correspondent, who said: 'If this debate has proved anything, it is that forty-six-year-old Joseph Carlton Critchfield III is an astute and able contender. For if there were a winner in this debate, most would agree that the spoils of victory would go to Critchfield, who now faces Democratic challenger George Pappas of Saugus as well as the incumbent. Tonight we'll have a special report on the Critchfield family, an illustrious clan whose wealth and political power have so long held sway over-'
Click.
Old Critchfield sat back and sighed softly.
'God knows they need him. Haven't had a Republican in since Frank Sargent.' He turned to me and raised his bushy eyebrows. 'I'm not sure whether Santuccio knew of my grandson's political plans. There have been rumors for some time. In any event, he certainly picked an opportune time to try and put the squeeze on us. Well, you now see why I absolutely cannot permit the pictures and this distasteful business up in Lowell to become public. I'm sure, Doctor Adams, if you have any sense of public duty, you'll agree.'
'I don't agree. I don't agree at all. That's the same weak ploy Nixon tried. It didn't work because it shouldn't have worked. It won't work now for the same reason. Those negatives will be in the hands of newspapers before the week's out. And you'll be indicted for murder one. Better pack your toothbrush, pal.'
He glared at me again, started to rise, thought better of it, and shrank back onto the couch. The bright eyes glowed bluish-white, like acetylene torches.
'You said you'd make a deal,' he hissed.
'Wrong,' I said. 'The note said I wanted to talk about it. I still do. But the story's coming out. And soon.'
Critchfield turned to Lundt. His mouth turned down in a scowl. He seemed to ignore Roantis, who appeared to be asleep. Then a faint smile played on his lips. He took a roll from the basket on the tea tray, broke it, and set it down on the silver. He turned to me again.
'Thank God I had the cleverness and foresight not to trust you, Adams.' He chuckled. 'In addition to keeping your attention while you were up on the cliffside, my phone conversations on the terrace had another purpose.'
'Aw don't tell us,' I said, holding up my hand. 'We already know, don't we, Liatis? Old Critchfield's hired some more thugs to come burn our feet with cigarettes and stick knives in us so I we won't release the photos. Right, Critchfield?'
'Wrong.' He grinned impishly. 'I called my pilot in Lawrence and told him to fuel the Lear jet and stand by for a possible business excursion. The aircraft has a significant range, Doctor Adams. There are several secluded stops I have in mind for you and your friend here. None is in the United States. You will remain there, your whereabouts unknown to your family, until after the election.'
'They'll know who took us,' I said.
'I don't think so. If approached, I shall deny everything. I know you came here alone because Lundt, in one of his rare moments of mental lucidity, checked the approaches to these grounds carefully before surprising you up there.'
He looked away from me long enough to remove another roll from the basket and break it. He bit at one half quickly, then set it down on the tray with the other one.
'I am a realist, if nothing else,' he continued. 'I know I haven't long to live, despite my personal regimen. I wouldn't have cared a fig if Santuccio had released those papers if it weren't for Joe and the race. Not a fig. I also don't care if people come nosing around here after you're gone. I don't even care if they lock me up, which they won't. But I will not allow that film to get out.'
'It's beyond our control. The Globe's already got it,' I lied.
'That's a lie,' he said, taking another roll from the basket.
'In a few minutes, when my pilot calls back and tells me the Lear jet is ready and at the proper place on the airfield, my staff will escort both of you to my limousine and thence to the Lawrence Municipal Airport, where you will be taken aboard the aircraft.'
He looked up at Lundt again while his hands fumbled in the breadbasket. 'I don't know if Mr. Lundt feels up to joining you or not-'
'Not,' said Lundt, his upper lip curling in a sneer. 'You'd try to pin the whole rap on me wouldn't you?'
'And why not? You disobeyed my instructions completely. I did not pay to have anyone murdered. If the law comes here, I'm afraid you'll have to speak for yourself.'
'You said use any means necessary.' Lundt unconsciously raised the gun slightly.
Critchfield stared at him, like a judge passing sentence. He was holding up the edge of the linen that had been wrapped around the rolls. We couldn't see his other hand. I stood up.
'Latis!'
Roantis was already in the air, leaping toward the old man on the couch. But the ancient, liver-spotted hand was raised, and the small black automatic in it spat flame. Lundt grabbed his chest and jumped up, and the small pocket gun spat again. In a reflex action Lundt jerked the trigger on the pump gun. It clicked. We knew it would. He shucked the action fast and snapped the trigger again. Empty. Then there was a loud splat as Roantis smacked Critchfield's hand with the sap. The old man sat there on the couch and screamed bloody murder. He held his hurt hand and bawled. Roantis seized the little pistol and emptied it. I examined Lundt, who was now down on the floor. He had taken two slugs. Critchfield sat moaning on the couch like a giant, cadaverous infant. He jabbed at the button on the end table and shouted for Geoffrey, who was nowhere to be seen.
I did what I could for Lundt, who had shoulder and chest wounds. Roantis took a big revolver out of his coat, wiped it off carefully, and handed it to me. It had been Lundt's. He'd taken it when he'd taken the sap. He couldn't be caught with it now. As I walked to the phone at the far end of the huge room I looked out the window and saw the big Caddy glide down the driveway. Geoffrey was at the wheel. He still had his white jacket on. He looked like a dining-car waiter. I heard him call to the Hispanic guard at the gate and motion him over to the car window. The guard stuck his head inside for a second, looked back at the house, then ran around to the passenger side and got in. The big limo spun out of the gate on two wheels.
I picked up the phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I was out there on the porch again, standing under the ceiling fan and listening to a Jimmy Rushing tape. A pair of robins were hopping and clucking on the lawn. Joe's unmarked cruiser swung onto the gravel turnaround and he and Sam came up the walk.
I went into the kitchen and checked the standing rib roast. I told Mary the guests had started to arrive, poured her some red, and made silver bullets for the three of us. When I came back, old Mr. Five-by-Five was belting out: 'Every-day, every-day, every-day, every-day, I have the blues-'
'Ain't he a killah?' said Sam, looking up at the speakers.
'How's the new man working out?'
'Doc, he's great, lemme tell you. Big and rough and gentle. He rides my old bike. Oh yeah. And that foxy mama he's got, that Loretta
… mmmmmmm-mmmm.'
'Good. Well, you can thank Moe Abramson for both of them.'
'And me,' said Joe.
Brian showed up, and then Moe, who brought ginger beer, tofu, and bean sprouts. We almost threw him out. He was delighted that Loretta was settling in. I was worried about her past and told Mary so. But she'd eyed Amos Railford- the Jamaican recently incarcerated in the Dedham jail, until Joe and Moe sprung him- and said his past wasn't so rosy either. She also took a long look at his body and then said she doubted that he was a virgin, so maybe it didn't matter about what poor Loretta had done in her past.
Roantis showed up toting a strange bundle. He asked to use my workshop for a few minutes and I let him down there. When he didn't show, we all went down and found him standing at my reloading bench, running
