“Look, this is important to us. No offense, bud. We don’t want no trouble with you and we ain’t gonna hurt you if you just come along quiet-like.”
“Nobody wants to hurt me,” said Jake, still slightly dizzy from the effects of the ether. “Why do you people keep trying to take me away?”
“What do you mean, keep trying?” Nichols frowned.
It occurred to Jake that perhaps these two really knew nothing about the incident back on the highway the other side of Phoenix. Why should they? It’s a big anthill, and it’s not necessary for the ants on one side to know what the ants on the other are doing, even if they’re working toward the same end.
He stared at the gun. It didn’t look like a toy. It frightened him.
“Take it easy.” Degrasse put a restraining hand on his partner’s arm. “Don’t get him excited. We don’t want him to go and have an attack on us.” He turned, tried to present a benign air to the trembling old man on the bed. In the dim light he was pale as a ghost.
“He don’t look well at that,” agreed Nichols. “Look, why don’t I just crack him on the back of the head, real easy, and we’ll haul him out of here.”
“I dunno,” said Degrasse. “If it upsets him….”
“Shit, I’m getting tired of worrying about what’s going to happen to him,” Nichols grumbled. “We’ve been in here too long already.” He nodded toward the front door. “They’re going to be getting impatient out there.”
“Alright, alright,” said the frustrated Degrasse. “Go ahead, but don’t hit him any harder than you have to.”
Nichols started toward the head of the bed, grinning slightly. “I’ve never hit anyone harder than necessary, Phil. You know that.”
“Stay away from me,” Jake whined. “You stay away from me.”
“Take it easy, old man.” Nichols tried to sound comforting. “This’ll just take a second. Then you can sleep.”
The gun was coming closer. It ballooned until it filled the whole room. Jake couldn’t see anything else. It was dark and black and the shiny gaping maw was pointed right at his chest.
There were two or three thumping sounds like rats jumping clear of the bed. Nichols froze, his gaze on the floor. The pistol’s cylinder had rolled under the bed. The barrel lay near his shoes, the trigger off to the right, the hammer by the end-table. The protective plastic grips had split away from the handle and lay on the floor like the two halves of a shucked oyster. There was no sign of the bullets. The .38 had come apart in his fist, like a child’s jigsaw puzzle suddenly kicked to pieces.
“God,” the big man whispered. He swallowed hard. His expression, which only a second earlier had been one of complete confidence, had metamorphosed into something quite different. Slowly he began backing away from the bed. Jake stared at him, wondering at the abrupt change in his assailant. He hadn’t done anything hardly at all. Just made the gun slipt a little.
Degrasse was staring at the sections of gun-puzzle lying on the carpet. “Just like the rag,” he murmured huskily. “The gun came apart just like the rag.”
Nichols had retreated until he was standing next to him. “Your gun. Use your gun on him, Phil.”
“Like hell.”
“What are we gonna do?”
“I duuno about you,” said Degrasse, edging behind the bigger man, “but they didn’t say nothing about anything like this. This wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t give a shit what Drew says.”
“They’ll be angry.” Nichols’ voice was soft. His gaze never strayed from the suddenly spectral figure sitting up in the darkness on the bed.
“They can go screw themselves,” Degrasse whispered. He was fumbling with the chain latch that secured the front door. “I’m telling you, this wasn’t in the deal. When something comes up that’s not part of the deal you have to get new instructions, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.” Nichols was crowding his companion. “Hurry up.”
“I just want to be left alone,” Jake said plaintively. He started to get off the bed. A low moan issued from Nichols’ throat. He clawed at the door, nearly pulling it off its hinges in his haste to escape once Degrasse had the chain unhooked. Both men half fell, half sprinted out the open door. Jake found himself staring at the naked Arizona night.
XI
Slowly his fright and concern gave way to confusion and then more prosaic concerns. He knew that he had to get out of the room, out of the motel, and do it fast. He remembered the frightened big man muttering something about others waiting.
He fumbled quickly through his suitcase, tāking only his razor and toothbrush and pills. Then he grabbed his wallet from the end table and debated which way to go.
Dimly he remembered the dark shadows emerging from the vicinity of the bathroom. He closed the front door and locked it, then made his way to the john. Warm air drifted in through the open window. At least, he thought wryly, he’d been practicing for this. Using the john as a stepstool he quickly boosted himself up and out the back of the building.
He stood there wheezing and trying to catch his breath. A glance to right and then left revealed only a moonlit vacant lot full of high weeds and old corn. Making up his mind quickly, he started jogging along the back wall of the motel. Crickets commented on his progress from their abodes in the corn.
It was a long building. The motel was one of several cheap national chains. His heart was beginning its first warning rumble as he rounded the far corner.
The office formed a brightly lit rectangle at the far end of the building, like the head of some giant nocturnal insect. Jack could see the buzzer which would summon the night clerk. Through the glass door and high windows he could also just make out several cars parked around his old Ford. Men stood there, talking quietly and occasionally glancing in the direction of his room. They were a fair distance off but there was enough light from the moon and the motel parking lights for him to make out the two men who’d been in his room. They were talking to the others and occasionally one or the other would gesticulate violently toward the building.
Leaning against the wall, he made a hurried, frantic survey of his surroundings. He could dash into the office and summon the night clerk, who could then call the police. But would they come quickly enough? This was a small town. And what reason could he invent that would make sense to a small-town cop? He stood there trying to sweat out a decision. A noise like an overwrought coffee pot made the choice for him.
The big Greyhound was idling in the parking lot of the restaurant next door. The restaurant backed onto a much more expensive motel than the one Jake had chosen. He pushed away from the wall and started toward the bus, trying to hug the darkest shadows between his motel and the next. His gaze was fixed on the open door of the bus. It could snap shut at any instant, he knew, stranding him there out in the open.
The two men who’d been sent in to bring him out had been startled by his little trick. He suspected neither they nor their numerous backups would be so easily startled a second time. The pain in his chest was a steady ache now, though the real throbbing still held off.
He forced himself to slow down as he neared the bus, forced himself not to look back over his shoulder for the heavy hand he expected to come down on him at any moment. But nothing grabbed at his shirt, and now he was so close to the bus that there would be witnesses… if everyone aboard wasn’t fast asleep, he reminded himself.
Then he was mounting the steel stairs. They seemed six feet high to him. He was inside the bus, a warm metal cocoon. A hand touched his back and he jerked violently around, found himself staring down into the face of the bus driver.
“Hey, partner, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He drank in the uniform, the insignia on the driver’s cap. He’d never been so happy to see a picture of a dog before in his life. “I’ve just had a long night, that’s all.”
“Yeah, ain’t we all. Pick a seat. We’re leavin’.” The driver stepped past him into his own chair.
