Killer's Town (10 page)

"Ml be tough getting off this roof," he told her softly. They had gotten onto the roof from the top of the cage. They couldn't go back that way. Too exposed. At the side, above the alley, there was a balcony at the second-floor level. But how could they reach that from this slippery tile roof? While he considered this, a soft voice spoke behind them. The girl was amazed at the stranger's reaction. At the sound of the first soft syllable—almost before the sound, it seemed to her—the stranger had a gun in his hand, taken from the holster in a movement too fast to follow with the eye. They looked back. Just over the apex of the roof, the matted hairy head of Matthew Crumb peered at them,

"This way," he whispered.

They made their way along the apex to him. His head was sticking out of a skylight that had been covered with tiles like the roof. He disappeared from sight. The Phantom peered into the opening, lowered the girl into it, then dropped into it himself. They were in an attic room, filled with musty old trunks, broken furniture, the dust of years. The renovators had never reached this place.

"I watched," said Matthew Crumb softly. "This sweet girl, the daughter of the Colonel of the Jungle Patrol. You called me sir. I always liked the Patrol. And you, you said you were my friend." the garrulous old man stopped, seeing the strange costume for the first time.

"But I saw you climb onto the roof. Are you the same man?"

"I am your friend.
⁸⁸

The old man nodded happily. Yes, that was the voice.

"These are evil men, and they planned to hurt this sweet child," he continued.

"We know," said the Phantom. "There's a balcony on the second floor. Can you show us the way?"

They followed him quietly through the empty corridors. There were snores from a few rooms, but they met no one. They reached a closed door. The Phantom, gun in hand, opened it slowly and peered in. It was empty.

"Thank you. We'll meet again, friend Matthew Crumb,"' he said.

Matthew Crumb folded his hands and looked at them wistfully, sorry to see them go. Caroline bent over and quickly kissed him.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and the door closed behind

them. Matthew walked slowly down the hall. The quick touch of those soft lips. Friend. Sir. There were tears in his red-rimmed eyes.

A few men had returned to the bar. Koy peered in to see if the tables were busy. He saw the handsome Pilot at a table with three women. Koy bristled. Eagle had told all his men to get out and hunt. Pilot was with his women. He walked to the table. They were all laughing at a joke, then frozen when confronted by the grim figure.

"Didn't you get my order? I sent all my guys out to find the girl and that guy with sunglasses."

Pilot looked at him coolly, maintaining his bravado in front of his girls.

"I'm no flunky and I'm not one of your gun boys. I'm a pilot. That involves enough dirty work for you."

Koy moved in fast, and dumped the table, bottles, and glasses onto the laps of Pilot and the girls. The girls screamed and one fell over backward in her attempt to get clear of the table. Pilot jumped to his feet, his neat jacket dripping with gin.

"You thick-headed greaseball!" he shouted, moving toward Koy with clenched fists. He stumbled slightly, half- drank and reckless. Koy waited, then swung, hitting him on the side of his jaw. Pilot fell to one knee. The girls cowered in a corner, sobbing and brushing their stained dresses. Sport had entered and stood with a rifle at the ready.

'You're lucky you're my pilot, my only pilot, flyboy," said Koy. "If there was anybody else who could fly that crate, I'd rub you out like a bug."

Then he aimed a kick at Pilot's groin. Pilot turned to catch the blow on his hip, then fell over to the floor. Koy stood over him, working himself into the murderous rage that always surged up in him when someone was helpless before him.

"Now you get out and find that guy, and that girl, or well bury you in the cesspool and find another pilot," he shouted. Sport came alongside and took Koy's arm. He recognized the rage building up in him.

"You need him, boss. He's the only pilot we got."

Koy nodded and let himself be pulled away.

"Do like he said now," said Sport to the recumbent Pilot.

Pilot staggered to his feet and swayed out of the room, avoiding the looks of the frightened girls. He staggered alone into the dark alley, then leaned against a wall. He was bitter, humiliated, sick at what had happened to him. If he had a bomb, he'd blow up the whole town.

"I'm a pilot," he said angrily to the world in general. "I'm not one of these lousy scum." And he went on in that vein, cursing Koy, all his men, and Killer's Town in general. It was at that moment, as if he hadn't had enough for one night, when something, or someone, dropped on him, taking him to the ground. Then he was flat on his back, a heavy foot on his chest. He stared at a vague figure. But he could see the glint of a gun pointed at his head.

"Not a sound, Pilot," said a deep voice.

Confused, amazed, dizzy, Pilot did as he was told. All the fight was out of him. Then he heard the voice again.

"Now, Caroline."

As he looked up, he could vaguely see a figure dropping from a second-floor balcony. A girl. The girl. With one foot still on Pilot's chest to hold him down, the stranger caught the girl in his arms. Pilot heard her exhale deeply in relief. All were motionless for a moment as the stranger looked about. Then Pilot was pulled to his feet, facing a gun. Behind the gun was a masked face, framed by a dark hood.

First Koy, now this. Too much. Pilot's legs sagged. His eyes closed. If only he could faint. He tried, but couldn't. The stranger straightened him up and shook him.

"Pull yourself together," said the deep voice. "We're going to the plane. We stop for no one. Understand?"

Pilot nodded dumbly, trying to get his bearings. Where was the man with the sunglasses? But he was given no time for questions or answers. The stranger gave him a slight shove, and started him toward the wharf, following a step behind with the girl. Pilot couldn't see or feel the gun, but he sensed it was pointing at the back of his head.

They reached the wharf without being seen. Then a man stepped out of the shadows with a rifle. It was Fats, the former wrestler.

"Hey, Pilot," he called in his raspy voice. "Who's that with you?"

"I dunno," grunted Pilot, continuing to walk.

"Hey! That's the girl! Stop right there," said Fats, raising his rifle.

Pilot jumped a foot in the air as the gun behind him exploded. The noise made his ears ring. Fats was even more startled when the bullet hit his rifle, knocking it out of his hands. He stood for a moment, staring at his hands to see if they were bleeding. They weren't hit. Another bullet whistled near his head. Fats got the message, turned, and ran. Pilot, the stranger, and the girl raced onto the wharf toward the plane. The gunfire started a clamor of voices in the

background, and some of the riflemen rushed out from behind buildings into the street.

"Where are they? Who fired? Turn on the searchlights. Down at the wharf," the voices shouted. Men ran back and forth. Someone reached a switch. The wharf area was suddenly brilliantly lighted in time to see Fats diving into an open warehouse doorway. Farther away, a strange, tall figure was seen for a split second jumping into the amphibian plane. As the crowd rushed to the wharf, the motors roared, the propellers whirred, and the plane started to move away from the wharf. Koy rushed out of the inn. Others were already nearing the dock. As the plane moved within easy range, they held their fire. What to do? The plane was Koy's million-dollar beauty, his pride and joy.

"What's happened? Where are they?" shouted Koy, reaching the vanguard of men. They pointed to the moving plane.

"Who's in there?" he yelled.

The men were vague. Pilot, some guy.

"The girl?"

No one knew. Koy hesitated for precious moments. If it was only Pilot, why damage the amphibian? He could always catch up with that crazy flyboy. Then Fats came out of the warehouse.

"The girl—some guy—with Pilot—in the plane," he shouted.

"Stop them," yelled Koy.

"You mean shoot at the plane?" the men asked.

"Yes. Shoot! Shoot!"

But it was too late. The amphibian was in the air, already out of range. In a moment, it was out of sight in the darkness. Then, as if correcting an oversight, the green and red wing lights flashed on briefly. Then they were gone. Koy looked around at his riflemen, at the rest of the inhabitants of Killer's Town who had poured out of the casino and the bar, out of their rooms, at the sound of the gunfire. He was stuttering with frustration, almost apoplectic. Finally, he recognized one familiar face, one who might make sense.

"Fats, you saw them. Who were they?"

"Pilot, with the girl—and some guy."

"What guy?"

"I don't know. Not like an ordinary guy. Different."

"What do you mean different?"

"Just—different. Big, weird. Shot the gun right out of my hand. Could have killed me, but didn't."

Koy grabbed Fats by the lapels of his sweater jacket.

"Talk sense, you idiotic walking tank. Who was it?"

A voice came out of the crowd. The words came slowly.

"He told you. Different. I told you before. You wouldn't listen. That was that Phantom—the Ghost Who Walks—the Man Who Cannot Die."

All the men turned toward the speaker, Moogar. It was an awesome moment under the searchlights in the quiet jungle night. Koy stared at Moogar, then turned and walked to the end of the wharf, staring into the night, wondering confused thoughts about his lost million-dollar beauty. Pretty, standing next to Moogar, shivered.

"You're a kook, a real kook, jungle boy," he said, trying to make a joke. Nobody laughed.

Randolph Weeks paced back and forth in his office as he had done all day. The agonizing bind he found himself in had not changed since those lights blazed in his eyes at the gates of Killer's Town. The sound of his daughter's faint voice, "I'm ... I'm all right, daddy," echoed in his head. In response to his question, "Caroline, have they hurt you?", her frightened answer, "No, daddy." And then that arrogant mocking male voice, "No, daddy—not yet." Those words—not yet—were torturing him. All he had to do, they said, was remove the Patrol observers and they'd free her. Or had they actually said that? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter. He knew that blackmailers were never satisfied, that one surrender would be followed by a further demand. Yes, he knew all of this so well, but his lifetime of knowledge and experience wasn't helping Caroline. Not yet. His child—with those killers in a cage! So he paced and talked to himself, trying to find an answer, but there was no good answer. Then his phone rang.

It was a report from the Patrol observation post outside Killer's Town. There had been sporadic gunfire, a plane had taken off, now all was quiet. Gunfire? Caroline in the middle of a gang war? That settled it. If the Patrol or police couldn't help her, he would. Quietly, and methodically, he took an automatic rifle from the wall rack, and loaded it with ammunition from his desk. While getting extra ammo clips from his closet, he noticed some grenades brought in from a raid on a railroad robber gang. Grenades. He'd blow down those gates. He stuffed the ammo clips and grenades into his bush-jacket pockets, and strode to the door. Two patrolmen waiting there grabbed him. They'd been keeping an eye on their leader.

"No, Colonel, you can't go out there."

"Let go of me. That's an order, Morgan," shouted Weeks, struggling to reach the door. The men held him.

"We're not going to let you go out and get yourself killed," shouted Sergeant Morgan as they struggled with him in the middle of the room.

"They've got my child out there, goddamn you. Let mego," shouted Weeks, managing to pull back from the two. He pointed the automatic rifle at the two panting men.

"Stand aside."

Morgan, a sturdy Patrol veteran, stepped before the open

door.

"No sir," he said. "You'll have to shoot me, Colonel!"

"May I come in?" said Caroline Weeks.

For a split second, the men remained frozen in place like a scene in a moving picture that suddenly stops. Then Morgan stepped aside as Caroline rushed into her father's arms. The corridor beyond the door was filled with noisy patrolmen who'd seen Caroline come in. All had been living with the anguish of the Colonel, and now they laughed and cheered.

When the noise subsided, Weeks stepped back to look at her. Beyond a slight accumulation of dust—she hadn't had a chance to wash since her jungle ride the day before—and ever so faint new worry fines near her young eyes, she looked the same as ever.

"It's a miracle," said Weeks. "How did you get here?"