He kept saying over and over, "Goddamn every one of 'em! Goddamn 'em all!" His mouth drew back baring the gap in his teeth and he slammed the table with his fist. "Goddamn, this wouldn't've happened if you'd let me do it my way! I would've killed Fallon and that lousy whore he kept and Link and this wouldn't've happened!" I got the eyes this time. They came around slow and evilly. "I'll kill you for it, too."
"You'll get new teeth, Lou," Ed said pleasantly. Everything he said was pleasant.
Grindle gagged again and walked out of the room. Water started to run in a bowl somewhere and he made sloshing noises as he washed out his mouth. Ed smiled gently. "You hit him where he hurts the most... in his vanity."
"Where does it hurt you the most, Ed?"
"A lot of people would like to know that."
"I know." I tried to grin at him. My face wouldn't wrinkle. "It's going to hurt you in two places. Especially when they shave the hair off your head and leg."
"I think," he told me, "that when Lou comes back I'll let him do you up right."
"You mean... like old times when Fallon pulled the strings... with cigar butts and pliers?"
His nostrils flared briefly. "If you have to say something at all, tell me where it is."
"Where what is?"
The water was still running inside. Without turning his head Ed called, "Johnny. Give it to him."
The big guy came over. Under his shirt his stomach made peculiar rolling motions. His techniques stunk. His fist made a solid chunk against my chin and I went out like a light. They poured cold water over me so I'd wake up and watch it happen all over again.
It started to get longer between rounds. I would come only partially back out of that jet-black land of nowhere and hang there limply. The big guy's voice was a hoarse croak. "He's done, Ed. I don't think he knows what you're talking about."
"He knows." His cane tapped the floor again. "Give him another dousing."
I got the water treatment again. It washed the blood out of my eyes so I could see again and the shock of it cleared my mind enough to think.
Ed knew when I was awake. He had a cigar lit and gazed at the cherry-red end of it speculatively. "You can hear me?"
I nodded that I could.
"Then understand something. I shall ask you just once more. Remember this, if you're dead you can't use what you have."
"Tell... me what the hell... you want."
Only for a second did his eyes go to the pair leaning on the window sill. If they weren't there I would have had it, but whatever I was supposed to know was too much for their big ears. "You know very well what I mean. You've been trouble from the very first moment. I know you too well, Mr. Hammer. You're only a private investigator, but you've killed people before. In your own way you're quite as ruthless as I am... but not quite as smart. That's why I'm sitting here and you're sitting there. Keep what you have. I've no doubt that it's hidden some place you alone can get it, and after you're dead nobody else will find it. Not in my time at least. Johnny... go see what's keeping Lou."
The guy walked inside and came right back. "He's lying down. He puked on the bed."
"Let him stay there then. Untie this man."
The straps came off my hands and legs, but I couldn't get up. They let me sit there until the circulation came back, with it the flame that licked at my body. When I could move Johnny hauled me to my feet.
"What'll I do with him, Ed?"
"That's entirely up to you. Martin, drive me back to the city. I've had enough of this."
The little guy saluted with his two fingers and waited until Ed had picked up his topper. He made a beautiful flunky. He opened the door and probably even helped him down the steps. I heard the car purr into life and drag back on the road.
Johnny let go my coat collar and jammed the gun in my back. "You heard what the man said." He started me off with a push to the door.
The long walk. The last ride. The boys call it a lot of things. You sit there in the car with your head spinning around and around thinking of all the ways to get out and every time you think of one there's a gun staring you in the face. You sweat and try to swallow. All your joints feel shaky and though you want a cigarette more than anything in the world you know you'll never be able to hold one in your mouth. You sweat some more. Your mouth wants to scream for help when you see somebody walking along the street. A gun pokes you to keep quiet. There's a cop on the corner under the arc light. A prayer gets stuck in your throat. He'll recognize them... he'll see the glint of their guns... his hand will go up and stop the car and you'll be safe. But he looks the other way when the car passes by and you wonder what happened to your prayer. Then you stop sweating because your body is dried out and your tongue is a thick rasp working across your lips. You think of a lot of things, but mostly you think of how fast you're going to stop living.
I remembered how I thought of all those things the first time. Now it was different. I was beat to hell and too far gone to fight. I had the strength to drive and that was all. Johnny sat there in his corner watching me and he still had my own gun.
This time I wanted a cigarette and he gave me one. I used the dash lighter again. I finished that and he gave me another while he laughed at the way my hand shook when I tried to get it in my mouth. He laughed at the way I kept rolling the window up first to get warm then to get cooled off. He laughed at the way I made the turns he told me to take, creeping around them so I'd have seconds longer to live.
When he told me to stop he laughed again because my arms seemed to relax and hang limply at my sides.
He took his eyes off me for one second while he searched for the door handle and he never laughed again.
I shot him through the head five times with the .32 I had pulled out of the boot and kicked him out in the road after I took my gun from his hand. When I backed around the lights of the car swept over him in time to catch one final involuntary twitch and Johnny was getting his first taste of hell.
The gray haze of morning was beginning to show in the sky behind me when I reached the shack again. It was barely enough to show me the road through the grass and outline the car against the house. I killed the engine, backed into the sand and opened the door.
This time the car wasn't any big sedan. It was the same coupe that had brought the boys to get me then pulled away at their signal. I knew who was in there. The little guy Ed called Martin had come back for Lou.
I made a circuit of the house and stopped under the bedroom window. Lou was cursing the guy, telling him to stop shaking him. I straightened up to look in, but there was no light and the curtains made an effective blind. Somebody started running the water and there was more talk I couldn't catch. It faded away until it was in the back of the house and I grabbed at the chance.
I hugged the wall climbing up on the porch, squeezing myself into the shadows. The wood had rotted too soft to have any squeak left in it but I wasn't taking any chances. I got down low with the gun in one hand and reached up for the knob with the other.
Somebody had oiled it not so long ago. It turned noiselessly and I gave the door a shove. The guy with the oilcan was nice people. He had oiled the hinges too.
My breath stuck in my lungs until I was inside with the door closed behind me, then I let it out in a low hiss and tried to breathe normally. The blood was pounding through my body making noise enough to be heard throughout the house. My legs wanted to drag me down instead of pushing me forward and the .45 became too heavy to hold steadily.
I had to fight against the letdown that was sweeping over my body. It couldn't come now! The answer was there in Lou's bloody mouth waiting to be squeezed out. I started to weave a little bit and reached out to grab the wall and hang on. My hand hit the door of a closet and slammed it shut.
Silence.
A cold, black silence.
A tentative voice calling, "Johnny?"