dangerously.
“You put my knife into your brother-in-law, right back in the messy hole Tillman had made but he wasn’t dead when you did it. When I got to my room, he was alive. He told me you killed him.”
“That’s enough horse crap, Peters,” he squealed.
“No horse crap. I thought he was saying no. Yes. I figured he was trying to say Noyes. Hell, I was making it harder than it was. He was just trying to say your name, Hanohyez. He thought you murdered him, and he may have been right.”
“Maybe I made a faux pas,” he said.
“Maybe your last big faux pas,” I answered, watching the barrel of the.45 rise from my chest to my face. My.38 was already in his pocket, and my heart was trying to find a way out of my chest. I sighed, sagging my shoulders, trying to look resigned, smiled and went to one knee, throwing a right at Hanohyez’s stomach. The bullet went where my head had been and a lot of air plushed out of Hanohyez, but he held onto the gun as he went back into the promenade railing and tried to level it at me as he gurgled for air.
I hesitated, unsure of whether to make a try for him or run like hell for the nearest cover. Cover promised the most hope. I got to my feet and ran. The second bullet cried past my head. When Hanohyez caught his breath, he would be shooting straight and painfully.
A third shot chucked splinters out of the cotton-candy stand I had ducked around. He had started stumbling after me, and he’d soon be running. His legs were big and heavy, but he had a lot of need and a gun on his side. I wondered how long it would take for someone to call the cops when they heard the gunshots. I wondered if anyone actually heard the shots. I wondered if the photograph on my office wall would go to my brother or my ex-wife if Hanohyez put a good one through my spine.
I had someplace to get to, but getting there was not a sure thing. A dash across an open walk brought me to the struts of a roller coaster. I climbed over the low wooden fence and went for the darkness of the steel framework. Over my shoulder I could see Hanohyez coming in my direction. He had spotted me.
On my knees in shadow I let myself pant, then took a few deep breaths and held the last one as I saw his big body, gun in hand, come over the small fence. He did the right thing. Instead of plunging into the darkness after me, he stood and waited till he caught his breath, and then he listened.
I had to breathe finally, and his head cocked in my direction. The fourth bullet hit a metal bar in front of my eyes and sent out a spark of light. I wasn’t counting the bullets, waiting for them to run out. He didn’t have a six- shooter and this wasn’t a Western. Maybe I was counting to see how much beyond reason I was surviving.
Hanohyez was about twenty yards behind me when I vaulted the fence and found myself near a dip in the roller-coaster track. I could have gone over the other side and made a dash across an open square, where I’d be a great target, or I could climb up the track. If I made it to the first turn on the track and he followed me, I’d have a chance. I didn’t figure him to be a climber. I scrambled up, grabbing chain and track, and got to the first curve as Hanohyez spotted me and sent a hasty shot in my direction. It dug into the wood near my shoulder with a sickly thunk.
If Hanohyez were a reasonable man, he wouldn’t have followed me. He would have gone ahead of me on the ground and waited. I couldn’t hide very well on top of a roller-coaster track. If he went ahead he could pluck me off. But he didn’t know when company might come, and the straightest route seemed best. He came up the track. I could hear him cursing, but I also knew that to climb, he’d have to put the.45 in his holster. I peered back over the curve and saw him coming on. There was nothing to throw at him. I considered rolling myself down on him, but the chances of either of us surviving were small. So I went on, scrambling down a dip and climbing up an even higher incline than the first. Over my right shoulder I had a beautiful view of Santa Monica. The Douglas plant was belching fire from its chimneys to turn out planes. Over my left shoulder the moon sent out a white sheet over the ocean. Behind me, Hanohyez stood at the top of the lower incline and took careful aim in my direction.
This bullet tore hair and skin from my neck. It was the scratch of a wild witch and gave me a push over the top and down the other side.
I nearly lost my grip going down, and I didn’t like the fact that I couldn’t hear Hanohyez resolutely coming after me. Another idea must have entered his head, a good idea. When I got to the bottom of the dip, I was about a dozen feet from the ground. I hung over the side and let myself drop. I hit dirt, stumbled back and banged against a white picket fence designed to keep the curious away from danger.
My neck wound pulsed. I touched it and asked it to be patient for the sake of all my body parts and functions. Hanohyez wasn’t in sight. I looked again and took off in the direction of the Dome Pier. He spotted me when I had almost made it across Pier Avenue. His footsteps echoed through the “Fun Zone” of concession booths and cafes, but he didn’t shoot. He could see that I wasn’t going for the street but heading for the ocean. Maybe he could even see that I was trapping myself.
My footsteps grew louder and joined my heart in “When the Saints Go Marching In” as I went on. I was tired, but there wasn’t much further to go. At the end of the pier, I turned left on the walkway and moved more slowly. Behind me I could hear Hanohyez’s heavier tramping on the wooden walk. I stopped at the railing and looked back as his footsteps grew louder. And then he turned the corner with his gun raised.
“Okay,” I panted, standing in the shadow about thirty yards from him. “I quit. Just make it as painless as possible.”
Hanohyez walked forward, gun out slowly. “Like hell,” he said.
“One last question,” I said, stepping out into the light. “Did you enjoy killing Lombardi or Tillman? How about Larry?”
“I rubbed them out because I had to. It’s my vocation. I ain’t no nut who likes killing. But I’ll make an exception in your case.”
The gun was leveled at my chest, and the shot was loud and close, a crack and a boom like a bullwhip.
Hanohyez looked at his gun and then looked at me and said, “I’m terminated.” He put the gun back in his holster and toppled forward like Jimmy Cagney at the end of
Phil stepped out of the shadows where I had been and moved down the walkway with his gun drawn and extended. Seidman moved to the other side of the railing, behind me, with his gun out. They were both pointing the weapons at the prone Hanohyez, who wasn’t quite dead. They were taking no chances. Both of them and I had seen more than one Lazarus rise from the dead to take another shot at an unwary cop.
Seidman moved ahead and kicked Hanohyez with his toe while Phil covered him. Hanohyez groaned.
“You heard?” I said, hearing the distant scream of the mad gull of Ocean Park.
“We heard,” said Seidman. “Full confession.”
I had asked Jeremy Butler to call Phil and have him hide at the corner of the pier while I brought the killer to him for a confession. Hanohyez had had other ideas, however, and those other ideas had almost cost me my plan and my life.
Phil put his pistol away and strode back toward me.
“You bagged another bad guy,” I said, waving. Phil swayed before my eyes, moonlight behind him. My vision was hazy, and he seemed to rise slowly from the pier like Harry Blackstone’s assistant.
“All a joke to you,” he said, standing in front of me. I must have grinned because he put a broad hand on my neck to squeeze or shake a little brotherly sense into me, but his hand felt blood and came away quickly.
“You’re hurt,” he said, grabbing my arm.
“Hell,” I laughed, “it takes a silver bullet to kill me.”
When I woke up a few hours later with Koko the Clown urging me off the air mattress and into the ocean, a rush of white made me wince and I closed my eyes again. I opened them slowly and realized I was in a Los Angeles County hospital.
Phil was leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He ran his hand through his hair, sighed and shook his head. “At least this time, no one used your head for a coconut,” he said.
I sat up, feeling dizzy. My neck was stiff and I reached for it. A bandage held it in place.
“Keep your hands off,” Phil said, stepping forward to whack my hand away. I almost fell off the table.
“Marco?” I said.
“Still alive,” said Phil.
“And what happened to Fargo and Gelhorn?” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Let them go,” he said.
