Slayground p-13

by Richard Stark

  But he should keep himself moving, anyway. He had to take advantage of the break he’d been given, chop away at them while they had no leader. And the first thing to do was find out how many of them there were in here, just exactly what the odds were against him.

  He was in New York Island now. One of the ranks of stores had a second floor, containing administrative offices. The staircase was hidden behind a mirror in the women’s clothing boutique and wasn’t likely to be found by people in a hurry. That was why Parker had come here from the fun house, but now it seemed there was no necessity to hide out for a while. It would maybe be better to scout the enemy while he was regrouping his forces.

  Parker was using no lights, not even a flashlight, so when he left the window and went downstairs he moved fast but with caution. To break a leg now, even to sprain an ankle, would be the end. He had to be able to move, to keep moving around. That was the biggest edge he had, that he was only one man, traveling light, mobile, not limited to a base of operations.

  He closed the mirrored door carefully behind himself when he got to the first floor, then moved through the shop and out the front door to the street. He moved along the fake cobblestones to the right, past the shops, coming closer to the fountain.

  They were still there, talking away. They weren’t arguing exactly, but they hadn’t yet come to an agreement. Two of them were doing most of the talking, and they seemed to be the ones Parker had seen at the fun house, the cop and the guy in the overcoat. When Parker got closer, he could hear that the guy in the overcoat wanted to report to somebody — Lozini, the name sounded like — wanted to call this Lozini and tell him the situation and ask what they should do next. But the cop didn’t want any part of that. He wanted to press on right now, get Parker, get it over with. He was vague on some of his reasoning, telling the other guy he knew what the reasons were, as though he didn’t want the others present to hear what he had to say. The guy in the overcoat kept saying, “Yeah, I know, I know what you mean. But I still say we ought to call, it could still work out the same. You think he’ll call it off?”

  “I say let’s not cause ourselves trouble,” the cop said. “There’s only the one guy, let’s go and get him and quit standing around talking.”

  Besides those two talkers, there were two others, neither of whom said much of anything. One of them was apparently the other cop who’d tried that crap with the loud-hailer when they’d first come in, and the other one seemed to be the guy in the black and white hunting jacket Parker had seen carry something out of the station wagon this afternoon.

  Was that all of them? Could they have been dumb enough to leave the front gate unguarded?

  It didn’t seem possible, but the thing to do was go and see, so Parker moved away again, left them still talking things over, and headed for the main gate. He went to the band shell first, around that, then around the Land of Voodoo black-light ride, then around Marooned! — the black-light ride where his money was stashed — then past the little office where he’d waited for them to come in, and finally to the gates.

  And they were guarded. Two guys, one leaning his back against a gate and the other leaning against the night watchman’s Volkswagen. They were both smoking, the small dull red dots marking them in the darkness. Though they could be seen anyway, silhouetted against the faint light from a streetlight somewhere outside the park.

  Could they both be taken? That would be the simplest. Go get the satchel of money, come back, shoot both of these guys, take off.

  No. They were pros, those two, nobody would sneak up on them that easily. They looked casual, standing there, leaning, smoking, but they were so fixed that they could watch each other’s back. No, the odds weren’t good. They weren’t the ones to go after yet, not yet.

  He faded back again, past the little office, around that building and between it and Marooned! to the Desert Island snack bar. After that he had an open stretch to cross, the four guys arguing at the fountain down to his left and the two guys guarding the gate to his right, but the night was dark enough to cover him. He trotted across to the Island Earth area, past its black-light ride — Voyage Through the Galaxy — and on into Pleasure Island. He passed the carousel, went through Hawaii and Alcatraz and finally to Treasure Island, and there were no more of the invaders. Just six, the four at the fountain, and the two by the gates. And he had four bullets left.

  Those at the fountain had apparently settled the question of whether or not to call Lozini. They would not. They were discussing tactics now, and blaming each other for the delay so far.

  Up at the rear of Treasure Island was the black-light ride called Buccaneer! Parker went up there, feeling his way along in the darkness, found the side entrance he’d forced before, and went in. Once inside he switched on his flashlight, and there was everything as he remembered it. The little pirate ships stacked up to his left, near the control panel. The water running through the metal trough winding back and forth inside the building past the displays. Parker went along the narrow catwalk to the display where he’d altered the wiring earlier today, and plugged it in, then went back to the front again and looked outside.

  They were still down there, still talking things over. They seemed to think they had forever. They took hours to come in here after him, and once inside, all they did was stand around and talk.

  It was time to get them moving again. Parker went to the control panel and threw the master switch.

  Once again, lights and music. Sea-shanty music this time, and deep bass laughter, and recorded comments like “Heave ho, me hearties” and “Make ‘em walk the plank!” And the usual whirling lights outside, clamoring for attention.

  They’d get it, too. Parker went out the side door, and saw the flashlights bobbing in this direction. Off to his right the high shape of the pirate ship in its own small lake loomed white and ghostly out of the darkness. Parker ran for that, crouched low, got to the gangplank, ran up it, and ducked behind the railing on deck.

  He peered around the edge of the railing, and saw two of them rush inside. Only two? Where were the rest?

  He ought to get farther away from here. There was another gangplank on the other side of the ship, and he headed for it, moving slowly and cautiously across the deck and around the main cabin.

  He glanced back, over at Buccaneer! The two had gone inside now. How long would it take? Sooner or later one of them would touch the wrong thing. If he was also touching the water at the same time — There was a sudden yowl from inside the building, like a hound who’d just been shot. Parker looked, and the lights across the face of the building were flickering, the music was suddenly dragging, speeding up, dragging, speeding up. The yowl stretched out, and slowly died away.

  He nodded, and turned for the gangplank again, and there was suddenly somebody standing there, half-visible in the flickering light from Buccaneer!

  The cop.

  There wasn’t time for anything. Parker reached to his jacket pocket for his gun, but the cop jumped forward, throwing his arms around him, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Parker got a foot around his ankle, shoved him off-balance, and the cop fell back, but came in again right away, swinging a long right at Parker’s forehead.

  Parker went in under the punch, driving both hands at the cop’s belly, and the cop grabbed him again, trying for a bear hug, wrestling him around.

  The cop was strong, and besides that, he’d panicked. Parker could hear the strangled breath in his ear, he could hear how frightened the cop was. So much that he’d forgotten his gun, he wasn’t even trying for it. So much that he wasn’t even shouting to his friends, wasn’t making any noise at all except for that panicky loud breathing.

  The two of them were shoving and swaying back and forth across the deck, and as they did so, darkness suddenly fell again, as the light and sound of Buccaneer! abruptly cut off. In pitch-darkness Parker and the cop kept wrestling, struggling with one another, and then suddenly there was nothing beneath Parker’s feet any more
, the whole world was turning upside-down, and the two of them crashed into the icy water beside the ship.

  The shock of the cold water broke their grip. Parker almost lost consciousness for a second, but managed to keep awake, to keep in motion. He’d lost the cop somewhere, but that didn’t matter. He struggled to his feet in knee-deep water, put his hand out, felt the wooden side of the ship, waded heavily the other way and came out to snow-covered blacktop.

  Behind him the cop was suddenly shouting. “He’s here! Over this way! He’s here!”

  Parker ran heavily away, already starting to shake inside the wet clothes.

  Three

  HE WAS shivering so much he could hardly stand, the tremors shaking him back and forth like a drunk. His clothing was heavy with icy water, weighing him down. He felt dizzy, faint, he had a compelling urge to just drop, fall down where he was and forget everything. Close his eyes, quit fighting, let the shivering take him, just lie there like a wounded cat until they came to put him out of his misery.

  But he wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t stop. To keep his teeth from chattering he had his jaw clenched so tight the ache of it ran through his head as though he’d been beaten with nightsticks. But he kept moving, kept putting one foot in front of the other, though his shoes now felt like blocks of ice weighing down his feet.

  He was in New York Island again, staggering along the fake cobblestones past the little shops. There was no one chasing him right now, but he didn’t know how long he had. He had to get to ground, he had to get dry, he had to get warm, he had to survive.

  It was pitch-black here, there was no choice but to switch on the flashlight, whatever the danger. He did it in quick sweeps, I on and off, just enough to orient himself each time. He was looking for the women’s dress boutique again, and the offices up on the second floor.

  But before he found that store, his light flickered over a sign: MEN’S AND BOYS’ WEAR. He turned that way, found the door, kicked it open, went inside.

  He took a chance on keeping the flashlight on for longer periods of time now, and went quickly through the store. Very little stock was left, but there was some. Socks and underwear, short-sleeved shirts, summer-weight zipper jackets, thin slacks. No winter clothing, no shoes, no suits.

  But it was better than nothing. He found an empty cardboard carton in the back of the store, filled it up with goods he thought he could use, and then left that store.

  The women’s boutique was diagonally across the street. He looked around, saw nothing but the darkness, heard nothing anywhere, and ran across and into the shop. He went down the narrow aisle to the mirror, opened it, went upstairs.

  The office had windows on two walls, with shades and curtains. He drew the shades, then switched on the flashlight, put it on the floor, partially covered it with a sheet of paper from the desk. It gave a very small light, but it was enough to see by.

  There was a bathroom next door, with a long hand towel on a roller. Parker opened the roller and removed the long foot-wide ribbon of towel, then stripped off his wet clothing and dried himself. It was still cold in here, almost as cold as outside, but once he was dry the shivering began to ease a little, he could relax his jaw without his teeth chattering.

  He dressed in the summer clothing he’d brought, putting on three pairs of socks, two pairs of slacks, two polo shirts and one of the lightweight zipper jackets. He hung his own clothing around on chair backs and doorknobs, and it was then he discovered his pistol was gone.

  He stood there with his hand in the empty jacket pocket, holding the jacket up by the neck with his other hand, both hands cold and wet from contact with the jacket. The pistol was gone. Four shots. Gone.

  It must have fallen out in the struggle with the cop, either on the ship or when they fell into the water. More likely then, falling into the water, the pistol getting jolted out of his pocket, lying now in the knee-deep water around the pirate ship in the darkness. Gone for good.

  He put the jacket over a chair back. He still had the two knives, and these he set on the desk. He’d need them for sure now.

  What was happening outside? He picked up the flashlight, switched it off, carried it over to the window. He pulled the shade aside and looked out, but there was nothing to see, no lights bobbing around. Were they calling off the hunt until morning? It would be smart, if they kept on moving around in the dark like this he could pick them off one at a time. If he had a gun.

  They wouldn’t know he was unarmed now, that was the only edge he had left.

  He wished he could go out and take a look for them, find out for sure what they were up to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t wear his shoes yet, and he had no others. The clothing he had on wasn’t enough to keep him warm inside this building, and it was even colder outside.

  The soaking he’d taken had drained his energies more than he liked to admit. He still shivered from time to time, still found himself on the verge of losing his balance. His arms and legs seemed heavier than usual, and he was having trouble thinking, concentrating his thoughts. He needed time to recuperate, time to get ready again, so he hoped they really were doing the smart thing out there, pulling back to the gate to wait till morning.

  He stood watching at the window for nearly five minutes, and saw nothing at all. He opened the window briefly, to try to listen for conversation, but the cold breeze coming in made him close it again. The absence of light out there was enough anyway. If they were still hunting for him, he’d see their flashlights. And probably see them switch on the lights in different buildings.

  But they’d be careful about that now. They’d walked into his electric booby trap at the Buccaneer! ride, and they’d be a hell of a lot more cautious now, knowing he’d been setting up surprises for them while waiting for them to come in.

  He didn’t know whether the Buccaneer! trap had killed anybody or not, but it had caught at least one guy, and even if he was still alive he wouldn’t be in any shape to hunt for anybody for a while. So out of the original seven, that left five out there. All of them armed, all of them wary now, and more than likely willing to wait to come after him in daylight.

  All right. He’d take the respite, he could use it, and worry about tomorrow when it got here. He left the window at last, re-crossed the room, and went downstairs to the dress shop.

  Draperies had been used as the principal decoration inside the shop, unlined cotton draperies in colorful prints. Parker took them all down from the walls and windows and carried them upstairs. It took two trips. The third time he went down he got a chair and a metal wastebasket from near the cash register and carried them over to the stairs. He went up two steps, pulled the mirror-door shut, and leaned the chair so its back legs were on a step and its top was against the door. Then he put the wastebasket on the chair seat. If anyone pulled this door open now, chair and wastebasket would both go crashing.

  When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he went back upstairs again. Moving around helped, but it was still cold in here, and he was still weak and a little disoriented.

  He covered both windows with draperies, putting them up with thumbtacks from a desk drawer, putting three of the thin draperies over each window. Then he turned on the flashlight again and tried the light switch, but the power in here was off. He would have liked to go downstairs and turn it on, but he didn’t know what lights or sounds were already in an On position and would begin to blare his position the minute he switched on the electricity.

  He searched the office, and in the closet found a small electric heater. Again he regretted the lack of current, but there was nothing to be done about it. He left the heater where it was, and kept on searching, and in a bottom desk draw, tucked away behind a lot of manila envelopes as though it had been forgotten there, was a bottle of store-brand whiskey, about one-quarter full.

  There was nothing else useful anywhere. There was a carpet on the floor, and Parker sat down on it and wrapped himself in the last two draperies. They smelled of dust, making him snee
ze, but they started to get him warm.

  He opened the bottle and turned off the flashlight. He sat in the dark like an Indian brave, wrapped in bright print draperies, and drank the whiskey, and that helped too. When the bottle was empty he put it down and lay back on the floor and closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Four

  “ARE YOU LISTENING?”

  It was one of those dreams where he knew he was dreaming.

  In the dream he stood at the foot of a sheer rock cliff, and up at the top somebody was standing and bellowing. He was too far away to make out what he looked like, but his words were loud and clear.

  “I HOPE YOU’RE LISTENING. I HOPE YOU CAN HEAR WHAT I’M SAYING, BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TO YOU AND WHY IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN AND WHO’S GOING TO DO IT TO YOU.”

  His back hurt, in the dream, and in the dream he wasn’t exactly standing, he was lying down, lying on his back on something hard. An uncomfortable dream, full of aching backs and loud noises, and he thought, I’m having this kind of dream because I’m in a bad situation.

  “MY NAME IS LOZINI. DOES THAT NAME MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU?”

  He opened his eyes, and in vague diffuse light he looked at the ceiling. The light was very dim, like being at the bottom of a tank of water in an aquarium, and when he turned his head he saw the draperies covering the windows, saw the light filtering through the different colors, very little getting through into the room. But outside it would be full daylight.

  “LOZINI. THE NAME SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING, BECAUSE I OWN THIS TOWN. THIS IS MY TOWN AND YOU PULLED A JOB HERE IN MY TOWN WITHOUT CLEARING IT WITH ME.”

  Parker sat up. He was wrapped in draperies, his clothing was hanging around on chairs and doorknobs. He pushed the draperies to one side and got to his feet. His back and neck were stiff, his bones ached, his muscles didn’t want to work.

  “BUT THAT’S NOT WHY I’M HERE. THAT’S NOT WHY I’M GOING TO GET YOU. THAT’S NOT WHY MY MEN HAVE ORDERS NOT TO KILL YOU BEFORE I CAN GET MY HANDS ON YOU.”