Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

It was the hollow whisper over the paging system. He was where she had known and dreaded he would be: in the lobby below, at the reception console.

“You’re too clever for your own good. You can’t escape. You can only prolong the misery. If you had gotten in that elevator, it would all be over by now.”

She stared out the windows at the black skyscrapers in the distance, as the voice filtered out of the dimness around her.

“Now it’s going to be a long drawn-out business. But the end is certain. I’ve propped open the fire door, so you can’t get by without my seeing you. And I’ve called all the elevators. When they get here I’ll block the doors open. Then I’ll come up the stairs.”

He broke off for a moment, and there was only the hum of static from the speakers.

Then he was back. “That was the second elevator. I’ve blocked it. Only two more left. Why wait, Susan? Get it over with. Just walk down the stairs. One instant of pain, and it will all be over with. Just walk down the stairs.”

He clicked the receiver down and the speakers were silent. Another elevator must have arrived.

Susie buried her face in her hands and gave a strangled sob. She was trapped. There was only one means of escape from her fear. For a second, she was on the brink of yielding to him.

With an effort, she dropped her hands to her sides, opened her eyes and looked at the empty lobby around her. The man’s assured, persuasive voice, with its veneer of sympathy, had held her mesmerized, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an onrushing car. But it wouldn’t work. She would not give up. If she had time, she would use it. When Hellmuth came for her, he would not find her unarmed.

There must be something she could use as a weapon. She nearly sank into hopelessness again as she cast her mind over the contents of the office: books, files, pencils... Nothing that would help.

And then Susie had it. With a steady hand, she unlocked the security door and went through to the reception area. Her weapon was in the copying room, and she started to run down the hall toward it — then hesitated.

She turned back to the door. There was no use locking it, for Hellmuth had the key. But still she stood swinging the door to and fro on its hinges for a few precious seconds. The weapon was not enough. She needed something that would give her an opportunity to use it. Her idea, once again, was for a practical joke — the oldest, dumbest practical joke in the world. But it would give her a chance... if she had time to set it up.

In fact she was ready for Hellmuth in plenty of time. She heard his footsteps echoing up the concrete stairwell, and through the crack in the door she watched him cross the lobby toward her. He was moving slowly, breathing hard from his exertions.

He paused in the doorway, frowning at her where she sat behind the reception console. That smug, contemptuous frown.

“It would have been easier if you’d come down, Susan. For both of us.”

She was silent.

“It’s over now, in any case. Come out from behind that desk. You can’t—”

“Shut up!” Susie shouted at him. “I’ve heard enough talk from you.”

His jaw set and his right hand came up, holding the heavy paperweight. He threw the door open. The Black’s Law Dictionary slipped from its perch atop the door and slammed onto his shoulder.

He gasped in pain and staggered forward. “Of all the stupid — you—”

He did not finish. Susie leapt from behind the console and swung at him.

The blade from the paper cutter was not very sharp, but it was heavy, and it had all her strength behind it. There was a gritty thud as it cut through to the bone of Hellmuth’s forearm. He cried out and clutched at his wound. But he did not let the paperweight fall.

Susie fell back a step, gripping the cutter tightly in both hands. “Drop it,” she pleaded hoarsely. But a look at Hellmuth’s face told her that he would not.

He transferred the paperweight to his bloody left hand and came at her again. Susie hefted the blade to her shoulder and swung it two-handed, like an axe.

The blow caught him squarely on the temple. He toppled over. Black blood seeped from beneath his thinning hair into the elegant beige carpet.

Susie dropped the blade and backed away, choking on sobs of horror and relief. She spun and ran. Ran twenty-one stories, down to the street.

Stakeout by Dan J. Marlowe

An unauthorized surveillance is a tricky business. It gets trickier when one corpse too many turns up!

* * *

I cut the ignition and switched off the car lights at the blinking yellow signal of the intersection. Beside me on the front seat, my detective partner, Tony Costanza, checked the set of his shoulder holster as our unmarked black police sedan rolled ahead silently into the next block.