by P. N. Elrod
“His opinion don’t come into it.”
“Say I do this swap, what do you do?”
“I kick Thorp’s legs out and run like hell. In this dark and these woods, they’re not going to find me. All I need is a head start.”
“Then I don’t see you again.”
“Yes, you will. The Nightcrawler Club in Chicago. You ask for me or Gordy.”
“Why don’t you kick my legs out and run?”
“Because you’re younger and in better shape than Thorp. He’s limping badly. I can outrun him with my hands tied, but not you. While he’s looking for me, you can have your fun with the skirt and no one’s the wiser. Finish out whatever Swann wants done, then tomorrow you get on a train to Chicago.”
We reached the fence: weathered wood rails, only four feet high, but I wasn’t going over it easily.
“Sounds good, bo’,” he admitted. “Stand right there.” He turned me so my back was against the fence. “Now hold still.”
He suddenly stooped, grabbed my ankles, lifted strongly up, pushing and flipping me right over to the other side. I folded, tucking my head and completing a clumsy somersault. By the time I was on my feet, bruised and spitting mad, he’d jumped over.
He grinned. “You make a hell of a case, bo’, but I don’t know you.”
“I’m on the straight, dammit!”
“No, you ain’t. You tripped when it came to the skirt. You talk big, but you wouldn’t throw her to a wolf like me. You don’t want her hurt or you’d have made your move sooner when Kaiser had her.”
Bright bastard. Not what I’d anticipated, dammit.
He shoved me forward. The others had gone farther in than fifty yards. Flashlight beams bobbed erratically between the tree trunks ahead, but I couldn’t make out details. Remke pushed me again, and this time I tripped on something and fell hard. I barely remembered to keep my thumb looped in the rope to hold it tight.
Behind us, Thorp paused, watching from the other side of the fence. “Is he getting fresh?” He pressed the gun against Izzy’s temple.
Single-minded bastard.
Unbidden came the memory of examining Endicott’s skull with its entry and exit holes. I went still, my head down.
“He’s fine,” Remke answered. “Get up, rich man.” He caught my near arm and pulled until I stood. Strong son of a bitch.
“Remke,” I said. “Listen to me: how much for just the girl? You get her out of here and I’ll set you up for life.”
“Can’t do that if you’re dead—and you will be. Sorry, bo’, but like the man said, when your number’s up, it’s up.”
“How long are you going to last with Swann? He can’t take the chance that you might blab the real story about tonight’s work.”
“Who’s Swann? Never heard of him.”
Thorp was occupied getting Izzy and himself over the fence. He’d pocketed the gun, keeping one big hand clamped to her wrist as her lifted her over, then followed himself, landing heavily. She tried to twist clear, but he slapped her, which first shocked, then pissed her off. She surprised me with the name she called him, and began fighting in earnest, kicking, scratching, cursing, and, when he tried to put a hand over her mouth, biting.
Remke found it entertaining.
She was hampered by the coat and too small to do Thorp much damage, but she had him—them—distracted.
I unhooked my thumb, slipped my hands free, and swung hard. Remke dropped without a word of warning to his pal. I rushed toward Thorp, but things had changed in that brief span of time.
Izzy rolled on the ground, clawing at my coat, trying to get out of it. Thorp must have shoved her down. He had his gun pointed at her again, but was looking at me, showing his teeth.
Izzy screeched something, defiance, denial—
Shot.
The surrounding fir trees muffled the flat report.
I slammed into him a half second too late. We flew backward into the fence with such force that the old wood snapped, and we went crashing through. We rolled in the frozen rough. I fell clear of him, staggered upright, and in two steps loomed over his body. I bent, grabbing a handful of coat, lifting him.
I’d rip the bastard apart.
But before I could deliver that first crippling blow, something tugged at my raised fist.
I nearly swatted it away, but Izzy screamed my name. She was unharmed and in one hell of a hurry.
“I got him first,” she was saying. “Let’s go!”
The salty, stinging scent of blood filled the air.
She tugged harder. “Come on!”
Thorp bled from his left side, just under the ribcage. Some of it had smeared on me. Between getting shot and hitting the fence, he was out for the count.
Couldn’t help myself, I grabbed and hugged her. She went oof, and told me to lay off.
“What did—how did—?”
She had a gun and held it up. “You gave me two of these, remember? They found one, but I hid the other in your overcoat pocket for Jonathan. In case he woke up.”
“I could kiss you, Einstein.”
“Later!” She bobbed away.
I kept pace as she tore down the path toward the break in the hedge. The others would have heard and be on the move. If we could make it to the truck I might be able to hotwire it before they caught up and she could—
Shot.
The bullet zipped by my ear with that angry bee sound. Flinching, I stumbled, but caught myself in time.
“Keep running,” I yelled at her. “Don’t look back!”
She ran, but passed the hedge break, heading for a stand of trees a few yards on. Good girl. They were too close behind, and there was no cover near the driveway that I’d noticed. She had a better chance hiding and being missed in the rough, though it would slow her.
Soon as she was in the trees, I vanished and doubled back, skimming the ground, listening as best I could for pursuit.
Swann must have sent other men on ahead of the truck. There were more here than himself, Kaiser, and the two diggers. I rose high, fighting the tug of wind and working to keep oriented so I faced the ground. Partially re-forming, I made out the foreshortened shapes of a dozen men spreading out from the break in the fence. Two went through the hedge to cover the truck, the rest were clearly after Izzy.
She was on the move, threading between the trees. My black coat made her less visible, but would work against her in a stretch of snow. The trees were a thin divider only yards wide between one section of the golf course and another. She hurried along the length of it, but would soon be forced to cross open ground when it ran out.
I dove, gaining weight and solidity, landing hard on the back of the man in the lead, driving him forward and down. We made a racket, swiftly drawing others. By now I didn’t care who saw what, and faded in and out like a bad light bulb, throwing punches, ducking, weaving, not letting anyone get a lick in for himself. I counted on the general darkness and chaos of my one-man free-for-all to hide the cheating. It seemed to work. When I hit, they stayed down. I lost count of how many as more kept coming.
Someone got his timing right and tackled me, but I vanished before striking ground and slipped clear of the mess. Rising again, I went high and pushed against the wind, aiming for the hedge.
Solid on its other side, I took care of the two men watching the truck, climbed into the cab, and hammered the horn. It might draw them away from Izzy; maybe a nearby resident would call the cops about the noise, though a big bunch like this would have no scruples about removing the law.
One of them came through the hedge opening, yelling to his pals to follow. By then I’d quit the truck and was loping down the road for all to see.
Surprisingly, no one fired. Before, they’d been packed in too close to risk it, maybe now they didn’t want the commotion.
I waved my arms like a lunatic, yelling as though in a panic. I was hard to miss. More men poured through the break in the hedge. It was like the Keystone Cops, but with black overcoats.
I cut across the road, aiming for the winter-bare trees on the side opposite the hedge. Once under their thin cover, I invisibly doubled back again, rising and letting the wind do the work. It would take me in Izzy’s direction while the goons below wasted time beating the bushes.
Floating in that grayness felt good, but had a price. When I landed and went solid I had to grab a tree trunk to keep my feet. Black spots clouded my view, and my head hurt like blazes for a moment. So much activity was draining me dry.
I could hear the mugs in the distance, calling to each other, trying to regroup. I looked and listened for Izzy, but there was no sign of her, and she didn’t reply when I cautiously whispered her name.
Venturing to the end of the trees, I found her footprints in the snow. She’d struck off in a straight line to the next patch of rough which curved to the right, leading toward the fence again. I took off after her, running flat out. It used up less of me than vanishing, and there was no track team in the world who could keep up.
Of course, bullets are faster.
I kept anticipating one catching me in the back. That’s how it started on that first night a few hours after my murder. Not knowing it was already too late, I’d run for my life, until Fred Sanderson’s shot brought me down. The shock of pain, the fall, the smell of my own blood, that first brief, barely noticed vanishing that healed me, had left an impression. The memory came back sharply now as I tore over this open stretch, slogging through snow instead of sand.
No bullet stopped me this time; I made it to the trees and called to Izzy. She couldn’t be that far. Would she follow the line toward the fence or go across the course? Somewhere there had to be a club house, some building where she could find a phone. They might be closed, but if need be she’d just let herself in with a rock.
No footprints. . .the smooth grounds were too wide here for her to risk another sprint. She had to be getting tired.
To my right, down the length of the fairway, past whatever number hole it was for golfers, men scrambled about with flashlights along the hedge and the broken part of the fence. Someone seemed to be checking on Thorp. Lights flickered among the trees in the length of rough I’d just left. They’d find our prints in another minute and come running.
Damn. I had to draw them off.
I struck out across the widest part of the unmarked snow, leaving a clear and messy trail away from the fence line. They might overlook that her prints weren’t there or think them obscured by mine. No dawdling, I pushed quickly toward another divide in the landscape, reaching it.
It was not connected to the last one, running in the opposite direction and substantially larger. They could waste plenty of time looking for us here.
I hesitated vanishing again, but there was no other way I could get back without leaving signs.
Going solid brought on a worse bout of painful lightheadedness. The home earth packed into my money belt was no help. If I wanted to do more fancy work tonight, I’d need blood.
Too bad for me that I had serious scruples about using people for food.
Too bad for these mugs that they’d backed me into a corner.
If it meant getting Izzy clear, I’d shove the scruples in a box for a few minutes, no problem.
Where the hell was she, anyway?
I trotted through the trees, keeping the bulk of them between me and the clowns milling by the hedge, I called her name, not too loudly, so she’d know to hold her fire.
Her prints were not readily visible, but I spotted part of one in a small patch of snow. That was a huge relief. I’d been worried about guessing wrong and missing her altogether. When I reached the fence, there were clear signs that she’d climbed over. I did the same, checking the ground on the other side. Pine needles, leaves, fallen branches, and other woodsy debris obscured things. The remaining snow was untouched. Where was she headed? Did she know or was she lost, too? She said that the Endicott house backed onto the golf course. Maybe she hoped to reach it or a neighboring house for help. If there were neighbors—this was one isolated piece of real estate.
The bad guys were to the right and behind me. I hoped Izzy knew to veer to the left.
I called to her again, getting no reply. She had a head start, a gun, plenty of concealing cover, and could be trusted to make the most of them. Now would be a good time to find Barrett and see if he was still alive.
But I knew his reaction to that. Whatever his situation, he’d want me to look after the lady.
No problem. I picked my way carefully and quietly, checking for tracks along the way. My night sight gave me the best advantage, but there was no point announcing my presence to a well-hidden lookout. It seemed unlikely they’d have one, but Swann’s crew had brains if Remke was any example. For a moment I really thought I’d persuaded him. Damn, if I could still whammy minds, Izzy, Barrett, and I wouldn’t even be here.
About fifty yards along, I caught the hideous stink that told me the late Mr. Endicott was somewhere upwind.
Yes. I’d been sniffing for him.
I stopped breathing and eased in that direction, taking it slow, half hoping I’d find Swann unguarded. Instead, I nearly tripped over a discarded shovel. Freezing, I listened and looked for all I was worth, but no one was nearby, and the only noise came from the direction of the golf course where bad guys still lurked.
A few yards on, in a small patch of clearing, lay the tarp and its contents, unattended.
No sign of Barrett or Kaiser.
I’d not noticed the latter joining the hunt on the golf course, and he was hard to miss, with or without a body hanging over one shoulder.
New noises suddenly intruded, but they were downwind, and I couldn’t make them out. I wanted to vanish and float in, but held off for the moment.
The closer I got, the louder things got, until they resolved into the unmistakable sounds of a fight. At least one man was breathing hard and cursing in frustration.
The trees parted for another clearing, slightly larger, but still confined. Kaiser was there—the source of the cursing—and so was Barrett. He looked ghastly, his face even whiter than before from pain and effort.
He had a four-foot length of wood as thick as a broom handle, and used it like a fencing sword instead of a club. It was the damnedest thing I’d ever seen.
Kaiser tried to grab it, and he was fast, but Barrett moved like a son of a bitch. He feinted, darted this way and that, stabbing deep when he got an opening, which must have hurt to judge by the cursing.
The end of the stick was ragged, showing wicked splinters. It was one of the shovel handles, the metal end snapped off.
Kaiser stooped and grabbed a rock, throwing like Lefty Grove on his best day. Barrett dodged the missile, slamming the stick down on Kaiser’s wrist. If that had been a real sword he’d have lost his hand, as it is, I heard the snap of bone, and Kaiser roared.
He flailed out with his other arm. Barrett danced back, cut sideways, and connected again at the elbow. No breakage, but no cursing. Kaiser was too breathless. He swiped wide, missed, and staggered backwards between two trees. It limited Barrett’s angle of attack, and then it didn’t matter. Kaiser kept backing, turned, and lumbered away at surprising speed.
The immediate threat gone, Barrett dropped to his knees and put a hand to his head.
“You look like hell,” I said, coming forward.
He didn’t flinch, though I had to be a surprise. “Where the devil have you been?” he asked. His voice was thready.
“Does it matter?” I found a drift, scooped a handful of snow, and made a fat ball. “Here, try this on your goose egg.”
He pressed the improvised icepack to his head and snarled a few strings of English idiom that I recognized as profanity only by their tone and his mood. He was entitled, having been hit hard enough to kill a normal human. He lost momentum and asked about Izzy.
/> “I think she’s that way,” I pointed downwind.
“Is she all right?”
“She was the last time I saw her. When did you come to?”
“Far too soon.”
“Can you walk?”
“Not fast.”
“You need blood?”
“Probably. Where’s Isabelle?”
I pointed again, suddenly worried about his memory. He let me help him up, used his improvised sword like a cane, and we got out of there with him hanging onto my arm.
He wasn’t in shape for more questions, so I gave him the short version of what had happened since he’d been clobbered. I don’t know if one word in ten got through but he didn’t tell me to shut up.