I'll Get You For This

  The door behind me jerked open. I glanced around. A thin, miserable-looking woman half fell into the passage. She wore a dirty kimono, and her hair hung loose.

  "Save me, mister," she gasped, crouching against the wall.

  A big, red-faced man, in shirt sleeves, stepped into the passage, grabbed the woman by her hair, dragged her into the room again. The door slammed. The woman began to squeal.

    Ignoring her, I mounted the next flight of stairs. I was sweating, uneasy. This was a hell of a joint, I decided.

  A naked gas-jet burned at the head of the stairs. It hissed and flickered in the draught. I paused as I reached the landing, looked back. Nothing moved. No one showed.

  If Little Louis had been telling the truth I was now facing

  Bat's door. I stepped across the passage, put my ear against the door, listened.

  A woman said: "God! I'm sick of this. I was crazy to throw in with a mean jerk like you."

  I frowned, slipped back the safety catch of the .38, put my hand on the door handle.

  Bat said: "Aw, the hell with you! I'm sick of you too." His harsh Brooklyn accent was unmistakable.

  I opened the door, went in.

8

  A girl, wearing black lace underwear, had her back to me as I entered. Her legs and feet were bare, her blonde hair piled untidily to the top of her head. A cheap imitation tortoise-shell comb failed to capture the straggling ends of hair from her neck. She was standing by a table on which was the remains of a meal and several bottles of whisky.

  She turned swiftly as she heard the door open, stared at me. All I could see of Bat was his foot and leg. The girl stood directly in front of him. She was sharp-featured and she stared at me with sultry eyes, one of which was puffed and the other had been socked several days ago. She also had a bruise on her throat and her hand held a tall cool glass of amber fluid.

  "Beat it," she said to me. "You've picked the wrong room."

  "I want Bat," I said between my teeth. "Get out of the way."

  She saw the gun, screamed, dropped the glass.

  Bat recognized my voice, grabbed the girl around her waist, crushed her to him. He peered over her shoulder at me, grinned.

"Hello, bub," he said. His brutal face was the colour of mutton fat.

"Let go of the frail," I said. "What's the matter with you. Bat? Milky?"

  The girl struggled frantically to get away, but Bat easily held her. I could see his thick fingers sinking into the loose flesh above her hips.

  "Shaddap, you," he snarled in her ear, "or I'll break your goddamn back."

  She stopped struggling, faced me, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the gun like an idiot child at a moving shadow.

  It puzzled me why Bat didn't go for his gun. I saw his pig eyes glaring, followed the direction. A Luger lay on the mantelpiece, out of his reach.

  I laughed. "For God's sake," I said, "getting careless, aren't you, Hat?" I jumped across the room to the gun. It was my own Luger.

  Bat shuffled round, still holding the girl in front of him. He cursed softly, vilely, backed.

  I had left the door unguarded by my move to the gun. Bat jerked it open, stepped into the passage, dragging the screaming girl with him. The door slammed.

  I snatched up the Luger, shoved the .38 into my pocket, ran to the door. The passage outside was in darkness.

  A door opened at the end of the passage, a man's head appeared. I fired above it. The head jerked back, the door slammed. Voices sounded below. A man bawled up to know what was going on. At the head of the stairs the blonde screamed wildly for help. Her scream was throttled back into her throat.

  If Bat had been on his own I'd have nailed him then, but I couldn't see, and I didn't want to kill the girl. I swore softly, moved out into the passage.

  Bat suddenly yelled: "Gimme a gun, Mike. Quick!"

  I ran towards the sound of his voice. I could just see him with the girl held in front of him, crouching against the wall at the head of the stairs.

  "Come out of it, you yellow rat," I said, caught hold of the girl's arm.

She kicked out, screamed like a train whistle.

Bat made himself small behind her, cursed me, hung on.

  "Let go of her," I panted, dodging her kicks. One of them caught me in the stomach, winded me for a moment.

  I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, turned.

  The red-faced man from the next landing was rushing up, a gun in his hand. He fired wildly at me. The bullet slapped into the wall above my head. I shot him between the eyes. He went down like a pole-axed bull.

  I heard a grunt from Bat, spun around. I hadn't a chance to get out of the way. Bat had caught up the girl, held her above his head. He flung her at me as I tried to dodge. Screaming frantically, she sailed through the air like a shell. She hit me chest high. I went over, heard her wail, then crash through the rotten banisters and thud to the landing below.

  Bat rushed down the stairs, missed his step, jumped. He landed with a crash as I fired after him.

  I waited, listened.

  A ghastly sobbing sound from the girl drifted up the wall of the staircase.

  I peered over the rotten rail into darkness.