run away from. He turned his head up slowly, the whites of his eyes almost fluorescent in the black pit of the grave.
I said, "Scrape it clean."
Mechanically, he went to clearing off the boxlike affair that covered the casket, each motion forced, each moment bringing Lafarge closer to that one second of supreme terror.
In a way it was laughable. Lafarge who had been afraid of no man and who had killed many with his own hand was shaking with fear of meeting one who could do nothing to him at all. Nothing.
I had to jump in the hole to help him tear the boards off to expose the coffin. They were pulpy rotten with time, smelling of mold, and came up easily. Then there was old Rhino Massley's last bed and I had the point of the shovel banging into the edge until it broke loose.
And now I'd know the answer.
I carved a niche into the wall and made Lafarge stand in it while I climbed out. He looked like a shrunken-up gnome standing there, shivering silently at the thought of what I was going to make him do.
"Open it," I said.
His voice was barely audible. "No. Please, Mac . . . no."
He heard the hammer of the .45 come back and it was enough. His whine turned into jerky sobs and he reached for the lid of the coffin. Twice it slipped from his fingers, then with a convulsive heave he had it open and when I struck the match he took one look at what was inside, gagged with sheer fright, and collapsed in a faint that jammed the lid wide open.
It was a heady feeling knowing I had been right. The excitement was pounding in my chest and head, making my ears ring. I laughed out loud right where I stood and the sound of it was just enough to cover up the sudden rush of feet until it was too late.
The first one got me across the back of the neck, then struck again across the skull. I yelled, tried to get up, but there were others on me then. I was half over the edge of the open grave when a gun roared in my ears and below me somebody let out a pitiful wail. Then it was my head again and I was falling into the pit myself, the one I helped dig with my own hands.
It hit across the thing in the bottom without feeling, a strange and new sensation like being dead, I thought. I could still hear sounds, the yells of men, and twice the hollow reverberations like far off thunder. Then as suddenly as it happened the numbness of that brief half-life was swept away on a sea of pain.
Above me somebody said, "Rocca . . . hey, Rocca . . ." and a shaft of light flooded the grave.
It hurt, but I propped an arm under me and pushed up.
"He's okay. Can you take care of those two, Johnny?"
Another voice said, "They're not going anyplace."
There was a scrambling into the hole, a long drawn-out whistle as the person realized what was there, then hands hooked under my armpits and dragged me to my feet.
"You all right?"
The light swept over me and in its beam I saw Joe Stack, the front of him covered with dirt and blood trickling down one side of his face.
I nodded. "I'm okay." I spit out the taste of mold and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Lafarge?"
Joe turned the light on the open end of the coffin. It was partially filled now by a sandbag and a man, and there was no difference between either because all both were, was dirt. A bullet had nearly taken the top of Lafarge's head off and the cycle for him was complete.
The .45 was half covered by dirt and I didn't leave it there. I picked it up, and without bothering to clean it, shoved it under my belt out of sight.
Joe said, "Ready to go up?"
"Sure."
He gave me a hoist and I sprawled on the mound of dirt we had thrown up, the sudden, stunning pain in the back of my head tearing down the muscles of my back and into my legs. Another light was going over me, taking in every detail, the reflection of it bouncing off the one who held it, a tall, heavyset guy with blood on his face.
"This is the one?"
I heard Joe answer, "That's him."
"He's got plenty to talk about."
My head was clearing again. I managed to get to my knees, then on my feet. I felt myself grinning foolishly at the big guy. "Who're you?"
"Police. You were lucky, mister."
He flashed the light down beside him. The two motionless shadows I had assumed to be mounds of dirt turned into men, handcuffed back to back.
"There was another one," the cop said. "He got away."
"Put your light back on them."
The beam of the flash traced a path to their heads. "Know them?"
I nodded. "One. He's a hood named Joe Coon who works for Mannie Waller in New York. The other one is new to me."
"He's local. Been here for a couple of years. Tough punk who has a small record but a big reputation. We've always pegged him for a hired gun for the L.A. bunch."
"What about the other one?"
I felt the cop shrug. "We heard his car. He took off."
"That's great."
"Why sweat. These two will talk. We'll pick him up."
Joe Stack said, "Let's not make it easy for him. Suppose I get back to town with Rocca here and get your office to work."
The cop hesitated and I saw him scowl. "I don't like it."
"Listen, Johnny, you wouldn't have tied into this one at all if I didn't steer you to it. I tried to tell you this was different and you should have seen enough to know this is hot. Now throw it through channels and you'll blow the ass right off the bit. Either play it the way I suggested or lose it and look like a fool. I know what Rocca's bumping. Don't louse him up or he won't be telling you or anybody else anything and, as far as I'm concerned, I don't blame him."
"Damn it, Stack, he'll talk too, if I want him to!"
Joe's breath came in with a hiss. "Don't rub me, Johnny. I'm from the Fourth Estate, remember?"
"He's not."
"Like hell. He is as of right now. If he wants, I'm putting him on my staff. How do you like them apples?"
The cop grunted, shook his head, and scowled. "Okay, Chief Bigheart, I'll go along. Sometimes it's better this way. Take the car and send out Aldridge and Garcia. How much time are you going to need?"
Stack glanced in my direction. I said, "What time is it?"
"Almost 10:30."
"We'll have something in the morning."
"It better be something for me, friend."
"You aren't alone," I told him. "This isn't local."
"Okay, I'm a sucker. I'm lucky I have 20 years in without any strikes. This could cost me."
Stack took my arm. "Let's go. Can you make it to the house?"
"If we don't run."
"Jokes yet he tells," the cop said.
Stack made the call to Aldridge and Garcia from his own office.
When he hung up I put down the almost-finished highball he made up for me and took the towel off my head.
"Fine. Now cut me in," I said. "You were there at the grave like gangbusters."
"I gave you the Mermak and the Blue Sky Motel so I could stay with you. Man, I was on your tail ever since you left the building here. Now let's hear your side. Where did the boys come from?"
