leaning his weight on his end to keep it from toppling into the alley. Dick Fleming, kneeling on the department store roof, reached out fearlessly. He grabbed the wavering leading edge, helped drag it across. The two men lowered the door into a flat position. It was about seven feet long and spanned the open gap neatly, with about a foot protruding on each end. It was a steel bridge.
‘Shut your eyes and hold my hand,’ Donohue said. ‘If you don’t do this, I’ll shove you off the edge myself.’
I did what he said. I shut my eyes. I stepped up when he told me. I took short shuffles. His hand was tight and hard on mine.
‘Okay,’he said, about a hundred years later. ‘Youmadeit.’
I opened my eyes. I was on the roof of the department store. Dick Fleming slid an arm across my shoulders, smiling at me.
Gore came strolling casually across the door bridge. We worked swiftly. Carried all the luggage to the other side. Then Hymie went back for the door. Dick Fleming helped him. They got a good grip on it, inched it free from the motor lodge cornice, let it swing downward, bang against the wall. Then they hauled it up. Gore carried it across to the other side balanced on his head.
We repeated the process. Fleming made the first leap to the roof of the movie theater. This time, jumping out and down, he fell, rolled, and got up limping and rubbing his ankle. Hyme tossed the luggage across the space between the two buildings. Then the three men wrestled the door into position again. This time it barely spanned the gap, by no more than an inch or so on each side. And because the movie theater roof was lower, the ramp led downward.
Once again I closed my eyes and Jack Donohue led me across. This time his arm was about my waist, and we moved slowly in little, dragging steps. We made it, and Hymie Gore came dancing across, pausing to spit over the edge.
‘Leave the door here, Jack?’ he asked. ‘Dump it — or what?’
Donohue looked at the steel door.
‘Leave it right there,’ he said. ‘Dump it and the noise will tip everyone. It’s no use to us anymore. The next building is so much lower, there’s no chance to make it.’
We went over to the fire door on the roof of the movie theater. It was also steel covered and worked just like the rooftop door of the motor lodge: It was locked on the outside. Donohue struck a match, held it close to the lock. He sighed.
‘I could get in,’ he said. ‘Maybe half an hour, an hour. We haven’t got the time, after that racket we made. Also, I don’t like the idea of four of us carting all this shit down through a movie theater. This is a public place; there’s got to be a fire escape. Everyone spread out and look around.’
I stayed right where I was, close to the middle of the roof. I wasn’t about to go peering over the edge of a high building.
It was Hymie Gore who found it in the darkness: iron railings that came curving over the roof cornice. Donohue leaned far out, peered down. I didn’t know how he could do it.
‘Looks okay,’ he said. ‘A zigzag stairway. The last floor is probably on a slide or gravity pull; that’s the way these things are usually set up. Let’s try it. Hyme, you go first. Then Jannie, then me, then Dick. Everyone carries.’
And that’s the way we did it, me lugging only one suitcase and a shoulder bag, my free hand hanging on to that rusted iron banister with a grip that never relaxed, my knees trembling as we went down slowly step after step.
The last floor had a counterweighted swing staircase. As Gore stepped onto it, it swiveled creakily. He went down cautiously until the free end touched the ground. He stepped off and leaned on the handrail, holding the steps steady as we came scampering down that final flight. Then he relaxed his grip; the fire escape swung upward out of reach.
We were in a narrow alley between the movie house and the department store. Maybe five feet wide. Easy for two people to walk abreast, too narrow for a car. It was lighted at both ends with bright bulbs under pyramid- shaped green shades, on the ends of pipes protruding from the walls.
Jack Donohue looked around a moment, getting his bearings.
‘That way,’ he said softly, jerking his chin. ‘That’s the parking lot. We’re not too far from the car.’
We started off, Hymie Gore leading the way again, carrying two suitcases. The rest of us followed in single file. I couldn’t believe we were doing it. Escaping from Antonio Rossi and his heavies. It seemed too good to be true.
It was.
Gore was about twenty feet from the opening to the alley when a man stepped out into the glare of the naked light. He was facing us. He just stood there in the center of the open space. Not moving. We stopped. I saw he was tall, slender. He was wearing a snap-brim fedora but no raincoat or topcoat. I couldn’t see his face, it was shadowed by the brim ofhishat. Butlsawthe gun in his hand. Itwas gleaming.
I heard Hymie Gore say ‘Aw.’ I think that’s what he said: ‘Aw.’
He started forward. This takes longer to write than it took to happen. Hymie hurtled toward the man. He dropped one of the suitcases he was carrying. He raised the other, vertically, so it was covering him from chin to groin. He was gripping it at the sides with both hands, elbows bent!
I thought I heard him say ‘Aw’ again.
It all happened so fast, so fast.
He was about ten feet away from the gunman when his arms snapped straight. The suitcase went flying forward. At the same time I heard the shots. This time they were sharp cracks, three of them in rapid succession. I didn’t know then if the bullets went through the suitcase. It didn’t make any difference.
Hymie was hit. 1 saw him shudder. He paused a brief second, then went falling forward, pawing futilely at his side pocket. The tall, slender gunman was still standing, the suitcase at his feet. I heard two more shots.
Then Gore crashed into him. The two of them went down in a tangled heap. I thought the gunman was trying to squirm free, get out from under the weight pressing him down.
‘Run!’ Donohue screamed. His shoulder hit me, spun me around. ‘Go that way! Go to the parking lot! The car!’
Dick and I ran, luggage bumping against our knees. We fled down that gloomy, walled alley, sobbing, gasping. I glanced back. Jack dropped his suitcase and shoulder bag. He darted forward. He had his gun out now. I saw him lean over, jam the muzzle into the ear of the gunman, who was still struggling to rise. The sound this time was more like a liquid
Jack bent over Hymie Gore briefly. Then he picked up the suitcase Gore had thrown. He came running back towards us. He paused long enough to grab up Gore’s other suitcase and the case and the shoulder bag he had dropped. He came stumbling toward us awkwardly, trying to hang on to everything he was carrying.
‘Move it!’ I heard him screaming. ‘Move it!’
Dick Fleming dashed around the corner and disappeared. But I stood there. I couldn’t move, wouldn’t move, not till Jack Donohue came panting up to me. Mouth open, eyes wild and straining, chest heaving. I took one of the suitcases from him. I stumbled with him to the exit from that horrible place. Black Jack disappeared around the corner. I took a final glance back.
I saw a squat, heavy man, guns in both hands, step into the light at the far end of the alley. There was no mistaking that figure: the broad shoulders, deep chest. The pinstriped, vested suit. The bowtie. A British bowler set squarely atop the heavy head.
He looked up briefly. Looked directly at me, as if calculating his chances for a lucky shot. Then he looked down at the two men on the ground. He leaned over, held one of his guns close. I heard a single shot. A
Then Jack Donohue was back, cursing. He clamped a hand on my arm, jerked me away.
‘Jack,’ I said, sobbing. ‘He’s dead, Hymie!’
‘So?’he said.
