Freddie crossed the room, and the keys all had neatly lettered little cardboard tags attached to them with white string. He started to read the tags.
"He says the time is — hey!"
Freddie spun around, to see another of the plug-uglies in the doorway, staring at his unconscious friend. Hell and damn.
The guy turned and left the doorway at the run, yelling, "He's here! He's here!"
"Later," Freddie told the chief. Dropping the nightstick, he ran from the office before he could be trapped inside it, and got out just as the doorway filled with the whole crowd of them.
The cop was a fast thinker. "Bosco!" he cried at one of the plug-uglies. "Keep an eye on the broad! The rest of us, let's see if he's still in here. Freddie?"
They moved forward into the room, the three men, spreading out, holding hands. "You here, Freddie?"
Freddie was not there. Freddie was approaching the guy who'd been left to watch the broad.
In the old days, when people knew what they were doing, plug-uglies did not wear neckties. Plug-uglies wore turtleneck sweaters, as you can see from looking at all the old photographs, and plug-uglies knew why they wore turtleneck sweaters. It was because turtleneck sweaters have nothing on them an enemy can hold on to.
A necktie is a handle. Freddie grabbed this clown by the handle, ran him full speed across the front hall, and drove his forehead into the stairway newel post with such force the wood cracked.
The clown kissed the carpet.
Immediately the cop was in the office doorway, looking up from the guy on the floor, glaring around the hall, saying, "Freddie, Freddie, why be so unfriendly? Do you want the law to get you? Would you rather explain your life of crime to the chief in there?"
Too late, Freddie realized the cop wasn't just talking, he was also moving; suddenly he made a dash for the front door, Freddie scampering after him.
Too late. When Freddie got to the porch, the cop was crouched over Peg, and a long knife was pressed to Peg's throat, and Peg was looking very worried. "Listen to me, Freddie," the cop said, staring at the doorway. "If I feel one thing, one touch, she's dead."
"Then so are you," Freddie said.
The cop swung his eyes to where Freddie had just left. "Maybe," he said. "Second. But she goes first. Are you ready to talk?"
Why wouldn't somebody passing by see a man on a porch holding a knife to a woman's throat? Why weren't people more observant?
The cop was saying, "Peg, untie those knots now, they're real easy, just pull the loops. Move slow, Peg, then we're all going back inside."
Freddie was already back inside, where the lawyer and the last plug-ugly were standing around in the hall, blinking a lot. Freddie went around them and back into the office, and this time he found the right damn key and used it to undo the chief's right cuff. Pressing the key into the chief's hand, he whispered, "Do something, okay?"
The chief nodded, and Freddie turned, and the lawyer was in the doorway. "He's in the office, Barney!"
"That's it," Freddie said, crossing the room toward the row of hats. "I've had enough of you, pal." He picked up the fire ax and headed for the lawyer.
Who screamed, and flung his hands in the air, and ran from the room. Freddie followed, the fire ax out in front of him, and in the front hall were the cop and Peg, he behind her, one arm around her waist, the other hand still holding the knife to her throat as he backed them both into the parlor.
"Leethe!" the cop yelled, forgetting to say "mister," as the lawyer ran right by him and out the front door and off the porch and down the walk and away, his shoes apparently having thick enough soles so the thumbtacks and pushpins didn't bother him. Or maybe they bothered him but he was too busy running away to be bothered by something bothering him — that was also possible.
"Leethe!" the cop yelled. "Come back!"
But Leethe was long gone, and Peg was staring in shock at the ax in midair, and then she shouted, "Freddie! Look out!"
A heavy weight tackled him from behind. The ax went flying, and Freddie was driven face first into the carpet, very near the unconscious plug-ugly.
He'd forgotten the third one, dammit, and the guy had snuck up behind him, guided by the ax. Of course, he couldn't see Freddie, but now he could sure feel him, and had him in a bearhug on the floor.
The cop was still backing away into the parlor with Peg, and he called, "Bring him in here! Hold on to him, and bring him in here! Alive!"
Freddie writhed and twisted, and got his left arm free, and swung it up and back, and his elbow connected with something or other. He did it again, and hit the same something, so he did it again. On the fourth whack, the weight above him shifted, and he managed to twist around, and now he was faceup, with this bulky monster straddling him, trying to hold on to him with both hands.
Freddie punched the guy in the face. The guy responded by taking a swing where Freddie's head should be, and getting it absolutely right. Freddie's head spun. He reached up, blindly, and his hand found the guy's necktie, and he grabbed it in his fist and turned his fist over, tucking the fist in under the guy's chin, then grabbing that fist with his other hand to make a bigger mass that he was pressing into the guy's Adam's apple while the necktie pinned him there, and now he was strangling the son of a bitch.
Who reached down, pawed his fingers over Freddie's face, found his neck, and now the son of a bitch was strangling Freddie. Neither would let go, and Freddie had no confidence that he would win this contest, but then all at once the son of a bitch said, "Ah," and fell facedown on top of Freddie, and over his unconscious shoulder Freddie saw the chief, with the nightstick.
"Ah-hah," Freddie said. "You are good for something. Get this guy off me, will you?"
The chief pulled, and Freddie crawled out from under, and looked over toward the parlor, and in the doorway were the cop and Peg, same as ever.
"I'll call the state boys," the chief said, backing away toward his office.
"Wait!" Freddie said, staggering to his feet. "Not yet."
The cop gave a sour laugh. "You don't want more law, Freddie," he said, "any more than I do."
"Chief," Freddie said, "why don't you handcuff those guys, before they wake up. And the one in the office, too."
"Good idea."
Moving toward the cop and Peg, as the chief went into his office for handcuffs, Freddie said, low and fast, "You're screwed here, cop, it isn't working. Let Peg go and I'll get you out of here. Otherwise it's a standoff until the state cops come, and then what? We're all screwed. I don't want law all over me and you don't want law all over you."
The chief came back out to the hall and went to one knee, to handcuff the sleeping palookas. The cop stared at the chief while he tried to think out his alternatives, and of course, one of his alternatives was simply to use the knife on Peg, who'd caused all this trouble by bringing him here to the police chief; then maybe he could make a run for it in the confusion.
Freddie didn't want the cop to give serious consideration to that option, so he pressed a little, saying, "You don't have weeks to make up your mind here. You let Peg go, she goes out and starts the van, and then we follow."
The chief was done with the handcuffs. Getting to his feet, he said, "I'll let the fellas out of the basement, then call the state boys."
"Not yet, Chief, okay?"
The chief looked toward Freddie's voice, bewildered. "Why not?"
"I'll explain," Freddie promised. "Just go along with me for a minute, will you do that?" To the cop, he said, "I know you're just gonna keep after me, so when we get outta here we'll talk it over, we'll make a deal. Let her go, let's get out of this place."