Slayground p-13

by Richard Stark

  The cart came to a stop just beyond the wax museum, in the middle among the submarine ride, the bobsled ride, the wax museum and the Alcatraz Island mess-hall restaurant. Lozini called through the loud-hailer, “Get over here! Everybody get over here!”

  They came. Parker counted this time, and counting Lozini, there were fourteen of them. Plus the cops, who weren’t present now.

  Lozini didn’t bother with the loud-hailer once they were all gathered around him, but Parker could still hear him plainly. He started by demanding, “Who saw him last?”

  There was a little shuffling around, a little discussion, and finally one of them decided he was the one. Lozini asked him where he’d last seen Parker, and he pointed over toward the submarine ride, saying, “Over there, comin around behind the restaurant.”

  “Headed which way?”

  “Just up here somewhere.”

  “What was everybody doin over by that hill over there?”

  “It’s a fake,” somebody said. “That’s all fake snow on there, it’s a bobsled ride or something. The mountain’s hollow inside, we figured he went in there.”

  “Did he?”

  “We don’t know, you called us back before we could look it over.”

  “Because you were all runnin to the same place. He doesn’t have to be inside that fake mountain. What’s that over there?”

  “The Alcatraz restaurant.”

  “He could of got to there, too. Or over to that wax museum. He could of circled around this Hawaii restaurant here and got on inside there. I want two men to check out the mountain, two that restaurant there, two this restaurant over here, and two that wax museum. I want four men down at that fountain in the middle there. From down there you can see down every path all the way to the fence. Sooner or later he’s gonna move again, and he’ll have to cross one of those paths. If you see him, fire one shot, at him or in the air or any place you damn please. And holler. And take off after him. I don’t want to lose that son of a bitch again, he’s cost me too many men. All right, get moving.”

  They got moving, and Lozini and his driver headed away again, back toward the fountain. Parker saw two men coming this way, and he moved away from the door and deeper into the building.

  Lozini’s people hadn’t got around to switching the electricity on in this building yet, so once he was out of the direct line of the front door Parker switched on the flashlight, and then he could move along pretty fast.

  The route through the wax museum twisted like a conga line among the life-size wax displays, all of them behind a velvet rope and all of them involving murderers of one kind or another. There were scenes of execution by electric chair, gas chamber, beheading with both ax and guillotine, hanging and firing squad. There were murders in the act of commission, murderers in the moment of being captured, and a couple of trial scenes. Everything was realistic except the glassy expression of all the eyes and the color of the blood, which was too shiny and red, looking more like fingernail polish than anything out of human veins.

  Parker knew what he wanted. In order to have an even shot at getting out of this park, he had to have a gun. Otherwise, he’d just run around in here like a rat in a maze, and though he might win all the battles, sooner or later he’d lose the war. But with a gun, there was a chance.

  And now he had a chance at a gun. Two men were coming in here, and they both would have guns. What he wanted was to get behind them, was to hide in such a way that they’d go on by him and expose their backs. And he thought he knew how to do it.

  But first he had a weapon to pick up. He hurried by the place where he planned to wait for them, and went on to a display that showed three knife-wielding men cutting down a fourth man over a table on which a deck of cards and a lot of chips were scattered. Two of the knives were wax, but the third was one Parker had left here yesterday afternoon, one of the knives from the box he’d found in the gift shop. He took it out of the wax hand now and slipped it into his hip pocket, where the one he’d used had been, and as he was turning away from the display the lights came on.

  He had to hurry. He switched off his flashlight and put it away in his jacket pocket as he trotted back along the winding route to a courtroom scene, one of the more elaborate displays, complete with jury. He picked up one of the jurors, the body surprisingly light, and carried it over to where the defendant and his attorneys were sitting at a table, staring with horror at a sheet-covered body a policeman had just wheeled out in front of the judge’s bench. There were a couple of extra chairs at the table, and he put the juror in one of them, adjusting one arm to rest the elbow and forearm on the table and keep him from falling over.

  He could hear them coming, moving slowly through the building, checking out the possible hiding places. He went back to the jurors’ box, climbed over the side, took the missing juror’s place, third from the left in the back row. He folded his arms and made himself as comfortable as he could, because he wouldn’t be able to move while they were in sight.

  He could hear them talking to one another as they came on. One of them was saying, “You see who that’s supposed to be? That don’t look like him at all. He didn’t have a skinny face like that.”

  “How would you know? I tell you the truth, I don’t like this place.”

  “My father knew him, they were buddies from the old days. They went to school together or something, I think my mother’s still got pictures of the two of them. I’ll show you sometime. He didn’t look like that at all.”

  “Come on, Ed. For Christ’s sake, let’s get this over with. I told you, I don’t like it in here.”

  “What’s to don’t like? They’re all just statues. Look.”

  Something crashed.

  “I don’t think you oughta start busting things up, Ed. I understand Mr. Lozini owns a piece of this place.”

  “Yeah, and screw him, too. I thought that was maybe the guy we’re looking for, okay? He’s in here making believe he’s a statue, like in a Bob Hope movie.”

  “I hope to Christ he isn’t. Will you come on?”

  “Do you suppose they put tits on these dummies?”

  “Ed, what if he is in here?”

  “By now? There’s a back door, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “So if I was him, and I heard us come in the front way, I’d be long gone out the back way. Right?”

  “I don’t know, Ed. There’s weird things about that guy. Like what he pulled at the theater.”

  “He went down a rope from the roof.”

  “How’d he get up there? Where was he when we looked for him?”

  “How do I know? Hold it, let me see where this door leads.” A brief silence, and then,” Whadaya know, it’s a fake. Look, the handle was wax. The door’s wood, the handle’s wax.”

  “You gonna tell Mr. Lozini you thought that handle was the guy, too?”

  “Look, Tommy, never mind this Mr. Lozini crap. We’re in here bustin our nuts because this boy Caliato got bumped. And what’s in it for us?”

  “A hundred each.”

  “Big deal. You got a guy already killed four guys in here and sent two more to the hospital, and we’re goin up against him for a hundred bucks each. We got a lot of brains, buddy, that’s what we got.”

  They came into sight, walking along very slowly, not looking at one another as they talked but looking around at the displays on both sides instead. Ed was tall, lanky, with a bony long-nosed face and bushy brown hair. Tommy was shorter, stockier, with a black mustache, wearing a cloth cap. Tommy was saying, “You want to tell Mr. Lozini no? You want to tell him thanks, you’d rather not come to work?”

  “I’m not crazy that way, either. Hey, whadaya think they got under the sheet?”

  “Just don’t bust anything, will ya?”

  Ed stepped over the velvet rope, walked up onto the display. He glanced casually at the jury, then walked up and lifted the sheet covering the body in front of the bench. “It’s a fake,” he sa
id. “Look, it’s just wires to make the shape.” He flung the sheet down again, and looked back at the jury. “Whadaya think, Tommy, is our guy one of them? Sittin right there, big as life?”

  Parker didn’t move. Like the rest of the jury, he was looking at the sheet. He wanted to blink, but he didn’t dare. His eyes started to burn, and then Ed glanced at Tommy, and Parker squeezed his eyes shut for a second, lubricating the eyes, and opened them again before Ed looked back.

  Ed was saying, “You think he’s all set to throw another knife? We turn our backs and pow! You think so, Tommy?” He was grinning, enjoying himself.

  Tommy wasn’t enjoying any of it. “Will you quit being so goddam childish? I told you I don’t like this place, I wanna get out of here.”

  Ed looked at him in amused surprise. “Does it really get to you?”

  “Do you mind? I had a very superstitious upbringing, do you mind? I wanna get the hell out of here.”

  “Sure, Tommy,” Ed said, with elaborate concern. “We’ll move right along. Those thirteen jurors there are all just a bunch of wax dummies anyway.” He walked back down and stepped over the rope again.

  Tommy was about to move on, when he suddenly said, “Thirteen? Thirteen jurors?”

  Wide-eyed and innocent, Ed said, “Sure. That’s what I counted, thirteen, Don’t all juries have thirteen?”

  “He is there, Ed!” Tommy shouted, suddenly crouching and aiming his gun in Parker’s general direction. “Juries only have twelve! Shoot their heads off, Ed, he’s got to be one of them!”

  Parker was about to make a dive over the back of the jury box, but Ed started to laugh. “Oh, you’re a beauty,” he cried, laughing and shaking his head. “Tommy, you’re a goddam wonder!”

  Tommy glared at him in belated suspicion, then frowned angrily at the jurors. “Twelve,” he said. “There’s only twelve there.”

  “Come on, buddy,” Ed said. “Let’s get out of here before the boogie man gets us.”

  “You rotten bastard, I oughta shoot your head off!”

  “Aw, can’t you take a joke? Come on, buddy, don’t lose your sense of humor.”

  “You’re a goddam pain in the ass, Ed, you’ve always been a goddam pain in the ass and you always will be a goddam pain in the ass.”

  Ed lost his own sense of humor. “Just watch it what you say there, pal,” he said. “Don’t lose your cool.”

  “Then don’t play around any more.”

  “That’s all right by me. I won’t play around, and you won’t shoot off at the mouth.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said, sullen but not wanting to push it. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  They moved on, finally getting out of sight, and after a little silence Ed started his chipper conversation going again. Tommy was sulking, and answered in monosyllables, but Ed carried the conversation for both of them.

  Parker waited till the voices told him they were two or three turnings away, and then he climbed down out of the jury box and moved after them. The route was carpeted, he could move without sound.

  Up ahead, Ed was still talking away, and Tommy was beginning to get over his mad. Parker hurried, and as he strode along he took his two knives from his hip pockets, holding them in his hands down by his sides.

  When he saw them, Ed had stopped to investigate a medieval poisoning scene full of women with low-cut gowns. Tommy was standing on the carpet, looking nervously around, but no longer asking Ed to hurry.

  Ed was the one to take care of first. Parker stood just around the bend, just out of sight, and listened till the conversation told him Ed was finished studying the female wax figures. He looked around the bend and saw Ed climbing over the velvet rope again, his back to Parker. Parker stepped out in view. They both had their backs turned. He set himself, his right hand holding one of the knives up behind his ear, and then threw.

  This was a closer target than the other one, and more stationary. Parker finished the throwing movement and stepped quickly back out of sight again, switching the other knife to his right hand.

  He heard it hit, and heard Ed grunt, and heard Ed fall. If he had Tommy figured right, he would just stand there now, unable to think for a few seconds, too paralyzed by fear to do anything sensible. A few seconds was all Parker would need.

  He stepped out again, and Ed was facedown on the carpet, his left leg stuck up in the air behind him, left ankle hooked over the velvet rope he’d been stepping over when the knife hit him. And Tommy was staring down at him in disbelief, just the way Parker had thought.

  But before he could get set again, Tommy moved. He didn’t look around, he didn’t fire any shots, he didn’t yell. All he did was run. He turned and ran like hell in the opposite direction.

  Parker threw anyway, even though it was no good. The knife missed, and went on, and hit a masked executioner holding an ax, in the middle of his chest. He tottered, and fell over backward.

  Then Tommy yelled. He veered away from the display where the executioner had fallen over, almost running into the rope on the other side, but veered again and rounded a turn and was out of sight.

  Parker ran forward to Ed, and plucked from his hand a Colt Commander automatic in .38 caliber, a gun with a nine-cartridge clip., He ejected the clip from the handle and it was full. He shoved it back in, put the gun on the floor, and turned the body over. He searched it, but Ed had carried no extra clips on him. Going up against one man, he apparently hadn’t thought he’d need it.

  Tommy was out of the building by now, and spreading the alarm. But that hardly mattered. It was a new ball game. Parker had a gun.

  Five

  THE TRICK now was to lead them one way and go another. Parker had an idea for a way to end it, to get himself out of this park and away from these people, and now that he had a gun it was possible, but before he could work it he’d have to hole up for half an hour or so. Something else that he was waiting for had to happen first, and then he could move.

  He didn’t follow Tommy, but went back the other way. By climbing over the velvet rope and going through the displays, through the black curtain between displays, he could go directly to the front entrance, getting there just as Tommy was bursting out on the other side of the building. Parker heard him hollering back there, and looked out the half-open doorway, and saw two guys running around toward the rear of the wax museum. He was about to step out when two more appeared, from the Hawaiian restaurant across the way. The loud-hailer sounded, and they waved their arms — meaning the loud-hailer had been hailing them, and they’d heard and understood — and then they came running this way, toward the entrance Parker was hidden behind.

  He had a gun now. Shoot them on the street? No, the idea was to stop leading an accurate trail. Parker waited, hidden by black draperies just to the side of the entrance.

  He let the first one run into the building, then stepped out quickly as the second one barreled through the doorway, and stuck the gun barrel hard into his stomach, and pulled the trigger. It made a very small noise; only three people heard it. One of them was falling to the ground, one was Parker, and the third was trying to turn around and defend himself before Parker could get to him and do the same thing.

  No noise, that was the most vital thing. Parker lunged forward, like a duelist with a sword in his hand instead of a pistol, trying to use the same silencing method as before. But this one, in a panicky scramble, managed to shove Parker’s gun hand to one side, and Parker had to continue the lunge, pushing off with the balls of his feet, driving his shoulder into the guy’s midsection, so that they both toppled over, the other guy backward, landing heavily on his back, Parker on top of him.

  They were about equally matched for size and weight. The shock of landing on his back with Parker on top of him had made the other guy drop his own gun, but now he had the wrist of Parker’s gun hand in his grip and was holding it out away from the two of them, and trying to get his breath together to shout.

  He couldn’t shout. Parker, trying for a
n advantage, trying to do something useful with his other hand, could do nothing for the moment except butt at the other guy’s mouth, feeling the teeth sharp and abrasive against his forehead, having to do something, anything, to keep the guy quiet. While his left fist was kidney-punching, the only thing it was in position to do effectively.

  The guy twisted his head back and forth, trying to keep away from the butting, and then made his mistake. He let go of Parker’s wrist because he was tormented by the butting, he let go and tried to push Parker’s head away, and Parker brought the gun in quickly against the guy’s side, up near the armpit, and fired once.

  The guy thrashed, like a fish on a schooner’s deck, and then stopped. Parker rolled off him and got to his feet and went over to look out the half-open doorway again, and now the space out front was deserted.

  He stepped out, keeping close to the front of the building. Ahead of him was the snow-covered blacktop path marking the line between park sections, all crisscrossed now with footprints, and he knew that path was open and clear down to the right all the way to the central fountain, and that one of Lozini’s men would be down there by the fountain watching the path, waiting for Parker to try and cross it, heading from Alcatraz to Hawaii. And on the other side of the Alcatraz section there was another straight open path separating it from Treasure Island, and that path would also be watched.

  He wanted to get back close to the gate again, but to move to where he could see the gate he would have to cross a minimum of three of those open spokes radiating out from the fountain — from Alcatraz to Hawaii to Pleasure Island to Island Earth. They knew he was in the Alcatraz section now, or they would know it very soon, once Tommy quit hollering out there on the other side of the building and started to make some sense, and with Parker limited to one-eighth of the park, it wouldn’t take them long to find him.

  There was one possibility, down to the right, closer to the fountain. Parker went that way, moving fast, keeping low, keeping to the edge of the path. Ahead of him was another outdoor water ride like the fake jungle over in Voodoo Island, this one a miniature mock-up of San Francisco Bay, dominated by a larger-than-scale Alcatraz Island. It was a gunboat ride, in which the customers during the summer could watch escaping prisoner dolls swimming to freedom, see smugglers, and be “almost” crushed by collapsing Golden Gate Bridge, all the while riding in flat-bottomed boats that looked like no gunboats ever seen anywhere in the world.