[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

 Oh, you know how it is. But that s a silly thing to say, isn t it? Maybe you
don t know how it is at all.
He smiled at her.  No, I guess I don t.
Back in the car, she directed him toward the Near North Side. It was actually
the same general area as the half-
abandoned building where Kate had been found dead, an area in which a few
blocks one way or the other made a big difference in what the city was like.
ENCHANTRESS COSMETICS
Page 59
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
, said the sign, discreet but expensive bronze. It was on a modern gray
concrete building, two stories high, that occupied almost half a square block.
 You live here?
 It s the family business, or the office and laboratory ends of it anyway,
with living quarters attached. My folks
think it s a lot neater than commuting, or living in one of those high-rise
apartments.
He had heard of a few other wealthy people in the area, advertising agency
owners and such, who had made similar arrangements.  It sounds neat.
A private automobile entrance was blocked by a great openwork gate of what
looked like blackened steel and ebony. This rose up out of the way when Carol
worked some kind of miniaturized electronic device she brought out of a
pocket. Good thing, Joe remarked to himself, she hadn t lost that in her
recent adventurings.
Inside, below street level, were private parking spaces, one or two out of a
dozen of them occupied. From the sunken garage a large but fancy elevator very
silently raised them to the floor above.
At the far end of a small, carpeted hall, another doorway was fitted with a
wood-and-metal gate. This one stood open, and beyond it a luxurious though
badly lighted apartment was visible. Silhouetted in the doorway was a man,
very large, well-dressed, smiling at them both.
 Goodbye, Joe said to Carol, taking her hand just briefly.
 Don t say goodbye. Her smile was warm.
 So long for a while, then. How about that?
 Not even that, she said.  You must come in for a visit. She turned to flash
the well-dressed man a merry wink.
Joe looked from one of them to the other. He wanted to smile at them but
couldn t quite.  Your father? he asked, then realized that the man who was
strolling toward them looked too young for that.
 Oh, goodness, not at all. Carol s green eyes danced, as if with some joke
soon to be revealed.  Does the name
Enoch Winter mean anything to you, Joe?
 Enoch Winter. No. The huge man was looming beside him now. A joke was
coming. Or something was
 Then how about Leroy Poach? And she giggled brightly, watching the slow
progress of his reaction.
On the threshold of the luxurious apartment Carol and the giant man had
laughed at him. Still laughing, the giant had reached for Joe in a leisurely,
careless way. There had been nothing at all funny in the power of the grip
that closed on Joe s right arm. He had let go at once with a left hook that
landed square on the other s jaw. The only effect was a shock of pain through
Joe s fist, as if he had hit a wall. With that Carol stepped in and caught Joe
by the left arm. She was still amused. Between them the two of them carried
his kicking figure into the apartment as if he were an obstreperous
two-year-old.
Inside, a vista of elegant though poorly lighted rooms seemed to stretch away
for half a block. Carol closed a solid wood-and-metal door behind them, while
the man held Joe by both arms. The man stood in front of him, grinning, daring
him silently. When the girl left them, walking unhurriedly into another room,
Joe tried again. Wrenching free was hopeless, clumsy though the other s grip
appeared to be. When Joe tried for a kick, the man with overwhelming power
simply forced him lower. Joe s knees buckled.
 Yeah, I know you re a cop, sonny, the man said, in answer to a choked-out,
embarrassingly feeble protest.  I
like the idea of you being one. I really do.
He then let go of Joe s arms so suddenly that his victim was left off balance
and did a pratfall on the thick carpet.
 All right, pull out the gun. The huge man s voice was perilously soft.  Go
Page 60
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
on.
In eight years he d never drawn it, except on the firing range. He was ready
to use it now, except the big guy was just too willing. Some fighter s
instinct warned Joe to choose another tactic. There was a small end-table
within arm s reach, and as Joe crouched to get up he seized it by one leg.
Whipping it ahead of him as he rose, he jabbed it into the giant s face as
hard as he could. He got the surprise he wanted, and felt the table connect
with what ought to have been a knockout impact.
But his opponent came at him right through the blow. Again Joe scrambled
backward; the table was knocked from his grasp. Now he tried in earnest to
draw his gun, but the quickness of his enemy was as incredible as his
strength, and again Joe s arm was caught before his fingers could reach the
holster.
This time, it seemed, the arm might in fact be twisted off
 Stop! the sharp command in the woman s voice brought the torture to a halt.
Joe was dropped to the floor, where he rolled helplessly for a moment, trying
to verify that nothing in his arm was broken or seriously torn.
Somewhere above him, Carol lectured.  The object is to learn something from
him, remember?
 Whatta you want to learn? He ll tell us.
 I want him to speak to us freely, Poach. Giving little details that will be
clues, though he may not realize it. And I
want to waste none of his sweet blood, if we can help it. Her voice, that had
begun normally, ended in a ghastly whisper, and long before she had finished
speaking, Poach had moved away. Joe, getting shakily to his feet, could see
the other man s forehead marked with an almost straight horizontal line,
oozing red. Poach dabbed at his hurt with a finger, looked back at Joe with
the eyes of a wounded predator.
But Carol was standing between them now, a hypodermic in her hand.  I have a
little something here for you, Joe.
It will only make you sleepy. Are you going to be a sensible young man and let
me do it? Or are you going to try again to 
He tried again. Ten seconds later he had a few more minor bruises, had
discovered that a heavy metal ashtray made no more impression on either of his
foes than knuckles did, and was being held down like an infant atop a great
wooden table, a drafting or designing table of some kind, one place in the
room where lights were bright. He could feel his shirt and jacket being peeled
back partially from one shoulder. About all he could see from under an elbow
that held his head immobilized, face down, was part of the nearest wall. What
appeared to be a pair of harpoons were mounted there, crossed diagonally like
fencing foils. Crude, early harpoons perhaps; even their heads were wood, or
looked like wood, with pointy wooden barbs. . . .
The needle stung him in the shoulder and almost at once the world dissolved
into a fog, a haze through which two pale faces hovered over Joe. One was
haloed by red hair, the other blued with gun-metal stubble and blooded with a
forehead crease. Both of them were made gigantic by his own helpless terror.
 Where is the old man, Joe? You know who I mean.
He knew who she meant, all right, but nothing more. If he had, he would have
told her. He had been relieved of all choice in what he said.
Carol was gentle and understanding.  If you don t know where he is now, Joe,
tell us where you saw him last.
 That house . . . out in the country . . . the night we. . . .
 The night Gruner was killed. Yes. And where before that?
His mouth worked by itself. All he had to do was lie there on the table and
observe the process. He mentioned the
Southerland house, the parking lot of the Shores Motel, the Loop, the
mausoleum in Lockwood Cemetery. . . . [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]