While they were doing this, Archie surreptitiously got hold of one of the cans they hadn’t emptied yet, tilted it over on its side, and pulled it into the bushes. He emptied the contents out of sight behind the evergreens. Then he set the large pail back on end, squeezed inside it, and jammed the cover on top of himself.
A moment later he felt the can being angled as one of the garbage men started rolling it toward the sidewalk. “Jeez!” the garbage man complained. “This one must have bricks in it! ”
The can was bumped from the curb to the glitter. Motion stopped, and Archie’s head stopped spinning as it was set upright. Perhaps five minutes passed, and Archie could hear was a steady sort of grinding, rumbling noise. Finally he decided to chance it, eased the lid off slightly, and peered out over the rim of the garbage can.
It was fortunate that he took the chance before it was too late. What he saw was the four garbage men positioned at the rear of the garbage truck and performing their duties by rote, a routine series of motions they were evidently used to doing. Two of them grabbed each of the pails in turn and lifted it. As it cleared the ground, a third man heaved up against the bottom of the pail, adding to its momentum. With the precise timing of a dancer in a perfectly choreographed ballet, the fourth man swept the top off the can so it could be emptied and then disposed of the empty pail, twirling it along the sidewalk so that it lined up perfectly with the other empties.
But it wasn’t the men that held Archie's attention. It was the maw at the rear of the garbage truck, the large mouth with its grinding steel teeth chewing the garbage to pulp. He had a sudden vision of himself being swallowed by it, being chewed to bits, going down the metal gullet as he screamed for help. He envisioned his hands waving frantically as they were torn from the rest of him. And then he saw the hands too being swallowed up right down to the last protestingly wagging finger. It wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect.
Archie replaced the cover as the men turned toward the pail in which he was hiding. A few moments later the pail was hoisted to the accompaniment of muttered curses at its unusual weight. At the instant that the cover was removed, Archie sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, fist first. “Surprise!” he shouted as he clipped the garbage man who had removed the cover flush on the jaw. He leaped sideways to avoid the grinding metal teeth and kept going around the side of the truck.
As he jumped into the driver’s seat in the cab, behind him there was turmoil. The three garbage men had dropped the pail and were helping the fourth to his feet, their voices garbled with one another as they tried to make sense out of what was happening. By the time Archie had started the motor, two new voices had been added to the hubbub as a pair of cops came running up to investigate the confusion. Archie threw the truck into gear and gunned the motor. The last thing he heard as he shot off down the street was the voice of the driver wailing to the cops: “My garbage truck’s being stolen! Do something!”
Archie didn't wait for the cops to decide what to do. By the time they’d drawn their guns and were taking aim, he was skidding around the corner. He made a series of rapid turns, heading north by east, just in case an attempt should be made to follow him. Then, when he was sure he’d lost any possible pursuers, he slowed down and cruised idly while he contemplated what he should do next.
With Strom Huntley turning his back on him, Archie saw himself being set up as a patsy for the police. There’d be an alarm out for him before long—if there wasn't already-—and once he was apprehended he might languish in jail for who knew how long while the CIA took its own sweet time with the case. And meanwhile, the formula for which Beaumarchais had been murdered might be finding its way into the worst possible hands.
Archie’s best educated guess was that Dixie Keller had taken the formula and might still have it. So he pointed the truck toward the address which Helen Giammori had given him for Dixie. Ideally, he knew, he should contact Vito first to set up the meeting so that he might see Dixie without being clobbered by the two gorillas Vito had arranged to protect her. But Vito was still undoubtedly occupied with the cops, and there was no time to wait for him to get uninvolved. At least he had the advantage of knowing the hoods were there, Archie told himself as he pulled the truck to a stop in front of the modest East Side apartment house corresponding to the address Helen Giammori had given him.
There was no doorman, which was a break. The door to the lobby was slightly ajar -- break number two. A self-service elevator made it three. Archie hoped three breaks to a customer wasn’t the limit.
He rang the doorbell to the apartment and ducked down just before he heard the sound of the peephole being opened. A moment later it was closed. Archie rang again and ducked again. After the third time the door was opened and a head peered cautiously out into the hall. A gun poked out with a hand attached to it.
Archie yanked the hand as he sprang straight up from his crouch. The gun clattered to the floor just as the top of Archie’s head slammed into the hood’s Adam’s apple. The gunsel let out a sound that was half-grunt, half-yell as Archie brought his whole weight to bear in a push that propelled the two of them back into the apartment. Archie kicked the door closed as they struggled.
His opponent was a big man. He caught Archie in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides and bouncing him hard. Archie worked one foot back behind him and brought it forward in a short karate kick that connected solidly with the hood’s shin. The burly gunsel sank half to the floor from the impact of the blow, but he didn’t relinquish his grip on Archie. He did, however, yell for help.
A twin gorilla came into the foyer on the run. He was as big as the first one. Like the first, he was dripping muscles. His gun was held at the ready. He circled the locked combatants carefully, seeking a clear shot.
Archie was just as careful. He kept shifting to keep the first plug-ugly between himself and the second. The bully-boy was stronger than he was, but Archie had the advantage of knowing how to apply his foe’s strength for his own benefit.
Now Archie did just that. As the hood exerted all his strength to swing him around so his cohort could get a clear shot, Archie took him by surprise by going limp so that the movement put him off balance. The result was that Archie was carried past the gun too fast to allow for a shot, and he used the momentum to carry him downward with a sudden lurch his opponent hadn’t expected. It freed him from the encircling arms and enabled him to swing low enough to slam his elbow into the hoodlum’s groin.
As the first hood doubled over, the second one again circled to get behind Archie. But Archie was too fast for him. He got behind the first hood and slammed both hands simultaneously into the rear tendons of his legs so that he pitched forward against the gun-wielder. Archie took advantage of the tangle to grab a lamp from a foyer table and slam it down on top of the head of the hood with the gun. He wrenched the gun from his grasp as he fell and pointed it at the first gunsel.
“Stay just the way you are,” Archie told the agonized hood who was clutching his wounded groin. “I want to remember you always that way.”
The hood started to straighten up.
“Uh-uh!” Archie told him. “Just hold onto yourself and don’t move.” He reached behind him and opened the door to a closet in the foyer. Still holding the gun on the hood, he groped behind him until he’d pulled a belt loose from a raincoat that was hanging there. Using one hand and his teeth, he tied a slipknot in it. “Turn around and hold out your hands behind you,” he instructed the gunsel.