Dirty Harry 12 - The Dealer of Death by Dane Hartman Read Free Book Online

learned in his life it was that procrastination got one no place.
    He risked a glance into the bedroom. At first, he could see very little, but after a few seconds was able to distinguish various objects. There was someone in the bed. Harry Callahan. He was seized by the impulse to kill him now. In spite of the disturbance, he remained asleep, his head burrowed in the pillows. It would be no trouble, taking him out now. But that would be too easy. It would deny Gallant the satisfaction of a long drawn-out revenge. It wasn’t just Harry’s death he craved, it was his humiliation.
    The little girl in the other room was still whimpering which meant Sheila would be detained a few minutes more. Soundlessly, he entered the bedroom, his eyes hungrily searching for the gun he knew must be somewhere nearby. He was sufficiently well acquainted with the habits of his onetime arresting officer to know he was seldom separated from the Magnum that had become his virtual trademark.
    At last he saw it, snugly fitted into its holster and resting on top of the night table immediately by Harry’s side.
    This was better than he could have hoped. He’d prayed he could simply snatch it and get away as easily as he’d got in. But this was not to be.
    Of course, he did have the advantage. He held the gun, and Harry didn’t. He could take the Magnum at little peril to himself. But Harry might recognize him, so might Sheila. His deception would be exposed, his plan sabotaged from the outset. No, it was crucial that the author of this theft remain unknown.
    Acutely conscious of each step he took, he was thankful the bedroom was carpeted, so he scarcely made any sound at all as he crossed its length. After what seemed an eternity, he reached the night table. He listened to Harry’s breathing. It was regular enough to reassure him that he was still asleep. But at one point he stirred and for a fraction of a second Gallant was certain he’d woken. Instead he changed his position so that his face was now turned toward him. His eyes remained shut, but the effect was disconcerting.
    He extended his arm until his hand was poised directly over the gun.
    Just then he heard the door to the child’s room close quietly. He’d been concentrating so much on Harry that he’d completely forgotten about Sheila.
    There was no time to take the gun, leave the bedroom, and vanish down the corridor without running right into Sheila. The only thing he could think of to do was to drop down where he was and slide under the bed.
    Presently, Sheila reappeared. “Harry? Harry, are you awake?” she asked, but all she elicited was a barely audible groan that might or might not have been intended as a response. “That’s all right,” she said, “go back to sleep.”
    The bed sagged slightly as she got into it. While Harry lay motionless, she seemed to take forever returning to sleep. She tossed and turned, and just when Gallant was convinced that she finally was asleep, she’d move again. All he could do was stay where he was, trying his best to subdue his mounting panic. He kept imagining her insomnia would keep her awake until dawn, and even if she dropped off, Harry would wake, and he would never have the opportunity he desperately needed to make his escape unobserved.
    But then it seemed that she had fallen asleep. When ten minutes had passed without any movement on her part, he decided he would risk crawling out again. He poked his head out. When nothing untoward occurred, he went further until he was completely revealed. He was relieved to see Harry had turned again so his face was no longer visible.
    Without rising to his feet, Gallant raised his hand and groped till his fingers touched the Magnum. He took hold of it as though it was a treasure of incalculable value. And in a way it was, if only to him and Harry.
    Even though it was a temptation, he suppressed the urge to stand up and run for the door. Instead, he painstakingly remained on all fours,