Now the Black Mafia was striking back. Robbery of the vending machine collectors would be one of a half dozen counterraids, all carefully timed for today and representing a test of strength in the power struggle. Later still, there would be more reprisals on both sides before the white-black Mafia war ended, if it ever did.
And, as in all wars everywhere, the soldiers and other victims would be expendable pawns.
Rollie Knight, Big Rufe, and Daddy-o had come through a basement corridor and were at the foot of a metal stairway. Immediately ahead was a halfway landing between floors, the top of the stairway out of sight.
Big Rufe commanded softly, 'Hold it here!'
A face appeared, looking downward over the stairway rail. Rollie recognized Leroy Colfax, an intense, fast- talking militant who hung around with Big Rufe's crowd.
Big Rufe kept his voice low. 'Them peckerwoods still there?'
'Yeah. Be two, three minutes more by the looks.'
'Okay, we in place. You get clear now, but follow 'em down, 'n stay close.
Understand?'
'I got it.' With a nod, Leroy Colfax disappeared from sight.
Big Rufe beckoned Rollie and Daddy-o. 'In here.'
'Here' was a janitor's closet, unlocked and with space for the three of them. As they went inside, Big Rufe left the door slightly ajar. He queried Daddy-o. 'You got the masks?'
'Yeah.' Rollie could see that Daddy-o, the youngest, was nervous and trembling. But he produced three stocking masks from a pocket. Big Rufe took one and slipped it over his head, motioning for the others to do the same.
The basement corridor outside was quiet, the only noise a rumble, distantly above, where the assembly line was operating with the fresh eight-hour shift. This had been a shrewd time to pick. Traffic through the plant was never as great during the night shift as in daytime, and was even lighter than usual this early in the shift.
'You two watch me, move when I do.' Through the mask, Big Rufe's eyes appraised Daddy-o and Rollie. 'Ain't gonna be no trouble if we do this right. When we get them guys in here you both tie 'em up good. Leroy dumped the rope.' He motioned to two coils of thin yellow cord on the closet floor.
They waited silently. As the seconds passed, Rollie found himself with a sense of resigned acceptance. He knew he was in this now, that his participation would not be changed or excused whatever happened, and if there were consequences he would share them equally with the other three.
His choices had been limited; in fact, there were really no choices at all, merely decisions made by others and forced on him, which was the way it had always been, for as long as he remembered.
From the coveralls he was wearing, Big Rufe produced a heavy-handled Colt revolver. Daddy-o had a snub-nosed pistol - the same kind Rollie had been given. Reluctantly, reaching into his waistband, Rollie held his, too.
Daddy-o tensed as Big Rufe motioned with his hand. They could hear clearly - a clatter of feet coming down the metal stairway, and voices.
The door to the janitor's closet remained almost closed until the footsteps, now on the tile floor, were a few feet away. Then Big Rufe opened the door and the masked trio stepped out, guns raised.
The vending machine collectors looked as startled as any two men could.
Both wore gray uniforms with the vending company's insignia. One had a thatch of red hair and a pale pink face which, at the moment had turned even paler; the other, with heavy-lidded eyes, had the features of an Indian. Each carried two burlap bags slung over a shoulder and joined together with a chain and padlock. The pair were big-boned and burly, probably in their thirties, and looked as if they could handle themselves in a fight. Big Rufe gave them no chance.
He leveled his revolver at the red-haired man's chest and motioned with his head to the janitor's closet. 'In there, baby!' He ordered the other, 'You, too!' The words came out muffled through the stocking mask.
The Indian shot a glance behind him, as if to run. Two things happened.
He saw a fourth masked figure - Leroy Colfax - armed with a longbladed hunting knife, leaping down the stairs and cutting off escape.
Simultaneously, the muzzle of Big Rufe's revolver slammed into his face, opening his left cheek in a gash which spurted blood.
Rollie Knight jammed his own automatic against the ribs of the red-haired man who had swung around, clearly with the intention of aiding his companion. Rollie cautioned, 'Hold it! It ain't gonna work!' All he wanted was to have done with this, without more violence. The red-haired man subsided.
Now the four ambushers shoved the others ahead of them into the little room.
The red-haired man protested, 'Listen, if you guys knew . . .'
'Shaddup!' It was Daddy-o, who seemed to be over his fright. 'Gimme that' He grabbed the canvas sacks from redhead's shoulder, pushing the man so he tripped backward over mops and pails.
Leroy Colfax reached for the cash sacks of the other collector. But the Indian, despite his cheek wound, which was bleeding, had spirit. He lunged against Leroy, thrusting a knee into his groin and his left fist hard into the stomach. Then, with his right hand, he reached up and snatched the mask from Leroy's face.
For an instant the two glared at each other.
The vending machine collector hissed, 'Now, I'll know who . . .
'aaaaaaah!'
He screamed - a loud, high-pitched sound which descended to a moan then subsided into nothingness. He fell forward heavily - on the long-bladed hunting knife which Leroy had thrust hard into his belly.
'Jesus Christ!' the red-haired man said. He stared down at the slumped, motionless form of his companion of a moment earlier. 'You bastards killed him!'
They were his last words before unconsciousness as the butt of Big Rufe's gun crashed into his scalp.
Daddy-o, who was trembling more than he had originally, pleaded, 'Did we hafta do that?'
'What's done's done,' Big Rufe said. 'And them two started it.' But he sounded less sure of himself than at the beginning. Picking up two of the chained bags, he ordered, 'Bring them others.'
Leroy Colfax reached for them.
Rollie urged, 'Wait!'
Outside, hurried footsteps were coming down the metal stairs.
Frank Parkland had stayed later than usual at the plant for a foremen's meeting in the office of Matt Zaleski. They discussed Orion production and some problems. Afterward he went to the south cafeteria where, at lunchtime, he had left a sweater and some personal papers. It was when he had recovered the items, and was leaving that he heard the scream from below and went down to investigate.
Parkland was past the closed door of the janitor's closet when something impinged on his consciousness. He turned back and saw what he had observed but not taken in at once - a series of blood spatters extending under the door.
The foreman hesitated. But since he was not a man given to fear, he opened the door and went in.
Seconds later, with an ugly head wound, he tumbled, unconscious, beside the vending machine collectors.
The three bodies were discovered an hour or so later - long after the quartet of Big Rufe, Daddy-o Lester, Leroy Colfax, and Rollie Knight had left the plant by climbing over a wall.
The Indian was dead, the other two barely alive.
Chapter 26
