I got my feet under me and stumbled forward. Rats chittered in the darkness, scattering, claws clicking on the stone floor. My eyes had become acclimated somewhat to the black, and I could make out the dim outlines of a board fence. It looked about eight feet high and extended the width of the alley; it looked damned fine.
When I reached its base, I bent at the waist and jumped and my fingers closed over the rough boards at the top. I pulled myself up, scraping more skin from my palms, and swung my legs over and dropped down on the other side. Another alley, almost as dark and impenetrable as the previous one; they ran in mazelike confusion, I knew, in the centers of some of the blocks in this area.
To my left I could see the wide, chain-locked double doors across the rear entrance to what might have been some kind of warehouse. A narrow door, decorated with Chinese characters, was set into the building to one side of them-and a low-wattage bulb burned above it, casting a pale wedge of amber-colored light on the cobblestones there. But it was sure to be locked, too, and I would make a fine target standing in that light and trying to force it.
I looked to my right. The alley stretched into blackness like a long, slender tunnel in that direction. I couldn’t see an opening, but if I was correct about the structure on the left being a warehouse, there had to be one to admit trucks picking up and delivering. I thought that the alley would probably widen at some point farther along, and then rightangle to lead out to one of the through streets.
There were scratching sounds from the other side of the board fence, urgent and angry. I ran down to the right, my eyes probing the floor ahead of me for obstructions. The alley seemed to stretch on endlessly in a straight line-no light, no opening, a yielding wall of darkness. I heard footfalls begin to pound behind me; the Eurasian had made it over the fence.
I forced myself to run faster, to take a chance on the path being clear. And all at once something loomed ahead of me-huge, obscured in shadow. It was blocking the width of the alley. I pulled up short, breathing stertorously, and I could hear the Eurasian coming up close on my heels now.
The obstruction was an ancient canvas-covered truck.
Some son of a bitch had abandoned it there for the night.
I started around to the driver’s side-there was enough room for me to squeeze past there-and then the moon came out again, bathing the alley in ethereal light. I looked back over my shoulder, and the Eurasian was less than forty yards away. He had seen me, too, and he was bringing the automatic up in his hand.
There wasn’t enough time now for me to make it around the side of the truck. I jumped forward, up onto the high rear tailgate, and caught onto a loose flap of canvas to maintain my balance. Flame-colored light illuminated the Eurasian briefly as he squeezed off a shot, and I heard the bullet cut into the canvas side of the truck a foot above and to one side of my head. If he had meant that as a warning shot, it had been pretty damned close.
A second wooden fence, higher than the other one and capped with strands of rusted barbed wire, bordered the alley on that side. I leaned up and caught onto the wire. The needle-sharp barbs cut into palms, and I felt the warmth of blood; but I held on grimly, and the tailgate was high enough so that I was able to get my left foot on top of the fence, below the wire. The automatic sounded again, twice. The billowed front of my bush jacket jerked as one of the slugs ripped through it, and the other one passed just in front of my face like a hot and fetid breath. He wasn’t playing abduction games with me now; those shots had been meant to kill.
I pulled back on the barbed wire and kicked up with my right foot from the tailgate. I came into an erect position on top of the fence for an instant and then vaulted my body up and over, releasing the wire, just as the Eurasian cut loose for the fourth time. The slug burrowed into one of the boards near the top of the fence, and I landed on the balls of my feet on hard, graveled ground. Pain raced upward through my legs, into my crotch and hips. I lurched forward, went to one knee, and then stood up again.
I was in some kind of yard, a storage area for what must have been an iron or junk dealer. There were piles of scrap iron, bundles of corroded steel pipe, other mounds and masses in heavy shadow which were less recognizable. I let my eyes circumscribe the yard. There had to be an entrance to the area other than through the low, slate-roofed building at the upper end, which apparently housed the store. A driveway, I thought, for trucks in and out.
I located it at the left of the structure, narrow and badly pitted. Its far border was a high cyclone-type mesh fence, topped with more strands of barbed wire. Behind me, in the alley, I could hear the Eurasian at the truck. I ran to the driveway and followed it to the front of the building. There, a double swing gate, of the same mesh as the cyclone fence, blocked the entrance. Around the two upright supports on either half, in the middle, was a heavy chain-and-padlock; across the top were still more strands of barbed wire. I climbed one half of the gate, monkey-style; my hands were stained a sticky rust-color in the moonlight, and pain throbbed in them at each contact with the mesh.
When I reached the top, I leaned my body against the wall of the building to which that half of the gate was attached and managed to get my legs over the barbed wire with a minimum of damage. Then I used the top support bar to climb down on the outside. Briefly, I peered through the gate. I saw nothing, but from the yard area I heard a ringing of metal and a sharp curse. The Eurasian had gotten over that fence, too.
I went up one block on the deserted street, down one, up another, running at first and then walking rapidly. On Hempole Street I woke a young Chinese boy sleeping on the front seat of his motorized pedicab and had him take me to my flat in Chinatown.
Once there, I put salve on my raw and bleeding hands. There was a charred hole in the side of the bush jacket, and I took it off and wadded it up and put it in with the garbage. Then I locked and barred the door and windows, opened an Anchor Beer, and sat down with it to do some thinking.
I didn’t know what to do about Van Rijk. I considered notifying the police of what had happened tonight, but even after two clean years my reputation with them was not good. Too, Van Rijk had not been present and I had no proof that he had ordered the attempt on me; and I had no doubt that he would be willing, and able, to supply both the Eurasian and the Malay with alibis if the need arose. With all of that, I was pretty sure the police wouldn’t make much of an effort in my behalf.
Van Rijk, as I saw it, was one of Singapore’s international profiteers, dealing in anything-legal or otherwise-if the potential return was great enough. And La Croix had managed to run afoul of him at some point during his big score. La Croix would have the score itself at the present time, and that was why Van Rijk wanted him-and why he had sent his two hirelings after me tonight; he was still convinced I knew the Frenchman’s whereabouts. But that goddam Eurasian had been trying to kill me, no mistake, and that didn’t make any sense. How could I tell Van Rijk anything if I was dead? Well, maybe he had already located La Croix-but no, if that were the case, what reason would he have for wanting me dead…?
My head began to ache dully, and after a time I said to hell with it. There was nothing I could do tonight about either Van Rijk or his two orang sewaan — sewaan — if there was anything I could do at all without meeting him on his terms; and I knew it could never come to that, not any more.
I went into the bedroom, switched on the fan in there, stripped down, and got into bed under the mosquito netting. I thought briefly of the girl, Tina, and hoped she had gotten back to her apartment safely. There was no way I could find that out; she hadn’t mentioned its location. Well…