Mother Corey observed."Without telling cobber Gordon!"
"Like I say, honesty pays, Mother--when you know how to collect. Hell, Ifigured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee."
Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How abouta game of shanks?"
The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyesopen and managed to sit up. The effects of the drug were almost gone,but it took a straining of every nerve to reach his uniform pouch. Hisfingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge thatwasn't there!
He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. Thereaction from his effort had drained him.
Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicatelyfrom the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting ofantiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hairfell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages.
Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her laphit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room,then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles," he saidflatly.
She bit her lips and turned back, while a slow flush ran over her face.Her voice was uncertain. "Hello, Bruce. You okay?"
"How long have I been like this?"
"Fifteen hours, I guess. It's almost midnight." She bent over to pick upthe bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's somecanned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..."
"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillowbehind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cupfilled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded withcaffeine, at least.
"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough topick the lock and get out."
"I didn't pick it--you forgot to lock it."
He couldn't remember what he'd done after he found the badge. "Okay, mymistake. But why the change of heart?"
"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw thatLegal cop ready to take you, I had to go running out to save you.Because I don't have the iron guts to starve like a Martian!"
It rocked him back on his mental heels. He'd thought that she had beenattacking him on the street; but it made more sense this way, at that.
"You're a fool!" he told her bitterly. "You bought a punched mealticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, andabout as much chance of making a living as--"
"I'll stick to my chances. I don't have any others now." She grimaced."You get things done. Now that you've got a wife to support, you'llsupport her. Just remember, it was your idea."
He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding ontoa notebook that belongs to me, then. Where is it?"
She shook her head. "I'm keeping the notebook for insurance. Blackmail,Bruce. You should understand that! And you won't find it, so don'tbother looking..." She went into the other room and shut the door.There was the sound of the lock being worked, and then silence.
He stared at the door foolishly, swearing at all women; then grimacedand turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stayhere fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside.The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge toothers, his problem boiled down to a single man.
Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowedit with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in itssheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his policeclub, checked the loop at its end, and slipped it onto his wrist.
At the door to the hall, he hesitated, staring at Sheila's room. Wife orprisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn'tchange the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his moneybeside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns.
He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was anenemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there wasno use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the sealonto the street entrance, still in the shadows.
His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop waspassing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, apair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house theypassed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickingsthan outside the dome.
He saw the Legal cop move out of sight and stepped onto the street,trying to look like another petty crook on the prowl. He headed for thenearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop.
The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knifeand tightened his grip on the locust stick.
Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not tooquickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet fartheron, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached hisears and light slashed hotly into his eyes. Hands grabbed at his arms,and a club swung down toward his knife. But the warning had been enough.Gordon's arms jerked upwards to avoid the reaching hands. His bootlifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With acontinuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-upposition and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he steppedbackwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across ahip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him.
The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enoughlight to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust clubdown twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls.
His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting ashis breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were sloweror less ruthless, he could take care of himself.
The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow norsqueamish.
Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them withhim. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croophad ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the thirdtruck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back andstruck a cautious light.
One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed andvacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob ofprotection rackete
ers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there wasno identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills.
He stripped out the money--and finally put half of it back into thewallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had tohave smokes.
He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had lockedthe two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of howthe battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct wasstill in Municipal hands.
There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquartersand only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably outfighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals startedto stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's starthat was still pinned to his uniform.
"Special prisoners," Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to getinformation to Trench--and in private!"
The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with hiselbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked itopen. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyeschecked the position of his gun at his hip. Then he looked up.
There was no sign of Trench. In his place, and in the uniform of aMunicipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" hesnapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips ashe laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?"
"Where's Captain Trench?"
The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "CommissionerTrench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, butdidn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench gotpromoted--and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Forcerecruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know."
Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavylocust club off his wrist.
"I sent Ape and Mullins out to get in touch with you," Jurgens said."But I guess they didn't reach you before you left."
Gordon shook his head slightly, while the nerves bunched and tingled inhis neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house," he saidtruthfully enough.
Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in hispockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in topshape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trenchleft some instructions about you, and--"
His voice was perfectly normal, but Gordon saw the hand move suddenlytoward the drawer that was half-open. And the cigarette lighter wasattached to the other side of the desk.
The locust stick left Gordon's hand with a snap. It cut through the aira scant eight feet, jerked to a stop against Jurgens' forehead andclattered onto the top of the desk, while Jurgens folded over, his mouthstill open, his hand slumping out of the drawer. The club rolled towardGordon, who caught it before it could reach the floor.
But Jurgens was only momentarily out. As Gordon slipped the loop overhis wrist again, one of the new captain's hands groped, seeking a buttonon the edge of the desk.
The two corporals were at the door when Gordon threw it open, but theydrew back at the sight of his drawn gun. Feet were pounding below as hefound the entrance that led to the truck. He hit the seat and rammeddown the throttle with his foot before he could get his hands on thewheel.
It was a full minute before sirens sounded behind him, and Nick theCroop had fast trucks. He spotted the squad car far behind, duckedthrough a maze of alleys, and lost it for another few precious minutes.Then a barricade lay ahead.
The truck faltered as it hit the nearly finished obstacle, and Gordonfelt his stomach squashing down onto the wheel. He kept his foot to thefloor, strewing bits of the barricade behind him, until he was beyondthe range of the Legal guns that were firing suddenly. Then he stoppedand got out carefully, with his hands up.
"Captain Bruce Gordon, with two prisoners--bodyguards of CaptainJurgens," he reported to the three men in bright new Legal uniform whowere approaching warily. "How do I sign up with you?"
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