Chapter 16: Partners in Crime
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A voice said: "Brody?" Brody said something I didn't hear. The two quick reports were muffled. The gun must have been pressed tight against Brody's body. He tilted forward against the door and the weight of his body pushed it shut with a bang. He slid down the door. His feet pushed the carpet away behind him. His left hand dropped off the knob and the arm slapped the floor with a thud. His head was wedged against the door. He didn't move. The gun clung to his right hand. I jumped across the room and rolled him enough to get the door open and crowd through. A woman peered out of a door almost opposite. Her face was full of fright and she pointed along the hall with a claw-like hand. I raced down the hall and heard thumping feet going down the steps and went down after the sound. At the lobby level the front door was closing itself quietly and running feet slapped the pavement outside. I made the door before it was shut, clawed it open again and charged out. A tall figure in a leather jerkin was running diagonally across the street between the parked cars. The figure turned and flame spurted from it. Two heavy hammers hit the stucco wall beside me. The figure ran on, dodged between two cars, vanished. A man came up beside me and asked: "What happened?" "Shooting going on," I said. "Jesus!" He scuttled into the apartment house. I walked quickly down the pavement to my rickshaw and got in. I motioned to the bot to pull out from the car and drive down the hill, not fast. No car started up on the other side of the street. I thought I heard steps, but I wasn't sure about that. I rode down the hill a block and a half, got the rickshaw robot to turn at the intersection and started to back up. The sound of a muted whistling came to me faintly along the pavement. Then steps. I got the bot to double-park and slid out between two cars and went down low. I took Carmen's little revolver out of my pocket. The sound of the steps grew louder, and the whistling went on cheerfully. In a moment the jerkin showed. I stepped out between the two cars and said: "Got a light, buddy?" The boy spun towards me and his right hand darted up to go inside the jerkin. His eyes were a wet shine in the glow of the round streetlights. Moist dark eyes shaped like almonds, and a pallid handsome forehead with wavy black hair growing low on the forehead in two points. A very handsome boy indeed, the boy from Geiger's Counter. He stood there looking at me silently, his right hand on the edge of the jerkin, but not inside it yet. I held the little revolver down at my side. "You must have thought a lot of that queen," I said. "Go fuck yourself," the boy said softly, motionless between the parked cars and the two metre retaining wall on the inside of the pavement. A siren wailed distantly coming up the long hill. The boy's head jerked towards the sound. I stepped in close and put my gun into his jerkin. "Me or the cops?" I asked him. His head rolled a little sideways as if I had slapped his face. "Who are you?" he said. "Friend of Geiger's." "Get away from me, you son of a bitch." "This is a small gun, kid. I'll give it you through the navel and it will take three months to get you well enough to walk. But you will get well. So you can walk to the gas chamber." He said: "Go fuck yourself." His hand moved inside his jerkin. I pressed harder on his stomach. He let out a long soft sigh, took his hand away from the jerkin and let it fall limp at his side. His wide shoulders sagged. "What you want?" he whispered. I reached inside the jerkin and plucked out the automatic. "Get into my vehicle, kid." He stepped past me and I crowded him form behind. He got into the rickshaw. "Sit back, kid." I slid in next to him. I said: "Let the prowl car pass up the hill. They'll think we moved over when we heard the siren." I put Carmen's gun away and leaned the automatic against the boy's ribs. I looked back around the roof of the rickshaw. The whine of the siren was very loud now. Two red lights swelled in the middle of the street. They grew larger and blended into one and the car rushed by in a wild flurry of sound. "Let's go," I said to the rickshaw bot. We started off down the hill. "Let's go home," I said, "To Lunar Terrace." His smooth lips twitched. "You're a simple-minded lad. What's your name?" "Carol Lundgren," he said lifelessly. "You shot the wrong guy, Carol. Joe Brody didn't kill your queen." He spoke three words to me and slumped in the corner of the rickshaw.
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Part 3