Nightwalker 3

by Frank Roderus

  The two young karate experts growled and mumbled and made flashy movements with their hands. Silly-looking twits when they did that, Wolfe thought. He stood there and waited for them to come to him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Calvin led the way, edging forward with his hands poised, right foot forward, everything balanced and coordinated and surely adhering to whatever book the stance came from.

  If the man hadn’t been so deadly serious about all this, Wolfe would have found it amusing. As it was, though, he had to take it with no small degree of caution. He did not know enough about the martial arts to have any idea what Calvin would do first. Wolfe’s only experience with it consisted of watching some Jackie Chan movies, and some reruns of the old TV show, Kung Fu. Heck, he’d never even seen a Bruce Lee film.

  Calvin was close now, and began weaving back and forth like a cobra in front of a snake charmer.

  “Have you ever seen Bruce Lee?” Wolfe asked Calvin in a conversational tone of voice.

  “What?!”

  Wolfe hit him—hard. He used the heel of his palm so that he would not break his knuckles, and drove the punch straight from the shoulder, stepping into it with the weight of his body behind it.

  The extraordinary strength he’d acquired inside that mine tunnel made his blow a deadly one. Calvin’s head snapped back with such force that Wolfe could hear a distinctive snap as the neck and spinal column broke, and the handsome young man collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

  Very likely, Calvin was dead before his body struck the floor. Wolfe turned to take on James, only to discover that he was in no immediate danger from that quarter.

  The dog had leaped for James and the young man was lying on his back now with the dog standing over him. James lay with both arms wrapped protectively over his head; there was blood on his chin.

  “What is it with you?” Wolfe asked the dog. “Are you deliberately going for the face? Or do you just have lousy aim when you jump at the throat?”

  “Get him off me! Please? Please, mister!”

  “Dog. Back off!”

  The dog backed away and sat on its haunches, looking interested in what was happening here but not at all aggressive now that James was down and Wolfe had taken over.

  Wolfe knelt beside James. He felt a deep sense of sadness. “You and your leader murder people,” he said.

  “No! Never. Execute,” James said. “Sometimes. Only those who deserve it. Really.” He took his arms away from his face. The dog bite was hardly more than a scratch and had stopped bleeding already.

  “You were going to execute me, too.”

  “No. Calvin told you the truth. The leader knows you aren’t a Regulator.”

  “You were going to sell me to the Alston brothers.”

  “I…the leader. Not me! Not us!” James rolled his head.

  “Calvin…is he…is he dead?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “He was—you don’t look that tough, Mr. Wolfe, or that fast.” James shuddered. “We didn’t know…” His voice trailed away.

  Wolfe smiled. “If you had known, you would have brought guns, is that it?”

  “No! Certainly not!”

  “I guess we’ll never know now, though, will we?”

  “Look, I…can I sit up? Can we talk?”

  “There really isn’t any need for that,” Wolfe told him. “But I want you to understand that you haven’t given me much choice here.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Wolfe?”

  Wolfe reached down and placed one hand on either side of James’ head. He twisted sharply. The neck broke with a loud pop of tearing cartilage and bone, and James was gone, too. Wolfe rolled the two bodies beneath the bed and rearranged the blanket so that it was draped off the side and halfway onto the floor. It was not a very thorough job, but would have to do.

  “Ready, buddy?” he asked the dog. “I think it’s time we got out of here, if you don’t mind.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Wolfe got the rucksack out of the wardrobe and the rope he’d made by cutting up the sheet. He threaded one end of the linen rope through a shoulder strap on the ruck and pulled it so that the rope was doubled.

  He pushed the window screen out at the bottom and looked around outside the building with care. He’d hoped to wait until later when it would be completely dark and there were not apt to be any people moving around, but he did not think that he had that much time now. Sooner or later, someone was bound to come searching for Calvin and James, and once those two were found, these people would be using guns, not karate.

  Using the homemade rope, he lowered the rucksack into the bushes growing in a tangle at the side of the old hotel, then let go of one end, so he could pull the cord through the shoulder strap and retrieve it. He certainly could not leave it dangling from the third-floor window, and if he simply dropped it, the light linen would end up draped over a bush like a white flag waving in the night.

  He wadded up the rope and tossed it under the bed with the two bodies and then snapped the overhead light off. He wondered as he did so if that was the last time he’d ever have the use of electric lights, for surely there could not be many enclaves in the country like this one fashioned by Mistress Alethia, with her flaming red hair and utter lack of morals.

  “Come on, boy.” Wolfe patted his thigh and the dog came tail-wagging to his side. They went downstairs and into the lobby.

  “Where are Calvin and James?”

  Wolfe did not recognize the man who sat in one of the aging armchairs. He was prepared for such a question, though. “They’re upstairs waiting for me. The dog has to go out. I won’t be long.”

  The man nodded and went back to the tattered magazine he’d been reading.

  Wolfe pushed his goggles down to his throat and took a deep breath, savoring the fresh, clean air, and sense of freedom that came from no longer having an elastic band tied around his head. This early in the evening, he could see as well as if it were high noon. Later, in the darkest part of the night, it would seem to him like an overcast day.

  “This way,” he murmured to the dog. He went quickly around to the side of the hotel to the bushes where he’d dropped the rucksack, retrieved it, and pulled it on. Using the alleys so that he could avoid being spotted on the street, he headed at a swift trot for the motel that had been turned into the Paradise brothel, and the door of number ‘3’. The night before, Becca had said the girls were never moved around. She had no clothing, and was required to live and work in the one small room with food brought in twice a day. She had to ‘entertain’—her word, not his—whoever the leader sent to her and occasionally, as with Wolfe, she had to pump them for information. One way or another, Wolfe figured, all of that was at an end.

  He tapped lightly on her door and waited, then tapped it again, louder this time.

  “Go away!” It was a man’s voice inside, muffled, distorted by the closed door. Wolfe knocked again, louder this time, demanding.

  “Open up! I have to look inside!”

  “I’m telling you—”

  There was a pause, and Wolfe very faintly heard what he supposed was Becca’s voice. A moment later, he heard the rattle of a chain and the turning of the deadbolt. The door was snatched open, and a very angry middle-aged man glared at him. The man was naked, quite hairy, too, with bowed legs and a pot belly. His hairline was receding toward eventual baldness, if the man lived long enough for that to happen.

  Wolfe had to push the man backward in order to step into the room.

  “Hey! You can’t do that!”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “But—”

  Wolfe clipped him on the jaw with a short, left hook. He tried to pull the punch; even so, he was afraid he’d hit the man too hard and perhaps done permanent damage. All he wanted to do was knock the fellow out, and he’d certainly done that. Becca was on the bed. She looked embarrassed.

  “Are you all right?” He asked. He took the rucksack
off and dropped it beside the bed.

  Becca nodded. “Is he…you didn’t kill him or anything, did you?”

  “No, at least I don’t think I did. He seems to be breathing. Do you have running water here?”

  “What a strange question!” she asked.

  “Maybe so, but do you have water in the bathroom? Did they hook up the pipes to here?”

  “Sure. All over town, mostly. They just tied the windmills into the old water system.”

  “Good.”

  Wolfe yanked the sheet off the bed and took it into the rather grubby, old-fashioned little bathroom. He ran the basin full of water and dunked the sheet into it, moving it under the faucet until the thin material was thoroughly soaked.

  “What are you doing?”

  He grinned. “Tying up our guest in there.”

  “With a sheet?”

  “A soaking wet sheet. I’ll spread it out on the floor, put him on it, and then roll it nice and snug around him. The sheet will stick to itself as tight as tape. He won’t be able to move a muscle until the cloth dries. By then, you and I will be long gone.”

  “That’s neat. Will it really work?”

  The grin returned. “We better hope so. I’ve never actually done this, you understand, but I read about it in a book once.”

  Becca rolled her eyes.

  “While I finish this, you’ll find a sweatshirt and jeans and socks in the top of the ruck there. No choice of size, I’m afraid. The only spare shoes I have are my old ones. Or you can take his if they’ll fit you better. Anyway, get yourself dressed, girl. You and I have some serious hiking to do.”

  “I can’t believe you really came back for me.”

  “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

  Becca did not say anything, but he could see the gratitude and the worry in her eyes before she turned and began digging clothing out of the rucksack.

  Wolfe took the now thoroughly soaked sheet into the bedroom and quickly, but very carefully rolled the unconscious gent into it. He stuffed a washcloth into the man’s mouth, and secured it in place with strips torn off the pillowcase. Gagging an unconscious man was dangerous; if he choked or threw up in response to the intrusion, he would drown in his own vomit. On the other hand, it would be much better for this guy to drown than for hooligans with guns to catch up with Wolfe and the girl.

  It only took a few minutes before they were ready. Rebecca looked silly in the oversized clothes. In the old movies, Doris Day always managed to look cute and cuddly in Rock Hudson’s white shirts. Funny thing, but real life was not turning out to be anything like that.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, I—”

  There was a loud bang and the room door was shoved violently open. Outside was the muscle-bound beach boy who tended the keys to the Paradise love nest. Blondie—Wolfe seemed to recall that his name was Andrew—looked peeved, and all the more so when he saw he was about to lose one of his charges. Andrew balled his massive hands into fists and stomped forward.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Friend, you really don’t want to do this,” Wolfe said in a calm, reasonable tone. “Let me tie you up and I won’t have to hurt you. Please.”

  Andrew gave the much-smaller, white-haired man an incredulous look and then laughed. “You? You think you can hurt me?”

  “I don’t want to. Let us go and I won’t have to,” Wolfe said.

  “Old man! I’m gonna bust you up so bad they’ll have to carry you out to the dump!”

  Wolfe sighed. “I did try. I want you to remember that, Andrew. I tried.”

  The powerfully-built brothel keeper rolled his shoulders, showing off the slabs of bulging muscle there. He paused for a moment to give Wolfe time to see, and become frightened. Wolfe suspected that was a technique that worked very well, usually. This time—well…it had been worth a try even if it failed. Wolfe stood calmly waiting.

  Andrew, the muscle-bound weightlifter, would not be the same sort of karate jock Calvin had been. He was very likely to—and there it came, just as expected. Andrew drew his powerful fist back and launched it toward Wolfe’s jaw. Had it connected, it surely would have knocked Wolfe off his feet and very probably rendered him unconscious. Had it connected, that is. Wolfe swayed very slightly to the side then reached up and caught Andrew’s balled fist in the palm of his own hand. Sort of like snagging a hot line drive drilled straight at an infielder’s head. Wolfe caught the fist, then squeezed—hard. There was a rippling crunch, like kernels of popcorn all popping at once as the many tiny bones in the hand began to shatter. Andrew’s face went suddenly pale beneath his tan. His jaw became slack. Then he screamed, the sound torn from his throat. He went to his knees and beads of cold sweat rolled off his forehead. Wolfe had to give the big man credit; Andrew was no quitter. He shook his head in an attempt to shake off his agony, then struggled to his feet. He cradled his broken right hand against his chest and turned to put his left shoulder forward. Despite the pain that had to be tearing him apart, he once again came forward, but this time at a very cautious shuffle instead of with the confident stride he’d shown before.

  “Don’t do this, Andrew. I swear, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Let me tie you up, please.”

  Andrew’s response was so coarsely vulgar that Wolfe found himself embarrassed that Becca was in the room to hear it. This time, Andrew knew better than to begin his assault with a punch thrown straight from the shoulder. This time, he feigned the punch and instead tried to kick Wolfe in the crotch. Wolfe caught the man’s foot on his thigh and stood poised, ready to clip Andrew with a hard right, even though his blow would almost surely break the man’s neck and kill him. That was not necessary.

  Rebecca stepped in behind Andrew and whacked him hard over the head with a heavy pottery water pitcher. The pitcher, Mexican or possibly Indian, judging by the design on it, cracked but did not shatter. “Tough stuff,” Wolfe thought.

  Andrew staggered backward on rubber legs, then dropped to his knees. Becca hit him again. This time, the pitcher broke apart. Andrew’s eyes rolled up so only the whites of his eyeballs could be seen, and he toppled forward.

  “I didn’t kill him, did I?”

  “No, but he’s going to have one heck of a headache when he wakes up,” Wolfe said, smiling at her. “Thanks.”

  Becca grinned. “Should I soak the other sheet now?”

  “Yeah. Then you and I will be on our way. Uh, do you mind if I have another of those soft drinks before we go?”

  “Take all you can carry.” She pulled the bottom sheet off the bed and took it into the bathroom, where soon Wolfe could hear the water running. Lordy, but it was nice to have civilized comforts again, like electric lights and running water. And hamburgers…oh, my…hamburgers! Wolfe sighed. He would miss those things.

  He would not miss much of anything else about Paradise, though. He set about looking for something he could use to gag Andrew before they made their break for freedom.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Slow down! I can’t see where we’re going,” Rebecca whispered.

  “It’s okay. I can see just fine. Hold onto my arm. If you stumble, I’ll catch you.”

  “Can we stop for a minute so I can catch my breath?”

  “You’re in awful shape. Do you know that?”

  “Yeah. Well, it was kind of hard to put my ten miles in each morning inside that room.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He did relent, slowing to a walk, and then after a moment, coming to a halt.

  Becca bent over and braced her hands on her knees as she gasped for breath. They had only been on the move for twenty minutes or so and had not yet gotten past all of the Paradise guards. Wolfe could still see a road block ahead, and what he thought was another outpost on top of a bluff to the south of the county blacktop that ran through what used to be a perfectly nice town called Tifton.

  Wolfe gave Becca a moment to catch her breath, and then asked, “Do you happen to know where those Regula
tors are?”

  “I think so. I think they’re in Delaney.”

  “Sorry, that isn’t telling me anything.”

  She straightened up and bent backward, then to either side, loosening up.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “And Delaney is…?” he prompted.

  “It’s a town, or was. It’s even smaller than Tifton. It’s about fifteen miles down this road. Is that where we’re going?”

  He nodded, then remembered that her night vision was not as clear as his own. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Ever hear of the old saying, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  “Sure, but I never believed it.”

  “Even so, I have a score to settle with Mistress Alethia and her idiot followers. They were going to sell me to my enemies, or kill me. If we can do anything that will help those Regulators, give them information or whatever, then I think we ought to. Besides, I have to take you someplace. Is there anywhere other than Delaney you’d like to go?”

  “I’ve always thought Hawaii sounded nice,” she said with a grin.

  “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, Delaney.”

  “Can’t we rest for just a minute more?” she asked.

  “No. Fifteen miles, you said? That’s a four-hour walk, and I want to get there early enough that I can get a look around before daylight. I don’t want any more of the surprises like what I ran into back there in Paradise.”

  “You’re a hard man to get along with, Jim Wolfe.”

  “Yeah, but I’m cute. It’s the only thing that saved me.”

  “You know, for such an old guy, you really are kind of cute,” Becca ran in place for a second or two, then did some high knee lifts to warm up and get her legs limber again. “All right. I suppose I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Wolfe strode out, angling away from the blacktop so they could swing well away from the roadblock that lay ahead. Mistress Alethia’s thugs would be armed with rifles, and he did not want to take them on with only his bow and bowie knife.