“What policemen?”
“The officers who searched your room last night!”
Nolan said, “Plainclothes? One tall and fat, the other short and dressed for shit?”
“That’s right, that’s them.”
Tulip and Dinneck. That was how they had gotten into his room last night, before the pool skirmish. He hadn’t bothered to check with Barnes; he’d assumed Dinneck and Tulip had gotten in on their own.
“Why the hell did you let ’em in?”
“They had a search warrant... I... I couldn’t refuse them.”
Nolan let him go. Of course. Of course they’d have a warrant. That financial secretary of George’s, that Elliot, had a cousin for a police chief. A guy named Saunders. No trouble getting Dinneck and Tulip a police cover and a search warrant.
“Okay,” Nolan said. “It wasn’t your fault. But you should’ve told me about it later.”
Barnes was dripping sweat; his bald blushing head looked like a shiny, water-pearled apple. “I was afraid, Mr. Webb, I’ll... I’ll tell you the truth. They told me you were a killer, a dangerous psychopath.”
Knowing that Barnes was high-strung, scared easily and would bite almost any line fed him, Nolan leaned over the desk and looked the manager in the eye.
“What I’m about to tell you is confidential, Mr. Barnes,” he said. “I need your sacred oath that you won’t repeat the following to anyone.”
Barnes was confused, but he nodded.
Nolan continued. “I’m an FBI special agent, investigating the illegal sale of hallucinatory drugs here in Chelsey.”
Nolan could see in Barnes’ face that he bought it. It rang true to Barnes; there was a lot of funny business about drugs in Chelsey. He believed Nolan.
Just as Nolan was ready to hand more FBI bullshit to him, Barnes’ eyes lit up like flares and he began to shake.
“What’s wrong?”
“Have... have you been up to your room yet? You have, haven’t you, Mr. Webb?” Barnes shook like a bridegroom at a shotgun wedding.
“No, I haven’t. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Then you better get up there quick! I told you they made me do it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“They came in again tonight, didn’t you know? I thought that was why you barged in here!”
He grabbed Barnes by the lapel again. “When?”
“Ten minutes before you came in, Mr. Webb... I thought you knew...”
“Damn!”
Nolan turned and ran to the door, spoke over his shoulder to Barnes. “Keep everybody away from that room as long as you can. No cops — they’re crooked!”
“Should I call your superiors...”
“Don’t phone anybody, don’t do anything. Just keep your mouth shut.”
Nolan flew out of the office, sprinted to the Lincoln and pulled open the door. “I got visitors in my room, Vicki. Sit tight till I get back. Be alert and make a fast exit if things start looking grim.”
He left her with her mouth open, left before she could stop him to ask questions. He ran lightly across the motel lot and stood in an empty parking space beneath the balcony of his room. He looked up. The lights were on inside, shadows moved behind the curtained windows of the French doors leading from balcony to room. Nolan put his hands in the iron grating and his grip crumbled the crisp brown remains of the vined flowers that had climbed the trellis before the air had chilled. He tested the grating and it felt firm. He inched up slowly, the metal X’s cutting into his hands; only the very ends of his shoe toes would fit into the X’s, and they provided unsure footing. He edged his way up the iron trellis and in a minute and a half that seemed much longer, he found himself parallel to the balcony.
Clamping one hand tightly in one of the grating openings, Nolan withdrew his .38 from the under-arm holster and slipped one leg up and over the side of the balcony. He fought for balance, shifted his weight and landed on the balcony cat-silent.
Nolan faced the four-windowed French doors and watched the shifting shadows on the curtains. He peered through the crack between the doors and saw Dinneck sitting in a chair with his back to Nolan, tossing things from a suitcase over his shoulders, angry because he wasn’t finding anything. Tulip had stripped the bed and was in the process of gutting the mattress with a stiletto.
Dumb bastards, Nolan thought. The room hadn’t told them anything the night before and tonight wouldn’t be any different. Well, a little different maybe.
Nolan slammed his shoulder into the French doors and they snapped open. He kicked Dinneck’s chair in the seat, turning it over on him. Nolan leapt on the chair, heard bones and wood crack simultaneously, and sat on it, pinning Dinneck beneath. He leveled the .38 at Tulip, who stopped frozen, knife over mattress, with the bug-eyed expression of a punk caught stealing hub-caps.
“Raise them, Tulip,” Nolan ordered. “Slow and easy and no games with the knife.”
If Nolan hadn’t mentioned the stiletto, Tulip probably wouldn’t have remembered it, but Nolan had and Tulip did. Like a reflex Tulip whipped the knife behind his ear and let it fly. Nolan ducked, losing control of the overturned chair, and hit the floor. Behind him the stiletto quivered in the wood paneling. Nolan fired the .38 at a fleeing Tulip, caught him in the arm with the shot, which spun him around and sat him down.
That put Dinneck out of Nolan’s mind just long enough for the man to crawl out from under the smashed chair and step up behind Nolan.
And when Nolan remembered Dinneck, it was too late to matter. He turned and saw the toe coming at his face and when he tried to turn away it caught him in the temple and things went black.
He woke thirty-some seconds later and stared into the barrel of his .38, which was now in Dinneck’s hand. Tulip was sitting a few feet away on the partially gutted bed, whimpering, mumbling. “Need it, Dinneck, I tell ya I need it bad... let’s just finish him and get out, huh? What d’ya say?”
Nolan looked past the gun barrel and into Dinneck’s cold, uncompromising eyes.
Nolan said, “What’s Tulip need, Dinneck?”
“Shut up.”
Tulip was rubbing his mutilated arm. The bullet had caught him in the lower shoulder and he was stroking below the wound. The blood from his shoulder was all over his hands and partially on his tear-streaked face, where he’d tried to wipe the moisture from his eyes. He was moaning, “I need some, gotta shoot up, need it bad, real bad...”
“He need a fix, Dinneck?” Nolan asked.
“Shut your goddamn mouth, Webb.”
“Little shot of heroin?”
“I said shut up, you son of a bitch!”
“Where’s Tulip getting his heroin, Dinneck? Is it...”
Dinneck interrupted Nolan by slamming the barrel of the .38 into Nolan’s temple again, then smashing him across the mouth with it.
Nolan’s body went limp, but he wasn’t out. His mouth, his lips felt like a bloody wad of pulp, but he wasn’t out. His temple ached, his head pounded, but he sat back and waited to make his move. He sat back and waited and watched Dinneck’s eyes.
Tulip seemed excited, the pain momentarily forgotten. “Let me shoot ’im, Dinneck — let ol’ Tulip put him to sleep forever—”
Dinneck smiled and shook his head. “Sorry, pal. I got a special grudge against Mr. Webb here.”
Tulip stood up, clutching his bloodied arm. “You got a grudge! Last night that bastard set me on my ass every time I turned around, he knocked out one of my teeth, and a coupla hours ago he kicked me in the fuckin’ head! Now he half shoots off my fuckin’ arm and you gotta grudge.”
“Sit down,” Dinneck said, “and shut up.”
Tulip sat, frowning, caressing the wounded arm again, and Dinneck consoled him with, “Take it easy, man, I’ll see you get your shot, don’t worry, stay cool. Let me handle it.”