James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

He got away from the amusement park as quickly as he could, and knowing how quickly the mob swung into action, he had taken refuge in Sam’s saloon.

The odds were he had only a few hours longer to live. The moment he showed himself on the streets he would be done for. He knew the technique well enough. A fast-moving car would pass him, and he would go down under a hail of bullets.

He lit a cigarette, drank a little of the whisky and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand. He couldn’t stay in the saloon all day. If only he could find somewhere to hide until darkness came! It was just possible, under the cloak of darkness, he might get out of town, but in broad daylight with this accursed birth-mark to give him away, he wouldn’t last ten minutes before they were on to him.

A shadow fell across the table, and he felt his heart leap in his chest. His right hand remained as if paralysed on the table, although his mind was frantically willing it to flash to his gun. He looked up.

A young girl, corn-coloured hair piled high on top of her head, wearing a red sweater and a white skirt, smiled down at him.

“Hello, bright eyes,” she said, leaning forward, her hands on the table and her breasts heavy against the thin casing of her sweater. “Want a little company?”

He stared at her, trying to recover from the shock. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t even seen her approach. Suppose it had been Dutch or one of the mob? He would have been dead by now without even having a chance to hit back.

“I have a place just around the corner,” the girl went on. “We could have fun.” She smiled, showing small white teeth, but her eyes were hard and calculating as she looked down at him.

Pete realized the advantages of going with her. Once in her place he could hold a gun on her and wait until darkness came. But dare he leave the saloon? What did she mean: just round the corner? It might be a few yards or it might be a few hundred yards. These girls said anything to get you to go with them.

“Where’s your place?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Just across the street, darling,” she said. “Just at the corner. Will you come?”

“Well, all right,” he said, and stood up. He went over to the bar and paid for his drinks.

The barman gave him a long hard stare. There was something in the way the barman eyed him that frightened Pete. He walked quickly down the long room with the girl who held his arm.

“You seem nervous, honey,” the girl said, smiling at him. “Don’t tell me I’m your first?”

He didn’t bother to answer as he stepped into the hot sunshine, feeling suddenly naked and horribly vulnerable on the bright, noisy waterfront.

“Where do we go?” he asked anxiously, his eyes searching the crowded scene, hunting for a familiar face.

“Just down here,” the girl said. She walked at his side with small mincing steps, balancing herself unsteadily on her three-inch heels. “You’ll like it. I’ve got a radio. If you make it worth my while I’ll dance for you. Most of my friends like to watch me dance.”

She was leading him away from the waterfront towards a narrow dark street of tall sordid-looking houses.

He hurried her along, looking back from time to time over his shoulder, ready to break into a run at the slightest suspicious movement.

“Here we are,” the girl said, pausing outside a house at the corner of the street. “I said it wasn’t far, didn’t I?”

She climbed the steps, opened her handbag and took out her latch key.

He followed her into a dimly lit, shabby hall, and as he shut the front door he drew in a tight gasping breath of relief. He had made it! He was at least safe now until dark. He had no qualms about handling the girl. She wouldn’t start anything when he showed her his gun.

She began to climb the stairs, and he followed closely. When they reached the second-floor landing, she stopped outside a door facing the head of the stairs.

“This is it,” she said, and turned the handle of the door. “Oh, damn! My fool maid has locked me out again. She’s always doing it. Just wait here, darling, while I run down and get the spare key. I keep it in my mailbox.”

She patted his arm, giving him a bright, fixed smile, then she started down the stairs.

Pete took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and neck. He fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and flicked out the match. Then he moved over to the banister rail and looked down into the hall, two flights below.

The girl had just reached the hall. She paused and looked up. Their eyes met, and Pete felt a cold wave of fear sweep through him when he saw the scared look on the girl’s face. Instinctively he realized he had walked into a trap.

What a mad fool he had been to have accepted her on her face value!

The mob wouldn’t want to walk into Sam’s bar and kill him in front of witnesses. They would fix it to get him somewhere alone, and through her they had got him alone!

His hand flew to the inside of his coat as he heard a key turn in the lock behind him. He spun round in time to see the door to the girl’s apartment was opening slowly.

He didn’t hesitate. Swinging up the gun, he fired, aiming to the right and just a little above the door handle. The slug smashed through the door, spraying wood splinters, and Pete heard a gasping groan, then the sound of a heavy fall behind the door.

He spun around and threw himself down the stairs, taking three stairs at a time. He ran blindly along the short passage to the head of the stairs leading to the hall. He took these in two jumps, arriving in the hall with a crash that shook the house.

The girl, her eyes wide with fright, crouched against the wall, her hands crossed over her breasts, her painted mouth wide open in a soundless scream.

He jumped to the front door, stopped as he saw through the glass panels, two men coming up the steps.

He recognized them: Goetz and Buzz Conforti, two of Maurer’s expert killers. He sprang back, his heart contracting, then turned and retreated down the passage that ran to the right of the hall.

He reached the girl as she dived for the stairs, grabbed hold of her, turned her so her back was to him, and keeping her against him, his left arm round her waist so she was shielding his body, he continued to back down the passage.

“Scream or try to get away and I’ll kill you,” he panted. “Is there a way out at the back?”

“Let me go!” she gasped, digging her nails into his wrist.

He gave her a chopping blow on her shoulder with the gun barrel, making her squeal.

“Is there a way out at the back?”

“Yes.”

The front door burst open and Goetz jumped into the hall.

Pete took a hurried shot at him. The girl screamed wildly as she felt the heat of the gun-flash. Goetz dropped down on one knee, his dark, vicious face creased in a snarl.

“Don’t shoot!” the girl screamed, waving her hands imploringly as Goetz swung up a .45.

Pete continued to back away, dragging the girl with him. He saw Goetz trying to get the sight of his gun on to him, but Pete kept his head down, hoisting the girl higher so she completely concealed him.

She kicked out wildly, her shoes flying off and her white skirt riding above her thighs.

Pete’s back thudded against a door. He fired again at Goetz, a near miss this time, for Goetz’s hat flew off.

Goetz’s finger squeezed the trigger and the heavy gun went off. He fired three times. The bullets slammed into the girl’s writhing body. Pete could feel the shock of them.

The girl stiffened so violently she nearly jerked herself out of his grip, then she went limp; the sudden dead weight almost pulling him off balance.

He groped behind him, found a door handle, turned it and pulled the door open.