“No one’s asking her,” Barada flared.
“I’m asking her,” Novak snarled.
Paula writhed in the chair, straining her wrists and ankles against the cords that bound them. Her lips parted and she moaned, “He’ll kill us. Don’t do it!”
Barada leaped toward the chair. His hand snaked back and the palm slashed across her face. Her head snapped to one side, and she screamed in pain.
Novak jerked around. Al was against the wall with a gun in his hand. “Easy,” he spat.
Barada’s eyes were wild. His arms shook. Novak went slowly to the writing table and sat down. From Paula’s chair came the sound of racking sobs. A soul in torment, utterly without hope.
A sheet of paper lay on the table. Novak reached for his pen. He wondered what was keeping Tags so long. Uncapping the pen he wrote the date at the top of the sheet and turned around. “They’re in my desk,” he said thickly. “I’ll write a note to the night clerk. He’ll get the envelope and turn it over.”
On Barada’s face was a deadly look. He must be mad, Novak thought. A hophead or stir-crazy. He said, “Paula didn’t kill Boyd. Someone else did. Someone who waited there for Boyd to show up with the ninety-grand payoff money. Your story’s a little thin, Barada. Maybe you were the guy. The cops would sort of like that idea.”
“You’re wasting time,” Barada snapped. “Start writing.”
Novak gave him a crooked grin. “Time’s running out, but not for me. The clock’s turning, minutes are fading but I’ve got plenty of time. You forced Paula into trying to get money from Boyd in return for the jewels. Why? Because you owed sixty-five grand to Pike Hammond. Well, Hammond’s in town. Making you the guy in the big hurry, not me.”
Barada’s face was frozen. “Pike?” he gasped. “You’re lying.”
Novak’s head moved slowly. “How would I know if I hadn’t talked to him?”
On the porch the screen door slammed. Tags with the car keys. Careful boys, worrying over car thieves. The thought made him smile grimly. He laid the pen on the table and looked up at Barada. “My mother was Irish,” he said quietly, “and Celts have the gift of second sight.” His head tilted back. “I look at you, Barada, and I see a skull. A bleached skull with hollow eye sockets and a hole in place of a nose. Even as far away as you are you stink of death. It’s perched on your shoulder licking its filthy lips and waiting.” He laughed roughly. “You can’t frighten me, Barada. You’re as good as dead.” His elbow struck the pen, rolling it under the table. As he bent down for it he heard footsteps along the hallway. His hand groped, slid up his trouser cuff, grabbed the pistol and snatched it free. Whirling he dropped to his knees and shot Al. Twice. The reports were sharp and clear. Al bellowed in agony and slid to the floor.
Novak got up, backed to the wall and saw Al’s body shudder and lie still. His gaze fastened on Barada. “Everyone’s been so damn clever the little things get overlooked. Like this.” He moved the snout of the chrome-plated automatic. “On your knees, Barada. Untie her. Fast.”
His eyes gazed at the dark doorway. By now Tags should be among them. What had stopped him? From the corner of his eye he saw Barada fumbling at Paula’s ankles, then a lightning movement of one hand.
Before he could move there was a gun in Barada’s hand. A small one with twin barrels. A gambler’s gun, he thought as he dropped sideways and heard it bark. Then another shot. Deafening and from the doorway.
Barada made no sound. A little derringer fell from one hand. The other was already covering a stain spreading across his chest. The face grimaced horribly, the eyes went glassy and vacant. Suddenly he pitched forward.
From the floor Novak scanned the man in the doorway. A man in a houndstooth jacket and a brittle smile on his handsome face. The cool eyes fixed on Novak.
Pike Hammond said, “You didn’t know about Ben’s derringer. I did.” He opened his coat, put away the Colt. Then he stepped into the room and stared down at Barada. “The most expensive shot I ever made,” he said thickly. “Sixty-five grand it cost me.”
“You can afford it.”
Hammond’s eyes darted quickly at him. “What would you know about that?”
“You don’t work for anyone, Pike. Most everyone works for you. That’s the word from St. Louis.”
Hammond shrugged, lifted his left foot and toed Barada’s body as if it were garbage. “So long, welsher,” he said tautly. “See you in the hot place.”
Paula had fainted. Novak untied the cords, carried her to the sofa, laid her gently down. When he looked around Hammond was bending over touching Al’s jugular vein. He shook his head slowly. “Fair shooting, Novak. Even if it took two.” He straightened up and went to the sofa. For a long time he studied Paula’s face and then he turned to Novak. Almost reverently he said, “I never saw her before, just heard about her. She’s as lovely as they said. Maybe she won’t like my killing Big Ben.”
“She could get over it,” Novak said in a strained voice. “Take her on a long trip, Pike.”
His lips pursed. “I could ask her,” he said in a distant voice. Then one eyebrow lifted. “Unless you staked out a claim?”
Novak swallowed. “I couldn’t keep her in perfume,” he said dully, turned and searched for the two ejected shells until he found them. By then Paula’s eyes were open. She was staring up at Pike Hammond who was seated beside her. Novak heard her say, “I don’t know you.”
Novak dropped the empty shells in his pocket, blew into the pistol barrel. “Meet Pike Hammond from St. Louis. Owner and proprietor of the Stallion Club. The guy who banks what the suckers lose.”
Hammond pulled off his tweed hat. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Norton,” he said gravely. “We ought not stay around here too long.”
Novak said, “What happened to the guy who was supposed to come through the doorway?”
Hammond turned slightly, and a smile played over his lips. “He faded early. How long he’ll sleep is anyone’s guess.”
Paula extended one arm, and Hammond helped her sit upright. She closed her eyes, swayed and opened her eyes again. “I had some bags,” she said quietly. “In the other room, I think.”
Hammond nodded. One hand went inside his coat pocket, pulled out the ostrich wallet and the gloved thumb riffled a deck of crisp bills. Nothing under a hundred. He said, “You’ve earned something. Name it.”
Novak’s mouth twisted. “You shot Barada, not me. I ought to be paying you.”
“I mean it,” Hammond said levelly.
“So do I. Anyway, it’s crook money.”
Hammond’s face darkened. The wallet disappeared inside his coat. His dark eyes held Novak’s. Hammond said, “We’ll let that one pass. Money’s money. It has no race, sex or politics. Money isn’t right or wrong. Not by itself. For a peeper you’ve got too damn much pride.”
“That’s why I stay a peeper.”
Hammond turned and spoke to Paula. “My car’s a couple of blocks away. Shall we get going?”
Her eyes were larger than he had ever seen them before. She walked to Novak and laid her arms on his shoulders. Her fingers laced behind his neck. “Just like that,” she said bitterly, “you’d let me walk away.”
His stomach was achingly hollow, his arms leaden as he drew her against him. “I’ve got a walk-up flat,” he said in a voice that wavered, “a TV set and an electric toaster. Sometimes there’s hot water and sometimes not. I keep long hours, and when I get back to the flat I’m usually too tired to do more than mix a drink and stagger off to bed. That’s no life for you, beautiful. It’s no life for anyone.” He bent his head and caressed the bruised lips gently. “Thanks for thinking of me, beautiful. Buy me a drink next time you breeze through town.”
“I’ll have money,” she whispered. “Half of Chalmers’ fortune.”