and grinned. I dropped the empty Luger and dove for the shotgun but he had the tommy waist high, aimed down my throat.
Ski’s. 38 bellowed behind me and hit the big hoodlum in the chest. He grunted and whirled toward the sound of the gun. I swung the pump gun up and fired into his belly. It doubled him up and knocked him against the doorjamb. His mouth dropped open with surprise. I charged another round into the chamber and shot him again. His chest erupted. Behind me, Ski emptied his. 38 into what was left of him. He took them all and then spun around and fell backward down the steps, his legs flipping over his head before he landed facedown in the dirt.
It got as quiet as Sunday morning.
Smoke and steam whisked around the open door. I ran over to Ski, who was sitting on the floor with his back against the stored ice, and helped him up as best I could.
“Let’s go, partner. We gotta get you to the hospital.”
“You sure it’s over?”
“It’s over.”
“Christ, we sure made a mess of this place,” he said.
I got him up, gathered up our weapons and the tommy gun, and helped him out the door.
“Can you make it to the car?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and he staggered toward Louie’s ruined cream puff.
I checked all three of them. All dead. I took their ID’s and stuck them in my suit pocket, and ran back to the man by the car, the first one I shot. He was leaning against the tire, trying to breathe. Air gurgled through blood. He looked up at me with frightened eyes and then his eyes lost focus. They turned to glass and death rattled in his throat. He fell over on his side. I reached down and closed his eyelids with my fingers, reached in his pocket and got his ID.
“What are you doing?” Ski asked.
“I wanna know who we just killed,” I said. I cranked up, spun around, and pulled back on the main road.
“Are they all dead?” he groaned.
“Yeah. Hang in there, partner. I’ll have you in the hospital in five minutes.”
“I can’t believe that son of a bitch would try to kill a couple of cops.”
“Dead men tell no tales. He thinks we know more about something back there than we know. Now, stop talking. Save your strength.”
He ignored my advice.
“This is the second time in four years we’ve had to use bullets to get out of trouble,” he sighed. “How come I’m always the one ends up getting shot?”
“There’s more of you to hit,” I said.
CHAPTER 29
I got immediate attention when I roared up to the hospital with siren and horn blowing. I pulled up as close as I could to the emergency entrance, and the security guard and an attendant rushed out with a gurney and wheeled Ski up a ramp and into the hospital. I didn’t know what to expect but there was about twenty miles of lonely road between me and Guilfoyle, and nobody around to back me up, so I pulled the car around to a darkened side of the hospital, and went inside carrying our riot gun, my Luger, and Guilfoyle’s tommy gun with the extra magazine.
There was an office inside the emergency entrance, and I walked in and laid out all my firepower on the desk.
“Jesus, you expecting the Japs to attack?” the security guard asked nervously.
“My name’s Bannon. Get the captain on the phone-I don’t care where he is-and tell him Bannon was ambushed at Ferguson’s Icehouse by four of Guilfoyle’s mobsters. My partner is shot and we’re here at the hospital. I need help.”
He rushed off, and I stepped into the operating room and stood beside the door. They were cutting Ski’s pants off and Ski was beefing.
“It’s my best suit, can’t you just pull my pants off?”
“They’re covered with blood, sir,” the doctor said. “It won’t clean off anyway. What’s your name?”
“Agassi… just call me Ski, it’s a lot easier.”
“Good, Ski. I’m Dr. Butler and these are my assistants, nurse Gina Solomon and our on-duty intern, Dr. Knowles.”
“My pleasure,” Ski said with effort. “How bad is it?”
“There’s no exit wound, so the round’s still in there somewhere,” he said to the nurse, and to Ski, “I’m fairly certain it missed your kidney and liver. So if we can just dig that little devil out, you’ll be fine.”
I moved a little closer and the doctor noticed me. He stared at me over his face mask and said, “And you are…?”
“Bannon. He’s my partner.”
He went back to work. “May I ask what happened?”
“He got shot.”
The doctor gave me a wry look.
“I think it was a. 38. There was a lot of shooting going on at the time and we were running for cover.”
“Should we be expecting anyone else?”
“No,” I said, “the other four are down at Ferguson’s Icehouse waiting for a hearse.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Dr. Butler said. “So far tonight, I’ve had two broken legs and an old geezer who tried to swallow a bottle of gin in one swig. I’m a little tired.”
“T… red?” Ski said.
“Say good night now, Ski,” Butler said, “you’re going to sleep.”
“Awwrrii…” and he was in lullaby land. I left the room.
A few minutes later, Culhane’s Packard came screeching into the parking lot. I was boiling mad inside but keeping it under control. Rusty got out and opened the door for Culhane. He was followed by a guy I hadn’t met yet. Six-four, all muscle, dark-skinned with long black hair tied in a ponytail. His. 45 was holstered on his belt and he was wearing a badge on his brightly embroidered vest. Nobody but a man that size would have the guts to wear a pale red vest with lizards embroidered on it.
“This is Big Redd,” Culhane said. “You haven’t met him yet.”
He nodded and damn near broke my hand with his.
“How bad is your man hurt?” Culhane asked.
“He’s got a slug in his side. The doctor says he’ll be okay. Can we go inside and talk?”
“Sure. Redd, you and Rusty keep an eye open until Max and Lenny get here.”
The big man nodded.
Culhane and I walked into the office. Culhane looked at the pile of guns on the table. He was about to make a crack but I didn’t give him a chance.
“You been shining me, all along,” I said, my voice trembling with rage.
He didn’t say anything, just gave me that blue stare.
“My partner’s in there with a bullet in him, Guilfoyle sent four of his goons to burn us, and I don’t have a goddamn clue why! We killed four men tonight and I don’t know why!”
“I wasn’t grifting you.”
“The hell you weren’t. The first day we took a ride together, when we were sitting up on the overlook? I showed you a picture of Verna Hicks and you brushed it off. You knew it was Lila Parrish.”
“I couldn’t have recognized my mother from that clipping.”
“I talked to her mother. She says she hasn’t seen or heard from Lila in twenty years and I’m beginning to believe her.”
“So…”
“So who was paying her off and why?”
