stairwell door. Popeye needed no urging to climb. He strained ahead on the leash, the fur on the back of his neck still raised. I walked right beside Sam, holding the knobby-headed cane by the bottom end. Sam slid his jacket zipper down halfway. We reached the top of the stairs and stood on the landing. I looked through the door and saw a wall with another door. The old wooden door was almost shut; we couldn't see what was beyond it. This floor had been divided up into smaller rooms, either for offices or for small work areas. We walked slowly into the first room and listened. I thought for a second I did hear footsteps, but then it did not matter because the dog blew it. He barked and snarled and dove right at the door, slamming it shut. Fast running steps now, going away from us. Sam's hand made a quick motion on his chest and the zipper was down all the way. That big hunk of bright nickel winked at me. He held the dog tight but it took effort. He opened the door.
I could see the man just disappearing toward the far end of a narrow hallway, scarred with ruined plaster and lath, that ran down the center of the building, with small doorways opening off of it. He wore a tan trenchcoat and a brown hat. He never turned around, just whisked around the corner outside the far door and was gone. The big dog leaped ahead, pulling Sam off his feet. I heard the distant pounding on the stairs. I jumped through the door and after the man. When I was halfway down the narrow hall I seemed to hear footsteps below me, running back in the direction I'd come from. I turned and shouted to Sam, who was being dragged along the old plank floor like a dogsled, that he was doubling back on the second floor. As I made the top of the stairwell I saw Sam back on his feet trying to go down the other end. But Popeye didn't see it that way and in the heat of the chase was hard to convince. I reached the second floor in time to see the stranger begin a leaping descent down the stairs. Sam, being pulled by the dog, followed an instant later. When I began down I heard distant running, a shout or two, and an explosion. A big hollow boom. Sam's revolver. I thought he'd lost his head until I heard another explosion from farther away. So the stranger in the tan coat who liked to chop at walls also carried a piece.
I was beginning to think that this excursion was indeed a dumb idea as I shot out the building. As I cleared the doorway an arm snaked out and grabbed me by… the collar, jerking me back hard against the brick wall. I found myself standing next to Sam, who'd released the dog to grab me. He held the big revolver near his chest, with the barrel pointed up. A slug thumped into a wall somewhere and a big noise came with it. I didn't know where the dog was. We hugged the wall. And then I heard a long scream.
It was Mary.
We both left the wall on the run to the gate and the old bridge. I heard the dog snarl beyond the sumac. We were running hard on the gravel and I think I was crying. We didn't hear any more screams. Then we saw why. Mary was lying on the old rickety footbridge, just above the still brown water.
She didn't move, even when I knelt down and shook her.
CHAPTER NINE
Then Sam was next to me and I was murmuring a prayer between clenched teeth and everything was blurry but clear when I blinked. The bridge seemed to rock like a roller coaster. I lifted my eyes up and saw the big fawn- colored dog wandering over the yard far, far away. It was a dream. A very bad dream.
'It's okay… goin' to be okay, Doc,' I heard Sam say softly. Then Mary opened her eyes and stared at me. She didn't say anything, just stared. Then she looked confused. She frowned, and tried to sit up. We held her back. I heard Popeye barking far away.
'Charlie?'
'What?'
'He hit me.'
'I know.'
'He hit me with his coat I think.'
'You're not shot anywhere? I can't see any blood.'
'No. I was standing here on the bridge when he ran past. He held out the side of his coat at me-'
'Probably had a sap in his coat pocket,' said Sam. 'You'll be all right in a minute. just don't move fast.'
Sam should've been a doctor, I thought. Then I saw that her face was all wet. Wet with tears. Mine. I wiped it dry and she got up. When I saw that she was really honest-to-God okay, I dropped her arm and went over to the railing of the bridge and puked.
I'm as tough as they come. You bet.
I led her to the car and was about to slide behind the wheel when I looked back. I saw Sam walking up behind the dog with his gun in his hand. The dog was going through the blown-out doorway of the big mill building in the front yard. Popeye was walking slowly, stiff-jointed, in a stoop-shouldered stalk. Sam was looking up at the rows of dusky windows where a bad guy could lean out and loose off a couple of rounds. They needed help.
'Can you drive? Good. Get out of here and find a pay phone at least live blocks away. Call the local fuzz and have them send a bunch of cruisers here. Then hang up and dial Joe in Boston. Don't come back here no matter what. I'll meet you at a pub called the Dubliner on Market Street.'
'But I don't know where Mar-'
'Just ask; they'll tell you.'
'I'm not going unless you come too! You can't-'
'Get out of here or I'll knock your block off'' I said, gripping her upper arm until she winced. I watched her speed off. Marital discussion is nice and everything, but when a couple of bad-asses are walking around the place with heaters drawn, discussion has no part in the program. Discussion is closed.
I dogtrotted back through the gate and into the yard, headed toward the old wrecked chimney and the big building next to it where the man and dog stood frozen, straining forward yet still, like hunters in a field of quail. I trotted along a zigzag path, deliberately making myself bounce. I wanted to keep moving. I caught up to them. We all scanned the dark windows above.
'He in there, Doc. That sucker in there. He tried to split the scene but ol' Popeye head him off.'
Still looking up, the gun muzzle raised to guard himself, Sam ran his sinewy arm down the leather lead and unsnapped it from Popeye's collar. The collar was big enough for a Clydesdale. He pointed at the near door and said stay. The dog placed himself in front of it in a half-crouch, mouth open, panting. Then the heavy flews drew back, revealing a mean grin. Popeye growled.
'Ain't nobody goin' through that door,' said Sam as he led me around the other way. We stood on each side of the old wooden door for several seconds, listening. Then we went in. The first floor was deserted. There was nothing in it but dirt anyway. We went to the far end where the dog was, then walked softly back to our side of the building, leaving the dog to guard the other, and went up. This was the floor with the old mattresses and office furniture piled high and strewn about. Dark and dirty, with a thousand places to hide and ambush.
'Now I wish we had the d0g,' whispered Sam. 'You stay behind me now; don't get off to the side, you'll get shot.'
He didn't have to tell me. I was beginning to feel like Huck Finn on the old steamboat wreck: I was sorry I'd come. Halfway through the building and nothing. Then Sam stopped and held a finger to his lips. We waited motionless in the gloom. Then I heard it, a faint sound at regular intervals. Breathing. Somebody was in the building not far from us, breathing. Almost panting. I held the cane four inches above the ferrule, ready to wing it at the first thing that moved. Its knobby end was heavy, but it was a pathetic weapon against a handgun.
Sam led me to a spot behind a plaster-covered column and an old tipped-over desk. He held his motorcycle keys up and began to jingle them softly. Then louder.
'C'mon, Popeye,' he said in a coarse whisper. 'C'mon!'
Instantly there was a rustling and scrabbling in the far darkness. Sam drew back the hammer of his piece with a loud clack.
'Stay down,' he said. I saw the dim figure of the man jump up from behind old boxes and furniture. He wasn't where we'd thought. A brightness and a big explosion, and at the same second Sam returned fire from our refuge behind the column. If you ever have the chance to be in an enclosed place with somebody letting off a large-bore pistol, don't take it. My ears hurt, and there was a silent ringing in them as I crouched deeper in the junk furniture. I finally raised my head when I again heard the scrabbling sound of someone moving fast in a crouch. The place was brighter now, owing to the fact that one of Sam's big slugs had torn away part of a metal window frame
