Louis
Shalako
The pounding from above started up, Man-Child as he
was known, totally oblivious to anything in the outside world as people like
that often were. Amy desperately struggled to get a hand into O’Hara’s pocket,
looking for the key. He was a bit overweight and the polyester slacks were
tight. He was laying on his side, out like a light.
With a rope no longer around his neck, Mark was practically
dancing in rage. The urge to kick that slightly-pudgy face, lying face-down on
the floor was practically overwhelming. Would he ever like to bust that
cocksucker’s ribs.
I really should be able to do it…it was a personal
failure.
She pulled out a key ring. Holding it up, she looked
at Mark in horror. O’Hara’s body twitched and they both stepped back.
“Shit. It’s a real small one—hurry, try it.”
He turned around and she grabbed at his wrists.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck—” It was the third one she tried,
and then both of Mark’s hands were free.
She threw the cuffs aside.
O’Hara, after a few initial twitches, had subsided
into a low moan, his hands pushing feebly at the floor but his eyes were still
unfocused. They were unfortunately open again, which meant bad news in
anybody’s book.
The right arm moved just as Mark was going forward to
pull the gun off the guy. Mark couldn’t see the gun, it had to be under him
somewhere. He was a big, heavy guy, and moving again.
The right arm moved just as Mark was going forward to
pull the gun off the guy. Mark couldn’t see the gun, it had to be under him
somewhere. He was a big, heavy guy, and moving again.
Mark stepped back in panic.
O’Hara made another little snuffling sound. The head
came up off the floor and gave itself a little shake.
“Come on.” He grabbed Amy’s hand and pulled her
towards the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Remembering the cat, Mark shoved Amy out into the
hall.
“Go up to Duke’s—if he’s not home, Maude lives down
the hall on the same side. She’s right at the back.”
She nodded.
“What—what are you going to do?”
“The cat—the fucking cat.”
Amy seemed to understand, and so did he. She backed
off down the hall, turning and sprinting upon hearing another low groan from
O’Hara.
Mark wouldn’t have much time, but the window was open
and the cat was smart enough when you got right down to it.
Theoretically, he really should call the fucking cops…
***
Amy wasn’t being left behind. Duke pulled the clip on
a Beretta nine-millimetre pistol. He took another look and then inserted it.
Snip, snap, and the thing was all set to go.
It seemed like Duke had a pretty good idea of how to
use it. Mark nodded and opened the door after a peek through the peephole and a
long listen.
Cocking the gun, Duke led. He went through first, all
set to shoot. The three of them crept down the stairs, ears straining for any
sounds of O’Hara. No one came out or up or down while they were in the
stairwell. Duke checked around the corner. Mark’s hallway seemed relatively
quiet, just the usual sounds of television coming from behind the usual doors.
The east end of the hallway was very quiet, but that guy worked afternoons
somewhere and the lady on the other side was a real church-mouse.
The apartment door was closed—and O’Hara was armed.
Duke moved to the far side, gun leveled. Mark, keeping
Amy way back, reached, turned the knob and gave the door an awkward shove
inwards. Using the ultimate extension of his wrist and his hand, the door frame
ensuring a short throw.
He stepped back, realizing that Amy was just in the
way, and yet she wasn’t leaving the two of them either. He gently pushed her
back some more—
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened, an unexpected outcome, and yet what they had all been hoping for. Duke took a quick look, standing with some protection from the doorframe. He pushed the door in and stuck the gun in and had a good look.
“Where was he?”
Shit.
“Laying right there on the floor.” Mark risked a look.
O’Hara was gone. The rope was gone. The knife was
gone. There hadn’t been much else there to begin with. The chair was still in
the closet. The closet door was still open.
The cat, on the other hand, had come out of hiding and
was sitting there with an expectant look on its face in the dead centre of an
otherwise empty living room.
Thin cotton curtains billowing on the front window
sort of implied a method of escape. They’d been away long enough, that O’Hara
might have just as easily taken the stairs. Of necessity, Mark had been forced
to explain as best he could before Duke could sort of see the need to get
involved…which he would have much preferred not to do. There was just no way.
Duke never would have let Mark have the gun and go off on his own with it. Not
for any reason. For one thing, it was registered in his name, necessary for
concealed-carriage of a firearm.
In that sense, he was just being a responsible person.
Mark had few words.
“Fuck. What—what do we do now, Duke?”
With an imperative jerk of the head, Duke indicated
that they should all go back upstairs.
Mark nipped in and grabbed the cat before it could get
away again, and this time grabbing his wallet and the keys. Interestingly, the
knife and what was presumably his suicide note were gone.
“Mark—my purse.”
“Right.” He grabbed it and tossed it in her direction,
with Amy making a good if hasty catch.
The door was locked when he left.
For all the good that would do.
***
Duke’s apartment was only going to be so safe for so
long. What O’Hara might do next was open to guesswork. It was a safe bet that
he wasn’t going to take it lightly. He’d just been about to kill a man, and
surely now that Mark had escaped, he must do something.
Surely Mark would call the police and freak out.
O’Hara would do something.
The only real question was what. And when, and how. As
to why, that was almost irrelevant.
“The fucker was trying to kill you.” Duke was finding
it hard to accept. “This is just nuts.”
He had only his faith in Mark and Amy’s corroboration
to go on. It was Amy that had convinced him—her being real smart and all of
that.
“Yeah. It is nuts—maybe there really is no other
motive.” Cop goes nuts, starts killing people.
For no reason at all, other than some severe and
undiagnosed mental illness of a sort that left your faculties intact and no one
around you remarked upon—and of course cops could get around on the public
dime. They had all sorts of mobility.
It could be just as simple as that. It would make a
wonderful headline for the tabloids, or a cheap psychological police
procedural…
Shaken as they were, Mark and Amy needed a plan. The
apartment was off-limits…probably forever, thought Mark with a horrible sinking
sensation. There wasn’t much there to hold him—a couple of horns and some
clothes. A toothbrush.
“What are you thinking, Mark?” Amy had a good point.
“You and I have to get the hell out of here.”
Duke nodded sharply.
“Yeah—I might be all right. But you guys definitely
got to go.”
It was right about then a female voice, coming from
somewhere in the building, up above on the next floor by the sounds of it,
began screaming in a hysterical fashion.
Duke strode to the door, opening it up, gun in hand.
The first thick tendrils of smoke came in and somebody right about then pulled
the fire alarm.
Duke closed the door with a quick slam.
“Shit. Where’s that fucking cat?” The thing had leapt
out of Amy’s arms and bolted into the inner rooms.
Duke shoved the gun down the rear waistband of his
pants.
He’d rather lose a buttock than a testicle…or worse.
As Mark and Amy tried to corral a suddenly-skittish
animal, Duke went through the place in a quick flurry of precise, no-nonsense
maneuvers. Money went into one pocket, a large bag of dope in another. His best
hash-pipe went into the bag, and a pair of jeans, a favourite shirt. There was
a silver-framed picture of an elderly woman, presumably his mother…
A half-finished pulp novel. He had a few small things.
It all fit into a gym bag. A look of sadness crossed his face and he fell into
a chair for a minute. After thirty seconds he put on some shoes, got up and
pulled on his jacket. There was smoke coming in from under the door.
“Fuck.”
“Shit.”
“Oh…”
They only had so much time.
“All right. Let’s get the hell out of here. You guys
better take the fire escape. Do that now. I have to check on Maude, then
there’s that old lady on the fifth…good luck. Run, guys. Run and don’t come
back. Don’t stop running until you get to the coast.”
Mark’s mouth opened to protest, and then Duke’s hand
went to his pocket. He pulled out the wad of cash, forcing Mark to take it.
“I want you guys to promise, okay. You too, Amy. Even
if you’re safe, he’ll be watching you—you can almost count on it.”
Amy began to sniffle, nodding.
Mark stood there, unable to speak.
Everything was changing again—fuck.
Duke handed Amy an envelope, picking it up off the
table beside the door where he kept the keys.
For some reason they weren’t in a
big hurry. The building was all masonry, although the smoke would be death if
they didn’t get going.
“What’s this?” She was mystified, besides, they needed
to get.
“My draft notice. Don’t worry about me, okay? Maybe
we’ll catch up someday.”
Duke gave Amy a strong shove towards the window. There
was definitely a lot of smoke coming in, getting pretty heavy now.
His draft notice. Of course. Mark suddenly understood
the life-style. It was all about denial—
Only when she was halfway out did Duke turn back to
Mark.
“Let’s swap wallets. Please. Just trust me on this
one.”
Mark sure as hell didn’t have any great plan. He handed
over his wallet, accepting Duke’s in return.
“When you get so far, just dump it in a ditch, okay?”
“Sure, Duke.”
“I’ll be in Canada if you need me—and I’ll be careful
to lose your wallet in Montreal. Something like that—capiche?” If he left it behind in the right place, some responsible
person would find it
The right thing to do, would be for them to turn it in
to the police—a nice touch.
“Wait. Wait.” One more inspiration.
Duke whipped off his leather bomber jacket.
“Here. Let’s swap coats. That fucking cocksucker’s
probably right outside, you know that, right?”
The roar and crackle of flames was right on the other
side of the ceiling.
“Shit.” Mark stripped off the parka even as the
temperature climbed and the air was getting real bad.
“Whatever you want—I’ll
hang onto this for you.”
Duke looked at him.
“Sure.” He swallowed. “Good luck, buddy.”
That would have to suffice. There might even be some
wisdom in it. As for Mark, he was plumb out of ideas. He was losing his friend.
Duke might turn out to be the best friend he ever had—
He and Mark shook hands quickly. With a nod in the
direction of the window and the fire escape, Duke opened the door and went out,
bent at the waist and feeling his way along the wall. That was the last thing
Mark saw before slamming the door. After some initial yelling and the pounding
of feet on stairs and fire escape, it was terribly quiet out there. It was just
smoke, lots of thick, billowing smoke of a highly noxious nature. The air was
hot and billowing up from below.
The
cat, the cat.
The
God-damned cat.
Mark’s face was inches from Amy’s feet.
He wanted out of there real bad, and going down that
damned fire escape in the middle of the night was going to be something else.
His heart was really going. So far it had kept going…
The cat struggled in his arms and he was ever so
grateful when she reached in and took it from him.
Let her
handle the damned thing for a while.
Sooner or later, if this kept up, the way things were
going, Mark Jones was going to get angry.
Very, very angry.
(End of Part Twenty-Four.)
Thanks
for reading.
***
Phuque.
>>>
