Bloodlist P. N. Elrod

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"Couldn't he just start over?"
"I think not, since his credibility in the criminal community would be
destroyed as well once the story got out, and I can make sure it does.
It's cost him a lot to set things up, and he might not be able to clear
the debt with his creditor."
"He might get rubbed out."
"That is a possibility. If you have second thoughts let me know now, for
this is a felony.''
"My murder was a felony. Paco owes us both one, so let's go collect."
Chapter 6
=========
SILENTLY ENTERING THE house by way of the kitchen, I started to re-form,
but became aware just in time to dodge two men making a late raid on the
icebox.
"Did you see that?" a distorted voice asked.
"See what?"
"I thought something moved over there."
"Check it out, then."
I held still, even when something alien intruded into my amorphous body.
"Jesus, it's cold as hell in here. Shut that box up."
"You see anything?"
"Nah."
'Boss'll think you're drinking, you talk like that."
"I could use one."
I left them to their food and moved on to the basement. The lab was as
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I'd left it, complete with the "milk and cookies" guard. Try as I might,
I couldn't work up any dislike for the guy, and it took a real effort to
tap him a good one behind the ear so I could do my work undisturbed. To
make up for the assault, I eased him gently to the floor and
thoughtfully folded his magazine into his coat pocket. Then I went
through the lab like a dose of salts, opening cabinets and leaving them
open, dumping drawers and looking for papers that might be useful.
Escort had been thorough, though, and anything really important would be
upstairs with Paco.
Now I hauled out Escott's present, a single stick of dynamite with a
five-minute fuse attached. It would do the job, but I wanted to be
certain of the lab's utter destruction, and for that spent the next few
minutes sloshing several gallons of alcohol all over the room. The
walk-in storage closet was full of usable items, and anything marked
flammable was added to the general mess. I made sure the air vents were
wide open. There were no windows to the outside or I'd have opened them
as well. After that I gave the gas taps for the Bunsen burners a good
twist and listened to it hiss invisibly into the room.
Propping the dynamite on the one clean table in the middle, I lit the
fuse with some nervousness. In the five minutes it would take to burn
down I planned to be in the car with Escott and tearing down the road
back to Chicago.
I hoisted the guard with the sweet tooth over my shoulders, my new
strength making him seem remarkably light, then unlocked the lab door
that led to the T-intersection and set it to lock again once it was
closed. Trudging upstairs with my burden, I opened the second door into
the hall and put the man down to one side. My back was to the hall while
I was busy with the door. Too late, I heard the sharp clunk of a machine
gun bolt being drawn back. My guess that the hallway would have less
traffic than the kitchen was wrong.
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"Freeze right there, buddy," a voice told me.
I had to obey and wondered how I could stall them. If I left now they
might check the basement and, depending on their luck, foil the
explosion or be blown up. There were two men behind me. One of them
approached, and I raised my hands slowly.
"Stay outta my line of fire, Harry."
Harry grunted in acknowledgment. He searched me with quick, professional
slaps. "He's clean," he announced, and stepped back.
"What's going on?" demanded another, more authoritative voice.
"We caught ourselves a burglar, Mr. Paco."
"Check out the lab, Harry."
I made a move to stop him, but was told again to stay put. Harry slipped
downstairs. "The door's still locked, Mr. Paco," he called up.
"Then how'd he get Newton out, dummy? Get up here and check 'em. He's
gotta have keys or something."
My muscles had gone all tight. Frank Pace's voice had touched a dormant
nerve in my brain. I needed time to think, to remember
"You! Turn around."
I turned slowly, enjoying first the puzzlement, recognition, and then
shock on Paco's face.
"Fleming," he breathed softly. Only I could hear him. I felt an awful
smile crawling across my features.
The portrait in his office had been too flattering--the artist must have
wanted his commission very badly. He'd caught the wide face and pop
eyes, but had omitted the ingrained hardness and suspicious set to his
mouth. He was shorter than Sanderson, but built much the same; stocky
with muscle, rather than flab, and not afraid to use it, but now,
because of my face, he fell back a step in fear.
"Mr. Paco?" the man with the machine gun said uncertainly.
The need to assert his authority overrode his confusion. He straightened
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and glared at me, rejecting his first instincts. And why not? As far as
he knew, Jack Fleming had died over a week ago.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Gerald Fleming. I believe you know my older brother. Jack."
Paco seized the explanation as I knew he would. Once more on firm
ground, he was able to deal with the situation. "Yeah," he agreed
reasonably. "I know your brother."
"You met him the other week, didn't you?"
"Yeah, we had some things to talk over. But you answer the questions
here, punk. What are you doing in my house?"
"I thought we could talk."
"We'll talk and you better answer straight. What are you after?"
I said nothing and my bloodshot stare made him uncomfortable.
"This guy's some kind of freak. Take him out and get rid of him."
Harry and the machine gunner each grabbed an arm and marched me past
Paco and down the stem of the T. "Get rid of me and you'll never find
that list," I shot back. My escort hesitated.
"What makes you think I want it?"
"My brother told me you were after it. He gave it to me. I know you got
him. I'll trade you the list for him." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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