Ellery Queen - Cop Out

Six men were to remain on guard outside against the impossibility that the gunman might break away from the force inside.

How could it go wrong?

It did. At zero minus fifty seconds Sergeant Lombard, allowing an extra ten seconds for his approach, ducked out from behind his tree. He was forty-three years old and he had a son fighting in Vietnam. He was a large man with large hands. In one he carried the oil can and the picklock, in the other his weapon. He ducked out from behind his tree and doubled over began to run on the balls of his feet across the lawn toward the front door. He was no more than a third of the way to the door when Furia shot him from a downstairs window, one-and-two-three. His favorite number. Because of the poor light the first shot missed Lombard’s heart and smacked into the shoulder of the arm carrying the oil can and the picklock. The oil can and the picklock flew up and over his head. The second shot struck him in the business hand and the revolver went off from the convulsion of his trigger finger. The weapon dropped in a plumbline to the grass. The third shot zinged over his head and struck the tree behind which Malone was hiding. The sergeant became a crab, by instinct skittering on all fours away from his death, shattered right hand between body and grass holding his shattered left shoulder.

For two seconds there was nothing but the morning. Then, as one man, as by an order heard in the blood, Chief Secco’s army opened fire front and rear. Every window on the ground floor was a black hole in a moment.

They kept firing.

Sergeant Lombard reached the trees, gave Sherm Hamlin a white grin as Hamlin hauled him to safety, and passed out.

“Stop firing, stay under cover!” Secco was yelling. “Harry, work your way around to the back and tell them to stop firing there, too!”

Soon they stopped. A truce settled over the unconscious trooper’s moans. One trooper ran back in the direction of the cars, another began to drag the wounded man away.

“They could have killed Bibby,” Malone was saying brokenly, “maybe they did, John.”

“No, she’s all right, I tell you, I know she is.” The seams in Secco’s cheeks seemed rubbed with dirt. He grabbed a bullhorn. “Furia! Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.” The call, a saucy spin, came from behind a wide crack in the front door. “Anybody else shoots and I blow the kid’s head off. I got her right in front of me. Want to see?”

The door opened wider. The light was better now and Malone saw a small white valentine face with blank eyes like her doll’s. Behind her crouched Furia. The Colt was jammed against her head, just behind the ear.

She’s alive she’s still alive. Hinch why don’t you jump him from behind? Now.

“Nobody’s going to shoot any more if you don’t.” The enlargement of Chief Secco’s voice by the bullhorn gave it an almighty quality, stern, patient, paternal. “Furia, the house is surrounded by twenty-two police officers. You can’t get away. You wouldn’t have a prayer. Send Barbara out unharmed and toss out your guns. If you do that without any further resistance or bloodshed the district attorney says he’ll take it into account. You’ll get the best break possible, I have the D.A.’s word on that. What do you say?”

Now Hinch while John does his thing.

The door banged open and Furia rose from his heels where he was squatting. He had Barbara about the waist with his left arm, holding her up before him. As the gunman straightened Secco grunted in surprise. Furia’s face was covered by the Papa Bear mask.

So now you know what you’re dealing with, John.

“You think you can con me with that D.A. crap?” Furia shouted through the mask. His right hand flourished the Colt, the Walther automatic was stuck in his waistband. “No more than Hinch. Your stooge is a Mr. No-Brains, don’t you know that? He couldn’t keep nothing from me, I’m way ahead of him, always was. I worked him over and it wasn’t ten minutes ago I got out of him about that call to the kid’s old man. I know all about your deals. Here’s the only deal Hinch rates. And it’s not from you, fuzz, it’s from me.”

Hinch appeared. His arms were jammed behind his back, apparently lashed together. A handkerchief had been shoved into his mouth, his own belt was the gag that secured it, nothing-sounds were coming out. His pants were halfway to his knees, he was wriggling like a go-go dancer from the waist down in a comical effort to keep them up without hands. His hair had turned a brighter shade of red that had run down his face and dripped onto his shirt. The same shade of red was dribbling from his mouth. One eye was closed and swollen a funereal purple-black.

“Go, man, go,” Furia gurgled. He set his foot in the small of Hinch’s back and kicked. Hinch staggered forward and fell on his face. He was up in an incredible acrobatics and hobbling furiously toward the trees. Furia leveled the Colt and shot him one-and-two-three. He stuck the Colt in his belt and whipped out the Walther. The child shielding him showed no expression.

“You wanted my answer, fuzz, there it is,” the little man in the Papa Bear mask said. “Malone?”

“Here I am,” Malone said.

“Wes, for God’s sake!”

Malone stepped out from behind his tree.

“Here I am,” Malone said again.

“Your fuzz buddies think I’m putting on an act,” Furia said. “They think that’s ketchup on Hinch and we’re playing like in the movies. Go over to Hinch and tell your fuzz buddies that’s real blood and he’s real dead.”

“Wes, he’ll shoot you, too… “

Malone walked over the grass to Hinch. Hinch lay on his face with his knees drawn under him as if he were praying to Mecca. All three of Furia’s bullets had gone into the back of his head, most of which was not there.

Malone looked around and nodded.

“Come back, Wes!”

“Stay there, Malone, I’m talking.” Malone remained over Hinch’s body. “Okay? Got the message? Now here’s the rest of my answer. You fuzz sonsabitches out there blow. You’re going to let me and my woman and Malone’s kid ride out of here and you ain’t going to raise a hand to stop us. I give you five minutes to make up your mind. If you ain’t gone in five minutes, every mother’s fuzz out there, I’ll throw the kid out on top of Hinch without a head.”

He stepped back with Barbara. The door all but closed.

Malone walked back to the trees.

“He means it,” Secco said thoughtfully.

“Aren’t you going to do it, John?” Malone asked.

Secco was silent.

“You’ve got to. He told you what he’d do to Bibby if you don’t.”

“He killed Tom Howland. He’s shot Sergeant Lombard. He murdered this Hinch in front of my eyes.”

“So you want him to add my daughter to his list?”

“Let’s not go for each other, Wes. Even if I were willing I have no authority to order the troopers away. With Sergeant Lombard out of commission I’d have to get in touch with the barracks-”

“There’s no time for that. Five minutes, he said.”

Secco touched Malone’s arm. “We’ll have to rush him. There’s no other way now. We’ll use the tear gas first so he won’t be able to see Barbara to shoot her-”

Malone twitched and the hand fell away. “You’d gamble on that after what you just saw?”

“I have no choice.”