Dead-Bang (18 page)

“Go away! Go—”

“Goddammit, let me in! I'm not going to hurt you, or …
anything
. You hear me? I'm not going to, ah, anything. Do I have to break the goddamn door down to save you?”

I slammed the wooden panel with the side of my fist a couple of times, then stopped, took a deep breath, and another. Why did this babe get me so shook? Probably because she looked like a tomato grown in the Garden of Eden, but acted like a cucumber destined to be a pickle. Which would have been depressing even to a vegetarian. And I'm carnivorous. Or maybe I just react negatively when gorgeous babes scream at the mention of my name.

Movement to my left caught my eye. Twenty feet down the enclosed but open-to-the-sky walkway another door was open, and a small man stood in it. He had a wispy mustache, straight brown hair, and wore rimless glasses through which he bugged me with startled eyes.

I smiled at him. Smiled, sort of. “Something?”

He disappeared like a wraith and the door closed softly.

“Regina!” I said to the door. “Be sensible. I suppose Pastor Lemming, Earth's Mr. Clean, said some dirty things about me last night after I left? Behind my back?”

“He told us everything about you,
everything!
Go—”

“What a rotten bit of luck,” I said. “Look, Regina, I suppose you still think I shot at Pastor Lemming?”

“You did! You did, you did, you—”

“Will you knock it off?”

“Well, you asked me.”

“Yeah. I've got to give you that one. Regina, dear. Just listen for a moment. I did
not
shoot at your Pastor. In fact,
nobody
shot at him.”

“They did!
You
did. I was there—”

“That's my point. Those shots weren't at Pastor Lemming. They were at you.”

Silence.

“They were,” I repeated, “aimed at Regina Winsome. Two slobs—not including me, two
other
slobs—tried to kill
you
, Regina.”

Finally, in a much smaller voice this time, “Me?”

“That's right. And remember, you're the one who got nicked, not Lemming. Lemming didn't bleed even a drop. Not that I'm sure he could … ah. Just let me in, Regina, and I shall explain all this to your entire satisfaction.”

She kept me out there arguing for another minute, but finally I heard rattling as the door chain was removed, then more rattling for another door chain, then the click of a key in the lock.

“Why don't I climb in a window?” I asked ungraciously. “No sense making you dial the combination.”

But then the door opened, and Regina stared wide-eyed at me, and backed away as I stepped into the room. Even backing away, however, which isn't quite what a red-blooded man hopes for in his heart of hearts, she looked better than most gals running at you. I had only half-remembered the sweet bright beauty of that soft face, the enormity of those liquid eyes, eyes like light purple or deep lavender in the reflected sunlight.

And, too, she was not now wearing that droopy gray robe, or the shower-cap thing on her head, so I could not only see that her hair was long and thick and the color of chestnuts roasting on a charcoal fire, but that an accurate description of her figure would undoubtedly require breaking several canons of the Church of the Second Coming.

Looking at Regina in a soft pink turtleneck sweater and white skirt as she breathed much more deeply than normally, perhaps due to anger or fear or both, white skirt hugging rounded hips flaring from the slim waist, sweetly curving lips parted and eyes even bigger and wider than they usually were, I could not understand why simply joining the Church was not grounds for her instant excommunication.

You may think that I, having spent quite some time recently with extraordinarily
yinny
Dru Bruno, should not have been nearly so interested in, and certainly not fascinated by, the carnal and fleshly phenomena displayed so prominently by Regina Winsome. You may think I should have considered almost with disinterest, if not actual boredom, the distinct probability that beneath her sweater was no contraption cleverly designed to lift, spread, squash, separate, increase, disguise, decrease, or conceal Regina, but only the unencumbered deliciousness of Regina. And you may think it should never have entered my mind that the way the slightly fuzzy pink cloth clung to the warm abundance of Regina's deliciousness with a caress that covered but did not really conceal was much like the way peach skins cling to prize peaches overdue for plucking.

You may think that. You have my permission. You may think any fool thing you want to.

“How much longer are you going to stand there?” Regina asked me.

“What? Well … how long have I
been
standing here?”

“Quite a while. I thought you wanted to explain a bunch of things to me.”

“Well, there you are. You just can't trust anybody these—ah, yes, those two dirty rats were
shooting
at you, Regina. At
you
. And I am going to
kill
them the first chance I get.”

“Kill, kill! Can't you think of anything else?”

“You'd be surprised.”

“The very first thing, you say you're going to kill a bunch of people. You
are
a foul murderer, just like the Sainted Pastor said.”

“The hell with that ding—listen, two isn't a bunch. Anyhow, maybe I'll only wound … arrgh. Can you keep quiet a minute? You shake me up enough with your mouth shut. Look, let's lie down on the couch—I mean, sit on the bed … arrgh. Let's stand here on the floor while I explain. This is important. Really.”

She didn't say anything.

“O.K. That's better. Now.…”

I could feel a slight breeze cooling the back of my neck. The door was still ajar, since I hadn't closed it when I walked inside. Doors ajar—especially under the circumstances I was, soner or later, going to describe for Regina—fill me with” considerable unease. So I stepped to the door, shut it, picked up the chain and prepared to stick the metal doohickey into the slot, and

“What are you going to do!”

I dropped the chain and it tinkled on the wood.
I
damn near tinkled on the wood. There had been in Regina's voice the high shrill note of innocent children meeting goblins in the forest, and it went through me like light through a bulb.

I found I had my eyes shut, teeth clenched, lips spread, arms down and rigid at my sides. I stood there and noticed that, without my willing them to move, my hands went out and up and then down,
pat
, and I felt I was beginning to understand the terrible stresses Doctor Bruno must have been experiencing lately.

I wiggled my shoulders, shook my arms, then turned my head. “I don't know how you did that,” I said. “But please don't do it again.”

Regina had retreated a couple of yards farther into the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, left hand cupping most of her right breast, right hand full to overflowing with the left one. Her knees were slightly bent, and she was in a little crouch as if preparing to hop straight up into the air for about an inch.

“What am I going to do? Why, I am going to leave,” I said. “And I will make sure the door is wide open, so the bad men can peek in and see you and shoot you. I'll go wait for you at the morgue. Isn't that nice?”

“Bad men?”

“They're not exactly good.”

“I—I'm sorry, Mr. Scott. I thought … our Sainted Pastor told us last night that you …”

I sighed. “We'll get to our beloved tattletale in a minute, maybe.” Behind her was a door, ajar, visible beyond it a bed and a nightstand with a lamp on it. “Right now, Regina, you go into that room.” I pointed. “And shut the door. Lock it. Put the bed against it. Then we'll talk. We seem to do better with a door between us. Not much, but some.” I sighed again. “I really do have to explain why you may have celebrated your last birthday. How many have you had, by the way?”

“I'm twenty-five. Twenty-six in two months.”

“Uh-huh. And thirty in four years. By then I'll be thirty-four, over the hill. Well, go lock yourself in, dear.”

“No—I said I was sorry. I won't … won't act like that again.” She'd already straightened up and dropped her arms. She moistened her lips, then walked across the room to a teal-blue divan and sat down. “You can sit down if you'd like, Mr. Scott. Please.”

“Not just yet. You sit and listen—closely. Last night two men fired some shots, presumably at Pastor Lemming, actually at you, shortly after the services ended. A few hours earlier the same two men forced other individuals, whom I needn't name, into a car in the church parking lot. While one of those individuals and one of the two gunmen were still standing outside the car, a girl drove into the lot, parked, and ran toward the church. As she passed these men, she waved to one of them.”

Regina's eyes were wide again. I paced toward the door, and back, restless. “When you and I were talking to Pastor Lemming last night, you apologized to him for being late. We'll ignore how sweet he was about your tardiness. More important, I'd guess you were just about the last member of the congregation to arrive. Which is to say, the girl in the parking lot.”

“Yes,” she said softly, curiously. “I
was
terribly late. And I remember the car, some people—I waved at Pastor Strang. He's one of the Church officials, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Did you get a look at the other man, the one standing near Strang?”

“Well, yes. I didn't pay much attention.”

“Describe him. If you can. Anything at all.”

“He did look right at me, I remember—I really got only a glimpse of him. Let's see, he was … shorter than you, and quite a bit slimmer. Dark. That's all. Oh, I think his hair was lighter, almost white, right at the middle of his forehead. Like maybe it was gray there.” She shook her head, the thick roasted-chestnut hair bouncing. “That's all.”

“It's enough. It's why he, and his buddy, tried to kill you.” She took a deep breath and I heard it sigh from her mouth. “Regina,” I said, “can I tell you something in confidence? I mean, that you won't repeat to anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Not even to Pastor Lemming? Especially not to him?”

“Not even.…” She was silent for a few seconds. “All right.”

“O.K. That man you saw, and his buddy, plus a third man they met after leaving the church lot, last night killed André Strang.
After
you'd seen them together. They murdered—”

She gasped, lifted one hand to her throat.

I went on, “murdered him, in a very cruel and cold-blooded manner. Strang's body hasn't been found yet, but those hard boys know when it
is
found and reported, the girl who waved to André will certainly recall waving to him, and very likely remember the man who was with him. Remember that other man well enough to describe him, maybe later identify him. So they also know, if everything's to be kept tidy, they have to kill that girl. They knew it last night—when they tried to do it, and missed. They still know it. And maybe next time they
won't
miss.”

Regina looked pale. She bit her lower lip, then said, “I can't believe anyone would want to kill me. Besides, Pastor Lemming said the shots were at
him
. And if he said it—”

“Yeah, if he said it, it must be true. If he says roosters lay eggs, hens will start crowing in the morning. If he says the sun rises in the west, from now on we march north to go south. Will you please get rid of the idea that Lemming is the repository of all knowledge and start using your
own
head for a change?”

“I—I can't believe it. Even if it was true, what could I do?”

“Exactly what I came here to help you do. Get out of this apartment, hole up somewhere else for a day or two. Look, a friend of mine named Hal Prince has a cabin, more of a summer palace, actually, about fifteen miles from L.A. It's not far, but you'd think you were in Canada. Leave here with me, right now, and I'll drive you there. It's isolated, but very comfortable, and you'll be safe while the police, and I, try to run down those two—”

“Leave?
With
you?”

She was starting to bug me again. “Why not?” I asked icily. “I'll bet even Jack the Ripper had a good side. Who knows? Maybe he was a dear, sweet boy except for his little problem—” I cut it off.

“Make up your mind, Regina. I've given it to you straight, but you'll have to decide what you're going to do. I parked out front on Flower—probably shouldn't have, but I was in a hurry—and I checked everything I could see in the area. I didn't spot anything unusual, I'll admit, but there's an alley across the street, a service station next to it, an apartment house and half a dozen other places where men
might
squat if they wanted to stake this place out and wait for you to show.” I paused. “I'll bet you haven't been out of your apartment this morning, right?”

“No.… I haven't.”

“If you had, I might have gotten here too late.”

“I think you're exaggerating, Mr. Scott.”

“Yeah, I do it all the time. I'm just trying to send you into shock, so I can drink some blood out of your neck. The hell with it, get a wiggle on and leave here with me right now, or you stay and
I'll
leave. Believe it or not, I've got a couple other things to do.”

Regina was still a little pale, but she didn't say anything. I started to pace the floor again, and apparently Regina had now become as restless as I, because she stood up, tugged absentmindedly at the bottom of her pink sweater, then started walking back and forth, arms behind her and one hand clutching her other wrist.

It was not a pose she would have adopted unless greatly preoccupied with her thoughts, and certainly not with a sixteen-year-old lad in the same room, much less one such as I. Because, with her arms stretched behind her and shoulders pulled back, her breasts seemed to rise like plump birds and begin pecking at the pink sweater, which was itself pulled back even more tightly against her flesh, molding and cupping and even appearing to the observant eye, which is what I had a couple of, to become thinner, a garment fashioned less for concealment than decoration. And also because the little force she'd expended in tugging her sweater down was entirely wasted, since other and greater forces tugged it right back up. And kept on tugging, animated by her movement. One thing about this gal, it was difficult to stay bugged with her for very long.