Safer Dead

The detective across the way was staring at me and, as I met his eyes, he glanced at his watch and then at the door. It was a gentle hint for me to get moving. I reluctantly shoved back my chair and walked to the bar entrance.

‘Here I go,’ I said to one of the beefy men sitting by the door.

‘About time,’ he growled. ‘I want to get home sometime tonight.’

I thought it was pretty heartless of him, but could see his point of view. I went over and collected my hat and coat and went out on to the street.

I had taken seven steps towards the Florian club when it happened.

III

A big, black car without lights shot out of a dark turning. As soon as I saw it had no lights, I knew it was coming for me. I had no chance to duck back into the restaurant; it was coming too fast for that. There was no sheltering doorway at hand. I was right out in the open and I felt as naked as a fly on a wall.

I got the gun out and started running towards the car with the crazy idea of running past it before it could get at me. I caught a glimpse of the driver: a little man with his hat pulled down low over his face, crouching down behind the wheel. There was another man in the back of the car with what looked like a riot gun in his hands. The barrel was resting on the top of the open window.

I lifted the .45 and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a crash that deafened me and its kick back nearly had the gun out of my hand. It was a lucky shot. The slug smashed the windshield of the car which swerved crazily as the riot gun opened up with a deafening clatter.

If the car hadn’t swerved, I should have been cut down by the stream of slugs that smashed into the sidewalk about a yard ahead of me.

I threw myself face down in the gutter. The car lurched across the road, the on-side wheels missing me by about three feet. It crashed into a lamp standard.

I rolled over. The dark night lit up with the revolver flashes as my bodyguards came into action. Slugs hummed through the air, more glass in the car smashed. I hugged the road, feeling sweat on my face, scared silly. I listened to the thud of running footfalls. Lying still, my gun hand thrust forward, I looked over at the car.

The offside door hung open. I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure, crouching behind the car, then the riot gun opened up again and a stream of slugs passed just above me. I took a snapshot at the crouching figure. My bullet must have winged him for he dropped the gun and flopped on the sidewalk. His sharp yelp of pain made sweet music in my ears.

Peters and Scaife came running up.

‘He’s behind the car - watch out!’ I gasped.

Peters darted across the road while Scaife, taking no chances, sprinted up the road, crossed to the other side so he could get a safe, long shot at the gunman.

I saw the gunman snatch up the riot gun and I yelled a warning to Peters, who swerved. The gun chattered and Peters went down, his gun falling from his hands.

Scaife fired three times.

The gunman dropped the riot gun, tried to straighten, then dropped limply.

‘I got him!’ Scaife called.

Stiffly I got to my feet. My legs felt wobbly. The three detectives from the restaurant who had been crouching in the doorway, came over. The four of us joined Scaife on the far side of the car.

I looked at the dead man as he lay, still clutching on to the riot gun, on his back on the sidewalk. It was my hophead all right. His white face was a snarling mask of death.

‘There’s another guy in the car,’ I said.

Scaife looked in the car.

‘You got him with your first shot,’ he said, then went around the car and over to Peters, who was sitting up holding his arm and cursing.

Two patrol cars came roaring down the street, their sirens blasting. Creed got out of one of the cars and joined Scaife. They bent over Peters, then leaving Scaife to look after him, Creed came over to me.

‘You okay?’

‘Just about,’ I said, leaning against the wrecked car. ‘Is Peters badly hurt?’

‘He’ll be okay,’ Creed said and stared down at the dead gunman. ‘Is this your man?’

‘Yes. Ever seen him before?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

An ambulance came up and two more squad cars. By now there was a big crowd, gaping from the sidewalks.

Scaife came over.

‘Seen him before?’ Creed asked, nodding at the dead gunman.

‘He’s a new one on me,’ Scaife said.

‘Well, okay: the show’s over,’ Creed said. ‘You’d better get back to your hotel.’ This to me. ‘Go with him, Scaife. I don’t reckon they’ll try again, but we won’t take any chances for tonight.’

‘Come on, hero,’ Scaife said. ‘The excitement’s over. I told you it wasn’t going to be as bad as you thought.’

‘It was bad enough. Anyway, it’s given me something to throw in Bernie’s face for the rest of his life.’

I went with him to one of the police cars.

CHAPTER FIVE

I