and let more sunshine in. Nothing like a little cheer…
'Stay put,' whispered Sam, inching ahead. The man had not left the building. Apparently he now knew that the dog wasn't really with us. Since I was not armed- and totally unprepared mentally for using a firearm against a human- Sam thought it best that I remain safely tucked behind the pillar. And I agreed. Sam catwalked to the next column. The rustling sound was moving to our right. I could see nothing there. The bright shaft of sunlight was a hindrance because it made the darkness beyond even blacker. All I could see was the explosion-bright dust-swirl in the sunlight. I heard the clack of the hammer as Sam cocked a the revolver. He shouldn't have done that, because less than a second later a big chunk of the column blew away inches from his head. Sam fired twice at where he'd seen the muzzle flash, but after all the roaring and ringing died away I could again hear that scrabbling and rustling sound that told me our quarry was still moving around. He was a cool one, too. Chances are he'd been in scrapes before. Hunkering down in the dust and dirt, I remembered my previous adventure in another old factory, where I'd almost lost my life because of people shooting each other. The morning had indeed taken, a nasty tum. I couldn't help wishing I were someplace else. Like Bhutan, for instance. I crept forward and to my right. I didn't want to pull any fancy stuff; if Sam mistook me for the other guy I'd have nowhere to hide. More scraping and rustling. Then I heard breathing pretty close by. Or was it farther away and I was just nervous? I was nervous, no doubt about that. More creeping forward. Two quickish jumps to my left. Sam. I thought…
Next there was a long period of quiet. Which I did not care for at all. I'd rather have them shooting now and then just so I could keep my bearings. Then I heard the breathing coming closer, but before I had a chance to creep forward with my cane, Sam fired again. The shot was dead on, or almost, because I heard a distinct running and shortly afterward saw the upright rectangle of light which meant the far door had been flung open. Sam fired again as it swung shut. We charged the door and I saw the baseball-sized hole in it where the doctored bullet had I spread out on impact like a pancake. Running footsteps on the stairs. Another door. Where was the dog? We followed down, around, down, and out into bright daylight.
There sat Popeye, who hadn't moved a muscle. He seemed glad to see us; obviously our stranger-marksman hadn't come out this way. Then the dog was off, sprinting around the corner of the big mill. Sam reloaded, and we followed in time to see our trenchcoat-clad friend making a beeline for one of the smaller buildings. When we got around the side enough to follow the action, we saw him rush in and slam the door behind him. The dog never broke stride, and must have been doing at least thirty when he hit the door. Popeye left the ground fourteen feet in front of the door. For an instant he seemed to sail through the air like one of those gazelles in a slow-motion nature film. His black muzzle was down, and he hit the door just like the Billy Goats Gruff. It exploded, and he sailed right on in.
'Gotdamn!' said Sam as we closed the distance. We backed up tight against the doorway, then Sam peeked around. We went in. The dog was standing in front of yet another door at the opposite end of the building. He was so far away, and the interior so dark, we could scarcely see him. We trotted toward him, flinging glances over our shoulders, and opened that door, and the dog went out trailing, nose to the ground, in the direction of the fence.
'He's not inside anymore?' I asked.
'Naw. Popeye would smell him. He gone now. And look.'
He pointed at a dark spot on the buckled asphalt.
'Winged him too. Just a sliver, no more. But I winged him.'
We stared at the fence. Sam called the dog back. Popeye wasn't moving so fast. His eyes had lost their brightness. I realized how the beast had gotten his name. The eyes protruded from the flat, mashed face. Now they looked tired. I felt tired. Sam looked- tired. Our weary trio went slowly, half stumbling, back to the main gate. The dog sat, then sank to his belly. Popeye was working on a monstrous concussion.
Two cruisers pulled up, sirens blaring, lights snapping, and we all got in.
CHAPTER TEN
The cruisers of the Lowell PD snaked around the old textile compound looking for the man we described. No luck. He was a slippery one, was the guy in the trenchcoat. More cars were dispatched to continue the search while we were dropped off at the Dubliner. The Market Street section is the New Lowell, the phoenix arising from the ashes of the abandoned mills. Across the street were new condos made from converted mill buildings.
The Dubliner was an attractive pub that bordered an area increasingly filled with fine shops and busy offices. We found Mary pacing out front. Our greeting wasn't peaceful, but I realized through it all that her anger was the result of worry. We sat in a booth with one of the officers and I bought beers. The officer had coffee. We told him what had happened. Not only was he not impressed, but he informed us we had trespassed. Fortunately for us, Joe arrived shortly thereafter and smoothed things over. The squad car left for the factory, and we had lunch. The others dug into their bacon-cheeseburgers on bulkies, and I had a small Greek salad. Unless you're a lumberjack you've either got to skip lunch or go light. If you don't, before long you'll look like Santa Claus. We had more beer and then coffee. The strings were beginning to loosen, the tension of the 0. K. Corral incident receding.
The manager, who had refused to let Popeye into the establishment, stopped by our booth in a distressed state. The bull mastiff had sprawled in front of the Dubliner's door for a little post-adventure snooze. Patrons and potentials, seeing the beast in their path, were afraid to enter or leave. I looked out the window and saw pedestrians glance down, shift into high gear, and move right on. They were avoiding the place like a herpes hooker. So we brought the big lug in and he went up to Mary and started wagging his tail and big fat butt around and whining and piddling. The manager looked on and shook his head slowly. Joe tried again to pat Popeye, who growled at him. Then Joe reached over and gave Sam a quick pat near his upper arm. Joe winced.
'Use it?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Score?'
'Uh-huh. Indirectly; clipped him with a splinter I think.'
Joe groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut.
'You guys give me a pain in the ass,' he said. He reached over and tapped me under the arm. 'You packing iron too?'
'Of course not, dummy. I don't even own a shoulder holster
'Well I just never know with you, Doc. You're a strange one, with your fancy watches and-'
'Pooooor baaaaaaby!' cooed Mary as she patted the dog's head. 'Baaaaaby got a headache, hmmmmm?' She wrenched open his mouth and popped in three Excedrin, closed his mouth, held it shut, and massaged his throat until his big pink tongue popped out, which meant the pills had been swallowed. Sam watched, amazed.
'Let's split,' said Joe, getting up. 'The state lab team will meet us at the factory. They're probably already there.'
The manager was glad to see us go. On the way I stopped at a hardware store and bought a small crowbar, a pony sledge-hammer, and a broad mason's chisel. I knew there were tools left at the scene, but in all likelihood the lab boys would want them.
Within thirty minutes eight of us wound our way up the dismal stairs and onto the landing where we'd first spotted our man. e The room was halfway down the hall on the right. Right in the center of the big building. We went in. There was a very faint aroma in there I didn't like. A burnt smell. Popeye went over to the wall on the left and jumped up, sniffing. He whined and wagged his tail, then dropped to all fours and turned in a tight circle. Whined louder. Cried. Wailed. To the dog's left, near the door we had entered, the wall was torn. The plaster and lath had been hacked away from the studding and lay on the floor in a heap. This had been the falling noise, the patter of debris like heavy rain, we'd heard from the floor below before our mysterious friend had knocked off work and fled, shooting at us.
'He picked the wrong place to look,' I said. 'That's why he didn't find it.'
'Find what?' asked Joe.
'Johnny's pouch. It's in there. In the wall. Didn't you notice the dog's reaction? That's why we brought him in the first place. He just also happens to be good at bulldozing old doors. I'm going into that wall to get the pouch because I bet my anterior bridge is inside. Now you see why our errand doesn't look so dumb?'
