by Lee Falk
"Any more?" shouted Koy, glaring at Frenchy. Frenchy looked at Dutch, lying on the ground. Then at the gun in Koy's hand. He shook his head.
"Move," said Koy. The men walked off, following Fats. Frenchy stepped over the body of Dutch and went after them without a backward glance.
As the men followed Fats through the alley to the cellar door leading to Koy's gun room, they stopped. A man was lying on the ground. Banana, the tough little hood from Chicago. Knocked cold. A Skull Mark on his jaw. All made a dash for the cellar where Fats rapidly passed out weapons.
"Not that one," said Pretty, tossing back a rusty six shooter. "That's mine," he said, reaching for a shiny forty- five automatic. Others were similarly busy, finding their own guns, stocking up on ammunition.
"All okay?" said Fats at last.
They looked at each other, crowded in the damp cellar.
"Where's Frenchy?" someone asked.
"He was right behind me," said Sharp.
Sharp peered out the cellar, then swore. Just outside the door, in the alley, Frenchy was lying on the ground, unconscious, a Skull Mark plainly visible on his jaw. And printed on the wall, next to the cellar door THIRTY MINUTES— with the big Skull Mark in dripping black paint
"That just happened. While we were here getting our guns," said Moogar.
Fats rushed to tell Koy, as the men spread out searching for the unknown.
"Banana and Frenchy—in the alley—another sign on the wall, while I was handing out guns," said Fats haltingly, his big face red and perspiring. Koy nodded and then pointed to another fresh wet sign, just discovered on the sign of the Killer Hilton—THIRTY MINUTES—with the Skull Mark. Wet black paint.
Outside, all the town lights and searchlights were on now as the men, three dozen in all, moved slowly among the buildings, avoiding those places where the lights did not reach, where there were darkness and shadows. Koy stood on the veranda of the inn, a gun in each hand, staring at his hotel sign. The tension was getting to him. It came to a head when a scraggly old man lurched up to him. Matthew Crumb.
Outside Killer's Town, a line of vehicles was parked at a safe distance. Patrol cars, police cars. Police and patrolmen were assigned places at various points near the wall. All were heavily armed. Handguns, automatic rifles, riot guns. The teams mov*d off quietly in the darkness. Each unit carried a walkie-talkie radio. Colonel Weeks and Chief Togando established their command post in the Colonel's car near the big main gates. From there, they could keep in contact with all the teams. All the men, Patrol and police, had been briefed before leaving Mawitaan. "We wait for the signal. We don't enter the place. We wait for them to come out to us," he told them. "Who's giving us the signal?" asked one of the senior police officers. "X will give you the order," said Weeks, not answering specifically.
Now Weeks and Togandc waited. Each was armed. With them, a patrolman and policemen.
"We wait here?" asked Togando. "What makes you think anyone will come out?"
"Just a hunch," said Weeks, not knowing what else to say.
They were suddenly tense as a figure passed inside the gates—paused, then vanished.
"Did he set us?" said Togando.
Their car was behind a clump of bushes, their lights out.
"Not likely," said Colonel Weeks. He was wrong. Matthew Crumb had seen them.
Now, as Koy stood on his veranda, fighting the fear of the unknown that was gradually seizing him, Matthew Crumb approached him.
"Mr. Koy," he said. "I been trying to have a talk with you for some time. About my money."
"Who is this?" growled Koy.
"That old bum, the one that owned this place," said Eagle.
Koy, now close to paranoia, grabbed the old man by his ragged shirt collar.
"Is this the guy who's playing those tricks, trying to scare us out, planting those marks?" he shouted.
Crumb choked and sputtered, held in Koy's tight grip.
"Cut it out," raid Eagle with a half laugh. "That old guy knock out Gutsy and Greasy and all the rest? He couldn't knock out a fly."
"Yeah," said Koy. He shoved the old man so he fell on the veranda floor, then kicked him.
"Get lost," he said.
"I'm going to the police, to the Jungle Patrol," muttered Crumb. "I'll put the law on you. I know where they are."
The word "law" clanged in Koy's head. He pointed his gun at the recumbent Matthew Crumb.
"I'll blow him apart, the filthy old tramp!" he shouted. Eagle grabbed his arm. "Come on, Killer," he said. "Let the old man be."
"Eagle," said Koy, "where's Pilot?"
"In your office."
"Let's get him. We're getting out of here."
"Getting out?" said Eagle as he ran after his boss. Koy explained as they reached his office door.
"We'll fly away for a few hours, until they find the spook. Then we come back. By that time, they'll know they got no other place to go."
"That's not a good idea," said Eagle, the lawyer, slowly, afraid to cross his only client
"We're going," said Koy.
Pilot was sitting on the edge of the couch in the office, his head in his hands. Koy grabbed him by the hair, jerked his head up. There was a distinct Skull Mark on Pilot's jaw. His eyes were still glassy. He groaned and tried weakly to pull away. Koy held him by the hair.
"On your feet, flyboy. We're taking a trip."
Eagle helped him lift up the dazed Pilot.
"Killer, he can't fly like this. He can hardly walk."
"He'll be okay with a little air. Give him a swig of this."
He took a bottle of whiskey from his desk, uncorked it, forced the opening into Pilot's mouth, and poured whiskey into him. Pilot sputtered and choked. Whiskey dribbled down his chin.
"That'll do it," said Koy. "Let's go."
"Wait, Killer. What about all that?" said Eagle, pointing to the safe.
The huge safe, as high as a man, weighing four tons, contained all the loot that had been brought to Killer's Town from the four corners of the earth. Koy's share of the heists, and all the cash, gems, and gold held in safekeeping for the others. A fortune no one, including Koy, knew exactly how much. Koy hesitated. But he was shaking with anxiety, anxious to get away.
"The stuff'll keep. No one's going to get in there. We'll be back in a couple hours. It's safer here. Besides how can we carry it? Let's go."
Walking on either side of the staggering Pilot to support him, they left the inn, and made for the wharf where the plane remained tied up. Other men in the background, hunting the unknown, paid no attention to them. But Moo- gar moved near them. He understood the situation in a
glance.
"Hey, Killer. Are you cutting out on us?" he called.
"Get lost," said Koy.
Undaunted, rifle in hand. Moogar strode up to him.
"You ditch us, the boys won't like that, boss or no boss," said Moogar.
"Yeah. Ask them what they think," said Koy, glancing to the side. Moogar looked inquiringly to the side, where Koy had looked. There was no one there. In that moment, Koy swung the butt end of his heavy automatic, hitting Moogar on the side of his head. Moogar dropped without a sound.
"Since when do I ask the boys what they like?" said Koy, looking at the recumbent Moogar. } j
"Come on, Koy, if we're going, let's go," said Eagle, holding Pilot up. Pilot was starting to move under his own power. Koy grabbed his arm and they moved to the dock.
"Where we going?" he muttered.
"For a ride, flyboy," said Koy.
Lying on the dark roof of the warehouse, the Phantom saw the scene with Moogar, then watched as the three men moved to the plane. Koy, obviously, was making a getaway. Did he know the place was surrounded? Not likely. But he was headed for the plane. On the wharf, Pilot became stubborn.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said thickly.
Koy put the big gun under his nose.
"You're flying us, boy," he said.
"Koy, I can't fly. I
'm dizzy. Can't see straight," said Pilot.
"You'll be okay. Just a short trip. Let's move," said Koy.
On the roof, the Phantom aimed his own gun. It's a pity, he thought, but it has to be done. He fired toward the wharf, not at the three men, but at the gas tanks of the amphibian plane. High-octane gas is extremely combustible. Killer Koy's million-dollar beauty blew skyhigh with a tremendous blast, as though hit by a bomb. The three men on the wharf fell to the ground, knocked down by the explosion. Everyone in Killer's Town rushed out into the street as red and yellow flames and black smoke mushroomed into the sky like a miniature atom-bomb explosion. Outside the wall, concealed in the woods, the patrolmen and police jumped to the alert.
"What's going on in there?" asked Chief Togando.
"Wish I knew," said Colonel Weeks. And to himself, he thought, is that the signal?
But it wasn't. The big gates remained closed, locked on the inside by a heavy chain and padlock.
On the wharf, Killer sat on the rough wood staring at the blaze. Tears flowed down his cheeks.
"My beauty, my million-dollar beauty," he sobbed.
Behind him, men were yelling.
'The shot came from up there," Pretty shouted, pointing to the warehouse roof. A dozen men fired their rifles at the roof. Then all was quiet. There was a ladder leaning against the warehouse wall. With a rifle in one hand and his handgun tucked in his belt, Pretty climbed up to the roof. He paused. There, painted crudely on the sheet metal, was the Skull Mark, this time in dripping red paint, with lettering above it
"Hey, guys," he called down. "Here's that skull thing again. Know what it says now? Fifteen minutes left."
Pretty looked around the dark roof, fired a few bullets into shadowy corners, then returned to the ground.
Most of the men in Killer's Town were clustered within fifty yards of the inn, watching Pretty climb down the ladder.
Koy had gotten to his feet and, with a last look back at the burning wreck, he walked away with Eagle.
"Plane's gone. Now what?" said Eagle.
"No way out. Got to find that spook," said Koy.
At the foot of the ladder, Pretty turned to see Moogar staggering toward him.
"What happened? Spook get you, pal?" said Pretty.
Moogar reached Pretty, and sagged, holding onto his shoulder. His head was bleeding.
"Spook—huh—Koy—was trying to make a getaway, in the plane—hit me," said Moogar. He sat down heavily on a box and pressed a handkerchief against his head The men watched as Pretty confronted Koy and Eagle
"You tried to cut out on us, Koy," said Pretty
"So what? This is my town. I do what I want,' said Koy. "He tried to ditch us. How about that?" said Pretty, turning to the watching men. They replied with an angry muttering.
"This is my town. If you don't like it, get out. Right now. All of you," Koy shouted, directing the you to Pretty who faced him.
"Not likely," said Pretty. "We paid a month's rent. Remember?"
"Why you little !" Koy yelled, doubling up his fist,
but Pretty swung first, hitting Koy hard on the jaw. Koy fell to the cobblestones.
'Tm taking over, you 1" said Pretty, kicking Koy in
the side.
He looked around challengingly, gun in hand. The men looked at him, then at each other. Koy's men were there, the insiders like Fats and Sport, as well as the outsiders, the "guests," like Fingers and Pretty. All were armed. All slowly backed away, weapons held alertly, ready to shoct. Eagle and Sport helped Koy to his feet, half-dragging him No shots were fired until all had found cover. No onj knsW what would happen next. Pretty decided that He fire v a shot at Koy and Eagle who were crouched behind a corner of the warehouse. Koy returned the shct. Then a^ began to fire. It was a free-for-all with bullets going in all directions, Koy's insiders versus the outsiders.
Outside the walls, the Patrol and the police heard the firing. Once more they asked each other, "What's going on in there?" And once more, Colonel Weeks thought, is that the signal? But the big gates remained closed. Now, there was a lull in the pitched battle, as men looked for a target or reloaded.
"FIVE MINUTES LEFT. GO NOW!"
The big voice had come from somewhere out of the dark sky. No one was sure just where. The men stared at each other, their mutual hatred forgotten for the moment in the face of the common, unknown enemy.
"This is too much, everything's out of hand," groaned Koy, nursing his aching jaw.
"You've got a civil war on your hands. Got to stop this first," said Eagle, the lawyer. He waved a white handkerchief in the general direction of the concealed Pretty.
"Boys—Pretty, Moogar, all of you—we got to find the spook."
"There's no spook. It's a trick of Killer's, trying to get rid of us," Pretty shouted. He fired in Eagle's direction, and the barrage began again.
The Phantom moved quietly toward the gate. There were no guards there now. The entire town was down at the wharf in the gun battle. At the gate, he peered carefully outside. He knew there was a concealed car in the bushes. It was too dark for him to be seen clearly. He moved quickly, grasped the heavy chain and big padlock, and with a single powerful twist, snapped the chain in two, then vanished in the dark. Weeks and Togando looked up quickly.
"What was that?"
But once more, the steady gunfire inside the town claimed their attention. What was going on?
Once more there was a lull, as the men reloaded, or wondered what they were doing. It all seemed aimless and pointless since that spook was still in their midst. At that moment, the spook chose to speak again. The great voice boomed out.
"THE GATES ARE OPEN. ONE MINUTE LEFT."
"Koy," yelled Pretty, "go to the gate!"
"No tricks?"
"No tricks."
Warily, respecting the armed truce, the men moved to the gate.
Koy, Pretty, Eagle, and a few others examined the chain.
"Chain's torn apart," said Eagle.
"That chain could hold an elephant. Who could tear it?" said Koy.
"Phantom could. Phantom did," said Moogar, pressing the handkerchief against his head. "Look at the lock."
They saw it on the lock. The Skull Mark—the same mark had been floating through their heads all night.
"I've got this spook thing figured," announced Pretty to the others. "Koy hears Moogar spouting this jungle malar- key. He knows a good thing when he hears it. He's got his boys making that Skull Mark and painting that stuff, trying to scare us."
"And why would he do that?" said Eagle as Koy snorted.
"Why? Keep our money, and scare us out of this tow '. » make room for other chumps and their money," innm. icsd Pretty without hesitation. It all made sense to him.
"That's the kinda crazy idea you would come up with," snarled Koy. "Think I'd blow up my own plane, my million-dollar beauty?"
"Why not? You've got plenty of dough. Our dough. Enough to buy a dozen."
Koy turned imploringly to the crowd which was listening skeptically to Pretty. He didn't make much sense to them either.
"Listen, you guys, I know nothing about the spook, but I've had just about enough of this "
And now for the last time, the great voice boomed out of the dark sky. All froze at the familiar sound.
"THE TIME IS UP. GO."
Something in this simple announcement carried final
truth. They believed it. The time was up. Go. Go where? The men began to mill around uncertainly. Some turned back toward the wharf. A few started through the gate. Pretty held them at gunpoint.
"Wait. Dont fall for his bluff. He wants to get rid of us and keep our dough."
"This is no bluff," shouted Koy. "You want this town? Take it. I'm going," he yelled as he threw open the gates.
"No, you don't, you !" said Pretty, and shot him in
the back. Clutching the bars of the gate, Killer Koy looked at him bewilderedly as Pretty stood there grinning with his smoking gun. Mad dog
—have to take care of him, thought Koy as he dropped to the ground. He vaguely heard the explosion as he blacked out.
The explosion was enormous, not one but a series, building to a vast crescendo as the explosives in the warehouse blew up. The destruction of the amphibian plane was like a firecracker next to this. Flames and smoke soared a thousand feet. Wood and metal filled the air, crashing for a half mile around. Everyone in that area took cover as best they could. Most escaped injury. Others were less lucky. Hearing the explosion, Weeks hesitated only for a moment. This had to be the signal. Then a slight beep on his walkie-talkie told him. The deep voice he knew so well, coming from somewhere: "This is it, Colonel Weeks. Take over."