Дональд Уэстлейк - Forever and a Death

Manville was about fifteen feet from them now, and reluctant to get any closer. He held the pistol out at arm’s length, aimed at the leader’s head, just next to Kim’s, and he called, “I’ll shoot! Let her go!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the leader said. He had a raspy scaly voice, like the whispery sound of a lizard moving on a stone wall. “You ever shoot a gun, mister?”

“Yes,” Manville said, and felt immediately calmer, because it was true. “I’m a good shot, as a matter of fact,” he said.

The leader grinned at him. “Ever shoot a man? Not everybody can, you know,”

“I can,” Manville said, but the calm had fled him, because he wasn’t at all sure now that he was telling the truth. He had captured this pistol, they were supposed to obey him, but they didn’t believe he was a threat. They believed he was an amateur, a baby in their hard world. He might interrupt them for a few seconds, but then they’d contemptuously brush him aside and get on with their bloody work.

Yes. The leader turned to the big man, to his left, and said, “Bardo, kill this cocksucker and let’s get on with it.”

It was because Manville was thinking mostly about the safety that he could do it. He wasn’t thinking about the shooting of a human being, he was thinking about time. If I’m wrong about the safety, he thought, I won’t have time for a second chance. That’s why, before Bardo could finish drawing his own pistol out from under his belt, Manville shot him in the chest.

Well. He’d been right about the safety. Good engineering.

They were all amazed, he could see that, and it gave him strength. Pointing the pistol at the leader again, he said, “Let her go.”

This time the leader did, releasing Kim and stepping one pace back, looking now mostly irritated and frustrated, but still not at all afraid. The other man, arms held out from his sides to show he didn’t mean to start any trouble, stood watchful, wary, but also not frightened.

These people are very dangerous, Manville thought. I’ve never dealt with such dangerous people. They’re waiting for me to make one tiny mistake, any tiny mistake, and God knows I’m likely to make a dozen mistakes. Except, no; one mistake is all they’ll give me.

He said, “Kim, get to the side, get out of the way.”

She did, stepping around behind the one he’d shot, who lay now on his back on the deck like a drowning victim who’s just been dragged aboard. She was tottery, but she could walk, she could take care of herself. Looking at Manville past the one he’d shot, she said, her voice shaky and weak, “George? Is he dead?”

“I really don’t care,” he told her, truthfully, and the leader surprised him with a snort of amusement, and Manville knew he didn’t have much time to press this advantage. “Kim,” he said, “get around behind them, get those pistols, hold onto them. Don’t let anybody grab you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, with a weak smile. “I don’t want to be a shield. I think you’d shoot them right through me.”

That made the leader turn his head to give her an inquisitive look, and to say, “Is that right?”

Manville said, “ Now , Kim.”

Kim moved, around behind the leader, who was now studying Manville as though to memorize him, or read him. As Kim put one cautious arm around him to pluck the pistol out from his belt, the leader said to Manville, “You’re some kind of ringer, I think. You’re not what I was told I was gonna find here.”

Oh, yes, I am, Manville thought, but I’m happy if you don’t believe it. And he knew it would be best if he didn’t say anything at all to that. The strong silent type, that’s me.

Kim got both pistols, and went back to lean against the rail. She looked very weak, and not as though she could possibly use those guns now dangling from her hands at her sides, not to save her life.

Manville said to the two men, gesturing at the one he’d shot, “Pick him up.” Not because he needed the man moved anywhere, but because he wanted to keep these last two occupied.

The leader and the other man obediently stepped over to crouch above the one he’d shot, and the leader said, “I think he’s still alive.”

“Pick him up.”

“We oughta get the captain down here,” the leader said, “get my man Bardo some medical attention.”

“Pick him up or I’ll shoot you,” Manville said.

The leader shrugged. “Not the way it was supposed to be,” he commented, and he and the other one picked up the wounded man, the leader at his ankles, the other man at his head.

Following Manville’s orders, they went back down through the ship, the killers first, muttering privately together over their unconscious mate, then Manville, and Kim last.

They made slow progress, because of the weight the two in front were carrying and because of Kim’s weakness and Manville’s fear that if he put any concentration on her, to help her, they’d find some way to take advantage.

He directed them through the ship down to the storage room, where they’d boarded. The outer door stood open there, the moving night sea hissing outside, the two ropes snaking in to the stanchions, their powerful launch nestled snug against Mallory ’s side. There, Manville ordered them to put the wounded man down on the metal floor and then to sit next to him. “Take off your shoes,” he told them, and said to Kim, “Throw those pistols into the launch.”

The leader said, “You’re gonna take our boat?”

Manville ignored him. “Kim, get their shoes. Don’t get between me and them. Take the laces out. You two. Face down on the floor.”

The leader said, “I don’t think I can let you do this.”

He’s dangerous, Manville reminded himself, and he meant to kill me, so this is what I’d better do. He pointed the pistol at the leader’s head, just as the leader was putting a hand behind himself to lever up, to stand.

But then the leader looked at Manville’s face, and as Manville was about to squeeze the trigger the leader abruptly dropped back, hands up in front of his face, saying, “All right. All right.” And now, for the first time, a small flicker of fear did show in the man’s eyes.

I would have killed him, Manville thought, astonished at himself, a little disapproving of himself. I was going to kill him, and he saw that.

The two men lay face down on the metal floor, as he’d ordered. He said, “Hands behind your backs. Kim, use the shoelaces, tie each one’s thumbs together. Tie them tight. Use a lot of knots.”

“Not their wrists?”

“No. If you tie their wrists, their hands are still free, and they can untie one another. If you tie their thumbs, they can’t use their hands anymore.” He had no idea how he knew this, or how it had occurred to him, but he knew he was right.

Once Kim was finished, Manville used the other two laces to tie their ankles, then helped Kim into the launch, saying, “I’m sorry, we’re going to have to do the bumpy trip, after all.”

“That’s all right,” she said, “I’m a lot better.”

Manville climbed into the launch and started the engines. Then he went back to the open door to deal with the ropes, and the leader had twisted around, was propped on one elbow, staring at him. Their eyes met. The leader said, “I’d like to run into you again some time.”

“I wouldn’t,” Manville said, and freed the ropes.

Kim had never felt so alone, or so vulnerable. The late morning sun was hot, the day was beautiful, Brisbane reared up all around her like a glass version of the city of Oz, but alone here on this launch on the Brisbane River, tied up to a support at the southern end of the William Jolly Bridge, still she felt cold, with an interior cold the warm sun and the inviting city couldn’t reach.