I heard the unmistakable spasm of a sob.
I ran then, holding one hand tight against my ribs to muffle the fire that had started there. I was too late. They heard my feet pounding and the one by the car turned sharply, ducked inside, and slammed the door. The car pulled away silently and slowly as if nothing had happened.
But they left a beautiful young girl behind them. She was sobbing hysterically and started to collapse as I reached her.
She was a lovely brunette wrapped tightly in a white trench coat, her hair spilling wetly over her shoulders. She tried to shove me away while she hung on desperately to an oversize handbag and keep saying over and over, "No . . . please, no!"
I said, "Easy, kid," and pulled her to the porch steps of the nearest house. When I got her seated I tried to take her hand. She stopped sobbing then, jerked her hand, and held her pocketbook on the opposite side.
For a second the hysteria passed and she said, "Get out of here. Let me alone!"
"Relax, I'm . . ."
"There's nothing the matter with me," she nearly shouted. "Get out of here.
She clenched her teeth on the last word with a crazy grimace and tried to stand up. But I was sitting on one edge of her coat and when she did the thing yanked open and half-pulled off her shoulder.
She was naked from the waist up and I didn't need any light to see the welts and stripes across her body and the small bleeding spots where something with a sharp tip had dug in.
I stood up, pulled the trench coat closed. When she realized I had seen her, she closed her eyes, let out a soft mewing sound, and let herself fold up in my arms. I put her down on the steps again and as I did, her pocketbook fell open. There was a sheaf of brand new bills inside, held by a bank wrapper. On it was printed the number
Suddenly the porch light snapped on, the door opened, and a man stood there clutching his bathrobe at his middle. His wife peered over his shoulder, her face worried.
"You," he called out. "What are you doing there?" His voice didn't have too much snap to it.
I motioned to the girl. "There's a sick woman here. Look, call a doctor for me and hurry it, will you?"
"A doctor? What's . . ."
"Never mind what's the matter. You call. And turn out that light."
They were glad to get back inside. The porch light went out and inside one turned on. I propped the kid up, put her bag under her arm, and walked away from the house.
I didn't get very far. The car hissed up behind me and a voice said, "It's him again. The one who jumped Lennie and me in the restaurant."
There wasn't any sense running. A dozen fast steps would tear my side anyway. I just stood there and because I did the action that was all set to explode went sour. Nat Paley and the new guy who hopped out and came at me from different sides slowed, not able to figure me out.
Nat's hand came out of his pocket with a gun. The gun came up and Nat's face said it was the right time and the right place. Except somebody else thought differently and a strangely cold voice from inside the car said, "No noise."
They moved before I could yell. The other guy came in fast from the side, but I ducked in time to get the load in his fist off the top of my head. I kicked out, jabbed at his eyes, and made the touch. He couldn't yell with the sudden pain, ducked into my right and his face seemed to come apart under my knuckles.
And that was the end of it. Nat got me just right, one stunning blow behind the ear, and, as I sank to my knees, went over me expertly with a clubbed gun and ruthless feet. As one terrible kick exploded into my side, I thought I screamed and knew with absolute certainty that Nat had one more blow to deliver. It would come with bone-crushing force in that deadly spot at the base of the brain. I knew it was coming and I hoped it would, anything that would erase the awful thing that was happening to me inside.
It came all right, but a sudden convulsion that wracked my side made it miss and my shoulder took it all. Nat didn't realize that, though. A tiny part of my mind that could still discern things heard him laugh and drag the other guy into the car.
In the middle of a wild dream of sound and light I coughed, tried to turn my head away from the jarring, acrid fumes of ammonia, and then swam back into a consciousness I didn't want.
Somebody had carried me to the steps and a face peered anxiously into mine. The old guy watching me said, "It's all right. I'm Doctor McKeever."
"The girl . . ." I started.
"She's all right. She's inside. We'd better get you in there, too."
"I'm fine."
"What happened? Was there an accident?"
I shook my head, clearing it. "No . . . not actually."
When I moved my arm my shoulder muscles screamed. At least nothing was broken. I'd taken some bad ones before, but this took the cake. Under the bandages I could feel the warmth of blood and knew what was happening.
I said, "You saw the girl?"
"Yes."
"You got an idea of what happened?"
He chewed his lips a moment and nodded. "I know."
"You've seen it before, haven't you?"
At first he wasn't going to say anything, then he looked at me again. His voice had an edge to it. "Yes."
"Then you do like you did before, doc. You keep this under your hat, too. Let it get out and that kid is ruined here in town. She can be ruined no matter where she goes and it isn't worth a public announcement."
"Somebody has got to stop it," he said.
I said, "It'll be stopped, doc. It'll be stopped."
A small frown furrowed his forehead. His smile was crooked. "Toxin-anti-toxin," he said.
"What?"
"Poison against poison."
I nodded, spit, and said, "You go take care of that kid, then ride me back to the hotel."
When he had left I got sick again. I had to get those capsules I had left in my room. In just a few minutes now it was going to be worse than it ever had been and I'd be a raving maniac without a big jolt from the small bottle.
I couldn't tell how long he had been gone, but finally he came out leading the girl. A car pulled around from the side and the doctor bundled her into it, telling the driver to take her to his office and deliver her to his wife.
As soon as the car left, he had me on my feet, got me in his Ford, and started up. At the hotel he got out, opened my door, and took the arm on my good side to lead me in.
Dari Dahl was behind the desk, in white nylon no longer. She was wearing a black sweater and skirt combination that dramatized every curve of her body and making the yellow of her hair look like a pool of light.
The brief flicker of concern that hit her face turned to a peculiar look of satisfaction. She came around the desk, tiny lines playing at the corner of her mouth and said, "Trouble?"
"What else. Now get my key, please."
She smiled, went back, picked the key out, and came over and handed it to me. "Are you hurting, Mr. Smith?"
Both of us shot her funny looks.
"Is it true that when a narcotic addict tries to lay off he fights it until he's almost tortured to death before he takes a dose?"
McKeever said, "What are you talking about, Dari?"
"Ask him." She smiled too sweetly.
"She's bugged, doc, let's go."
We walked to the stairs, started up them, when Dari called, "Mr. Smith . . ."
I stopped, knowing somehow what was coming.
"Quite accidentally I dropped a bottle of capsules while cleaning your room. They fell down the toilet." She
