Heller didn’t bother to put his feet on the rungs. With one hand on the cable which made up one side of the ladder, he swung into space.
Releasing and tightening his grip, he slid about five feet at a time down the ladder. It made me dizzy and feel even sicker than I already was.
He got to the bottom of the swaying ladder. The pilot dropped a few more feet. Heller simply let go and fell lightly the last two yards.
He looked up at the chopper and waved his hand. It spun away into the sky.
Heller looked around. It was dusky dark. Lights suddenly flashed on. Plastic, colored twirlers. Lines of cars around the edges of the asphalt. A big sign:
HARVEY “SMASHER” LEE’S BARGAIN CARS
FOR TRUE VIRGINIANS
MONEY BACK SOMETIMES
Oh, this was good news to me. Heller must have forgotten he was wanted in that town! Or maybe he thought the FBI reports had wiped it out. Or maybe he thought he could trust the friend of the late Mary Schmeck, Harvey Lee.
And that was who came out of the sales office. Big, plumper than ever, Harvey Lee stepped into the lights, ready to say what the hell is going on dropping in by chopper. He didn’t say it. He saw Heller. He stared. His flabby face went sort of white. He almost ran back into the office.
“Hello, Harvey,” said Heller. “Got any cheap cars?”
That stopped Harvey Lee. Nervously, he came closer. “Is . . . is Mary with you?”
“There’s nobody with me,” said Heller.
“Oh, well,” said Harvey Lee. “You want a car?” He was doubtless remembering the way Mary Schmeck had whittled him down on that Cadillac Brougham Coupe d’Elegance.
“Something cheap,” said Heller, “something I can just use and throw away.”
A look of cunning came into the used-car salesman’s eye. He pointed to a strange-looking car: the top came up to a point like an idiot’s head. It was badly beat up. “That one there. It’s a freak. It’s attracting too much attention. It’s a French Karin. You can recognize it a mile away. Nobody wants it. It runs. You can have it cheap.”
Heller glanced into it. It had a very wide front seat and a lot of room behind it.
“The French put it out,” said Harvey Lee, “as their dream car. But folks around here think it’s more like a nightmare. But it runs okay. It’s just that it looks so odd.”
“How much?” said Heller.
“How much you got?” said Harvey Lee with a cunning look.
“Three hundred dollars,” said Heller.
“I’ll take it,” said Harvey Lee promptly. I really blinked. The French Karin might be a dog for all French cars are but I just couldn’t imagine Harvey Lee letting go of a foreign luxury car for pennies like that. Then Lee said, “But at such a cheap price I can’t throw in any registration or bill of sale. Paper work costs money.”
“I only need it for a few hours,” said Heller.
“Well, then I’ll be glad to buy it back, so let’s make it two hundred and seventy-five,” said Lee, but there was a peculiar look in his eye. “No use doing the paper twice.”
“All right,” said Heller and handed over three one-hundred-dollar bills.
Heller got in and examined the oddly placed controls. He started up the car and ran it to the gas island. Harvey Lee filled it up and checked the oil. It needed a quart.
Counting out the forty dollars for the service, Heller said, “Now, where can I find Stonewall Biggs?”
Lee thought a moment. Then he swiveled his eyes sort of sideways. He said, “Stonewall Biggs is at the courthouse.”
“Isn’t this kind of late for him to be there?” said Heller. “The whole town looks like the sidewalks have been rolled up.”
Lee sort of floundered. Then he recovered. He said, “Well, since it burned down, he comes in evenings and tries to do some construction work. It’s just a temporary shed now. So he’s there all right.”
Heller got the car started again after a couple tries and rolled down to Main Street, past the bus depot, and then climbed the hill to the courthouse.
There was very little left: just a gaunt, charred shell. But a temporary building had been put up behind it to house, probably, the vital functions of the county and possibly the town. The dusk was very thick and the temporary building was all dark.
Heller killed the engine, which was already suffering. He got out.
Instantly, from a pile of rubble close behind him, came a loud and deadly voice. “Hands up! One false move and you’ah daid!”
Heller whirled. The only thing in view was a handgun, leveled and cocked, aimed straight at him.
Another voice from in front of the car. “It’s him, all raht! Keep him covered, Joe! You’ah undah arrest fo’ stealin’ a cah f’um Hahvey Lee!”
I chortled in glee. Clever Harvey Lee. He must have phoned ahead and alerted these cops! Now he not only could keep the three hundred but he’d also get his car back! And what an ally for me to suddenly acquire! They’d hold Heller and it would leave the Countess Krak wide open for Torpedo!
“Lean up against that cah!” said the cop in front, walking into view. “Watch him, Joe!”
“I don’t have time for this,” said Heller. “Can’t we put this off until business hours?”
“So you tryin’ ta squirrel outa it! What else have you stole?” The cop in front advanced threateningly.
“I give up,” said Heller. “It’s all in the back seat!”
The cop made Heller move forward and bend over the hood. Then he pulled the Karin’s door wide and leaned into the car.
Heller moved suddenly!
He kicked the open door.
It flew inward, crashed against the cop’s legs!
The door recoiled open again.
Heller was behind it.
Joe fired from the rubbish pile!
The bullet hit the door!
The cop with the bruised legs screamed, “Don’ shoot, Joe!”
Heller had the cop by the collar.
He threw him at Joe!
There was a crash by the rubbish pile.
Heller was onto them in a single dive. He reached down, grabbed collars and bashed their heads together.
After the dull clunk of skulls, the cops were inert and quiet.
Heller opened the temporary courthouse door. He located a small closet.
He went out and dragged the unconscious cops in. He took their own cuffs and locked them back to back.
He shut the closet door on them. He looked around the dark interior. “Well,” he said, “I guess Stonewall isn’t here.”
He went out and got into the Karin. After fighting with it a bit, he got it started once more.
He drove down the hill, past the bus station and up the state road to Harvey Lee’s.
As the Karin entered the lot, due to the funny shape of its windshield, Harvey Lee evidently could not see who was driving it. He sprinted out of the office laughing. He came up to the car, “Well, Joe,” he said, bending down, “I see you got the car back. That was quick!”
Heller’s hand shot out and grabbed Lee by the shirt collar. “This is quicker,” he said.
Harvey Lee was gargling.
Heller opened the door, shifted hands on the throat. “You don’t seem to realize I’m not here to play cops and robbers. Where’s some wire?”
Dragging Harvey Lee along, he located some ignition jump wires. He wrapped them around Lee’s wrists and ankles. He found and threw the switch that shut off the lot’s lights. “We’ll just close the place,” he said, “to prevent further crooked deals.” He dragged Lee over to the Karin and dumped him over the front seat and into the back.
“What happened to the cops?” wailed Lee.
“Some urgent business tied them up at the courthouse,” said Heller. “Now, earlier this evening, I asked you a civil question: where is Stonewall Biggs?”
Silence.
“If you cooperate, we’ll forget about this so-called deal. Pretend you are not a c
rooked used-car salesman now, and pretend you are a guide. Start guiding. Where does Stonewall Biggs live? Or do I get out and put a torch to these cars?”
Lee started babbling directions.
Heller drove back past the bus station, turned down a side street and, at instructions, drew up before a house. The mailbox said Stonewall Biggs.
He parked the car, went through the gate and knocked upon a white-painted door. An old black woman peered out cautiously. “Some young whaht mans,” she called over her shoulder into the house interior.
Then the door was thrown wider and Stonewall Biggs was standing there.
I blinked. I had been sure from what I had overheard that he was retired and in a hospital. And here he was, though stooped with age, well and strong.
“Well, Junior!” he cried. “Mah, this sho’ is a su’prise!” And he was pumping Heller’s hand and beaming. “C’m in, c’m in and set a spell! Mah, am ah glad t’see you, boy!”
He led Heller into the kitchen and sat him in a chair at the table. “We’ve et. You et? Marcy, git some vittles on. Some of that friahd po’k ’n greens.”
“Ah’m mahty glad t’see you well,” said Heller, unstrapping his musette bag and laying it on a chair.
“Aw, they cain’t kill off an ol’ coon dog lahk me,” said Stonewall Biggs. “They thought ah was done fo’ aftah you pulled me aht of that fiah but ah was jus’ singed, jus’ singed. Marcy, he do look a bit ga’nt. Hurry up them vittles so’s we c’n talk.”
Oh, good, I said. Delay him all you can, Stonewall Biggs. I don’t know who is in Room 13 of that hospital at Redneck, but the Countess Krak will be there and Torpedo will have his chance.
Marcy delivered and Heller began to eat under the attentive eye of Stonewall Biggs. Always the polite Royal officer, the fool, he said, “Things goin’ well with you, Mistah Biggs?”
“Oh, ah cain’t complain. Ain’t got no cohthouse though. Drafty as all git-out in that temporary buildin’. How goes things with you, Junior?”
“Cain’t complain,” said Heller.
Seeing his guest had reached his cup of coffee, Stonewall Biggs said, “Is theah anythin’ ah c’n do fo’ you, Junior?”
“Well, yes, theah is. Has a young lady called you?”
Stonewall Biggs shook his head. “No.”
I was delighted. The Countess Krak had avoided this trail utterly. She must have another line she was working on. Torpedo would have ample time and chance.
Heller sat there for a bit. He finished his coffee. “Mistah Biggs,” he said at last, “tha’ naht ah seen you, ah got the impression maybe you knew mo’ about the birth than what you sayed.”
“Well, tha’s raht, Junior. But not much. If’n it maht he’p to ease yo’ min’, ah’ll tahl you. But ah’m afraid it ain’t much.”
“Be glad t’hear,” said Heller.
“Well, one naht abaht fifteen year ago, the doctah, he was purty drunk. He drunk hisself stupid a lotta times so ah got t’wonderin’ an’, as county clerk, ah figgered ah had a raht to know. So ah pried away and he said, ‘Ah done a lotta rotten things in mah tahm, but at leas’ ah nevah murdered th’ two of them.’ Tha’s all he said.
“But theah’d been rumors aroun’ abaht th’ Styles girl bein’ up nawth in th’ shows an’ comin’ home married to Delbert John Rockecenter. She was all swole up big an’ th’ husban’ wasn’t along. But th’ girl disappeahed an’ talk died down.
“Ah suppose you’ns is heah ’cause you think yo’ grandparents was murdered. But, Junior, you’ll nevah prove nothin’ at all. Th’ chief heah is also county sheriff an’ he’d sell his soul fo’ a shot a’ whaht mule. An’ even if it was a funny cah accident, mo’ lahk a bomb, y’d nevah get any evidence. So tha’s all ah know, Junior.” He sat for a while. Then he said, “You mus’ be of legal age now. Maybe you c’d he’p rebuil’ th’ cohthouse. Costs money, labah bein’ what it is. Even th’ coons git paid these days.”
“What was this doctor’s name?” said Heller.
“Tremor Graves, MD. He wuz th’ local GP heah, had his own hospital. But he drunk too much. He wuz in a rest home fo’ a whahl, but ah heah jus’ this las’ month his rheumatiz got so bad they took him to a hospital.”
“Where?” said Heller.
“Some doctah friend of his named Price. Owns a private health hospital, Altaprice, ovah in Redneck. Millionaire kin’ of place.”
“Mistah Biggs, c’d ah ask you the favah of showin’ me the way ovah theah?”
“Why, sho’, Junior. It’s on’y abaht fifteen mile.” He went and got his coat and hat.
Heller thanked Marcy for the meal and she beamed.
They went outside.
Heller stared.
THE CAR WAS GONE!
That clever Harvey Lee had apparently got himself untied and probably with another key had spirited the car away!
Biggs evidently supposed somebody had just dropped Heller off, for he opened the garage beside the house and unlocked the door of an old vintage Buick.
Heller, with a glance toward the direction of Harvey Lee’s lot, possibly thinking of future revenge, got into the Buick. Biggs backed it out and they were on their way.
I thought fast.
There was yet a way to stop Heller and give Torpedo his chance.
I grabbed the phone. Telling the operator it was a Federal emergency, she rapidly connected me with the Fair Oakes chief. He was evidently at home. He sounded rushed.
“This is a Federal agent,” I said. “We have just gotten data by satellite that your son, Joe, and another officer are tied up in a closet in the courthouse. Harvey Lee is a witness to a car theft. The man you want is in an old Buick headed for Room 13, Altaprice Hospital, Redneck. If you drive fast you can intercept him on the road!”
“Jesus!” said the chief. “That confirms what Harvey Lee just reported. We’re on our way!”
I hung up.
I beamed. Heller would be stopped.
Torpedo would have his chance!
PART FORTY-SIX
Chapter 2
I thought I had better check up on Krak. I moved her viewer closer to me to get a better look.
She seemed to be just staring down a hall. She wasn’t moving. So I did a fast replay. Maybe I could catch a glimpse of Torpedo.
She had left the land yacht in company with Bang-Bang and walked to the bottom of the hospital steps.
“Now, Bang-Bang,” she had said, “you go in and tell the doctor you’re in pain and somehow get the receptionist to help you to his office. You make him examine you and groan around and keep him there.”
Resignedly, Bang-Bang had gone in, attracted the receptionist’s attention and had gotten her to inform the doctor he was there. But she had come back and had told him to wait despite his plea that he was sure he would perish any instant. For quite a time he had sat there, rolling about in the chair and groaning. And all that while Krak had been outside. Torpedo, I felt sure, had private plans for when she went inside.
Finally, as Krak had seen through the window from the porch, a tall, blond man in a black coat, who must have been Dr. Price, had come out and, with the help of the receptionist, had gotten the collapsing Bang-Bang into his office.
Krak had slipped in and gotten out of sight at the end of a hall.
Now, as I watched, two nurses sauntered by. Once they were gone, Krak went up the hall, found Room 13 and slipped in.
The room was very plain. A night-black, uncurtained window was in the far wall. White metal tables, chairs and other hospital things stood about.
An old man was groaning on the bed, his face twisted in pain. He focused on the Countess Krak. She was looking at a chart that hung on the bottom of the bed. It said, “Dr. Tremor Graves.”
“Do I know you?” said Dr. Graves.
“I am the new therapist,” said the Countess Krak.
She reached into her shopping bag. She pulled out a helmet. She slid a recording strip into the slot and pushed a button that
said Record. She plonked the helmet onto his head, threw the switch, plugged in the microphone and sat down.
The Countess Krak looked at the black window, glanced at the door, listened for a moment and then got down to business. “Sleep, sleep, pretty sleep.”
Graves, who had been threshing about, lay more quietly.