With an empty chuckle supposed to be a laugh, Reddel flung open the car door, stepped out into the downpour. The small machine gun was cradled in his arm, the two automatics in his pocket.
“O.K. with me,” he said with perfectly feigned amiability. “But if we bump into more trouble where artillery would help us more than chin waggin’, don’t blame me.”
“We won’t—”
“One thing more, just so we understand each other. Every dollar I’ve got in the world is tied up in this load of coke. We’re goin’ to get it through to Fu Wang — get it through somehow. Understand? If we don’t — well, the less said about that, the better.”
“Meanin’?” Ace inquired meekly, his voice surcharged with mixed fear and curiosity.
“Aw, nothin’ much — only that you two came along fer a share of the profits, and by God yuh’ll get a share of the profits of killin’ those two troopers if we’re nabbed. They can only burn you once — they burn you just as crisp fer two murders as they do for six! If we ditch the artillery and get stopped, we’re S.O.L. — if we keep it, we can shoot our way clear.”
“Tell yuh what,” Ace said slowly, carefully. “Let’s keep the automatics. They ain’t hard to hide. Just ditch the shot gun and the machiner.”
Reddel laughed. He yanked the two automatics from his pocket, flung them on the seat beside Ace. “Thought yuh’d see the light. When we get back to New York, yuh’II see other lights, too!”
Ace winced under the veiled threat. Mike thrust the shot gun toward the boss of the expedition with a terse, “make it snappy. I craves distance!”
Reddel snatched the weapon, walked swiftly to the road guard. He was over the cable, trudging down the slight slope of ankle deep mud. Just as he reached the first of the gigantic oaks, the sharp bark of an automatic roared above the sound of rain pelting upon trees.
A gargling noise escaped Reddel’s agonized lips. Death cut short his incoherent plea for mercy. He staggered a few feet as though badly intoxicated. He dropped the cumbersome weapons of death. At the base of an oak he pitched heavily to the soft blanket of dead leaves.
“I guess we won’t see those other lights he was chinnin’ about, hey Mike?” Ace barked.
“No. We won’t — if you go and make sure he ain’t goin’ to recover.”
“Sure I’ll go. I’ll take both the automatics with me! I ain’t the wise guy Reddel always claimed to be — but I’ve got some common sense. And I know that twenty grands’ of coke might make yuh try ter slip me the same dose Reddel got!”
“I won’t. I’ll play square with you as long’s you do the same with me.”
Ace took the automatics with him nevertheless. It was a useless precaution. Reddel was as dead as the leaves. Ace was back in the car again in a moment, slamming the door.
“The steadier that speedometer sticks around sixty, the better I’ll like it,” he said.
That delightful ecstasy of a man who suddenly, unexpectedly finds himself the possessor of a tidy sum, warmed Mike. He settled down to the business of lessening the miles that lay between their location and the almond-eyed, parchment-skinned power of the underworld who would eventually exchange crisp greenbacks for the cocaine. Mike was effervescent with good cheer.
“How’s it feel to be rich?” he laughed over his shoulder.
“I ain’t thinkin’ about that!” Ace grumbled, a tremor in his voice. “I never count my eggs ’till I’ve got chickens to lay ’em. I’d give a lot to be in Fu Wang’s den right now. I’ve got a hunch we’re headin’ fer the cemetery. Wish I’d have steered clear of this whole damned business.”
The words inspired Mike. Twenty thousand dollars’ worth of the insidious drug would, profit considered, soon be converted into twenty-five thousand dollars in cold, easy-to-spend cash. Twenty-five thousand divided between two. Humph. Not so bad — and yet, why divide it? If he could have it all... he would! The resolution came as sharply, as suddenly as the terrible flash of lightning that seemed to strike close at hand. Mike glanced at the miniature watch upon the dash.
“I’ll make Albany by three o’clock,” he remarked with extraordinary friendliness. “You’ll just be in time to grab a ticket and swing on to the New York bound Montreal Limited. If your knees are rattlin’ that bad, yuh can go—”
“And leave all the snow with you?” Ace snapped belligerently.
“Cripes! I’ve heard about guys wantin’ doughnuts with a dime plate of soup — you tie ’em! You’d get a kick out of me takin’ all the chances and handin’ yuh half the pickin’s on a silver platter, hey?”
A brief struggle between lure of cash and fear locked Ace’s lips. Eventually he hurled defiantly, “I’ll stick! I’ve gone through half of it — I won’t leave all the cake fer you!”
Mike scowled blackly. A blaze of hatred and greed seered him.
“Stick then, but quit groanin’. And if there’s another shindy, don’t forget to do your bit! You can start now by takin’ this wheel fer a while.”
The switching of places was an ill-destined move. Ace had barely settled down behind the wheel when an illuminated sign at the roadside brought a screeching of brakes.
“Construction work ahead. Proceed with caution and at your own risk,” Mike read aloud with drooping spirits.
The overwrought Ace cursed a blue streak and started the car again. A stiff grade, deep holes and treacherous mud made difficult going for some minutes. At last they reached the summit of the tortuous stretch, rounded the last bend and were face to face with a steep descent.
“Long Valley,” Mike informed, as through the gloom the blinking cluster of lights far below met his eyes.
“Looks like we were on the top of a mountain — as if that was hell way down there,” Ace groaned and hesitated about beginning the perilous dip.
“Sit here and wait!” Mike barked. “Maybe an angel will carry us down.”
“I’d better go down in — God! What’s that?”
The three words were brimful of agony. Half way down the rutted, sharp decline, a tiny white light was bobbing up and down. Mike’s eyes were wide with wonder; Ace’s with fear. Simultaneously their minds reverted to earlier events of the dismal, fatal night. They were experiencing again that spasm of fear, that need of a quick decision that faced them when two troopers had signalled them to stop; signalled them in this very positive manner.
For a few seconds they were mute with terror, both their minds blazing with possibilities. Had Ace’s prophesies of burning telephone wires come true? The car started backward with a jerk.
“You damned fool, you can’t turn around here!” Mike snarled. “There isn’t room enough — they’d be here before you got half way ’round! Go ahead! There’s no two ways about it — yuh’ve got to go down. Here! Take one of these gats — let them do any talkin’ that’s necessary. Step on it! Damn the springs — let ’em break!”
Teeth chattering, hands trembling, Ace shot the car forward. The hill, the heavy foot upon the accelerator, soon resulted in a forty-five mile clip. The sedan bobbed around like a cork in an angry sea. Closer came that waving, sinister light; tenser became Ace’s and Mike’s fears for tires, springs, mechanical failings.
With an agonized cry, a realization that death was probably a matter of scant minutes, the pair discerned a light car diagonally across the torn road. There was no room for them pass; neither to the left nor right. In the glare of their own headlights they saw the tell-tale shining belt of a trooper’s uniform.
“The left!” Mike screamed frantically. “Your only chance! Ram it — ram it hard! That light boiler will swing around!”