Book Release: Spring and Fall in the Old Dark House

Just in time for Halloween is this nice little ghost story about two friends – super-smart, super-sweet, irrepressibly lively Jenny Spring and taciturn, dour, extra-stoic David Fall – who end up having to explore a (possibly) haunted house, where they learn a thing or two about how much they still have to learn.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

When twelve-year-old Jenny Spring is asked that question by her best friend, David Fall, she insists that she doesn’t. She’s the smartest kid in school, and she knows exactly the right arguments to prove that there are no such things as ghosts.

But when the actions of a bitter classroom rival force them to enter and explore the creepiest house in town, Jenny and David find themselves forced to reconsider; what if there are such things as ghosts?

 

Thrilling Adventure Stories Presents: Andre Fireson and Nick Windworth in Friends in Need

 

 

They sat across from each other, as they had done once before, just prior to a hail of gunshots that had killed Gallano’s bodyguard and ended up setting his restaurant on fire. Andre thought the mobster had grown even more vulture-like in the intervening week or so.

“You place me in a most awkward position, Mr. Fireson,” said Gallano. “You arrive here, on my own boat uninvited, and during such a delicate time. How do you expect me to respond, I wonder?”

“As for that, you did destroy my car and kill my chauffeur,” Andre answered. “Not to mention nearly killing me.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said Gallano hastily. “I was not told the whole plan; only that it would require the use of my helicopter.”

“Does that mean you’re not the one in charge?” Andre asked, sensing weakness. “Should I be speaking to someone else?”

“I am in charge of my own operation,” Gallano snapped. “However, I do, occasionally…cooperate with certain others for our mutual benefit.”

“Walter Deaney, perhaps?”

Gallano scowled at him.

“You seem very well informed, Mr. Fireson; so much so that I wonder you need to ask any questions at all.”

“I make it my business to be well informed, Mr. Gallano, as I am sure you do as well. Now, these others you cooperate with…”

“You are not in a position to ask me any questions on that matter, Mr. Fireson,” said Gallano. “We are only having this chat in order that I may decide what to do with you now that you are here. Because you saved my life, I do not like to kill you, but, on the other hand, I cannot permit you to possibly interfere with…with an event taking place tomorrow.”

Andre’s eyes rose with interest.

“Oh? What event is that?”

“One that you may read about after the fact,” said Gallano. “I have made my decision; you will remain on the Fulmine as my guest for today and tomorrow, after which my men shall take you ashore and we shall never meet again. I will then consider my debt paid. However, if you attempt to leave this vessel, or to interfere with my plans in any way, you will leave me no choice but to order your execution. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite,” said Andre. “I don’t suppose you’d listen to a counteroffer?”

Gallano hesitated. He was, after all, a businessman at heart and always liked to know his options.

“I…will listen,” he said.

“Hand over everything you know about your co-conspirators, especially any cops on your payroll, tell me what you’re all planning, and I will provide the means for you to flee the country and disappear.”

The drug lord stared at him and then laughed.

“That hardly seems an appealing offer,” he said.

“Beats prison,” said Andre.

“Yes, but, you see, I am not going to prison, Mr. Fireson. I am quite well protected. The present…unpleasantness is merely a temporary obstacle. Within a week, it will all be behind me.”

“I’m sure your boss would be happy to hear that,” said Andre.

Gallano’s face twitched.

“This conversation is over,” he said. He nodded to one of his men. “You, take Mr. Fireson to his cabin. See that he is comfortable and that a guard is placed on him.”

###

            A short while later, Andre stood gazing out of the porthole in his cabin at the LA skyline. His room was very comfortable, but he had no intention of staying there. He had found out some interesting facts and had shaken up the old buzzard, both of which had been worth the effort to come aboard. Now he needed to find a way out.

He thought of Sarah and wondered whether she’d made contact with Crane yet. He trusted Benton to look after her, and yet he found he couldn’t prevent himself from worrying. Had he really done the right thing, leaving her like that? Was what he had learned worth the risk?

There was a rap at the door and one of the stewards came in bearing a tray.

“Your lunch, sir.”

“Didn’t order any,” he answered.

“Compliments of Mr. Gallano,” the steward answered, laying the tray on the table. It did smell good, Andre had to admit. He would probably need to keep up his strength if he meant to escape.

The steward bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Andre went to the tray and found it contained a dish of fried chicken, rice, and vegetables, a piece of bread with butter, and a glass of water. The meal wasn’t bad; not up to Benton’s cooking, but then few things were.

He’d almost finished before he noticed the folded piece of paper tucked beneath the plate.

He drew it out and unfolded it. It was a plan of the Fulmine, with his own room and usual positions of the guards marked off in red ink. Along the side of the paper was a message:

I have a plan. Leave after dark. Wait for my signal.

Andre felt his heart hammering with excitement, but his mind was troubled. Evidently, he had an ally onboard. But who? And what was his plan? Most importantly, what was the signal going to be? Presumably he’d know it when it came, otherwise his friend would have been more specific.

In any case, this was good news; better than he could have hoped for. He tucked the plan into his pocket then rang for the steward to take away the tray. Once this was done, he began methodically to memorize the plan as best he could.

He had been at this for less than twenty minutes, however, when there was a heavy thud from the corridor. Andre hastily tucked the map away as the door opened and the steward came in. Only, he didn’t look like a steward anymore; his round, somewhat drooping face was flushed and he moved, not with the rapid deferential step of a waiter, but the confident, direct motion of a soldier. He was taller than Andre, but something about his sloping shoulders and hunched posture made him seem much smaller than he was.

“Hello,” he said. “Change of plans.”

“What?” said Andre.

“We’re not waiting for dark anymore. Have to go now.”

“You?”

“Obviously.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“What’s changed?”

“Basically the whole plan, but I’ll tell you on the way. Can you give me a hand with this?”

He indicated the guard who had been stationed outside of Andre’s room; a hefty figure with a huge scar on one cheek. He now lay slumped against the opposite wall.

“What’d you do to him?”

“Whacked him over the head,” said the other conversationally as they hauled the brute into the room. “I was in a hurry. Still am, as a matter of fact. You any good with guns?”

“Rather,” said Andre dryly.

“Good. You take this,” said the other man, handing him the compact assault rifle the guard had carried. “Don’t like guns myself. Bad experiences.”

“Wait, who are you anyway?”

“Nick Windworth,” said the false steward, holding out a hand. “Friends call me Breezy.”

“Andre Fireson,” he answered, taking it.

“Knew that. Good to meet you,” said Nick, dropping the guard’s sidearm into his pocket. “Now we need to get off the boat and quick.”

“What’s happened?”

“Friend of mine needs a hand, and quickly. But don’t ask questions; just follow my lead. It’s not gonna be as easy as the night escape would have been, but then we don’t have as far to go either.”

Andre didn’t understand what he was driving at, but kept his mouth shut and checked the rifle magazine and chamber. It was fully loaded. He grabbed a couple spare mags from the guard’s pockets, as well as his radio, then followed Nick’s lead into the corridor.

They made for the fore stairs, then took them down into the lower decks, where the luxury vanished and the work began. Nick evidently knew his way around the ship very well, and they followed a winding, twisting path through its bowels, making, as far as Andre could tell, for the stern. They didn’t meet anyone along the way.

“So how do we get off the ship?” he whispered as they hurried past the engine room.

“Originally, I meant to take one of the lifeboats,” said Nick. “Figured we’d slip away and they wouldn’t realize we were gone until morning. But that’s not gonna be quick enough this time.”

“What do you mean, quick enough? And what else is there?”

Nick gave him an appraising kind of look.

“I don’t suppose you can fly a helicopter, can you?”

“Afraid not,” said Andre, seeing the idea at once. “Can you?”

“Well, I haven’t done it in a while, but I figure it’s like riding a bike.”

That was not encouraging.

Near the stern they found the after stairwell and began to ascend. Andre’s heart was hammering. He felt sure their luck was bound to run out soon. They couldn’t possibly get away without being spotted, could they?

They didn’t.

They came onto the main deck; the helipad was just outside a set of plate windows. And the pilot and one of the guards were standing right beside it, talking.

“No time for finesse,” said Nick in a low voice. “I’ll take the one on the left, you take the one on the right? And if you have to shoot, make sure you don’t hit the chopper.”

Andre nodded. Keeping low, they slipped through the door and out before the helipad, their guns raised.

“Hands up!” Nick ordered. “Up where I can see ‘em!”

The two men started, froze, but the guard’s rifle was pointed out to stern, and he sensibly saw that he’d have no chance at all to bring it to bear before he was shot. They raised their hands in surrender.

“Cover them,” said Nick. He relieved the guard of his weapons and the pilot of his keys, tossing the guns overboard.

“Now take a swim,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Not in a mood for arguing: there’s the water. Get in.”

He forced them down to the side of the yacht and onto the gunwale.

“You’re never gonna get away with this,” said the pilot.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say to your boss,” said Andre, and together he and Nick shoved them off. The two men hadn’t even hit the water before they were racing back to the helicopter.

“Not gonna take long for them to realize what we’re doing,” said Nick as he started up the rotors. “Then they’ll alert their allies in the police, and they’ll have choppers of their own in the air.”

“Then remind me why we’re doing this?” said Andre

The chopper lifted into the air. As it did so, several armed guards came rushing out onto the deck or onto the balcony above, aiming at them. Nick banked hard as the bullets pot-marked the chopper, but most of the rounds missed. Andre leaned out the side and returned fire. He was rated an expert marksman, but even so he had trouble landing a shot. But he did force the men back under cover, and that was something. A moment later, they were flying full-tilt toward the city.

“As for your question,” said Nick, speaking as calmly as if he’d merely been distracted by a matter of protocol. “Like I said, a friend of mine needs help, and she needs it fast.”

“Can be a little more specific?” said Andre.

“I was hanging around old Gallano when he got a call. Couldn’t hear too well, but I was able to gather that Mistretta, who seems to be the main dirty jobs man of this little conspiracy, anyway he’s gotten his grimy mitts on a couple of people they were looking for. One of whom’s Detective Karen Stillwater; friend of mine. Crane’s partner.”

“You know Crane?” said Andre.

“Everyone knows Crane in my line of work,” said Nick.

Andre was about to ask what that line was, but the mention of Crane suddenly put another idea into his mind.

“Who was the other one? The one they caught?”

“Don’t know. Someone named ‘Rockford.’”

Andre swore aloud.

“Know her?”

“She and I were on our way to see Crane and his partner when we got grabbed.”

“Ah, got it,” said Nick. “Well, Mistretta’s got them both, and Crane’s been arrested.”

“He’s what?”

“Sounds to me like they’re done playing around. Whatever’s happening tomorrow, the want to make damn sure we don’t interfere.”

Andre nodded abstractedly. He was thinking of Sarah, captured by a gangster. Why, oh, why had he ever left her? It was stupid, arrogant, irresponsible. And what happened to Benton? Was he dead, or perhaps arrested? Nothing else, he was sure, would have made him abandon her.

He shook his head. He couldn’t worry about that now. They needed to focus on saving the girls.

“You know where they’re taking them?”

“I’ve got a good idea,” said Nick. “But we’ll need to ditch the chopper first.”

They were well into the city by now, heading north and east. Nick was leaning forward, scanning the buildings below them, looking for a likely spot.

“Try my building,” Andre said. “On 7th and Randolph; shouldn’t be far from here.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Nick, banking in that direction. “Don’t suppose you keep spare cars there?”

“Can borrow someone’s,” Andre answered. Then he remembered it was Sunday; no one would be there.

“Never mind; sure to be someone parked nearby,” said Nick.

Andre quickly identified his building and watched it draw nearer. He wondered whether it would be his much longer; even if they survived today, with the police against them he might end up arrested on trumped up charges, like Crane.

So be it, he thought. It wouldn’t be the first time his family had been wronged by a mob. He thought of his ancestor, the Duke, forced to flee France in the wake of the Terror while his brother and sister went the guillotine. To die falsely accused and striving to uphold the right would at least be a fitting end for one of the Duke Duroc’s descendants.

Nick landed the helicopter expertly on top of the Firebird Arms building, and the two men flew out almost before it had stopped moving. Andre’s passcodes got them into the empty building and down the elevator.

“Mr. Fireson!” said Lou the security guard as they flew out of the elevator into the lobby. “What are you doing here? And…”

“No time, Lou,” said Andre. “It’s an emergency. I need to borrow your car.”

“Of course, sir,” said Lou, eying the rifle in his hand and passing him the keys. “Should I call the police?”

“Absolutely not,” said Andre. “If they come by, you didn’t see us. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lou. “I hope everything’s alright, sir.”

“It isn’t,” Andre answered as he and Nick flew into the parking garage.

###

            Sooner than Andre would have thought possible, Nick nodded at a run-down garage on a grim street corner.

“That’s it,” he said, driving past without slowing down.

There was no one in sight save for two tough-looking customers standing by the door.

“How do we do this?” Andre asked as they turned the corner.

“We try to go in guns blazing, he’s liable to cut their throats just to spite us,” Nick said. “We’ll have to be smart.”

He parked out of sight around the corner and got out. Andre followed him, the rifle tucked out of sight in his jacket. Nick turned down an alleyway behind the garage and, motioning for Andre to keep low, drew his automatic.

“No entrances back here,” he explained in a whisper. “So should be no guards.”

The alley was filthy, damp, and full of trash from a Chinese restaurant next door. It stank horribly.

“If there are no entrances, how does this help us?”

Nick shrugged.

Partway down the alley there were a couple sets of of bar-covered windows looking in on the garage. The first of these showed the main garage.

From here they could see the two women. They were each tied hand and foot, arms overhead and bound to the car elevators, which were raised high enough to stretch them to their full length. Their feet were bound to weights on the floor, leaving them almost immobile except for their heads.

Directly between them there was a work table, on which was laid an assortment of knives, drills, saws, pliers, blow torches, and other implements of torture. Mistretta sat beside it with his back to the window, idly fingering each instrument in turn, holding it up and turning it about so that the two women could see it clearly and imagine just how much it would hurt.

“Well,” he said. “Now that we’re all settled, let’s get started. The two of you have been making a lot of trouble for some very important people. So what I want to know is, how much you know, how you found it out, and who else knows about it? First one who talks gets to walk out of here alive.”

He held up a rotary saw and flicked it on. It spun with a high-pitched whine for a moment before he flicked it off again.

“Go to Hell!” Sarah spat defiantly. Karen said nothing, but her face was set even as her breathing came fast and shallow.

“Can you hit him through the window?” Nick asked a low voice.

“Maybe,” said Andre. There was a good deal of clutter in the way, and firing through glass would throw off his aim.

“Well, try, and if you can’t, make him think you can, at least for a second. I’ll go in the front. As soon as you hear trouble, start firing and keep him away from the girls.”

It wasn’t a good plan, but it was the only one they had time to make. Andre nodded and shouldered his rifle, sliding the barrel between the bars into the clearest section of glass he could find. Nick slipped off out of the alley Inside, Mistretta had set down the handsaw and instead picked up a long, thin knife. He fingered it a moment, then turned to Karen.

“Let’s start with you, Chiquita,” he said. “I want you to think hard about my questions.” The woman stiffened, but glared defiantly at him. Mistretta started toward her, idly twirling the knife…

###

            As he left the alley, Nick Windworth fell into a stumbling, weaving gait. His head lolled about and his arms waved meaninglessly. Typical drunk, like you see every day in this kinda neighborhood. He staggered down the street toward the guards, who watched him keenly.

“Hello,” he gulped as he came right up to them. “Would one of gentlemen point me in the direction of…”

They weren’t fooled. In a flash two pistols were drawn.

Oh, well, Nick thought.

He darted forward as quick as a striking snake and caught the wrist of the nearest man, forcing the muzzle of his gun down, and shoved all his weight against him. They were both bigger than he was, but they weren’t expecting this maneuver and so the first guard stumbled back against the second. With and expert hand, Nick twisted the wrist that held the pistol until it was pressed against the guard’s own abdomen, and before the man had quite realized what was happened, two powerful shots split the peace of the afternoon.

The man dropped, clutching his stomach, and Nick took his pistol. The second man tried to pull free as his partner slumped back on top of him. He stepped out of the way of the falling, mortally wounded man and looked up just in time to see Nick level the stolen pistol into his face. A third shot ended the affair.

It had all happened so fast that only now did Nick hear the bark of Andre’s rifle. Hoping that was enough to keep Mistretta distracted, he opened the door and slipped into the garage.

Almost as soon as he did so, more gunfire sounded. Of course; Mistretta had guards inside as well. Two of them, both pouring fire into the window through which Andre had been firing. Nick should have reckoned on that. The window shattered under the assault and there was a hail of dust and sparks as the bullets bounced off of the bars and tore into the bricks.

But he’d done his job; Mistretta had been momentarily forced to duck for cover back behind his table of torture implements. The two girls, unable to move or duck, shut their eyes and winced, trying to block their ears with their shoulders as the gunfire roared around them.

Nick, from his position behind a workbench, took careful aim at one of the guards and fired two quick shots. Them man dropped. The other heard and turned. Nick moved from the table to a metal tool chest, which rocked when the bullets hit it.

Mistretta, meanwhile, had figured their game. He crawled out from behind his table and ran over to Karen, standing so that she was between him and Nick. She gasped as he pressed his knife to her chest, but he didn’t stab her yet.

“That you, Breezy?” Mistretta called. “I know it’s you! You’re sweet on this cop, aren’t you? Wouldn’t want to see anything bad happen to her, right? That’s why you’re here. Come on out, or I’ll gut her slow!”

His ruined face twitched. Nick didn’t doubt for a second that he’d do it. From outside all was silent. It seemed Andre had been hit by return fire. His plan had never been a very good one, and now it was time to face the fact that it had failed.

“All right Mistretta,” he called. “You win.”

“No, don’t!” Karen called. “Stay…”

Her words were cut off in a shriek of pain. Nick leapt to his feet, all his long experience and training suddenly vanishing in anger at the sound of her agony. Mistretta, he saw, had dug his thin knife into Karen’s chest, just below the collarbone. But at that same moment there was another sound. A crumbling, shattering sound.

Mistretta, Nick, Sarah, and the last guard all turned to look at the window. The bars had been torn off. The salvo of gunfire had not only shattered the glass, but had torn chunks out of the brick work, which hadn’t been particularly strong to begin with. That meant Andre was still alive.

Nick registered all this information as he sprang over the table and rushed at Mistretta. He couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Karen, but he closed the distance within seconds, and as Mistretta turned back in his direction he threw a punch with his left hand that tore open half the stitches on the gangster’s face. Mistretta screamed in pain and fury, dropping the knife, but before Nick could shoot him he came back, caught the wrist that held the gun and forced it upwards. Mistretta was incredibly strong; more like a chimpanzee than a man, and his first blow staggered Nick and would have dropped him to the floor had Mistretta not been holding him up by one arm. The gun fell from Nick’s fingers in the shock of the blow, then he rocked and nearly passed out when Mistretta hit him again. Then Mistretta picked him up and threw him bodily into a tool bench, which was knocked over backwards with the impact.

Nick was dazed, racked with pain, but training and long practice allowed him to focus nonetheless. Mistretta, half his face a bloody mess, was hurrying forward to finish him off. Nick seized a heavy wrench from the floor and threw it at him. It struck dead in the center of the forehead and Mistretta staggered back, clutching at his skull.

Meanwhile, from the corner of his eye, Nick saw that another struggle was going on; Andre had climbed in through the shattered window and attacked the guard while the man had been distracted by the fight with Mistretta. They were struggling for control over the rifle.

But he couldn’t pay attention to that battle; he had his own fight to deal with. Taking advantage of Mistretta’s momentary incapacity, Nick grabbed another wrench, the largest he could find, from the pile on the floor, and staggered to his feet. In the time it took him to rise, Mistretta had recovered. He saw the weapon in Nick’s hand and hesitated, licking his lips. Nick held the wrench out before him, and the two opponents circled each other. Mistretta was far the stronger of the two, that had been well proven, but Nick guessed he was the better trained and he had a weapon. Call it an even match.

There was a sudden bark of gunfire. Mistretta looked around, and Nick struck. He darted in and swung for Mistretta’s temple, but the gangster’s animal-like reflexes were too good; even seeing from the corner of his eye was enough to allow him to block the attack, though not well; the wrench, instead of cracking his skull, instead shattered his wrist. Mistretta yelled in pain, but even as did he caught the hand holding the wrench with his uninjured hand and bent it cruelly back until the weapon fell to the ground. He then swung around and threw Nick against a yellow ‘flammable contents’ locker, which rocked with the impact.

Mistretta charged after him. Nick turned the handle on the locker, opened it, and threw the first thing his hands touched at the oncoming gangster. This turned out to be a plastic canister filled with some kind of oil, and it broke with impact, splattering its contents all over him. Mistretta gasped and sputtered, blinking the stuff out of his eyes and gritting his teeth as it seeped into his wounds.

That gave Nick an idea. He grabbed another bottle from the cabinet, hastily unscrewed the top, and threw it directly into Mistretta’s face. The gangster roared in pain as it got into his eyes, and charged blindly forward. Nick stepped out of the way and he slammed into the cabinet, causing more of its contents to spill out onto the floor. Mistretta turned after Nick and began taking wild swings in the air at where he imagined Nick to be. Nick dodged left, then back, then stepped aside and stuck out his foot. Mistretta fell forward and struck against a set of gas canisters that fed the welding torches.

Meanwhile, Andre knocked the guard out by slamming his head into a workbench, then rushed to join Nick, out of breath but still game.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Been better,” Nick answered, rubbing his bruised and tender cheek.

But Mistretta didn’t seem to have much fight left in him. He staggered, blinded, his left wrist shattered, his face a mass of blood and oil. The two men watched warily as he rose slowly to his feet. Then, both at once, they saw he was holding one of the welding torches.

“No, you idiot! Don’t…” Nick began, but it was too late. The torch flared to life in his hand, and instantly the oil that had coated Mistretta, and which he had dripped and smeared onto the torch as he had fallen on it, burst in flames.

The two men and two women all cried aloud in horror, but their yells were drowned in the scream from Mistretta as his whole body was immediately set alight. He ran, blind, maddened by pain, his arms waving, and all the oil and other materials that had spilled out onto the floor were set alight.

“We gotta get out of here!” Andre shouted. He ran to the table, seized the rotary saw, and began cutting Sarah’s bonds. Nick was right behind him, took a knife, and cut Karen free.

Mistretta was nowhere to be seen, that entire side of the garage was in flames. Once it reached the gas canisters, the whole place would go up. And worse, the flames were blocking the door.

“Out the window!” Andre shouted as he cut Sarah’s ankles free. He didn’t stop to see whether she could walk, but lifted her lightly in his arms and sprinted across the garage to the shattered window.

Nick, for his part, didn’t trust his ability to lift Karen and still run full speed. She was stiff and in pain, but could walk, and he threw an arm around her as together they limped across the garage. It was filling with smoke now, and they coughed as they went, eyes and throats burning. The fire was near the canisters.

At the window Nick lifted Karen and passed her out to Andre’s waiting arms before climbing out himself. The four of them sprinted down the alley and around the corner, and Andre (who was last) had no sooner turned onto the main street than the entire interior of the garage exploded in flames, shattering every window and tearing the doors off their hinges.

People had begun to arrive. Sirens wailed in the distance. Nick led the four of them down the road to where he’d parked their borrowed car. He and Karen got in the back, Andre and Sarah in the front, and a moment later they were driving as fast as they could away from the garage.

“Thanks,” said Sarah as soon as she had breath to speak. “That’s two I owe you.”

“Now what?” asked Karen. Then she yelped as Nick applied an impromptu bandage consisting of his handkerchief and a torn part of his shirt to her wound.

“First thing to do is switch cars,” he said as he worked. “Then find somewhere safe to regroup and decide what to do next.”

“We can use my place,” said Andre.

“Won’t they expect us to go there?” said Sarah.

“Yes, but I’ve got places there we can hide,” he answered. “Call it paranoia, but I like to be prepared.”

“Except they’ll be watching for us on the way,” said Karen. “Staking out the road in front of your house.”

“Then we won’t use the road. Trust me.”

A few blocks away they left the car parked in front of a multilevel parking garage. They walked into the structure and ‘borrowed’ a different car from the second floor. Andre took a long, winding route out of the city, but they saw no sign of pursuit. It seemed they had finally shaken the police. Along the way, they shared their stories of what had happened that morning.

“I hope Benton made it at least,” Andre muttered. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“What were you doing on Gallano’s yacht in the first place?” Karen asked Nick.

“After I’d annoyed Mistretta so much, I figured I ought to go into hiding,” he answered. “Gallano doesn’t know me, and Mistretta’d never think I’d be hiding right under his boss’s nose. Thought it’d be the last place he’d look.”

Karen smiled slightly. “And you still wanted to help,” she said.

“Nothing to do with it,” said Nick.

“Liar,” she replied.

They drove out of the city, and the Fireson mansion loomed into view on its height like a medieval castle. But Andre turned off the road the lead up to the hilltop and instead skirted around its base, where there was a wide thicket.

“I own all this land,” he explained. “Use it as a nature preserve. Good PR.”

They passed a sign reading ‘Duroc Nature Preserve: Take Only Pictures, Leave Only Footprints.” Andre parked the car in one of the few spots then led the others out onto the walking path. It was very pleasant, and if they weren’t all exhausted, sore, and tense with fear they would have enjoyed it.

Andre led them off the path, through the thicket, and finally to a spot where a hoary old tree grew right against the side of the hill. Then, to their astonishment, he reached onto the tree’s side, which was hidden behind a thorny bush, and pulled the entire front of the trunk open.

Nick whistled.

“That’s a neat trick,” he said.

Inside there was a short tunnel, at the end of which was a heavy metal door and a keypad. They slipped in, closing the ‘tree’ behind them. Andre entered a code, turned the latch, and pulled the door open to reveal a stairwell.

“It’s a bit of a climb, I’m afraid,” he said.

That turned out to be an understatement. The stairs wound back and forth so many times that they lost count, ascending straight up into the center of the hill. By the time they reached the top, the two women were nearly dead on their feet and had to be half-carried by their male companions, who were staggering themselves.

At last they reached the top landing, where there was another heavy door and combination lock. Once through this, they found themselves in a low-ceilinged, but otherwise spacious chamber. Crates and boxes lined the walls, sofas stood in the middle, and there was a table with chairs in a kind of kitchenette in one corner. A cluster of television monitors stood at one end, and a set of cots at another.

“Welcome to my safe room,” said Andre, breathing hard. “Bathroom’s through there if you need it. First Aid over there. Room’s sound-proof and not on the original plans, and the entrance is pretty well hidden, so I don’t expect we need to worry about any visitors.”

He went at once to the monitors and began flicking through them. Evidently, he had a closed-circuit camera system in his house.

“But,” he said. “It doesn’t look like we have to worry about that.”

Sarah joined him, while Nick set about giving proper treatment to Karen’s wound.

“How does it feel?” he asked as he finished.

She grimaced.

“I think I’ll live,” she said. She kept drawing deep, steadying breaths. Nick eyed her thoughtfully.

“Bathroom’s through there if you need any privacy,” he said.

She looked at him, swallowed, and nodded. She got up and, slightly unsteady, hurried for the door.

Nick watched her go. He bit his lip, then winced when he found it swollen. His mind was racing with ideas, but none of them related to their current predicament. He’d surprised himself a lot these past few days, but now he was positively stunned by his own thoughts.

Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. You’re way past all of that.

He sighed and stood up. Sarah passed him on her way to the kitchenette. Nick went over to Andre, who was still sitting by the monitors.

“Nice couple of girls,” he muttered.

“They certainly are,” Andre answered.

Nick thought a moment, then asked in a low voice, “Sarah…she your girl?”

Andre turned to look at her, and the expression on his face was answer enough.

“More or less,” he muttered. “I kidnapped her.”

Nick considered this.

“Makes it official, then.”

The two men looked at each other, then began to laugh.

Thrilling Adventure Stories Presents: Sarah Rockford and Karen Stillwater in “Mate in Two”

Detective Crane hung up the phone and turned to his young partner.

“Well, they’re on their way,” he said in a low voice.

Karen Stillwater nodded, feeling a thrill of excitement that she carefully kept from showing on her face. They were making progress at last. Between Fireson and Rockford’s statements and the information they’d gotten from Mistretta’s ledger, they might be able to finally move against the conspiracy. It would all depend on what they said, and whether Captain McLaglen believed it.

She looked around the precinct office to make doubly sure they couldn’t be overheard.

“So, what do we do now?” she asked. She tried to say it in as offhand a manner as she could, not as though she were really uncertain.

“Now we make sure we’re the ones they meet when they arrive,” said Crane. He checked his watch. “Fireson’s house is out of the city, so we’ve got some time.”

He looked over at the pegboard showing an outline of the case. It didn’t show anything about Mistretta or Deaney; only details of Gallano’s fight with the mysterious El Jefe. As far as that went, it was accurate, but it didn’t help much with their current problem.

“Here’s something I don’t get,” he said suddenly. “El Jefe’s lost about thirty people in only a couple weeks. I’m sure he’s got men to spare, but it still seems like a big price to pay just to get a new marketplace.”

Karen frowned at the board. The same thought had occurred to her, but she hadn’t wanted to mention it (thinking it might reveal her inexperience).

“I suppose all empires want to expand,” she said.

“Yeah, but he’d probably make more money just selling to Gallano rather than trying to muscle him out of his territory,” said Crane. “There’s something else going on here; something we haven’t found yet.”

Karen’s heart sank at that. There always seemed more to this case; it was like a bottomless pit.

At that point, the phone rang. Crane picked it up.

“Crane.” He listened a moment, then frowned. “May I ask why, sir?” He glanced at Karen. “I see. We’ll be right there.”

He hung up. Karen looked at him expectantly.

“Captain McLaglen,” he said. “He wants to see us. Says it’s important.”

Karen could sense there was more to it than that.

“That’s not so unusual, is it?”

Crane tapped his fingers, still frowning at her.

“You know, after almost thirty years as a cop, you develop a sense for when something’s not right. And something isn’t right about this. Why now? And why did he so specifically say he wanted me to bring you?”

A cold weight seemed to drop into Karen’s stomach. She saw what he meant, but took care not to show her unease.

“So what do we do?” she asked.

He thought for a moment.

“We go,” he said at last. “But listen carefully; if things go wrong, I want you to do exactly as I say. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Also, I think you should take this,” he said, taking the notebook containing his data on the case out of his pocket and handing it to her.

“Why?” she said.

“Just in case,” he said. “If anything goes wrong, there’s some stuff in there you might need to know.”

She accepted it and tucked it into her pocket, though she didn’t like the implications.

“All right; let’s get this over with,” he said.

Captain McLaglen was a thickset, middle-aged man whose remaining hair was salt-and-pepper grey. He was a thirty-year veteran, like Crane.

As they entered his office, they saw he wasn’t alone.

“Detective Tyzack,” said Crane, nodding. “Detective Aldrige.”

“Crane,” said Aldridge. He was tough and thick, in his mid thirties with a thick brown mustache. Tyzack was a thin, almost bony man with a gaunt, prematurely lined face and deep-set eyes.

“I assigned Tyzack and Aldrige to work an angle of the Gallano case,” McLaglen said.

“You mean my case, sir?”

“Different side of it,” said Aldrige.

“I’ll bet,” said Crane.

“They came up with some rather interesting information,” said McLaglen. “I’ll let them explain. Aldrige?”

Aldrige pulled out his notebook, cleared his throat, and read out:

“At approximately nine-twenty-two last night, Detective Tyzack and I interviewed the manager of the Kiber club on Mellon Blvd. He identified a photograph of Salvatore Puchino, a known associate of Eugenio Gallano, as a regular customer. He testified that Puchino regularly meets with a young woman, with whom he has long, hushed conversations, and to whom he has been observed passing small paper bags. The witness further testified that, to his knowledge, these bags contained sums of money.”

He paused a moment, glancing up at Karen.

“When presented with a photograph of Detective Stillwater, the witness identified her as Mr. Puchino’s regular date.”

A flood of outrage filled Karen’s chest, leaving almost no room for her to register the sense of dread that accompanied it. She struggled to maintain her composure.

“Can you explain this, detective?” asked the Captain.

“Yes,” said Karen, looking straight at Aldrige. “You’re lying.”

“I’m only repeating what the witness told me,” he said.

“Is this witness, by any chance, acquainted with a man named Antonio Mistretta?”

The two other detectives glanced first at each other, then at Captain McLaglen.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” said Aldrige. “Do you sir?”

“No, I don’t,” said McLaglen.

Karen looked from one to the other. She felt as though a trap were closing in on her. They were all in it: the captain too. That meant her chances of clearing her name were next to zero.

“Out of curiosity,” she said, squaring her shoulders, lifting her head, and looking straight at them. “How much is Gallano paying you? Or is Deaney the one footing the bill?”

The three men exchanged glances.

“I think that sounded like a confession to me,” said Aldrige. “What do you think?”

Tyzack nodded.

“I think so too,” said McLaglen. “How about you, Crane?”

Crane looked at the three men with an expression of utmost disgust. Then, without warning, he drew his gun so fast the others didn’t even have time to react.

“Hands up!” he snapped. “All of you. Captain, step away from the desk.”

Whatever the three dirty cops had expected of the veteran, it hadn’t been this. They stared at him in blank shock for a moment, then slowly raised their hands.

“You’re making a big mistake, Marvin,” said McLaglen.

“Funny, that’s just what I was gonna say to you, sir,” Crane answered. “In the corner. Now!”

They obeyed, keeping their hands raised and their eyes on the two honest detectives. Karen had drawn her gun as well and was aiming right at Aldrige with a hand as steady as rock, though inside her mind was whirling. How on Earth were they supposed to get out of this? They couldn’t just shoot the captain and two other detectives in the middle of the precinct.

“Karen,” Crane said in a low voice. “Get out of here.”

“What?”

“Find Fireson and all of you get somewhere safe. I’ll keep them here as long as I can to give you a head start.”

“But…” she began.

“That’s an order, detective.”

Karen remembered her promise, swallowed, and holstered her gun. There was nothing to say and nothing else to do; she left the office, closing the door on her partner, mentor, and friend.

In two minutes she was in her car and driving away from the precinct. How long did she have? Not long; ten minutes at best. People were always coming in and out of the captain’s office, and the moment someone knocked on the door or poked their heads in, that would be it. Then the chase would begin.

Her mind, as it usually did in a crisis, had become remarkably clear; she needed to stop Fireson from entering the precinct. He had almost certainly already left, but it was just possible that she might be able to contact him. First, though, she needed to look after herself.

About two blocks from the precinct there was a Lutheran church: Christ the Savior Parish. The parking lot was mostly full, as it was a Sunday morning, but there were one or two spaces left. She picked one as far from the street as she could and hurried into the church.

Services were in progress, but seemed almost over. The congregation was singing a triumphal hymn. In a corner of the lobby, she found what she had been hoping for: a clothing donation box.

With little time, she selected a black t-shirt with the logo of some band or other on it and a brown leather jacket and ducked into the restroom. It gave her a pang of conscience to steal from a church donation bin, but as she was going to be replacing the clothes with much better alternatives she thought it would be acceptable. She quickly changed in the stall, discovering the process that the shirt was a couple sizes too small for her and the jacket a few sizes too big. There was no helping that, though; she couldn’t keep trying on clothes until she found ones that fit. She adjusted her shoulder holster under the jacket and tried to make the shirt reach all the way to her belt. She also put her hair up into a ponytail, just to try to change her appearance as much as possible.

This done, she exited the rest room and joined the crowd of worshipers who were now eddying out of the church. A line of payphones stood just outside the church, and she made for these, concealed in the crowd.

In the phone booth, Karen checked Crane’s notebook for Fireson’s number and dialed. It was answered on the third ring.

“Yes?” asked a low and rather stern voice.

“Mr. Fireson?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Detective Stillwater with the LAPD. I was supposed to meet with him today. Who is this?”

“This is Liu Sho, gardener,” he said. “Mr. Fireson left some time ago.”

“That’s what I want to stop,” she said. “The precinct has been compromised and Detective Crane has been arrested. If Fireson shows up here, he and the girl will be arrested too.”

“Thank you. I shall alert him immediately,” Liu Sho answered with what Karen thought was admirable presence of mind and hung up.

That was that. Karen hung up and waited a moment, thinking. She pretended to be studying the phonebook, while surreptitiously looking back and forth along the street for anyone suspicious.

She’d wait five minutes, then call Liu Sho again to confirm he had gotten hold of Fireson. Then…she didn’t know what she would do after that. She had never considered this scenario. She was herself a fugitive, and though she knew not every policeman was corrupt, she had no way of knowing who was and who wasn’t. Besides, with the story they’d cooked up against her and with Crane holding the captain at gunpoint, even honest cops would be after her.

Unexpectedly, she thought of Breezy Windworth. He probably would know what to do. But she hadn’t seen him since he’d pulled her out of Mistretta’s hideout the other day, and she had no way of contacting him.

Perhaps, she thought, if she could head off Fireson, he might be able to help. He was rich and powerful, and probably had his own way of dealing with problems. In any case, he might have somewhere to hide.

The minutes crawled by as she dwelt on her predicament and tried to watch every passerby and every car without being obvious. She picked up the phone and pretended to be speaking for a while, just so as to appear natural. Finally, she dialed the number again.

Please say you reached them, she thought. Please say they’re on their way back now.

“Mr. Liu Sho?” she said.

“Detective? What has happened to my master?” he demanded. “I called his car phone twice. The first time, no one answered. The second, the line did not work.”

Karen felt icy fingers tapping at her heart. If they had gotten to Fireson and the girl, that would mean she was pretty much the only person in the city who knew about the conspiracy.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Liu Sho.”

She hung up, bit her lip, and tried to think. What to do now?

It seemed almost certain that the conspirators, anticipating the move, had ambushed Fireson on his way to the police station, probably about the same time they went after her and Crane. She had never met Fireson, but Crane seemed to think him a fairly capable man. Was it possible he had slipped the net, as she had? Perhaps. But if so, it was likely he was still making for the precinct, in which case he’d be walking into a trap.

Karen saw what she had to do. She didn’t like it, but that had never stopped her before.

She left the phone booth and back in the direction of the precinct. She would hang about until Fireson or the girl showed up, then hopefully be able to head them off before they went in. And if they didn’t show up…well, then she’d really be on her own.

###

            Sarah Rockford had never stolen a car before. Or rather, she had never borrowed a car from necessity before, as she hastily corrected herself. Then again, she’d never found herself dropped from a helicopter in the ocean and needing to escape quickly before the same people who had tried to kill her discovered she was still alive before.

She was angry at Fireson, less for throwing her into the ocean than for not jumping off himself. Now who knew what was going to happen to him, while she was left soaking wet and in the care of his ex-mobster valet.

“Why didn’t he come with us?” she demanded for about the third time as Benton drove the ‘borrowed’ car away from the pier where they had climbed out of the ocean.

The human refrigerator sighed.

“Like I say, he’ll have his reasons. Probably he wants to see who was behind this and thought he could do that better without worrying over you. Probably he figured one of you needs to get to the station to make your statement and you might have better luck splitting up. Probably a lot of things, but rest assured he did it mostly to keep you safe, so quit complainin’.”

Sarah had to admit he had a point, and so she lapsed into silence. After a while it occurred to her that Benton seemed to be taking a rather roundabout route to the police station: he kept turning around or taking side-streets as if he couldn’t quite remember where he was going. She then realized that he was making sure they weren’t being followed. Considering they had dropped out of a helicopter by an industrial dockyard and subsequently ‘borrowed’ a car five blocks away, she didn’t think that was too likely, but then again she still hadn’t worked out how the bad guys had found them that morning in the first place.

Finally they arrived in front of the precinct: a five-storey, white stone building set on a wide, grassy lot. Benton parked across the street, looked up and down, then got out. Sarah followed, her heart hammering. At last, they’d made it…

“Miss Rockford?”

Sarah jumped and turned to see a young woman hurrying toward them from an alleyway. She looked to be several years older than Sarah and a little more than a head taller. She had jet-black hair tied in an untidy ponytail, large dark eyes, and wore a leather jacket over a black shirt with a ‘Hee-La’ logo on it. Sarah’s keen aesthetic tastes appreciated that she was very beautiful, though in a totally different style from herself (she also couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy accentuated by the fact that the woman’s shirt seemed a few sizes too small).

“I am Detective Karen Stillwater; Detective Crane’s partner,” she said hurriedly in a slight but peculiar accent. “You have to come with me.”

“Why?” Sarah asked suspiciously.

“The precinct has been compromised; Crane’s been arrested.”

“He’s what?!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down!” Stillwater snapped. “We have to leave now.”

“Hold on, hold on,” said Sarah. “How do we know we can trust you?”

The other woman opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Apparently, she hadn’t considered this. But before she could come up with a good argument, two plain clothes detectives appeared.

“All right, Detective Stillwater, we’ll take it from here,” said the first, a burly man with a bushy brown mustache. His partner – whom Sarah thought looked as though he were recruited from the Egyptology wing of a museum – merely nodded.

The two detectives had their hands on their holsters. Stillwater’s went to hers, but she didn’t draw. Sarah took a few steps back, not sure what to make of the situation.

“That’s Detective Aldrige,” said Stillwater, still speaking to Sarah. “He and Tyzack are the ones who went to your apartment last night; they’re Gallano’s men.”

“Don’t listen to her; she’s the dirty one,” said Aldrige.

Sarah didn’t feel the slightest temptation to believe him; she’d already leaned that these two were dirty just that morning from Andre Fireson. Only trouble was, now that she knew Stillwater was telling the truth, they weren’t really in a position to follow her lead and get out of there.

“Woah, woah!” said Benton, putting up his hands and walking toward the detectives. “I think we all need to calm down a bit. I know these two gentlemen, and I’m going to take their word for it.”

Sarah didn’t understand what he was doing; he knew these cops were dirty as well as anyone. He’d been the one who had identified them in the first place when they’d come to abduct her the night before.

“I’m telling you…” said Stillwater.

“Now, listen, I think I’ve got a pretty good eye for people,” said Benton, speaking over her. “And I’m sure if we just talk about this, we can come to some kind of agreement.”

“That’s right,” said Aldrige, who seemed to think he’d found an ally. “Listen to him, Stillwater.”

All the while he’d been talking, Benton had been casually drifting closer to Aldrige and Tyzack. Now, with sudden, explosive speed, he sprang forward and his massive fists slammed first into one face, then the other. The two detectives fell like bowling pins under the two blows before they had even begun to draw their weapons, but they hadn’t even hit the ground before Benton was sprinting back towards the two stunned women.

“Best be moving, ladies,” he said, slinging himself back into the driver’s seat with surprising agility for a man of his size.

Stillwater recovered first, seized Sarah by the arm and pushing her into the back of the ‘borrowed’ car before climbing into the front seat even as it peeled away from the station. The altercation had apparently not gone unnoticed, for cops were already pouring forth from the front doors.

“Now what?” Sarah asked as they pulled away.

“First thing, we gotta lose the bacon brigade,” said Benton. “Excuse me, detective; force of habit.”

He drove fast, though not so fast as to draw attention, turning first down one street, than another. Sirens were wining behind them, but there were not cops in sight just yet.

“You’re a cop, right?” said Sarah.

“Yes, a detective,” said Stillwater.

“So, you’ve got a radio that feeds into the main cop channel, right?”

“Yes, but I switched it off…”

“Let me see it.”

“Of course not!”

“I’ve got an idea; come on!”

“Detective, give her the radio please,” said Benton.

“I can’t just give a civilian…”

“We don’t have time for that!” said Sarah. “We’re all in the same boat now, sister; just give the radio.”

With evident reluctance, Stillwater handed it to her. Sarah switched it on.

“Dispatch, tracking fleeing vehicle: grey four-door Ford, traveling south on Rothcar Avenue.”

“You need to give a call sign!” Stillwater snapped.

“This is dispatch; who is this?”

Sarah stared blankly.

“Say Adam 10,” said Stillwater.

“Dispatch, this is Adam 10,” said Sarah hastily. “Repeat, grey four-door Ford spotted heading south on Rothcar.”

“Roger, that Adam 10.”

“See?” said Sarah, switching it back off.

“Good idea,” Stillwater admitted. “Assuming they buy it.”

“So, what happened to Crane?” Sarah asked.

“Aldrige, Tyzack, and Captain McLaglen tried to frame me,” Stillwater answered. “They’re all on Gallano’s payroll. Crane drew on them and made me run for it.”

“But what’s gonna happen to him?”

“By now he’s been arrested,” said Stillwater.

“Well, we have to do something!” said Sarah.

“You think I’m not going to?” Stillwater snapped with her first serious display of feeling. “He’s my partner! But we can’t do him any good if we get caught too.”

The sirens seemed to recede. Sarah’s ruse apparently had worked. They drove on, Benton driving seemingly at random, but always away from the precinct.

“What about you?” Stillwater asked. “Where’s Fireson? And…why are you both soaked?”

“Oh, just the usual,” said Sarah. “We were on our way when a big helicopter came by and picked the car up with a magnet.”

“What?!”

“Mm-hm,” said Sarah. “Crazy, right? My readers are never gonna buy that. Anyway, we all climbed out onto the magnet just before they dropped the car into the ocean, then we saw the chopper was making for this big yacht, so Fireson pushed me off and Benton here jumped in after me. We swam to shore and borrowed a car.”

Stillwater gave a low whistle.

“Wait, this yacht; did you happen to see the name?”

Sarah shook her head. “It was too far off, why?”

“Because Mr. Gallano owns a yacht called the Fulmine. A yacht with a helipad, and word is that he’s been living there ever since someone took a shot at him last week.”

“Sounds like the place,” said Sarah, now more annoyed than ever that Fireson had gone there.

“And Mr. Fireson rode the helicopter to the yacht?”

Sarah nodded. She didn’t want to talk about that.

Stillwater breathed what sounded like a prayer under her breath.

“Don’t worry about my boss,” said Benton. “He knows what he’s doing, and he’s been in tight spots before. Besides, he’s the one who stopped Gallano from taking those bullets, so I think he’ll be alright.”

Sarah nodded vaguely, wishing she could believe that.

After a minute or too, Stillwater said, “I think we might have lost them.”

“Now where do we go?” Sarah asked.

“Back to the mansion,” said Benton. “Don’t worry; there are places there you can hide where no one’ll find you. Trust me, it’s the safest place in the city, and once the boss gets off the boat that’s where he’ll be headed.”

He pulled onto another street and started heading back in the direction of the mansion. For a moment, they drove in silence.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Sarah asked after a moment.

“Springwood,” said Stillwater.

“Where’s that?”

“Little north and east of here. Quiet little town.”

“Oh. Well, with you accent I thought maybe…”

“English father, Mexican mother,” she answered.

“Ah, that makes sense!” said Sarah. “Hope you don’t mind my asking questions; part of the job, you know.”

“I kind of do, as a matter of fact; I’m trying to think.”

“Sorry,” said Sarah. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you…” said Stillwater, but at that moment all idea of quiet was shattered. Sirens suddenly blared, not just from behind, but from all sides. Two cop cars pulled into the intersection in front of them, and two more pulled in behind. All at once, they were surrounded.

Benton swore loudly, as did the two women, but he didn’t hesitate. He was an excellent driver, and as quick as thinking he whriled the wheel about, drove over the corner (narrowly missing a businessman in a brown jacket, whose briefcase went flying as he dove out of the way, spilling papers everywhere), down the wrong side of the street for a moment, then over to the right side just in time to avoid an oncoming pickup. More sirens blared, and the police came racing after him.

“How did they find us!?” Sarah exclaimed.

“I…I don’t know,” Stillwater said. “They’re not using the usual tactics. They must have…must have guessed your ruse and gone the opposite way, kept everything off until they’d found us, then…just all came at once. I’ve never seen this sort of thing before!”

Benton gunned it, barely slowing down as he went around a corner, making for more open areas, but the police had a lot more speed than he did. What’s more, rather than following all in a pack, they seemed to be splitting up and trying to cut off his escape routes.

“I hate to admit it,” said Benton. “But I don’t think I can shake them.”

The two women exchanged glances. Stillwater’s face was pale, but set and focused, as if her whole being was concentrated on their present problem. Sarah wished she felt as calm as that.

“Only one thing to do,” he went on. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s bunch of warehouses coming up where I can cut across from one road to another. There’ll be a few seconds where we’ll be out of sight, and when that happens, you two pile out and hide. Cops will keep chasing me and you can make your way back to the mansion.”

“What?!” said Stillwater.

“No!” said Sarah.

“Boss told me to keep you safe; that means outta jail, and this is the best I can do for you,” said Benton firmly. “I’ll meet you there if I can. Now get ready; it’s coming up.”

He braked hard suddenly, causing the pursuing police to do the same, then gunned it and turned into the warehouse lot. The car seemed to fly down to the end of the lot, then he turned sharply, braking as he did so.

“Now!”

Sarah didn’t stop to think or try to argue: she threw open her door and jumped out. The car was nearly at a stop, but it hurt nonetheless and she scraped her knees on the pavement. Stillwater, with her police training, rolled and landed on her feet. She grabbed Sarah by the hand as she stood up and pulled her behind a dumpster that stood next to one of the doors.

Benton didn’t hesitate a second after they had left the car, but drove on as if he hadn’t stopped, mounted the curbed and bounced into a neighboring parking lot. The pursuing police cars surged after him and did likewise, while the two women crouched behind the dumpster, pressing their bodies tight against the warm metal to try to make themselves as thin and small as possible.

The sounds of the chase quickly receded, but it wasn’t until they had waited in silence for nearly two whole minutes before they dared to speak even in a whisper.

“Do you think he can get away?” Sarah asked.

“He seems to know his business,” Stillwater admitted. “But then, so do our people.” She thought a moment. “Honestly, I don’t expect him to escape.”

Sarah slid down on the pavement, resting her back against the dumpster and her head in her hands. She felt exhausted, bewildered, and scared all at once. Stillwater sat down next to her, leaning back and staring off into space.

“It’s like everything falling apart at once,” said Sarah. “To think just yesterday I was sneaking about Deaney’s house, and now I’m a wanted fugitive.”

“You think that’s strange, I was a cop this morning,” said Stillwater.

They both laughed. It wasn’t really funny, but in their state it was either laugh or cry, and neither was willing to cry. Sarah felt, and thought Stillwater probably did too, that they needed to be strong for each other. After all, at the moment it seemed they were the only two people in the whole city who knew about the conspiracy and were relatively free to do something about it.

“Something I don’t get, Detective…”

“You can just call me Karen.”

“Alright; that’s easier. You can call me Sarah. Anyway, something I don’t get, Karen, is how did they know we were even coming to the station today? Do you think they had your phones tapped.”

“Crane and I thought of that,” said Karen. “We’ve been checking, and no, they’re not tapped. Besides, we never really thought they would do that, since it would be too hard to explain if anyone caught them.”

“Okay, then what do you think happened?”

Karen considered.

“Honestly, Sarah, I think Gallano or Deaney or whoever is really in charge just saw that it was the smartest move you could make and guessed you’d do it.”

“Like a game of chess.”

“Exactly. They anticipate what you’ll do and plan for it.”

Sarah thought about that. She didn’t like it.

“So,” she said, ticking off on her fingers. “Gallano manages the drug trade. Mistretta does dirty work for him to keep the locals in line. Deaney handles shipping and probably does some funding. And someone or other manages the whole thing according to a master strategy.”

“Possibly Deaney himself?”

“I don’t think so,” said Sarah. “I did a lot of research on him, and the guy is smart, but no genius. I think he got hit in the head too many times for that.”

“Well, we’ll work on it when we get somewhere safe,” said Karen.

“You think we can go?” asked Sarah.

They listened a moment, but only heard the sound of normal foot traffic.

“Yes,” said Karen. “But quietly.”

“I thought that would go without saying,” said Sarah, getting to her feet.

“And try not to attract attention.”

Sarah laughed.

“Karen, I hate to break it to you, but you and I walking down the street are going to attract attention.”

“What do you mean?” she said with a slight edge of defensiveness in her voice.

“Let’s just say I hope whoever this master strategist is doesn’t think to follow the whistles.”

Karen opened her mouth, then shut it again. Sarah chuckled. She was starting to like the detective; she had a straightforward sincerity and unselfconsciousness that she found refreshing.

“Never mind; you’ll find out,” she said. “Lead the way, detective!”

The two of them started down the long drive that would take them back to the street, where hopefully they would find crowds and be able to blend in until they could catch a cab or ‘borrow’ another car to take them back to the mansion.

But they never got there.

When they were About halfway down the drive, a van pulled in from the street and began driving toward them. Sarah felt a twinge of anxiety as they stepped out of the way to let it pass.

It’s only a van, she thought. Perfectly normal

But it didn’t pass. It stopped right in front of them. Karen drew her sidearm and pushed Sarah behind her, but as the back of the van opened she found herself immediately covered by two shotguns. Sarah looked back the way they had come, wondering if perhaps…

Then two more men, both armed with rifles, emerged from inside one of the warehouses, aiming at them. Sarah and Karen looked in front, then behind, then at each other.

“Check mate?” Sarah whispered.

Karen nodded and lowered her gun.

The two groups of guards converged on the women, and sooner than Sarah would have thought possible their wrists were handcuffed behind their backs and they were bundled into the back of the van.

There was a man in there waiting for them. Sarah had never seen him before, but he was compact and muscular, and his face…his face made her wince. It seemed to bristle with crudely-done stitches all down his right side, holding together a series of deep, irregular cuts. It looked as though he’d recently had his face slashed by a tiger.

Worse, Sarah felt the sudden intake of breath and rigid tension in her companion and knew that Karen recognized their captor.

“Mistretta,” she breathed in a voice that was half terror, half contempt.

Hola, chiquita,” he said, his face breaking into a terrible, lopsided grin. “I was hoping to see you again.”

Thrilling Adventure Stories Presents: Andre Fireson and Sarah Rockford in ‘A Snare of Attraction’

AL+VL 2            Sarah Rockford returned to consciousness with a throbbing headache and a very dim recollection of what had happened the night before. She sat up, rubbing her head and trying to figure out where she was. It obviously wasn’t her own apartment; her whole place probably could have fit in the bed alone, and besides, this room was much too fancy.  The bed on which she lay had very soft, silken sheets of an exquisite pattern. Elegant, dark wood furniture filled the room, and there was a large, curtained window covering most of one wall.

She remembered being at Walter Deaney’s party yesterday afternoon…had she passed out there somehow? No, she remembered leaving. Or rather, being forcefully ejected by one of Deaney’s partners in crime. The memory of that made her angry, which caused her head to throb harder, but also brought back more of the night before. She’d gone home, changed, written down her notes, had dinner, and had been working on compiling a usable story when…

Sarah remembered everything at once: the knock on the door, the attack from behind, the sweet, sickly smell of chloroform. She threw off the covers and leapt out of bed as if she expected it to trap her. For a moment she stood in the middle of the room, trembling a little, trying to think.

She’d been kidnapped; that much was clear. By whom? Probably one of Deaney’s people. Had they brought her back to his house? She went to the window and pulled back the curtains to reveal a spectacular view of the Los Angeles skyline. Deaney’s house was surrounded by trees and a wall; this definitely wasn’t Deaney’s house.

Then where? And, come to think of it, if she had been kidnapped, why hadn’t they restrained her in any way?

Hubris, she decided. Or perhaps they didn’t think they needed to.

She went half-heartedly to the door, which of course would be locked. Except it wasn’t. More and more confused, she pushed it gently open, expecting to find a sentry or something, but the hall was deserted.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and resolving not to be lured into complacency, she slipped along the passage in her bare feet, moving as silent as a beam of light, her ears straining to hear any sound that might indicate pursuit or ambush.

The upstairs hall ended in a glorious double staircase under a gorgeous chandelier. Tense and frightened as she was, Sarah couldn’t help admiring the décor. The walls were richly paneled and hung with paintings; all of a classical school. Most showed scenes of battle and heroism, but a few were portraits. They were so lovely and so interesting that she wished she could have had time to examine them properly. But while escaping from people who’ve drugged and abducted you is really no time for art appreciation.

She padded down the steps, uncomfortably aware of how exposed to view she was on the stairs. If anyone entered the hall, they’d see her at once. At the bottom, three corridors led off in different directions, while another staircase led down. Since Sarah didn’t know where to go, she selected the corridor leading directly away from the staircase on the idea that it might lead to a door.

In this, it transpired, she was right. The corridor led to a kind of conservatory, which led out onto a glorious patio centered on a circular pond surrounded by lush garden. The flowers and exotic plants were spectacular, and so placed as to create the impression that they grew from the building itself. Again she wished dearly that she could have paused and admired them. Whoever had abducted her, she thought, at least had excellent aesthetic tastes.

Yet, at the same time, she wondered again why she had been left alone. She began to mistrust her run of good luck; surely it wasn’t natural for anyone to be this careless? The fear she had felt upon realizing that she had been abducted did not diminish upon finding herself apparently alone in the house. On the contrary, the longer she went without seeing any kind of guard, the more nervous she became. She felt as though she were being led on, lured into a trap. Yet there was nothing to be done but to keep going; to let herself be drawn on to her doom.

Sarah shook herself; thinking like that wouldn’t help. She slipped out into the garden, and the glorious smell of flowers and fruit was all around her. The pond was lined with lilies, and there was even a very lifelike model of an alligator lying beside it to give the impression of a real tropical pool. And on the far side of the garden, under the limbs of what appeared to be a peach tree, she saw a gate.

Sarah hurried forward eagerly, hoping to be through and gone before anyone noticed. But when she reached the gate, she found that it was chained and padlocked. She looked about, but the fence was too high to climb and none of the trees in the garden were tall enough to get over it (and even if they were, she’d only break her leg trying to get down on the other side).

Heart hammering, sure that someone must have noticed her efforts to escape by now, Sarah turned to go back to the house and try to find another way out. It was at this point that she made a most unwelcome discovery; the alligator by the pond was not a model after all, but a living, breathing reptile. It had stood up on its four stubby legs and was walking toward her, mouth half open, green, slitted eyes fixed on her.

###

            “Morning, detective,” said Andre. He had slept little the night before, expecting every minute for either the police or the mob to come knocking at his door. He, his man Benton, and Liu Sho, the gardener, had sat up most of the night with rifles in hand just in case it came to a fight. But no one had come so far, and Andre wondered whether he dared to hope the two crooked detectives hadn’t been able to identify him as he ran off carrying their unconscious would-be victim to his car.

“Mr. Fireson. To what do I owe this early pleasure?” Detective Crane groaned.

“I had a idea that a warrant might be issued for my arrest,” said Andre.

That seemed to make him sit up.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, you see, I kidnapped someone last night.”

There was a pause.

“Is this a confession?”

“Not exactly. I only did it because two of your people were on the way to do much worse. See, I was at a shindig being thrown by Walter Deaney yesterday for reasons of my own and I happened to run into this girl…”

“Short, blonde, and much too confident for her own good?”

“You know her then.”

“Unfortunately yes,” growled Crane. “And I explicitly told her not to mess around with Deaney.”

“Well, she didn’t listen to you.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s safe,” said Andre. “She’s the one I kidnapped.”

There was a pause.

“I’m going to assume there is a way that will make sense.”

“Deaney figured out what she was up to and sent some people to get her, so I had to get her fast. There was no time to explain, so I just chloroformed her and threw her in my car.”

Crane gave a low whistle.

“I appreciate your looking out for the kid,” he said. “She has a tendency to get herself in over her head.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Andre. “Something you should know, though; the men Deaney sent after her were cops.”

“Cops?”

“Plainclothes detectives. I happened to hear him making the plan; orders were to take her to someone named Mistretta, and…”

“What did you say?”

“I said Deaney ordered two cops to take her to Mistretta.”

Crane swore.

“So Deaney’s mixed up in it too,” he muttered.

“Mixed up in what?”

“Never mind,” said Crane. “Can’t tell you now. Look, who were the two cops? Did you get their names?”

“Benton’s the one who saw them,” said Andre, but at that point he heard a piercing scream from the patio.

“And I’ll let him tell you,” he said. “Sounds like my guest is up.”

He handed the phone off to Benton and hurried out to the patio. Liu Sho followed him, rifle in hand, no doubt to ensure his beloved flowers were safe. They came out of the conservatory, saw the scene before them, and both exploded into laughter. Sarah Rockford was crouched precariously on one of the higher branches of the peach tree while a large alligator stood below, looking up curiously at the stranger who had wandered into his domain.

“Good morning, Miss Rockford,” Andre called. “I see you’ve met Richelieu.”

He walked up to the gator and patted his flank affectionately. The girl was too frightened, too confused, and too angry to answer right away. She just clung to the tree branch, giving him the most withering glare she could manage from her position.

“Don’t worry; he’s mostly harmless,” said Andre. “I think you just surprised him is all.” He patted the alligator behind the head and the beast shut its eyes contentedly. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Are you asking me or him?” she asked, nodding at the alligator.

Andre laughed.

“Both.”

About fifteen minutes later, the two of them were sitting opposite each other at the table on the upstairs balcony. Benton, after finishing his conversation with Detective Crane, had produced mouth-watering omelets with his usual infallible skill, while Sarah had been given a chance to change into spare clothes that had once belonged to Andre’s mother. The dark blue frock might have been rather out of date, fashion wise, and was a bit large for Sarah, necessitating the use of safety pins to keep it in place, but he thought the color suited her very well.

She sat rigid and suspicious as Benton brought the food out to them, not even touching the steaming mug of perfectly prepared coffee even as Andre sipped his gratefully.

“As I said,” he began. “I can explain everything.”

“You drugged and kidnapped me,” she said. “How do you explain that?”

“Listen and you’ll find out,” he said. “But if you’re thinking I brought you here just to poison you, you’re mistaken. Besides, Benton’s cooking is worth being poisoned over.”

She glared at him, then, as though with reluctance, picked up the coffee and sipped it. Her expression changed at once.

“Oh, I see what you mean!” she exclaimed.

Andre smiled.

“Benton is one of the most gifted chefs I’ve ever met,” he said. “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you? He used to crack heads for the mob.”

“And now he cracks heads for you?” she asked, taking a forkful of omelet and gasping with delight as she tasted it.

“Sometimes,” Andre said. “But I’m not a criminal, Miss Rockford.”

“Then I suppose that was your twin brother I heard conniving with Deaney yesterday?”

“I was lying to him,” he said. “Pretending to be crooked in order to find out how crooked he was. I find it’s a useful tactic for straining the scum from my pool. My company, Miss Rockford, is bound up with my family name, and I will not have that associated with any kind of low or criminal activity. We had everything stolen from us once; that is not going to happen again.”

She looked at him with some surprise. Evidently his earnestness surprised her.

“So how did you catch me at the safe?” she said.

“I meant to crack it and get the ledger myself so that I could turn Deaney over to the police,” he said. “Same as you, I’d guess. By the way do you even know how to crack a safe?”

“I know the theory,” she said.

“I know the theory of an atom bomb; doesn’t mean I can make one,” he answered.

“Okay,” she said after a few moment’s consideration. “I’ll admit that your story would explain a lot of things I wondered about, like why you threw me out instead of…of doing anything else. But then why kidnap me?”

“Because Deaney was onto you,” said Andre. “One of his people saw you from the backyard. You were standing in the window, remember.”

“Oh!” she said with a shocked expression. “I didn’t think of that.”

“No, I guessed you didn’t,” he said. “So he sent some of his dirty cops over, and they were going to take you away to torture and murder you. Since I didn’t have time to explain all this last night, I just knocked you out and took you home.”

Sarah looked at him with an odd, far away expression as she absorbed all of this.

“I see,” she said. “Then I guess I should thank you, shouldn’t I? But…just so we’re clear, you’re not going to torture and murder me or anything, are you?”

He smiled.

“Probably not,” he said. “But we’ll see.”

She smiled, a little uncertainly, and they resumed eating.

“I hope you slept well,” he said by way of turning the conversation to more general matters.

“Yes, I always sleep well when I’ve been chloroformed,” she said.

“Benton’s done his share of abductions,” said Andre. “He suggests that I might have overdone the dose slightly. My apologies.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it right next time.”

The conversation then turned to the house, and she asked about the paintings and the garden, and this carried them through the rest of breakfast. After they’d finished, however, they resumed discussion of the day before, and Sarah told him her side of the story, while Andre filled her in on some other details, including the whole conversation he’d overhead between Deaney and his associate.

“That was probably Mr. Cummings,” she said. “He’s the only one I really spoke to, and the only one I told my cover name.”

“So, there’s Deaney and Cummings,” said Andre. “Then Mistretta, whoever that is, those cops…what were their names, Benton?”

“Detectives Tyzack and Aldrige,” he answered.

“A nice little conspiracy,” said Sarah. “’Noted businessman and mathematics professor head smuggling ring.’ Probably have to punch that up, but it’ll make one heck of a story.”

“Detective Crane seems to think it’s all part of something he’s working on,” said Andre.

“You know Detective Crane?” she said in surprise.

“We’ve met,” said Andre. “He was glad to hear you’re safe.”

“That was sweet of him,” she said. “He was pretty adamant about my not going after Deaney.”

“And he was right; you nearly got killed.”

“’Nearly’ is the important word,” she said. “Still here.”

He frowned at her.

“Your story on Hunar Contractors said one of them tried to bury you alive in concrete. That actually happen, or was it just to spice up the story?”

“No, it really happened,” she said. “Didn’t have to embellish it at all; it really was that close.”

She spoke lightly, but her tone didn’t quite match her eyes, or the way she fingered her fork nervously.

“So, you’ve almost been killed twice in, what, the past week or two?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “But, like I say, I’m still here.”

Andre looked at her. He felt a curious pain about the region of his chest. Sarah had turned her head to watch where Liu Sho was tossing bits of meat to Richelieu in the garden below. Andre was struck again by how lovely she was, and how young she seemed. Though only twenty-six himself, he often felt older than he was, what with running a company and carrying the responsibility for his family name. He now felt responsible for the girl across from him, almost as if she were his daughter…no, not like that. Not like that at all.

“The question is,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling. “How do we keep it that way?”

“We catch Deaney,” she said. “Break up the conspiracy.”

“I was thinking of a more immediate solution,” he said. “Why does Deaney want you dead?”

She looked at him in surprise.

“You know that as well as I do,” she said. “I heard him talking to you and sharing all his dirty little secrets.”

“Right,” said Andre. “He wants to kill you before you share what you know with anyone who might do something about it, and he wants to find out just how much you do know. So it seems to me the way to stop him would be to just tell what you know.”

“You mean, go public?”

“No, I mean tell the police. Once they have our statements, the damage will be done and Deaney and his crew will be too busy dodging the cops to want to go after you.”

“Except you said the cops are working for him.”

“Not all of them,” said Andre. “Crane certainly isn’t. We may not know how many of the cops are dirty, but he can’t own the whole department.”

Sarah nodded.

“That might work,” she said. “Especially if we could swear it out to Crane.”

Andre called for Benton to bring the phone, and the valet appeared at once. Andre dialed the detective’s number. Crane must have been expecting a return call, for he answered on the first ring.

“It’s me again, detective,” said Andre.

“Been expecting you,” he said. “Tyzack and Aldrige haven’t said a word about what happened last night; didn’t even put in a report. You haven’t had any visitors this morning?”

“No.”

“Hmm, that’s odd,” said Crane. “I can’t believe you gave them the slip this easily. They must mean to get at you somehow, but I just don’t see…”

“We were just thinking about that,” said Andre. “Listen, the reason they want Sarah dead is that that she’s a witness to Deaney’s corruption. So am I. But if we swear out a statement at once, damage will be done and they’ll have no reason to go after us.”

“That’s probably your best bet, short of actually putting them in jail,” Crane agreed. “We’re at the station now; how fast can you get here?”

“We’re leaving right now,” said Andre, nodding to Sarah who was already standing up and draining the last of her coffee.

“Watch yourselves,” said Crane. “These guys are smart. They might be waiting for you.”

“They’ll be sorry if they do,” said Andre.

A few minutes later, Andre and Sarah were in the backseat of his sedan as Benton drove out of the gate surrounding the mansion.

“Can you handle a gun?” Andre asked, opening a hidden compartment under the floor to reveal two rifles and four handguns.

Sarah whistled.

“Sure,” she said, accepting a small automatic, checking the magazine, and racking the slide. “What do you do; run guns?”

“Of course not,” he said rather sharply as he closed the lid so that it blended perfectly with the carpet. “But I do make them and there’s no sense in making guns if you don’t have them handy. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to tangle with some nasty people. Car’s modified too; it’ll stand up to most things, at least long enough for us to get out.”

Sarah nodded, getting the gist of what he meant.

“You think they’ll try to ambush us on the way?”

“I think we’d be stupid not to expect it,” he answered.

They drove out of the hills and down in the direction of the precinct. It was a Sunday and traffic was comparatively light. Even so there were a good number of cars on the road. Andre and Sarah eyed each of them suspiciously as they passed, watching to see if they made any strange moves.

“So how did you get into the arms dealing trade?” Sarah asked.

“Family business,” he answered. “My father started it after coming back from World War II: made custom hunting rifles out of a workshop, built it up from there.”

“Now you make guns for the military.”

“Partly,” he said. “We mostly target the civilian market, but with the African situation we’re looking to cut a deal with the government.”

“Does it bother you at all, making weapons? I mean, the morality of it.”

He frowned at her suspiciously.

“Just journalistic instincts,” she said. “Have to ask that kind of thing because the readers would want to ask it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Because at the end of the day all law, all convention, all civilization in fact comes down to the use of force. I think it’s as honest a job as any to try to ensure the right side has the power to back itself up when it comes to the point.”

She looked at him with admiration.

“That’s a good answer,” she said. “I actually would like to do a story on you sometime.”

He chuckled.

“I appreciate that. Now let me ask you something; you’re, what, eighteen? Nineteen?”

“I’m twenty,” she said a little defensively. “Almost twenty-one.”

“Well, even so, how’d a girl like you end up chasing down stories like this?”

She sighed and gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

“Just trying to survive.”

Andre looked at her, and as he did so he noticed a large semi truck pulling alongside them in the right hand lane, and another pulling up in front of them.

“All things considered,” he said, drawing his own pistol. “I think you might be in the wrong line of business.”

Sarah swallowed and tightened her grip on her gun.

“Benton,” Andre said.

“Sorry, boss,” he said. “Came up too fast…”

All at once, they found themselves boxed in by three large trucks; one in front, one behind, one to the right. On their left was a guardrail and a drop down a steep incline.

“We’ll be coming up on smoother ground soon,” said Benton. “I’ll peel off there. Don’t think they’ll expect us to go off road.”

Andre, however, suspected they wouldn’t be allowed to get that far.

“In the meantime,” he said. “We’re not going to play around.”

He rolled down the window, leaned out, and began shooting at the tries of the rear truck. He got off three shots before he realized that there was another vehicle in play. A large helicopter was swooping low over them, something large and circular dangling from beneath.

The truck’s tire blew out under the assault of bullets and the driver had to pull sharply to the right to avoid going off the edge of the road.

“Clear behind!” Andre shouted.

But it was already too late.

The helicopter swung overhead, and the device dangling from its belly snapped onto the roof of the sedan with a bang as loud as the gunshots. It was a giant electro-magnet.

A moment later, the sedan and its passengers were lifted clear off the roadway and into the sky.

Sarah screamed. Andre and Benton both swore. The helicopter swung around, sending the car’s occupants tumbling about, and headed for the ocean.

“They’re gonna dump us!” Benton shouted.

“Well, there’s gotta be something we can do!” Sarah said.

Andre looked around, thinking. It looked bad; there was no way to detach the car, and even if they did it would just crash against the ground below. They couldn’t reach the helicopter from here; they were at the end of a twenty-foot cable. They had absolutely no control over the situation.

Like rats in a trap, he thought bitterly.

He turned to Sarah, who seemed to be reaching the same conclusion. Her face was pale and frightened, and her breathing was coming quick. Once they were out over the ocean, they were doomed. The car would be dropped, they would ride it down, down to shatter upon impact, either killed outright or knocked unconscious to drown inside the broken vehicle…

Then Andre had his inspiration.

“Out of the car,” he ordered, holstering his gun.

“What?” said Sarah.

“Climb onto the roof,” he said. “Onto the magnet.”

“Oh, I see what you mean, boss,” said Benton enthusiastically as he rolled down his own window.

Andre stuck his head out the window and found a precarious handhold where the roof of the car met the rear window. He pulled himself gingerly up, holding tight against the wind, braced a foot against the window base, then began straightening himself, reaching for the great hook connecting the magnet to the cable. It was almost in reach.

The car shuddered as they hit a burst of air turbulence and he was nearly thrown free. But as he bounced up he made a snatch for the cable and caught it. It was greasy and the metal scratched his palm, but he held tight and pulled himself up onto the magnet itself.

Toward the front of the car, Benton was heaving his huge bulk out of the driver’s seat and reaching for the magnet. Andre caught his outstretched hand, braced himself against the cable, and strained to pull his massive valet up out of the car. Between his own strength and Benton’s the huge man soon sat alongside him on the magnet, gripping tight to the wire.

Meanwhile, the coastline zipped past below them. They were over open water now. Any second the car would drop.

Sarah poked her head out of the window, her blonde hair whipping about her face.

“Come on!” Andre shouted. “You can do it!”

She reached as far as she could, got a grip on the back of the car, and stood on the window base, then reached for Andre’s outstretched hand. They were almost touching.

Then the car dropped.

Sarah sprang clear just as it fell. For one terrible second she hung suspended in mid air, arm outstretched, hair flying, her mouth open in a disbelieving scream. Then Andre, reaching as far as he could, seized her arm in an iron grip. It was a lucky thing that she was so light. There was a painful jerk on both their shoulders, but she didn’t fall. Sarah seized Andre’s hand in both of hers and hung precariously beneath the magnet, while two hundred feet below the sedan hit the water with a terrible splash.

“Are you okay?” Andre called over the wind.

“I’ve been better!” she called back.

Andre pulled Sarah up onto the magnet and a got a grip about her waist with one arm while he clung to the cable with the other. A moment later, the magnet was hoisted up by a winch beneath the helicopter, so that the three were now crouched directly below the undercarriage.

Meanwhile the helicopter, apparently oblivious to its new passengers, banked around and began flying parallel with the coast maybe a half-mile out. It also began to descend.

“Where do you think it’s goin’, boss?” Benton asked.

“No idea,” Andre answered.

The helicopter continued to descend. They had started out about two hundred feet up. Now they were half that and still getting lower. There were a number of boats out today, and it briefly occurred to Andre to wonder what they thought of the sight of three people clinging to an electro magnet slung below a large helicopter.

Then he spotted one ship in particular; a large, elaborate yacht growing nearer every minute. A yacht with a helipad on the stern.

So that was where they were headed, and he thought he could guess whom it belonged to.

The helicopter was now about fifty feet over the ocean and maybe a quarter mile from the yacht.

“Can you swim?” Andre asked Sarah.

“Well, yes, but…”

Andre turned to Benton.

“Go with her and make sure she gets to Crane.”

Benton was too good a servant to argue the point or to fail to understand. He simply nodded.

“Hold on, what are you…” Sarah began.

“Keep your legs tight together and try to fall straight down,” he said.

“No, wait…!” she began, but it was too late. Andre threw her off the edge of the magnet and she fell with a shriek into the ocean. At the same time, Benton saluted and jumped off after her.

The plan was a desperate and possibly foolhardy one. But Andre Fireson wasn’t the type of man to let people chase him all around Los Angeles. He meant to go straight into the lion’s den and see what he could find there.

The helicopter arrived over the yacht and descended to land. Andre sprang clear before he was trapped under the machine and ducked out of sight beneath the edge of the pad. The helicopter landed, and a tall, slender figure emerged from the deck, accompanied by two guards. Andre recognized him at once.

Throwing caution to the winds, he stood up and strode forward. The guards drew their guns, the helicopter pilot swore, and the central figure started visibly, but Andre merely nodded as though he’d just walked into a board meeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Gallano,” he said. “I see we meet again.”

 

Thrilling Adventure Stories Presents: Andre Fireson in Necessary Evils

AL 2

Andre Fireson was no stranger to elegant afternoon affairs like this one. Being the President of a major arms manufacturer, he’d often had to wine and dine his way to a lucrative business deal. They could even be enjoyable at times; there were worse ways to spend an afternoon than among well-educated, successful men and beautiful women in fine clothes.

This wasn’t going to be one of those times. Today he had a very particular goal in mind. He needed to know whether his potential business partner was the monster he was rumored to be.

Once again, it came back to the looming war in Africa and his contract negotiations with the government. Things were moving, and Andre had almost locked down his deal when word broke that Magpie Holding and Shipping, his usual company for moving his product, had been implicated in the breaking Hunar Contractors scandal that was rocking the LA business community. He’d dropped them at once; Firebird Arms didn’t need any bad press right now.

Trouble was, this left him with no immediate way of moving his product around. He needed to find a new shipping company fast, and Roper Transport seemed the obvious choice. It was, after all, one of the top such companies in the Western United States, and the board was pressuring him to sign with them and be done. But Andre had heard too much about Walter Deaney to want to do business with his company. At least, not without first finding out just how much of what he’d heard was true.

So, when Deaney had invited him to come to his party that weekend to discuss their possible deal, Andre had accepted. It would give him a chance to find out just what sort of man Deaney really was.

His initial impression had been unexpectedly favorable. Deaney was about seven or eight years his senior: dark, handsome, and with a strong voice and easy manners. He had, Andre knew, been a professional fighter, and for a while they talked sport. Deaney told a good story, and he seemed affable and charismatic. His house was richly, if not tastefully, furnished, and his food and drink was excellent. Yet the longer they talked, the less Andre liked him. There was something about Deaney’s affability that rang hollow: the expression in his eyes didn’t quite match that of the rest of his face, his laughter was a little too hearty, and in any case Andre had learned to distrust anyone who tried too hard to be liked. A man of real substance, he believed, didn’t cater to the opinions of others; between two decent, honorable men, liking would occur without forcing it. Deaney was too lavish with his compliments, too hearty with his laughter. He was ‘slick’ would be how Andre would put it: as slick as an ice rink.

Andre took a moment when Deaney when to greet some people to take a turn about the garden and chat with a few of his fellow guests. He found them, as he’d expected, to be much of a piece with their host: very friendly, very eager to please, and generally empty of substance.

About an hour later he and Deaney sat down at the bar and got onto the subject of business.

“You understand, of course,” said Andre. “That you would be running extremely valuable cargo for the United States Government.”

“Naturally,” said Deaney. “I’ve handled sensitive material before, don’t you worry. My people can keep secrets.”

Andre studied him thoughtfully. Should he lay his trap now? No, not quite.

“That’s good to know. Still, with such valuable cargo, shipping carries certain dangers. Have you had any trouble with hijackers?”

Deaney sipped his drink and shook his head.

“Nope, never any trouble of that sort,” he said. “My drivers know their business. We can mark the truck as hauling something like potato chips or bowling pins and no one would know the difference.” He grinned. “We take security very seriously, Mr. Fireson.”

Andre nodded. I bet you do, he thought.

“Glad to hear that, Mr. Deaney,” he said aloud. “Now, tell me more about…”

He trailed off, for he had suddenly realized they were no longer alone at the bar. A small, very young-looking blonde girl in a white and blue patterned dress sat almost directly behind Deaney. He guessed she was about eighteen; probably the daughter of one of the guests, and most likely with no idea what she’d sat in on.

“Miss?” he said, raising his voice slightly to get her attention. “Do you mind? This is a rather private conversation.”

Deaney started a little and turned around to see whom Andre was talking to. What happened next surprised him; the girl seemed to jump and her face took on an expression as though she’d just come face-to-face with a cobra. Evidently, she knew who Deaney was.

“Sorry,” she stammered, looking from one to the other. “Excuse me.”

She took her drink and hastened away, both men watching her as she disappeared back into the crowd.

“Suppose this isn’t the best place for private conversation,” said Andre. He had an uncomfortable idea it would be best for the girl’s sake to pass the incident off as casually as possible. “Especially,” he added in a low voice. “As I want to talk to you about some potential…extra services.”

“Suppose not,” Deaney laughed. He checked his watch. “I’ll tell you what, I need to see to a few things, but when I get back, why don’t we continue this in my office upstairs?”

Andre agreed to this and Deaney went off to speak to one of the other guests. Andre sipped his glass thoughtfully. A chance to see Deaney’s private office was too good to miss. If he’d get answers anywhere, it would be there. Besides, it would be best to lay his trap where no one would overhear it.

His valet Marco Benton drifted over.

“Notice anything?” Andre asked.

“Not yet,” Marco rumbled. “Waiters are all with the catering company. Only ones working directly for Deaney are Booker and the maid.”

“Booker?”

“That guy,” said Marco, nodding at what appeared to be a slab of well-cooked beef from the buffet that had sprung to life and put on a tuxedo. “Edmund Booker. There’s a goomba if I ever saw one. If he had anything to do with this spread, I’ll eat my cookbook. Guy’s got no class; you can see just by lookin’ at him.”

“Notice anything about the other guests?”

Marco shrugged.

“Typical rich types; not real gentry like you.”

“Appreciate that,” said Andre. He thought a moment.

“You notice a girl; real short, blonde, white and blue dress?”

The big valet shook his head.

“Nope, can’t say I have.”

Andre frowned, processing what that might mean. Marco was very observant, not to mention had an eye for the ladies. If he hadn’t noticed her, that could only mean she hadn’t been here very long…

“Keep an eye out for her,” said Andre. “Might be nothing, but…you never know.”

“Sure thing, boss,” said Marco, and he retreated as Deaney returned.

“Shall we, then?” he said, gesturing at the hall with his drink.

“Please,” said Andre, picking up his own.

Deaney led the way upstairs and down the hall into a wide, well-proportioned room that would have been elegant had it been more tastefully furnished. Andre’s well-honed sensibilities recoiled at the mishmash of clashing art styles, from the deco clock on the white mantel to the Victorian desk by the window and the Edwardian sofa and chairs before the fire.

“There we go,” said Deaney as they entered. “Now we can be a bit more private.”

“Nice room,” Andre said, focusing on the structure rather than the content in order to make the words sound convincing. “Renoir?” he said, nodding at what he recognized as one of the artist’s more garish works.

“Original,” said Deaney proudly. “Got it off some art galley that went bust. That one’s a Cabanel.”

“So I see,” said Fireson, though how any man could endure having these two paintings in the same room was beyond him. He suspected that framing their price tags would have been more to the point.

“But,” he said, tearing himself from the subject with an effort. “I presume you didn’t take me up here to show me art.”

Deaney grinned approvingly.

“That’s good,” he said, gesturing at one of the armchairs. “I admire a man like you; you know what you want, you go for it. Now, you said you might be interested in some…extra services?”

Firesone sat down on the edge of the chair, looking Deaney hard in the face, trying to read him. He’d have to tread very carefully here.

“Hypothetically speaking,” he said. “Say I wanted to move my weapons to a different client, without my present client being aware of it. Say I were to order your company to take a little extra in a given shipment, deliver it to these other clients, then proceed with the standard order without recording the difference.”

Deaney leaned back on the sofa, his eyes narrowed, dangling a half-full glass in one hand. For a moment, the two men studied each other, almost fencing with their eyes, seeking weakness.

“That would be illegal,” Deaney said at last.

“So it would,” said Fireson. “Do you object to that?”

Deaney smiled slightly, and the fencing match continued for another few seconds. Then he shook his head with a careless air.

“Not at all.”

Fireson smiled and sat back in his armchair, picking up the drink he’d set down on the side table.

Got you, he thought.

“That’s out of the way, then,” he said aloud. “I’m sure you know how tricky it can be to find the right kind of help.”

“Oh, I do,” said Deaney. “And I appreciate your approach.”

But Andre was not done yet.

“One thing further I need to know,” he said. “Do you have any experience in this regard? I don’t intend to trust my reputation and my business to amateurs.”

Deaney seemed slightly taken aback and gave a laugh that was even more out of harmony with his eyes than usual.

“Amateurs?” he said. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Mr. Fireson. My people and I have been doing this sort of thing for a long time.”

“So you say,” said Fireson. “Anyone can talk. I never take anything on hearsay, especially a man pitching his own services.”

Deaney sipped his glass, eying Andre thoughtfully. Possibly he was trying to detect trickery, but in this case there really was none; Andre’s father had taught him that rule, and he followed it to the letter in all his dealings.

“Fair enough,” said Deaney, setting down his glass. “Let me show you something.”

He got up and went to the Renoir painting. Andre guessed what this meant, and sure enough, a moment later Deaney had swung the picture away from the wall to reveal a safe behind it. He turned the dial a few times (taking care to position himself between it and Andre), then opened the door. Inside Andre had a glance of several neatly arranged folders containing numerous documents, but Deaney ignored these and instead took out a small, black ledger. He shut the safe door and led Andre back to his desk, where he laid it flat and opened to a certain page.

“Take a look at that,” he said. “But don’t touch.”

Andre bent over the ledger (vaguely aware of a faint smell of oranges as he did so), and studied it. It was a record of shipments made over the past month; shipments where the contents were written in code and the locations were all to or from Mexico. Two entries were marked ‘lost’ and accompanied by the letters ‘EJ’ followed by a question mark.

It was obvious to Andre that he was looking at the record of a smuggling operation, and to judge by the numbers, a very successful one.

“Hm,” he said. “Impressive. And you’ve been doing this how long?”

“Several years,” Deaney answered.

“Never been caught?”

“Never caught,” said Deaney with a satisfied expression. “The cops have had their suspicions, but they haven’t been able to land anything one me. I’m pretty good at covering my tracks.”

“So I see,” said Andre, trying not to look at the ledger as he spoke. Deaney closed the little book and returned it to the safe. Andre followed him, the beginnings of an idea – reckless, but not unworkable – rising in his brain.

“Well, Mr. Deaney, you certainly know how to run a business,” he said aloud. “I’ll run it by my board, but I think I can safely say that we have a deal.”

He held out his hand and Deaney shook it. Andre registered the faintly triumphal look on his face, and the fact that his hand felt as thought it were made of steel wires. He made a mental note to wash his own hand very thoroughly.

“Glad we could come to an agreement,” said Deaney. “Shall we return?”

Andre picked up his glass and followed Deaney out of the office and back down to the party. As he went, he worked out his plan in his mind.

When they entered the living room, Deaney excused himself and went out onto the patio to speak with his other guests. Andre waited until he was sure he was out of sight, then drained his glass and set it aside.

“If anyone asks,” he told Marco (who had dutifully appeared at his side the moment he returned). “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Got it.”

He slipped back out of the living room and into the hall, then up the stairs as silently as he could and back to the office. He guessed he could count on maybe five or ten minutes before he was missed; hopefully that would give him time to get into that safe and get that ledger.

When he opened the door to the office, however, he found that the safe was occupied.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said, louder than he had intended in his surprise.

The girl jumped back from the safe with a small shriek of alarm. He pulled the door shut behind him; whoever she was, he didn’t want anyone to hear them.

It was the same girl who had been at the bar: bright blonde hair, wide hazel eyes, and barely clearing five feet. She seemed momentarily struck dumb by his appearance and only stared at him with evident fear.

Andre looked at the safe. It was still shut. She had obviously had the same idea he had…only what was she even doing here? More importantly, how much, if any, of the recent conversation had she overheard?

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

She swallowed and seemed to gather her courage.

“I…I’m a cop,” she said. “And my superiors know where I am.”

This was such a patently desperate maneuver that he didn’t even bother contradicting it.

“How long have you been in here?” he asked.

She squared her small shoulders and gave him a defiant look.

“Long enough to hear some very interesting things, Mr. Fireson,” she said.

So she’d heard it all. She’d been spying on them. That might be awkward for him. But more importantly, if she was spying on Walter Deaney, and if things like her gambit at the bar were her idea of subtlety…

“You’re not a cop,” he said bluntly, still working things out in his mind. “And I don’t think anyone knows your here.”

“That’s all you know,” she said, unable to keep a faint tremor out of her voice.

“You’re right: I do know that,” he said. “If you never left this house,” he went on, thinking aloud. “I don’t think anyone would come looking for you.”

The girl licked her lips nervously. He’d frightened her. Well, good; better scare her off now than have her keep snooping around until an actual crook found her. Andre looked at her, then about the room. He made up his mind and started toward her.

“Stay back!” she said, retreating.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “You’re getting out of here right now.”

“I…what?” she said, apparently confused. This gave him the chance to close in and seize her by the arm; not too hard, but hard enough to ensure she wouldn’t wriggle away. As he did so he caught that same scent of oranges, recalled smelling it by the curtains, and understood where she’d been hiding.

“You are going to walk out with me,” he said in his commanding voice that very few people ever disobeyed. “We are going out the front door, to the gate, and you are going to leave and I am never going to catch you around here again. Understand?”

She blinked, evidently confused that he didn’t mean to murder her on the spot.

“That’s it?” she said. “You’re just gonna let me go?”

“Let you go?” he said, tugging her after him as he started for the door. “No, I’m going to make you go.”

He marched her out into the hall and down the stairs. Andre caught Marco’s eye as they entered the hall and he motioned for him to follow. At the front door they encountered a few other guests.

“Gate crasher,” Andre muttered. “She’s just leaving.”

The girl didn’t struggle and didn’t protest. She accompanied him to the gate without making any kind of a fuss, though Andre could feel the tension in her body as they went. He guessed she still didn’t quite believe he was going to let her go unharmed.

He jammed the switch to open the gate. As it creaked open, he looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, then lowered his face to her ear.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here,” he said. “But you have no idea what you are dealing with. Stay away from this if you value you life.”

With that, he pushed her through the gate. A little harder than he had meant: she nearly fell on her rear. As she recovered, he jammed the switch again and the gate slid shut.

The girl turned and fixed him with a furious, hateful glare from the other side of the bars. Strangely enough, it wasn’t until that moment that Andre realized that she was beautiful. It seemed to him as though he had never seen a lovelier girl in all his life than the one who stood glaring vindictively at him through the bars.

A moment later, she turned and disappeared down the street. Andre felt strangely dissatisfied with himself as he turned back to the house. Marco had joined him surreptitiously. For such a big man, he had mastered the art of moving quietly.

“Follow her,” Andre ordered. “I want to know who she is.”

Marco nodded, opened the gate just enough to slip his bulk through, and disappeared. Andre stood for a moment, frowning in thought, then turned back to the house

He didn’t feel like going back to the party, and as he’d already gotten what he’d come for there didn’t seem much reason to stick around anyway. So instead he strolled along the path leading around to the garden, looking over the flowerbeds.

The path led him around the corner of the house, away from the direction of the patio and the main party going on in the living room. Things were quieter here; the noise of the party was reduced to a kind of dull hum. He was able to think.

There’d be no going back to the safe today, and probably no more chance for him at all. But there might be ways of getting around that; he had money, and he connections, and the man who had both very rarely found an insurmountable obstacle. In any case, he’d escaped the shame of having his family company linked with the likes of Deaney…at least, assuming the girl didn’t spread the word around, though he supposed he could deal with her one way or another. Bringing Deaney to justice might have to be another man’s task. Perhaps he’d get in touch with Detective Crane and inform him of what he’d learned.

As Andre was musing on all of this and admiring Deaney’s flowers (the man kept a good garden, he had to admit), he suddenly became aware of voices coming from the house. This wasn’t the hum of indistinct music and talk coming from the party; these voices were much closer, low, and serious. Among them he recognized Deaney’s own.

They were coming from a half-open window leading into one of the smaller ground floor rooms. Andre slipped closer to try to hear, blessing the softness of the soil about the flowers that masked the sound of his movement. He stood against the wall beside the window, listening.

“Sure, I noticed her,” Deaney was saying. “Good-looking, fun-sized blonde. Guess she was a gate crasher. What about it?”

The other man hesitated before answering.

“Did you happen to notice what she did while she was here?”

“Not especially,” said Deaney. “Got herself a drink at the bar while I was talking to his lordship, until he shooed her away.”

“Ah,” said the other man. “I see. And you didn’t notice her anywhere else?”

“No, not until he dragged her out of the house. Why?”

“Because I did,” said the other. “I had a nice view of the windows on that side of the house, and I looked up and saw that same girl hiding behind the curtains in your office.”

There was a pause.

“When was this?”

“You figure it out,” said the other dryly.

Deaney swore aloud.

“Did you get her name?”

“She said it was ‘Linda Mitchell,’” said the other. “But she was lying. She’s a good liar, but not good enough. Still, I don’t suppose she’ll be hard to track down.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Deaney. “I’ll talk to our people in the police; have them pick her up, then we dump her in the ocean.”

“You’d better find out just how much she knows first,” said the other. “I really would rather not have any more surprises just now.

“Right, right,” said Deaney. “Instead of the ocean I’ll have them take her to Mistretta, let him play with her for a bit, see what shakes out. It’ll give him a chance to redeem himself.”

“Very good; I will leave it in your capable hands, then,” said the other. “Only next time, be sure to check behind the curtains.”

Andre stepped away from the window, carefully knocked the dirt off his shoes, then headed quickly back toward the front door. As he did, he met Benton waiting for him.

“Tell me you found something,” he said.

“Drove off,” said Benton. “Got her plate, though.”

“Good,” said Andre. “Because we need to find her. Now.”

###

It was later than Andre would have liked when Benton finally parked the big black sedan around the corner from the run-down apartment building.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Andre asked.

“According to my friends, this is where she lives.”

Among his many other qualities, Benton had a seemingly endless series of contacts, ranging from associates of his days cracking heads for the mob to city clerks, bankers, and tradespeople. Whatever the job, he knew someone who could make it happen. Tracking down the girl had been a simple matter of passing a few bills around the county records office, which had revealed that ‘Linda Mitchell’ was in fact a freelance reporter by the name of Sarah Rockford. In fact, that she had been the very one who broke the Hunar Contractors scandal and so created this whole mess in the first place. If nothing else, the girl certainly had courage.

Andre was a little surprised at the place. He knew she had been playing a part that afternoon, yet it still seemed strange that the beautiful, elegant young woman he’d thrown out of Deaney’s party should live in what he could only describe as a dump.

“Wait here,” he said. “Keep the engine running. Cops show up, try to stall them.”

“I don’t think I have to wait,” said Benton darkly, nodding as another dark sedan pulling up in front of the building.

Andre swore. Going in the front was no longer an option, not unless he meant to knock out two cops. Even if he knew they were dirty that wouldn’t help him much; he didn’t know how far up the scale the corruption went. In any case, if he gave the police a reason to come after him, that would also give them a shot at the girl.

Only one choice now.

“Stall them,” he said. “But don’t engage.”

He slipped out the back of the car and went around the back of the building while Benton got out and made straight for the two plainclothes detectives making for the front door.

The building was about five stories high, and according to the address they’d found, Rockford lived on the third floor. It was one of those old brick buildings that came with a metal fire escape that led down into the alley behind it. From the ground the only way to access the fire escape was a sliding ladder currently raised some ten feet off the pavement.

Andre quickly surveyed the layout, then took a running leap at the alley wall, jumped off, and just caught the lowest rung of the ladder with his outstretched hand. It clanked in what seemed a dangerously loud way.

Though he was a rather short man – only five-foot-five – Andre had worked hard to build an extremely powerful body, and he easily hoisted himself up the ladder to the first platform. He then lowered the ladder before continuing: he had a feeling they would need to get away quickly.

Trying to move as quietly as he could on the rickety metal structure, Andre ascended to the third floor, where he started looking surreptitiously through the windows, hoping against hope that the girl would be in one of them so that he didn’t have to invade more than one apartment tonight.

Andre didn’t believe in luck, which is perhaps why he seemed to have an unusual amount of it. In the fourth window on the third floor, he found her. The room was tiny and cramped, piled high with papers, books, and assorted debris. Rockford had changed out of her dress and was now wearing pale blue pajamas. She was sitting on a kind of combination couch and bed, a notebook in hand, chewing thoughtfully on a pen.

Time was rapidly running out; the police would be at her door at any minute. Yet still Andre hesitated, watching her. Partly, this was because he suddenly realized he had no idea how he was going to approach her; his original plan had simply been to knock on her door and talk to her. However, the fact that he was now obliged to enter through the window made that much less practical, as did the fact that they were on a strict time limit. At the same time, if he tried to enter now, she’d scream and probably try to run…ending up right in the arms of the corrupt cops.

Many years of brutal financial negotiations and hard study had left Andre with a keen strategic mind, and it didn’t take him long to concoct a plan: a risky one, and not likely to endear him to the girl, but one that seemed most likely to succeed. Still watching Rockford from the window (which was partly open to let in a breeze), Andre slipped a hand into his pocket and quickly began to prepare what Benton had euphemistically referred to as “Plan B.”

He had no sooner finished than there was a knock on Rockford’s door.

“Sarah Rockford? LAPD.”

Rockford looked up with a surprised expression, set her notebook aside, and rose to answer the door.

As soon as she turned her face to the door, Andre threw the window open wide (thankfully it didn’t stick) and slipped in behind her. A second later, he had seized her about the middle and clapped the chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth.

She immediately screamed into the cloth and began thrashing and fighting as savagely as a badger that’s been caught in a snare. Her foot kicked sharply up and back, and her elbow jammed into his stomach, but Andre knew how to fight and how to grapple: he kept his knees turned in to deflect the kick and Rockford wasn’t strong enough to do any damage to his muscular abdomen. He held tight to her, gripping her left wrist in his right hand so that his arm encircled her slender body, pinning her right arm to her side and using his greater bulk to hold her in place as much as possible as she kicked and squirmed helplessly.

In any case, the chloroform very quickly took its toll. After a few seconds’ furious and futile fighting, Rockford’s movements became sluggish, and finally she slumped limp and unconscious in his arms.

The police were hammering on the door now, shouting for her to let them in. Andre stuffed the rag back into his pocket and carried the unconscious girl back through the window, which he pushed shut behind them. He slung her over his shoulder – it was a good thing she was so small – and carried her as quickly as he could down the fire escape, which rattled audibly under his tread.

There was a distant crashing sound as the police broke down the door. Andre descended the ladder one-handed, then dropped the last four feet and ran for it just as a voice from overhead shouted, “Stop! Police!”

Andre was around the corner in an instant, where Benton waited in the idling car. He threw the unconscious girl into the back seat then climbed in after her, and Benton was off before he’d even closed the door.

“Close one, boss,” said Benton.

“Too close,” Andre agreed. He threw a blanket over the small, huddled form on the floor, just to make sure no one looked in and saw her. He felt strangely guilty as he did so. Though he’d done it to save her life, and he hadn’t had much choice in any case, it wasn’t pleasant to think that he’d attacked, knocked out, and kidnapped an innocent girl. That was going to be difficult to explain.

Benton chuckled from the driver’s seat.

“What’s so funny?” Andre asked in a sharp voice.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking of what she’s gonna say when she wakes up.”

Andre sighed and rubbed his temple, feeling suddenly tired.

“It’d be more helpful if you’d think of what I’m going to say,” he answered. “Because I sure as hell don’t know.”

 

The Ten Commandments of Murder: Available Now

I’m a big fan of ‘cozy’ mysteries: Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, G.K. Chesterton, I can’t get enough of them. Naturally (because that’s how my mind works), I’ve always wanted to make one of my own. So, I did, and it’s now available on Amazon.

TCM v2.jpg

“A house of many sins is a house of many motives.”

A gunshot shatters the night in the Long Island mansion of Wareham. An odious houseguest has been murdered and rich, directionless Alfred More is found holding the weapon that killed him…only he didn’t do it.

With a charge of murder staring him in the face, Alfred turns to the top private detective in New York: the huge, unpretentious Malachi Burke. Armed with his own ‘Ten Commandments of Murder’, Burke sets about sifting through the secret sins of the household to find which among them has violated the command, ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill.’

Available for purchase here.

Thrilling Adventure Stories Presents: Nick Windworth and Karen Stillwater in The Crush of Evidence

 

Karen Stillwater eyed the man before her with distaste. Though a few inches taller than she was, something about his sloping shoulders and somewhat drooping face made her think of him as a little man. He wore a dirty jacket, shirt, and unkempt tie and hung a battered felt hat on the peg by their table. Everything about him, she thought, screamed ‘crook.’

But if she’d wanted to associate only with decent people, she wouldn’t have become a cop. So, carefully concealing any sign of either her suspicions or her dislike, Karen listened as Nick “Breezy” Windworth told his story about happening, during the course of one of his apparently numerous con-jobs, to run across a murder plot involving John Chen’s daughter, who, according to her senior partner, Detective Crane, was in the hospital recovering from a bad bout of influenza. According to Windworth, he’d heroically pieced the information together and arrived just in the nick of time (he had used that pun himself in the course of his story) to stop the assassin after braving imprisonment and torture by Tony Mistretta, the top local gangster.

This, Windworth assured them, had led to a fight to the death in the hospital elevator, during which he had used a concentrated anesthetic to kill the other man in self-defense, explaining the report from earlier that evening about a dead man discovered in the hospital elevator while another man, dressed as an orderly, disappeared out the back amid the confusion.

“You do realize,” she said when he’d finished. “That this would most likely be the first case of self-defense with poison gas in recorded history?”

“Technically, the gas wasn’t poison,” he said. “Just very dangerous.”

“Also that you’re admitting to killing a man under suspicious circumstances, not to mention several other crimes?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” he said. “That sound like something a lying man would do?”

“No one’s accusing you of lying, Breezy,” said Crane. “At least, not yet.”

Windworth shrugged. “I figured it was implied by the fact that you’re speaking to me.”

“Are you a liar, then, Mr. Windworth?” asked Karen.

He turned mischievous eyes on her.

“Everyone lies, Detective; how many lies make a liar?”

“Enough,” said Crane. “We’ll let your story stand for the moment. What I want to know is whether Mistretta and Gallano are really working together, because if so that changes the whole setup.”

Karen pushed her annoyance with the witness out of her mind and considered the matter objectively.

“It certainly would explain a few things,” Crane went on. “Like how Gallano’s able to keep himself so squeaky clean even as his boys tear up the city. Anything too close to him he farms out to Mistretta and the other local gangsters.”

“Meanwhile,” Windworth put in. “He’s able to run you guys ragged trying to keep up with this war of his with El Jefe.”

“Who?” asked Karen.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” said Nick. “That’s what these Mexicans call their employer. No name, just ‘the Boss.’ Apparently he’s a big deal south of the border.”

“Well, we can’t worry about that right now,” said Karen. “Our business is putting Gallano and Mistretta and anyone else involved away for good, preferably before anyone else gets killed. How do you propose we do that, Mr. Windworth?”

He laughed at the appellation.

“That, Detective, is your business. Literally. I told you what I know, now you’re the one who’s gotta figure out a way to use it.”

She scowled at him, but as she started to reply Crane nudged her and she fell silent.

“What I’m thinking,” said the senior detective. “Is that maybe we can use Mistretta to get to Gallano. He’s a weaker target.”

“Don’t know if I’d say that,” said Windworth. “Most people around here are more scared of him than they are of Gallano.”

“That’s exactly the point,” said Karen. “If Mistretta’s at the forefront of Gallano’s power in this area, then he’ll have to be more actively engaged and run more risks. That makes him more vulnerable.”

Windworth nodded.

“Sounds like your girl knows what she’s doing.”

Karen scowled, but refrained from comment.

“We’re going too fast,” said Crane. “First we need to confirm that they’re even working together at all. I’m not saying you’re lying, Breezy, and I’m not even saying I don’t believe you, but it’s only your conclusion, and that from evidence that we haven’t seen. Taking on Mistretta will be a pretty big job, and we can’t afford to waste resources on a wild goose chase these days.”

“No, I see your point; gotta ration the number of lives you’re willing to throw at this thing.”

If that was a joke, Karen thought it in bad taste. Windworth leaned back in his chair, studying the ceiling.

“If it were me,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I think I’d check out Mistretta’s headquarters. He operates out of a garage on Pico Boulevard; it’s a front for a chop shop. He likes it because there are all sorts of horrible instruments handy in case someone annoys him. But the point is that I’d imagine there’d be some kind of evidence, or paper trail, or something of the kind in his office there to link him to Gallano.”

“Why would he keep something like that?” said Karen.

Windworth smiled.

“That’s the nice thing about us criminals, Detective; we know better than to trust one another. Most of us would turn on each other at the drop of a hat to save our own skins, and since the ones who survive know that perfectly well we tend to keep insurance. Mistretta’s sure to have dirt on Gallano somewhere, just in case the other guy ever tried to turn on him, or just in case he decided it was worth his while to turn on Gallano. Handy, isn’t it?”

“That’s a fine way to live,” said Karen. “Always looking over your shoulder to see who’s ready to stab you in the back.”

“It’s only a matter of being aware, Detective,” he said. “Criminals are no different than anyone else except we understand the world we live in and accept it. I mean, can you honestly say you’ve never been betrayed by anyone?”

Karen shifted uncomfortably, remembering Detective Pallin.

“Never mind,” said Crane. “You say Mistretta’s likely to have dirt on Gallano?”

“Probably a lot of other people too,” he said.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get a search warrant on his testimony?” Karen asked, pushing her discomfort aside.

“Oh, I suspect you would, but wouldn’t find anything,” Windworth said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Crane asked.

“Only that if Gallano, Mistretta, and their friends have compromised some of the police, they’re likely to have compromised lawyers as well. Probably even a judge or two. By the time you got the warrant, Mistretta will have been tipped off and all your evidence will be gone.”

“He’s right,” said Crane. “We don’t know how connected these guys are. We’d best keep it to as few people as possible until we’re ready to move.”

“And how do we know he isn’t going to tip Mistretta off?” Karen asked, nodding at Windworth. He grinned.

“You don’t,” he said. “That’s the point I was just making. Though if it’s any comfort, he is looking to kill me, so it wouldn’t exactly be in my own self-interest to walk into his shop with all the drills and blow torches and asked to speak with him.”

“If Breezy wanted to do that he wouldn’t have come to us in the first place,” said Crane. “What I think it comes down to is that one of us will have to go in undercover, or sneak in, and see what they can find.”

“Good idea, Detective,” said Windworth. “The best part is that I can’t volunteer, since Mistretta knows me and hates me.”

“Guess it’s up to me then,” said Crane.

“Uh, I wouldn’t do that,” said Windworth. “He knows you too. Most of the crooks around these parts know you, Detective; you’re practically an institution.”

He looked at Karen.

“When did you join the force, anyway?”

Karen saw where things were going and did not like it. In fact, she was surprised by the vehemence of her own revulsion from the idea, but she carefully kept her feelings hidden.

“About two weeks ago,” she said.

“And you made detective that quickly?”

“I was a detective in Springwood,” she said, unable to keep a trace of irritation out of her voice. “I have been a police officer for nearly eight years.”

“Must’ve started young,” he said. “But the point is that you haven’t been around here long enough for the local toughs to have gotten to know you very well. I mean, I didn’t even know you’d taken up with Crane, and I usually know these things.”

“Won’t Pallin have told them about me?” she said.

“He worked for the Mexicans,” Crane reminded her. “I doubt they’re sharing intelligence.”

“Besides,” said Windworth. “You won’t go as a policewoman; we’ll work something out and dress you up so as to draw attention away from your face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded in a more startled tone than she had intended

He laughed. Even Crane seemed to be keeping his composure with difficulty.

“You’ll figure it out,” said Windworth.

She still didn’t seee what he was getting at and didn’t think she wanted to.

“So, just so we’re clear, you want me to go in undercover to try to get this supposed evidence from Mistretta?”

Crane and Windworth exchanged glances, and Karen felt a subtle shift in the conversation. Before now it had been her and Crane against Windworth. Now the two older men were arrayed on one side and she was on the other.

“Well,” said Crane slowly. “We may have to think about this, but at the moment it doesn’t look like we have much choice. Like I said, it’s hard to know who to trust these days. And Breezy’s right; you’re the only one of us that Mistretta probably won’t recognize straight off.”

“Okay, but even if he doesn’t, and assuming we come up with a good cover story, how am I supposed to find this supposed evidence?”

“If it’s at the shop at all it’ll be in his private office,” said Windworth. “All we need is to get you in there alone for as long as possible. It won’t be anywhere obvious, like a drawer or filing cabinet, but if you search smart you should be able to find it.”

“’Search smart’?”

“You know; use your brains. I assume you have some.”

“As a matter of fact I do,” she said. “But why would Mistretta take me back into his private office to begin with?”

Windworth’s eyebrows rose.

“Detective Stillwater, are you really asking why a man would want to be alone with you?”

Karen opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking, feeling her face growing hot. She saw what he was getting at. On the one hand, his flippant, cynical manner annoyed her and she did not like the idea of relying on her looks – of which she had never had a high opinion – to get her through a dangerous mission. But, at the same time, and to her own surprise she couldn’t help being rather pleased that Windworth seemed to think she could. In spite of everything, it was rather flattering.

“Of course, the problem is that accent of yours,” said Windworth. “What is that anyway?”

“British father, Mexican mother,” she explained.

“I see. Can you lean it more to the maternal side?”

Karen considered a moment, then asked, in a voice that would have been appropriate to someone born and raised in Juarez, “How’s this? And what are you planning anyway?”

“Perfect,” said Windworth. “So, here’s what I’m thinking…”

###

            The large garage from which Mistretta ruled his kingdom stood on a corner in one of the nastier neighborhoods of LA. A couple unpleasant-looking youths were lounging by the entrance, smoking and leering at passersby. In the neighboring alley a few wino dozed against the side of a dumpster, while stray cats slunk in and out of sight amid piles of trash.

Karen hesitated on the corner across from the garage. She was surprised by how nervous she was, and didn’t like it. Ordinarily she had a very cool head for danger; she remembered once partaking in an armed raid on the home of a trigger-happy meth-head and she hadn’t felt this nearly this uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the prospect of trying to fool a very dangerous man, or that she felt self conscious in her tight, cleavage-bearing crop-top and short skirt. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d ever consider wearing normally, but it fit the character she was meant to portray.

Who was she kidding? She knew why she was nervous and knew why she had been so reluctant to accept this plan in the first place. It was the simple fact that she’d already cheated death once this week and didn’t fancy the prospect of trying her luck a second time.

That, and she didn’t trust Windworth, whatever Crane said. He struck her as a fundamentally weak, cowardly man who would do anything to save his own skin and had never once lifted a finger to help anyone else. She disbelieved his whole story of saving the girl and thought that he probably had some kind of agenda of his own.

In any case, he was gone now. After they’d worked out the plan Crane had asked him to stay and help them nail Mistretta.

“No sir,” he’d answered. “This is all your problem now. First thing tomorrow, I’m hopping the first train to anywhere not Los Angeles. Just an expression, Detective,” he’d added at Karen’s disgusted look. “I’ll pay for my ticket like an honest citizen.”

“You know,” she replied. “There really isn’t that much difference between an honest coward and dishonest one.”

He had almost laughed at that, confirming her worst ideas of the man.

In any case, this meant it was only her and Crane to try to pull off this scheme. She didn’t like it, but it was their best chance to finally start to make some progress on this case.

With that in mind, she squared her shoulders, threw out her chest, and sashayed across the street. She wasn’t exactly the flirting type herself, but she’d been through vice squad training and so knew the basics. She saw the two sentinels watching her with leering enjoyment and flashed them a vapid smile as she strode right past and into the shop. They didn’t try to stop her, probably figuring she was no danger and that doing anything would only attract more attention than it was worth.

Inside the shop was crowded and noisy. Several men were working on a rather expensive-looking car set up on a rack while rock music blared from a boom box. Workbenches and racks of tools stood along the walls and between the three large garage doors, while the air reeked of gas and oil. The men looked up as she came in, and they continued to look as she sauntered up to the nearest one and demanded: “Where is Mistretta? I have something he wants to know. I mean to tell him something.”

The man she accosted looked at her with a leering enjoyment.

“He’s busy,” he said. “Sure we can’t help you with anything?”

“I don’t need help,” she said. “I’m here to help you. I got something he’ll want to know, and that I want to tell, see? You let him know that. It is about El Jefe’s people.”

That changed the tone of the conversation at once. The men looked at each other, then one of them hurried back to an office in the rear of the building.

A few minutes later, Mistretta himself came out. Karen had never seen him before, but Crane had told her what to expect. He was hard, compact, and square-jawed, without an ounce of fat on him. He wore dirty jeans and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing the hard muscles of his burly arms. Karen saw his cold grey eyes sweeping her body with a hungry expression. That was good as far as it went.

“You Mistretta?” she said.

“That’s me.”

“I got things to say to you. Things you’ll be wanting to hear, right?”

“I think so,” he said, with a nasty smile. “Come on back and we’ll discuss it.”

He took her arm, not forcefully, but Karen was immediately aware of the terrible, crushing strength of this man’s body, like a chimpanzee. Though she was a strong and athletic woman, she thought he could probably break her arm with ease if he wanted to.

His office was a crowded, narrow space of metal cabinets and a steel desk jammed against the corner. The cinderblock walls were stained and water-damaged, probably with leakage from the bar-covered window looking into the alley. Oddly, there weren’t many papers or typical office equipment in view, though there were several tools lying on the desk.

Mistretta placed Karen in the chair opposite his own, but didn’t sit down himself. Instead, he continued to stand over her, one hand on the back of her chair, leaning over her. It was a very alarming position to be in, and it took all of Karen’s considerable self-control to act as though she didn’t notice it.

“So,” he said. “What do want to give me?”

She gave a vacant smile.

“I don’t like getting’ involved in no trouble,” she said. “I keep clean, see? But I don’t judge neither. So, I am seeing this man, Juan Estravedos. He does things for me, buys me things, takes care of me, see? So I don’t ask too much about what he does for then money. I hear a few things, I see a few things, but I don’t think I care, because I am taken care of, yes?”

“That’s the way to do it,” he said. One of his fingers began fiddling with a stray lock of her black hair.

“But then…” she said. “These last days, I find out that he’s been going about with this blonde piruja. All this time, he’s two-timing me!”

She spat on the floor.

“So,” she went on. “I think, how do I get back at him? Maybe I tell some of things I hear, and maybe he learns what happens when you cross me.”

“And so you came to me?” said Mistretta.

“That’s right,” she said. “I think ‘there is this big fight going on. These gangsters are shooting each other up. I would be glad to see the bastard shot, so I will tell someone how to do it.’”

Mistretta laughed.

“You are a nasty bit of goods, chiquita chiquita.”

Karen squared her shoulders and flicked her head to pull her hair out of his reach.

“I have myself to look out for,” she said. “Maybe my next man knows not to try two-timing me.”

“So, what exactly…” Mistretta began, but at that moment there was a knock at the door and one of his thugs poked his head in.

“What is it?” the gangster snapped.

“Sorry, boss,” said the man. “There’s a cop here, says he’s got some questions for you. It’s about…” he glanced at Karen. “About that thing yesterday.”

Mistretta swore and looked down at Karen.

“You just wait here a bit, chiquita,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, I’ll wait,” she said with a smile.

With that he followed his man out, shutting the door behind him.

I cannot believe that worked, Karen thought as she immediate stood up and began searching the room. She didn’t know how long Crane could stall him; probably about five or ten minutes at best.

Windworth had said that the evidence wouldn’t be anywhere obvious or easy to get to: not in a drawer or cabinet, for instance. That honestly didn’t leave much. Karen drew a deep breath and forced herself to look at it calmly.

If she were a gangster, and meant to keep dirt on her associates just in case, where would she hide it? It would be somewhere that no one would just happen upon by accident, but also somewhere you could get at it fairly quickly.

She looked behind the cabinet, but nothing there. She eyed the ceiling, but it was solid plaster. Then she wondered whether there might be a hidden drawer or compartment in the desk.

Karen tugged open one of the bottom drawers, intending to feel about on the inside for a false bottom or a hidden lever. But when she opened it, she found that it contained nothing but bricks. Ordinary masonry bricks, stacked two deep. She checked the drawer on the other side, and it was the same.

Drawers full of bricks. And the desk itself was a heavy, solid, metal affair. It would take a strong man to move it at the best of times, let alone weighted down.

Karen knelt down and looked under the desk. The inner left corner, which, facing from the door, would be right behind Mistretta’s chair, and which bore the brunt of the weight from the bricks, was missing its leg and instead was propped up by a couple of thick leather binders.

She looked over her shoulder. She didn’t know how long Mistretta had been gone. It felt like a long time, but objectively she knew it wasn’t more than a minute. Could she possibly get the binders out of there before he came back?

Karen felt them, but as she’d expected they were wedged in tight and impossible to move. If she got the bricks out she might be able to shift the desk enough to retrieve them. But would she have time?

More importantly, would she ever have another opportunity?

With a hasty glance at the door, Karen began piling bricks out of the desk setting them on the floor. They were heavy and scratched her hands, and every time she set them down on the tiled floor they gave a ‘clunk’ that she felt must be audible from the main shop. But no one came; no angry faces burst in on her.

She was able to take about two bricks at a time, and in about half a minute had cleared out one drawer and started on the other. Her heart hammered painfully against her chest, and the tight skirt she had to wear didn’t make lifting the bricks any easier. Every second she expected Mistretta to return and catch her. The music still blaring into the shop outside made it impossible to hear any signs of his approach.

The second drawer was cleared. Karen ducked under the desk and tugged at the leather binders. Even without its load of bricks, the desk was heavy; too heavy for her to lift by herself. She bent and braced her back against the top of the desk and pushed with her legs. It lifted, not much, but just enough. The binders came free.

For a moment, Karen felt exulted with triumph as she tucked the binder into her purse. But then she realized that, first, she now needed to put all the bricks back before Mistretta arrived, and second that without its brace the inner corner of the desk sagged noticeably; Mistretta would know something was wrong the moment he returned.

Thinking quickly, Karen seized one of the bricks and jammed it in under the desk. The game would be up the moment he looked at it, but at least the desk wouldn’t wobble too much. This done, she began piling the bricks back into the desk. Time was running out; she could feel it, but she didn’t dare go any faster lest the bricks clang loudly against the steel.

Back and forth, two at a time. Every time she looked at the door, she expected to see it open, to see Mistretta standing before her. She had no idea what she’d do if that happened: she had her sidearm hidden in her jacket pocket, but at this close range she didn’t fancy her chances of getting it out in time.

The left hand drawer was filled. Now for the right. Seven bricks to go. Five. Three. One…

Karen pushed the drawer shut, then noticed the dust and crumbs that had come off of them. Hastily, she seized a ledger from the desk and swept it as best as she could out of sight under the desk. It made a nasty scratching sound against the tiled floor. Putting the ledger back as close as she could to where it had laid, heart pounding with her triumph, she threw herself back into her chair.

As though it had been a signal, not five seconds after she’d sat down the door opened and Mistretta came in. He seemed in a bad temper.

“Now,” he said with an attempt at a suave smile that reminded her of a dog baring its teeth. “Where were we?”

He ran his hands along her shoulders and felt at the edges of her shirt. Karen pulled away, standing up.

“Not that far by a long shot,” she said, waggling a finger at him and leaning against his desk. She hoped very much she was screening the brick from sight.

“You all right?” he said. “You seem nervous?”

“Nervous? No! I am angry!” she said. “I think of what this man has done to me, and then I am kept waiting for so long, it is enough to infuriate!”

“Cops,” he said with a shrug. “What’re you gonna do? Anyway, what’s this you want to tell me?”

Karen willed herself to focus through her fear. Though her heart was hammering and she expected every minute for him to peer through the lining of her purse and see the stolen binder, she nevertheless stayed in character and gave her spiel. The information was all fake, but just close enough to the truth to be convincing. She told him where one of the Mexican gangs supposedly had its hide out and their schedule for receiving shipments.

“If you time it right,” she said. “You not only kill many of these pigs, but you get a nice bonus for yourself, eh?”

He nodded.

“I’ll take a look,” he said. “If it checks out, then I’ll owe you chiquita.”

“Just kill Juan Estravedos,” said Karen with a convincing approximation of a hateful snarl. “Then I will be happy.”

Mistretta grinned.

“Well, that’s the important thing,” he said.

Karen nodded, as if to say they were done, and started for the door. But Mistretta put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Once more she was aware of that terrifying, animal strength.

“You know,” he said. “There are ways to make you happy right now.”

Karen feigned a flattered smile even as a faintly sick feeling came into her stomach.

“Thank you, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Oh, I think you are,” he said. His grip tightened on her shoulder. “Or else you wouldn’t be here, would you.”

Karen swallowed and her smile faded, replaced by a hard, watchful look. Her mind was running through several possible gambits to get out of this situation. Once she tried one, she’d be all in, and none of them seemed to offer good odds.

“Take your hand off me, please,” she said.

Mistretta’s face twitched. Instead of complying, he seized her right arm in a grip that made her wince.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “I’m not good enough for you?”

“You’re hurting me,” she gasped.

“Don’t worry; you’ll get to like it before long. They all do.”

Time was rapidly running out. She needed to act now or not at all. She’d knee him in the crotch and make a break for the door, drawing her pistol as she went. With luck, the pain would make him lose his grip, and she’d be armed and out of reach before he could recover…with luck. But if it didn’t work…

Before Karen could start, however, there was a heavy knock at the door to the office. Mistretta clapped a hand over Karen’s mouth and shouted “Not now!”

The door opened, and Karen’s confusion (and probably Mistretta’s as well), one of the winos from the alley stumbled in. He smelled rancid, and a half-empty bottle dangled from one hand.

“Sho-sorry,” he muttered, clearly in an advanced state of intoxication. “I’m jush looking for a bathroom…”

“How the hell did you get in here?” Mistretta snarled, throwing Karen into the chair by the desk. She seized her chance to reach into her jacket and pull out her sidearm…but then something very strange happened.

The foul-smelling wino had stumbled into the office and seemed to be trying to find his way among the metal cabinet. Mistretta gave him a hard shove to the chest, meaning push him out through the doorway. But as he did, the wino suddenly turned with the blow, and using Mistretta’s own momentum pulled him off balance, slamming him face-first in the cabinet. While the gangster was still reeling from the blow, the wino smashed his bottle across his face, dropping him to the floor in a cloud of blood and broken glass.

Karen hadn’t quite registered what had happened when the wino seized her hand and pulled her to her feet. They were out of the office and into the main shop before she had realized what was happening. As they ran through the crowded, noisy space, she saw that Mistretta’s men were all lying incapacitated against the workbenches or stretched out on the floor.

The next minute they were out the door, down the alleyway, and had emerged on the opposite street, where they slipped into the foot traffic. Karen hastily returned her gun to her pocket.

The ‘wino’ kept moving until they could duck into another alleyway and out of sight of the street.

“You all right?” he asked, and his voice confirmed what Karen had been vaguely aware from the moment he’d entered the office.

“Windworth!”

“Please, not so loud,” he said. “I’ve got a price on my head, remember?”

“But…what are you doing here?”

“Saving your hide; what’s it look like?” he said. “Would have been there sooner except I had to deal with the guards.”

“Wait, but, how did you know…”

“I was watching, of course. Through the window. You weren’t lying about having brains, either; figuring out the deal with the bricks was smart work. Gutsy too. Took me a while to get what you were doing.”

Karen brushed a stray lock of her hair out of her face. She was trembling and breathing hard, though she thought she could pass that off as due to running.

“You knew something like this would happen, didn’t you?”

“I knew it was the weakest part of the plan,” he said. “I don’t mean to get sappy, but you are a very beautiful woman, detective. I knew that a man once alone with you would need a lot of self-control to keep his hands to himself. And Mistretta’s not the self-controlling type. So I kept an eye out to see if things got out of hand, and obviously they did, so I came running.”

Karen wasn’t really sure how to respond to that, both because the comment on her looks made her uncomfortable and because she’d never really been rescued before.

“You smell terrible,” she said by way of buying time to collect her ideas.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s part of the disguise; don’t want someone looking too close, discourage them from getting too close.”

“Well, thanks for the help,” she said. “Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?”

“Boy Scouts. By the way, did we actually get anything from all of that?”

In the excitement of the escape, Karen had almost forgotten the binder. She took it out and flipped it open to find it contained hand-written notes, photographs, and memoranda, which a glance told her pertained to criminal activity.

She smiled broadly, too exhilarated and too frazzled to hide her feelings.

“Got them,” she said.

“That’s a relief,” said Windworth. “Best get that to Crane; I’m gonna get out of town before Mistretta wakes up. This is all your problem now, detective.”

She gave him a shrewd look.

“That’s what you said yesterday, and yet here you are.”

He looked at her with a strange expression she couldn’t quite place, then shrugged.

“What can I say? I’m a liar.”