Sharky's Machine

He pushed the door open. It swung slowly on aged hinges. The apartment had a long central hallway ending at the living room with bedrooms off the corridor. No lights. A tremor rippled along The Nosh’s arm and across his back and he shook it off. He took a few nervous steps inside. Broken glass crunched underfoot. He was walking with his hand against the wall, following the beam of his flashlight. He passed a doorway to his right and turned towards it, swinging his light at the doorless opening.

Then he heard Sharky, out on the street, calling to him:

‘!’Nosh !’

Thank God. He turned back towards the main doorway of the apartment. It was then he heard the movement in the room. Instinctively he dodged to his right and crouched at the same time. But it was too late.

He saw the blinding flash before he heard the dull, muffled explosion. The shotgun boomed in his face. Two barrels, shattering the quiet of the hallway with their silenced thunk, thunk! For an instant the corridor was lit by the ghastly yellow-red exhaust flame as the gases burst from the ugly barrels. The heat from the gas shattered The Nosh’s glasses, scorched his eyes, and the pellets tore into his face and chest. He was blown across the hallway into the wall. Pain chopped through the side of his face and tore at his shoulder. His feet flopped helplessly inches above the floor and he seemed to hang there for an instant before he fell.

He saw a figure dart through a doorway. It seemed miles away. His foot was kicking the ‘wall convulsively and he thought, I should stop that. But the effort was far too great. His reflexes Went wildly out of control.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, his one leg bent behind him, still kicking, and fell against the wall. He was vaguely aware that his life was leaking out of him, forming a dark pool at his feet. His hand was shaking, but he managed to work his wallet out of his pocket and threw it aimlessly into the main hallway.

‘P-p-p-police,’ lie stammered at nobody. ‘P-p-p-police

And then with all the fading strength he had left, be screamed:

‘HELP M-M-M-M-E-E-E-E.. ·

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sharky had taken only a moment to tell Livingston he had to leave, that he was worried about The Nosh, and to tell Domino he would be back shortly.

He drove like a maniac across the city, speeding through red lights, cutting through filling stations at intersections, his hand on the horn all the way. Pedestrians fled for their lives before him. He spotted The Nosh’s Olds from a block away and screeched in beside it, but lie saw it was empty before he even stopped. He jumped out of the care looked up Twelfth Street.

Darkness. The wind rattled old fences and dead tree limbs.

Which apartment? Where was he? Sharky’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it, like a pump in his ears. He cupped his hands and yelled:

‘Nosh I’

And a moment later he saw in the nipper-floor window across the street the hideous yellow-red flash. Oh Jesus! He grabbed his flashlight and ran across the street and into the apartment house, his automatic ready. Then he heard the terrible scream:

HELP M.M-M-M-E-E-E-E....’

Sharky charged up the stairs, up to the third floor, his light leading him on. When he reached the top floor he stopped, looking at the open door at the end of the long hail. He heard something thumping inside the apartment, like someone knocking on the wall. He moved cautiously down the hallway and then the light picked up the glitter of gold on the floor. A gold detective’s badge.

‘Nosh!’

He ran to the doorway of the apartment, saw the flashlight on the floor, its beam fixed on a foot that was jerking spastically, kicking the wall over and over again. He flashed his light on The Nosh’s face. Abrams was leaning against the wall. The side of his face was blown away and his mouth was crooked and bloody. His jaw was torn loose at one side and bits of glass sparkled on his cheeks. There was a jagged, gaping hole where his shoulder had been and blood spurted from a dozen wounds in his chest.

Sharky jammed his gun in his belt and dropped on his knees beside the little man.

‘Nosh. Jesus, Nosh, hold on. I’ll get somebody. Can you hear me, buddy? Hay, c’mon Nosh, nod. Blink your eyes. Do something!’

I. . . grahg. . . largh . . . agha. .‘ The Nosh’s voice was an ugly croak stifled by the blood that filled his mouth and overflowed onto his chest. He began shivering violently and Sharky pulled off his jacket and threw it over him.

‘C’mon buddy, hang in there. I’m gonna find a phone, okay? Shit, man, don’t fade out on me now.’

The Nosh’s eyes rolled in his head. He looked up at Sharky without recognition. His eyes were turning glassy.

More blood surged up from his chest and filled his mouth.

He was limp. His head lolled against Sharky’s chest.

‘Nosh!’

Abrams looked up again. His face seemed to sag. The skin grew loose. He was turning grey. His eyes were no longer focusing. They began to cross. There was a clatter in his throat and then his eyes rolled crazily and turned up into his head.

‘No. . . c’mon...’