Peter Leonard - Back from the Dead

Cordell could see everyone in the dining room turn to look at Colette and the Blackshirt coming back in. He scoped one of the guards and fired but the guy moved, and now everyone was scrambling, trying to get out of the room.

They brought Harry and Colette into the salon, and sat them next to each other on the couch. Someone had turned out the inside lights and turned on floodlights that lit up the area behind the house. The only light in the room was the glowing flame in the fireplace. Stigler stood at the side window, looking out into the yard. Hess nodded at two Blackshirts holding submachine guns. “Get him,” and they went out the front door.

Now Hess glanced at Harry. “How is Joyce?” Asking like she was a friend.

“The last time I saw her she was in critical condition, not expected to live,” Harry said, exaggerating her condition. “Detective Conlin would like to talk to you about it. But I guess he’s going to have to get in line, isn’t he? You’ve gotten very popular.”

“That leaves you, Harry, the sole survivor. And my feeling is you’re not going to be with us much longer.”

“How’d you make it all the way to the Bahamas? I checked you, you didn’t have a pulse.”

“God knew my work wasn’t finished and brought me back.”

“It wasn’t divine intervention, if that’s what you’re saying. It was luck. The bullet missed your main arteries by a fraction of an inch. A piece of wreckage drifted by, you grabbed it and kept yourself afloat. The current took you most of the way, and a Bahamian fisherman did the rest.”

“You have all the answers, don’t you?” Hess pointed the Walther at him. “Who’s out there?”

Harry looked at him but didn’t say anything. Hess moved to Colette and placed the barrel of the pistol against her temple, finger on the trigger, and glanced at Harry. “What happens now is up to you.”

“Cordell Sims.”

“I had forgotten about him. Tell the Negro to drop his weapon and come out where we can see him.”

“Would you?”

“Either he comes out or you can say goodbye to Fraulein Rizik. And you’re next on the list.”

Two Blackshirts took Harry down a hallway to the kitchen and opened the door, the men behind him not taking any chances, holding him in the doorway.

“Cordell, they want me to tell you to put your gun down and come out or they’re going to shoot Colette. And watch out. There are two coming through the woods.”

The Blackshirts pulled Harry in, closed the door and beat him to the floor with their fists while he tried to cover up.

Cordell wanted to say, yo, Harry, ask the motherfucker how dumb he thinks I am. He couldn’t see anything in the house now with all the spotlights pointed at the woods. But he heard them coming toward him from opposite directions, twigs snapping, feet on wet leaves. Hard not to make noise.

He laid the Mauser on the ground, pulled the .45 and moved deeper into the woods, crouching, using a big tree for cover. Cordell heard him before he saw him, motherfucker walked by the tree, Cordell spun to his right, shot him through the middle of his body, the .45 loud like an explosion. The man went down, finger on the trigger of the machine gun, firing a wild burst.

Another machine-gun burst came from the opposite direction, rounds chewing up everything close to him, Cordell on the ground, down as low as he could. The second Blackshirt came toward him, ejected a magazine, popped in a fresh one and that’s when Cordell shot him. After the ringing in his ears stopped he stood still, listening, didn’t hear anything. Walked over and squatted next to the second Blackshirt, touched his neck, felt for a pulse the way they’d showed him in the army. Dude was all the way gone.

Cordell picked up the machine gun. Ejected the magazine, got a fresh one out of the man’s knapsack, jammed it home, and racked it. Want to even the odds? This was the way to do it. Cordell came out of the woods behind the garage, moved along the far side wall, peeked around lookin’ at the house. The car was still in the driveway, motor runnin’.

When the shooting started Hess told Stigler to put Harry and Colette in the cellar. He would take out the Negro and then deal with them. Stigler led them to the kitchen, opened a trap door in the floor and told them to climb down. Harry went first, then helped Colette, lifting her to the dirt floor. He put his arms around her and held her close. “I’ve got my money on Cordell. But maybe we can find a way out of here.”

When his eyes adjusted he could see shelves against the far wall and cured meats hanging from the ceiling. Across the room there were double doors that led to the outside, and a workbench in the corner. It reminded him of being in the farmhouse cellar the morning after he’d escaped from the pit when Hess and his men were on the Jew hunt.

Harry heard footsteps and voices above them, and the distant report of a gun followed by sporadic machine-gun fire. He moved to the workbench, ran his hands over the tools, feeling the familiar shapes of a sledgehammer and a crowbar. He picked up the crowbar and wedged the sharp end between the cellar doors and pulled as hard as he could. The wood creaked and groaned.

Cordell crossed the yard to the house, crouched along the side to the front and looked in the window. It was dark, he couldn’t see anything. Holding the machine gun with his right hand he opened the front door with his left. Stepped over the threshold and two Blackshirts came at him, firing. Cordell squeezed the trigger, spraying them with a long automatic burst until the magazine was empty and they were on the floor. Cordell reloaded and walked into the dining room. The car that had been sitting on the driveway near the garage was speeding away.

He went upstairs, checked the bedrooms, nobody there. Looked out a front window, saw the car disappear in the woods.

He went back to the kitchen. “Yo, Harry, where you at?”

“Down here,” said a faint voice. And he heard some banging under the floor.

He opened the trap door, looked down, saw Harry lookin’ up at him.

“Where are they?”

“All dead or gone.”

Colette came up the ladder first and Cordell took her hands and lifted her up to the floor, Harry right behind her.

“You okay?” He handed Harry the .38. “You may need this.”

“What about Hess?”

“I think he was in the car, took off in a hurry.”

Harry, looking through the doorway that led to the living room, said, “You hear that?”

Yeah, Cordell heard it — some kind of rumbling sound. He went in the living room, looked out, saw cars, lights off, spread out across the lawn coming toward the house. “Police.”

They went out the back door and disappeared in the woods, Cordell leading the way, moving just inside the tree line. He could see armed cops in fatigues surrounding the house, and Detective Huber with a megaphone telling Hess to come out with his hands up.

They made their way down the hill to the dirt road, found Harry’s rental car, moved a few branches out of the way and got in, Harry behind the wheel, Colette next to him, Cordell in back. Harry drove out of the woods onto the dirt road. They were almost at the highway when Cordell saw the police car. “See him, Harry?”

“Yeah, I see him. Take it easy.”

“What you think I’m gonna do?”

“I don’t know, but don’t shoot him.”

Cordell popped the plastic cover off and unscrewed the dome light. He saw the cop get out of the car as they approached. “Be cool, Harry. I’ll handle it.”

When they were rolling to a stop Cordell opened the right passenger door and slid out, crouching next to the car. Moved around, squatting at the rear bumper, saw the cop, gun drawn, standing at the driver’s door, window down, yellin’ somethin’ in German.