clear, love,” Chatto said to the struggling girl. “We don’t intend to waste as much time on you as we did on your brother.”
“I know what you did to him,” the girl said.
“That’s lovely then, dear, because you know what you’ll get if you don’t tell us what this little message from your dear departed daddy means.”
Apparently the two men took turns with their gun. Chatto was holding the .45 automatic today.
Easy moved along the row of windows until he saw fluttering curtains. This window was half open. Kneeling, he again looked in.
“You and your brother damn well must know what this means,” insisted Chatto as he waved the slip of lined paper. “Otherwise there’s no reason for the old boy to have left it, do you see.”
Easy steadied his gun hand with his left palm. He aimed at Chatto’s right arm and fired.
He missed.
“Hell’s bells!” yelled the wiry little man. He spun, squeezed off a shot in the general direction of the windows.
Two panes over from Easy glass came exploding out into the afternoon. The cafe curtains flapped and a row of decorative salt and pepper shakers which had been sitting on the ledge tumbled out and landed, smashing and clacking together, on the ground.
Before the last one hit Easy fired again.
The impact of the slug forced Chatto to start walking backwards across the forest green rug. His gun hand went up and up. He fired the automatic into the ceiling. Hanging brass skillets swayed as he stopped against the wall stove. His curly head thumped against the glass oven door. The timer bell started ringing.
Chatto let go his gun, pressed both his hands flat to his bloody side. The blood kept on coming out. “Oh, my god, my god.” He stumbled. His knees slammed the floor, then his face.
McBernie had turned Gay so she shielded him from the window and Easy’s gun. “Okay, mother humper,” he called, “you shoot and this bitch takes it and not me.” Moving sideways, he tried to keep the girl in front of him while he grabbed the .45 automatic up off the floor.
Gay kicked out backwards.
It caught the slightly bent McBernie in the crotch. He yowled, releasing his hold on the girl.
The window was just wide enough for Easy to squeeze through. He did that while the fat black man was still hopping.
Easy dealt him three chopping blows to the side of his neck.
McBernie collapsed, falling hard across his bleeding partner.
“This would be Beverly Hills,” said Easy. “The cops are very fastidious up here. They won’t like a mess like this at all.” He walked over to the olive green wall phone, reaching for the receiver. “You okay?”
The dark-haired girl watched him for a few seconds. Then she ran to him, put her arms around him and her head on his chest. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. They haven’t been here long,” she said.
Easy took his hand off the phone.
CHAPTER 13
T HE LAST CAR DOOR slammed outside in the darkness. The last car drove away from the mansion.
Gay was standing, arms folded under her breasts, looking into the empty gray stone fireplace in the living room. “I feel like lighting a big roaring fire,” she said. “Though I guess that wouldn’t be very appropriate on a muggy night like tonight. What time is it anyway?”
Easy looked over at the clock on the mantel above the empty fireplace. “Little after eight.”
Glancing up at the high ceiling, the girl frowned. A low mechanical voice was talking up above somewhere. “Oh, the radio in my bedroom,” she said. “I turned it on just before those two … men broke in. It’s been babbling away up there all this time and I never noticed it till now.”
Easy was leaning against a heavy dark wood table. “All the cops were very polite.”
“They must have heard of you. They treated you with … well, respect.”
“Not me,” he said. “Me in this particular context.”
Gay said, “I suppose you’re right. This house and the Holland name … make a nice invisible shield to
“I know what you did to him,” the girl said.
“That’s lovely then, dear, because you know what you’ll get if you don’t tell us what this little message from your dear departed daddy means.”
Apparently the two men took turns with their gun. Chatto was holding the .45 automatic today.
Easy moved along the row of windows until he saw fluttering curtains. This window was half open. Kneeling, he again looked in.
“You and your brother damn well must know what this means,” insisted Chatto as he waved the slip of lined paper. “Otherwise there’s no reason for the old boy to have left it, do you see.”
Easy steadied his gun hand with his left palm. He aimed at Chatto’s right arm and fired.
He missed.
“Hell’s bells!” yelled the wiry little man. He spun, squeezed off a shot in the general direction of the windows.
Two panes over from Easy glass came exploding out into the afternoon. The cafe curtains flapped and a row of decorative salt and pepper shakers which had been sitting on the ledge tumbled out and landed, smashing and clacking together, on the ground.
Before the last one hit Easy fired again.
The impact of the slug forced Chatto to start walking backwards across the forest green rug. His gun hand went up and up. He fired the automatic into the ceiling. Hanging brass skillets swayed as he stopped against the wall stove. His curly head thumped against the glass oven door. The timer bell started ringing.
Chatto let go his gun, pressed both his hands flat to his bloody side. The blood kept on coming out. “Oh, my god, my god.” He stumbled. His knees slammed the floor, then his face.
McBernie had turned Gay so she shielded him from the window and Easy’s gun. “Okay, mother humper,” he called, “you shoot and this bitch takes it and not me.” Moving sideways, he tried to keep the girl in front of him while he grabbed the .45 automatic up off the floor.
Gay kicked out backwards.
It caught the slightly bent McBernie in the crotch. He yowled, releasing his hold on the girl.
The window was just wide enough for Easy to squeeze through. He did that while the fat black man was still hopping.
Easy dealt him three chopping blows to the side of his neck.
McBernie collapsed, falling hard across his bleeding partner.
“This would be Beverly Hills,” said Easy. “The cops are very fastidious up here. They won’t like a mess like this at all.” He walked over to the olive green wall phone, reaching for the receiver. “You okay?”
The dark-haired girl watched him for a few seconds. Then she ran to him, put her arms around him and her head on his chest. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. They haven’t been here long,” she said.
Easy took his hand off the phone.
CHAPTER 13
T HE LAST CAR DOOR slammed outside in the darkness. The last car drove away from the mansion.
Gay was standing, arms folded under her breasts, looking into the empty gray stone fireplace in the living room. “I feel like lighting a big roaring fire,” she said. “Though I guess that wouldn’t be very appropriate on a muggy night like tonight. What time is it anyway?”
Easy looked over at the clock on the mantel above the empty fireplace. “Little after eight.”
Glancing up at the high ceiling, the girl frowned. A low mechanical voice was talking up above somewhere. “Oh, the radio in my bedroom,” she said. “I turned it on just before those two … men broke in. It’s been babbling away up there all this time and I never noticed it till now.”
Easy was leaning against a heavy dark wood table. “All the cops were very polite.”
“They must have heard of you. They treated you with … well, respect.”
“Not me,” he said. “Me in this particular context.”
Gay said, “I suppose you’re right. This house and the Holland name … make a nice invisible shield to
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