Brett Halliday - Win Some, Lose Some

“We got company,” Greco said.

Then water jetted up out of a standing wagon and began to fall on the flames. The smoke changed color. Another minute or two and the fire would be out. They would transfer Canada to the pickup and be on their way. An attack on that crowd with only one gun was out of the question.

“Up and down all night,” Nick said. “Up and down. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“No, listen, if we can keep them back from the fire-”

And he was out and running. He went through the break in the fence, going flat on his face after five steps. He saw two figures near the trailer, one more on the wagon. He brought out the gun. All he had to do was knock the man off the wagon, then pop off a shot or two to persuade the others to keep their heads down. The fire would take hold again, and soon nothing would be left of Canada but bones and charred flesh.

He was breathing hard from the run, and he couldn’t get the sights to hold steady. He fired anyway. The bullet hit the tank and went singing away, going nowhere. The guy dropped to the ground, but the nozzle was wedged in place, and water continued to splash into the trailer. Maybe Canada would swallow enough smoke so he wouldn’t wake up. Maybe not, too. It would be so nice to make sure.

Then he saw Nick running in a wide circle, heading for the wagon. Greco had to revise his opinion of the boy. He had been nothing but a drag so far, clowning when he wasn’t complaining, and then finally losing his gun. But even to think about climbing on that wagon, that took balls.

He came up on one knee. The minute Nick started his climb, he intended to waste a couple just for the hell of it. All Nick had to do was give the nozzle one swipe and then slide to the ground. In movies, people did things like that all the time.

And there the prick was, edging along the top of the tank. Greco kept swiveling, watching for movement. Sure enough, a head came up, but in an unexpected place. The guy had fooled him by wriggling between the bean rows. He fired at Nick, Nick fell forward against the nozzle. The stream’s force flung him off the tank, leaving the nozzle whipping about like something alive. At the trailer, flames appeared again almost at once amid the masses of smoke.

Everybody was out of sight again, and Greco dropped out of sight also. Now he would find out if any of those jokers was man enough to climb up the way Nick had done and redirect the hose. Greco was closer now, and he was feeling the heat. This was one shot he didn’t intend to miss.

The trailer was burning from one end to the other. Larry Canada was done for, and Greco and Nick could collect their money. Abruptly the hose stopped lashing around and hung down lankly, with only a dribble coming out. And then there was an immense bang from the trailer, sending a column of sparks and flame hundreds of feet in the air.

The search for contraband drugs at the trailer park had left the interior of the pickup a tangled mess. The beds had been pulled apart. When the brakes went on hard, Shayne was thrown to the floor.

“There goes our million bucks,” a voice said in the cab.

The woman shouted something, and the pickup began bucking and plunging. It came to a stop, and everybody piled out, Shayne and Frieda moving more cautiously than the three in front. Shayne saw the burning trailer, the three running figures. In a moment, a new grouping took shape, and water began to fall on the fire.

“How are we going to do this?” Frieda said.

“Wait for Tim. We can pin them down here until he gets us some cops.”

On the highway, the big van slowed to a stop. Shayne blinked his flashlight twice, shielding the beam. A figure appeared, as though in response to the signal.

“It’s not Tim,” Frieda said.

Shayne looked around quickly. Whoever Frieda had seen had dropped out of sight.

Here was a new factor, and until Shayne could see how it fitted in, they would have to watch the action without taking part. They moved back from the truck. He heard a stealthy, animal-like movement behind him, and a figure passed within a few feet. It was the youth who had thrown the bomb. Now he was bare from the waist up-stick-figure arms, shoulder blades that stuck out like cleavers. There were two sides here, and both sides must believe Larry Canada was a prisoner in the trailer. Beyond that, Shayne had to wait and see.

The fire had almost been brought under control when the bare-chested youth climbed onto the wagon and took a shot in the stomach, dislodging the hose as he fell. A moment later the trailer was blazing again. The tire exploded, blowing out several of the riveted panels. The entire interior was now one mass of flame.

Shayne heard a stifled exclamation from Frieda. The van on the highway was beginning to move.

“Somebody’s driving off with our fat man,” she said.

“Let’s go get them.”

They returned to the truck. He let out the clutch the instant the motor took hold, and they shot forward. He felt a wash of heat as they passed the fire. Somebody jumped aside. He had a gun in his hand, and so did Frieda. Neither one fired.

Downey, his hand raised against the heat, backed away. He saw the pickup start for the gap in the fence and yelled to Pam, “Werner-the son of a bitch is taking off. We should have got rid of that bastard when we had the chance.”

Then Werner himself came running past. He gave Downey a look with murder in it and disappeared in the darkness. That might be a good example for everybody to follow. The fire trucks would be showing up any minute now.

Pam was still on her knees, looking pale and sick. To bring her out of it, Downey flicked the side of her face with his fingers as he went past. “Let’s go, let’s go-”

The damn place was as bright as day. He had counted two people. Two vehicles had driven off. But suddenly he was convinced that there was someone he hadn’t counted, a marksman, who even now was aiming a high-velocity rifle at his spinal column. He felt conspicuous and fragile. He broke stride and dodged about in the beans like a running back.

Then he was in the shadow cast by the water wagon. He ran along that. He was out of condition for this, and after a time he had to drop to the ground to wait for his breath to come back.

The highway was empty now, but that couldn’t continue long. The van and the pickup had passed out of sight. Who the hell were those guys? He would have said Benjamin and Vaughan, but that pair was locked away for the night. He just didn’t know anymore. He got a certain arrangement in the kaleidoscope, and then somebody bumped his elbow and everything came out different.

The trailer was burning like a beacon, with the flames standing straight up. Pam and Werner were nowhere. Downey was alone in the vast field-no friends, no transportation. He had only a vague idea of the geography around here. When he went anywhere, he went on paved roads. He decided to return to the county road that passed under the Interstate, and follow that to see where it led. He trudged off, beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to try and live on the pension.

He heard Pam and Werner snapping at each other ahead and ran to catch up, glad to know he wouldn’t be alone on the walk. He neglected to call out who he was, and they went headlong.

“It’s Jack!” he announced.

He heard the click of a hammer coming back, a scary sound anywhere, and he did another complicated dive and roll. He drew his own gun.

“Hey, let’s not split up. We can still pull this off. Maybe not the full million, but hell, let’s get our expenses out, anyway.”

He went on talking as he crawled. He had really given up back there when he realized that Canada was being fried in his own deep fat. He was only talking to ground some of the electricity in the air. But he began to see possibilities, and by the time he reached them, he had nearly convinced himself.