I'll Get You For This

  Clair joined me. We squatted on our heels, side by side, watching Lois, who continued to stare up at the upper windows. The moonlight was bright enough for me to see she still favoured Fatal Apple make-up. She looked as coldly disdainful as she had always looked.

  "I'd like to give her a fright," I said, "but as long as Bat keeps out of sight, we'll play possum."

  "Where is he?" she whispered, her hand on my arm. I was surprised it was so steady.

  "I haven't seen him yet," I said. "When I do I'm going to make a little hole in his hide. I'm taking no risks with Bat."

  Lois suddenly turned, walked away, heading for the front of the house.

  Faintly we could hear through the closed window a clink of metal against metal.

  "What's that?" Clair asked, stiffening.

  I listened. Something metal dropped on the concrete, out of sight. It came from the gas-pump section of the station.

  "I don't know," I said uneasily. "I wish I knew what has happened to Ben. It's not his fight. If they've hurt him . . ."

  Clair's grip on my arm tightened. "Please don't do anything rash—–"

  "I won't, but I'm getting tired of letting these two roam around as if this is their home," I said. "I'm going into the front room. Maybe we'll see something from there."

  She went with me. As we reached the lobby, a wild scream rang out. The sound came from the front of the house.

  I darted forward, but Clair hung on to me.

  "It's a trap," she said- "Wait . . . listen . . ."

  I paused.

  A car engine suddenly roared into life, gears clashed, tyres screeched on the driveway.

  I darted into the sitting-room, lifted the curtains, peered out.

  The Plymouth sedan was roaring down the driveway. It turned as it reached the highway, belted away into the night.

Lois Spence was lying on the concrete by the air towers.

I jumped to the front door.

"Wait," I said to Clair, threw off her restraining hand, opened the door.

"No!" she cried. "Don't!"

I slipped out, waved her back, reached Lois as she struggled to rise.

  Her face was ghastly with terror. A red-blue mark showed on her face where she had been struck.

  "He's lit a fuse to the gas dump," she mouthed at me. "Get me out of here! My God! We'll be blown to hell! The stinking rat double-crossed me! Get me out of here."

  She grabbed at my pyjama jacket. I wrenched free, leaving a strip of material in her hand.

  "Clair!" I yelled frantically. "Quick! Come to me! Clair!"

  I dashed towards the house, saw Clair in the doorway, yelled to her again.

  The whole sky seemed suddenly to split open; a long tongue of orange flame rushed up into the night, and I was conscious of a tremendous noise.

  I saw Clair, her hands before her face, her eyes wide with terror. I couldn't run any more. I was crouching, my hands over my ears when a blast of suffocating air struck me down.

  I struggled up on my knees, saw the house sway, crumble, tried to yell, then the ground kicked up, trembled, and another tremendous explosion ripped open the shattered night sky. Blast picked me up and threw me away as the house came down like a pack of cards.

6

The nurse beckoned. I stood up, braced myself, crossed the corridor. "You can go in now," she said. "You'll keep her quiet, won't you? She's still suffering from shock."

I tried to say something, but words stuck in my throat. I nodded, went past her through the open doorway.

  Clair was lying in the small bed facing me. Her head was a helmet of white bandages; her right hand was bandaged too.

  We looked at each other. Her eyes smiled. I went over, stood beside her.

  "Hello," she said. "We made it, darling."

  "We made it all right," I said, pulling up a chair. "It was a close call, Clair. Too close. I thought I wasn't going to see you again." I sat down, took her left hand.

  "I'm tough," she said. "Did they say if I—I—–"

  "It'll be all right," I assured her. "You're more scorched than burned. You'll look as lovely as ever when they're through with you."

  "I wasn't worrying for myself," she said. "I didn't want you to have an ugly wife . . ."

  "Who said I had a pretty one?" I said, kissing her hand. "Someone's been kidding yon."

  She fondled my hand, stared at me.

  "There's not much left of our home, is there?" she asked in a small voice.

  I shook my head. "It's all gone," I said, ran my fingers through my hair, smiled at her. "It was a lovely blaze while it lasted."

  Her eyes darkened. "What are you going to do, darling? You won't get unsettled?"

  I patted her hand. "No. I'm going to build again. As soon as you're better we'll talk it over. I have ideas. We can build that restaurant of yours. The joint's well insured. There won't be any trouble about money. It'll take a little time, but maybe it'll turn out to be a good thing in the long run. I never did like the position of the station. I'll rebuild it facing the road."

  "What happened to them?" she asked, gripping my hand.

  I knew that question had been on her mind ever since she had recovered consciousness.

  "Lois is here," I said. "She was pretty badly burned. The Doc doesn't think she'll get over it."