Robert Moore - Hard guys and hostages

Then Pete started acting funny toward him, and he realized that he had made a mistake in thinking the man wouldn't mind sharing Julie with him. It had to be that. There was nothing else that could account for the subtle change in his attitude toward Max.

So Max decided to find some way to give himself an edge over Pete. Switching weapons with him had been the first thing that entered Max's mind, and Pete had agreed without a murmur. In fact, Max thought at first that Pete had been a little too cooperative about that. It occurred to Max that maybe Pete had foreseen the weapon switch and had done something to make the shotgun inoperative. But no. That wasn't likely. Pete wasn't a man who would deliberately fuck up a weapon he might need later. And anyway, Max was certain that Pete didn't suspect Max of having guessed his intentions. When Pete undertook to settle the score he would do it when the odds were all on his side. And he'd do it with little or no warning. Maybe just enough warning to let him gloat a bit.

So Max decided to get himself a bit of an edge in the form of the whippet. He had brought the shotgun out to the toolshop and put it in the vise. With the aid of a hacksaw, he removed the barrel just ahead of the tubular magazine. Then he removed the stock just behind the pistol grip. What he had when he finished wasn't the beautiful Winchester shotgun he'd had before, and it wouldn't be very useful on a duck hunt. But for his purpose, it was lethal.

The whippet was short enough now to be concealed beneath a long coat. There was a pair of overalls hanging on the wall. They were the kind that fit right over regular clothes. Max put them on, then thrust the whippet through his belt underneath the overalls. He made certain the safety was engaged. It was a thumb safety just ahead of the pistol grip, and could be shoved off as the weapon was drawn.

Then a new idea occurred to him. He put the gun on the work table and pulled it apart. When he had the sear out of it, he filed away until he knew he had taken more than enough metal away. The gun would certainly fire at the merest touch of the trigger now. More than that: it would keep right on firing until the magazine was empty or the trigger had been released. And the releasing of the trigger would be a less than sure bet. Once the gun had been unleashed, the only sure way it could stop firing would be by emptying itself.

It was twelve gauge, and loaded with high quality sporting ammunition. It was duck shot, and deadlier, at very close range, than buck shot. And those little BB's would fill a man's gut with just one shot. With the plug pulled out, and the magazine full, and a round in the chamber, as there was now, the whippet held six rounds, and it would pump them out in scarcely more than a second, if that long.

Max shoved the safety on again and put the whippet through his belt. He kept the overalls buttoned up to his belly, but left it open above. He took his pistol out of his belt and slipped it into the pocket of the overalls.

When he was back in the house, he walked into the living room, looking as casual as he could. They were all there, Pete, the farmer tied up against the wall, and the women. Pete had the sleek, satisfied look that meant he had just taken one of the women into the bedroom. It was Julie. Max could see from that look on her face, and the dead look in the eyes of the farmer. The women were all sitting in chairs, hugging their robes about them. There was a hush in the room that made Max go tense all at once.

"Hi," Pete said. "Been out looking around?"

"I just went to the toolroom to see if there was anything we might need to take along."

"Where's the shotgun?"

"Oh, Christ, I left it out there." Max struck himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand, in simulated frustration.

"That was real careless. We wouldn't want one of these little girls to get hold of it, would we, Max?"

"No, I guess we wouldn't at that. But as long as we keep them with us, there isn't too much likelihood of that, is there?"

"I guess not. Still, I think we should have it close by in case we want it. Don't you?"

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

"I'll go get it." Pete stood up and stretched elaborately. He was overacting, Max thought. Even if he hadn't suspected anything up till now, this kind of bullshit would have made him suspicious. "You got your pistol on you?"

"Yeah, sure. I have it right here." Max took the pistol out of his overalls pocket.

"Give it to me. I'll leave you the rifle."

Max handed over the pistol innocently. He was beginning to enjoy himself. As soon as Pete had it, of course, he stepped back out of reach and raised the rifle, leveling it at Max.

"Now, you son of a bitch, I'm gonna give you what you got comin'."

Max looked at him in pretended surprise. "Hey, what the hell? Pete, what the hell are you pulling?"

"You had a dame of your own, you bastard. You had one of your own, and we had another to share. But that wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go dippin' your wick in my stuff. I don't like that. I don't like it, and I don't think we should go on as partners anymore."

"Are you planning on dissolving the partnership with that rifle?"

"Yeah. Dissolve it. You always were good at the fancy words, Max. You planned the break real good, too. But now you've outlived your usefulness."

Suddenly Julie came up out of her chair and started toward Pete. It was a strange thing for her to do considering what a gutless dame she had seemed to be up to then. But Max supposed that she was thinking about the promise he had made her, and realizing that Pete hadn't made any promise at all. She had put her money on Max, and now she was reacting out of panic.

Pete turned toward her just a little, but in doing so, he took his eyes off of Max. Max's hand dipped inside the overalls and came out with the whippet. He leveled it at Pete from a distance of four feet and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the thing was deafening inside. The women all screamed, though Max could barely hear them over the blast of the whippet. The two who were still sitting came to their feet instantly. Bradford, still tied up and on the floor, almost came unglued.

The French doors behind Pete shattered, and there was a peppering of the wall and ceiling with birdshot as the whippet climbed from recoil. As for Pete, his mother couldn't have recognized him. A few of the BB's had caught him in the face, and that was enough. The bulk of the shot from the first shell had caught him in the gut, and he was ripped like a storm-caught sail all the way up his chest. Bones were shattered and sticking out, and blood was all over him and the carpet around him.

"Oh, Jesus!" Connie screamed. "Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" She was on the verge of hysterics. Max stepped up to her and slapped her with his free hand.

"Shut up!" he roared, and she stared at him. Sally looked the color of tallow, but she didn't say anything. Julie looked shocked, but she looked relieved, too. The three of them stood there, looking at Max, their robes hanging open and forgotten.

"All right, burial detail," Max said. "You three girls have another little job to do. And it won't take as long as the first one, because Pete isn't as big. Let's go." They looked at him for a moment, then started forward gingerly, looking as though they'd rather pick up a ball of hibernating rattlesnakes than Pete's body. Max picked up the rifle and his pistol and stuck the pistol and whippet through his belt again. "Julie," he said, "go get me some more shells for the shotgun." She knew where they were, and she seemed glad to have that job instead of the burial. She came back a moment later, just as the other two women were getting Pete off the floor. She handed the box of shells to Max. He leaned the rifle against the wall, away from the women, and loaded the whippet full. He slipped the safety on again and stuck it through his belt next to his pistol, then picked up the rifle.