Murderers' Row by Donald Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page B

still holding himself. He didn’t want to move. He was afraid he’d fall apart if he moved. I shrugged, closed the trunk and the hood, got in and started the motor.
    â€œMake up your mind,” I said. “Stay here if you like. I’m leaving now.”
    He came around the car, walking very gingerly. I opened the door for him. He eased himself to the seat. I didn’t really like reaching across him to close the door—he could have been shamming—but he didn’t take advantage of the opening. I started the car.
    â€œWhere—” He licked his lips and started over. “Where are you taking me?”
    â€œTo the nearest phone. For advice and assistance. Watch the roads so you can tell them how to pick up your car.” I glanced at him. “It might help if you told me precisely what’s bugging you, to use the vernacular.”
    â€œWhy,” he said, surprised, “why, you killed her!” He turned to look at me. “Didn’t you?”
    â€œWell,” I said, “she died.”
    â€œShe wasn’t supposed to die! You killed her!”
    I started to speak again, and stopped. There was no point in arguing about it. What he thought didn’t really matter any more, anyway. He was hospital-bound and out of it. There were other people whose opinions were of more importance to me, one person in particular. I hoped he’d be more open-minded on the subject, but I wasn’t really counting on it.
    I found an all-night filling station with a phone booth. I parked the Falcon by the booth, since there was no reason to be coy.
    â€œDon’t move,” I said to Alan, “don’t talk, and don’t think—there’s no really good evidence that you know how. If you have to die, do it quietly.”
    He gave me a look full of hate, sitting there holding himself. That was all right. He was mad enough to stay alive if he could manage, which was the way I wanted to keep him. I glanced at my watch as I got out of the car, and saw that he’d already made it for seventeen minutes. Wounded there, they go pretty fast if they go at all. Apparently none of the major abdominal blood vessels had been damaged, which gave him a good chance of surviving, properly cared for.
    I closed the door of the booth behind me. The light came on, making me feel like an illuminated target at the end of a long, dark rifle range. I couldn’t help wondering how many other dangerous characters I’d casually overlooked, with hatred in their hearts for one M. Helm. Well, they’d just have to line up and await their turns.
    I put my coin into the slot, got the operator, and told her the number. A minute or so later I had Mac on the wire. There’s a rumor to the effect that he does sleep, but nobody’s ever caught him at it, to my knowledge.
    â€œEric here,” I said. “Is Dr. Perry just our beating-up specialist, or does he know about belly wounds, too?”
    He didn’t ask any foolish questions. He just gave me the answer. “Dr. Perry is a capable all-around surgeon.”
    I said, “Well, you’d better load him into a fast car with a good driver. Send them east out of Washington on U.S. 50. Tell Perry it’s a puncture wound a few inches below the navel. The weapon was approximately half an inch wide by six inches long, clean and sharp. It went in most of the way. I have some other things to report, but as soon as I hang up here, I’ll head for the big highway and come west towards Washington at the legal speed—considering the state of my passenger, I don’t want to attract attention by driving faster. Give them a description of my car and tell them to flash their lights twice when they see me in the other lane. Okay. I’ll wait while you get them going, sir.”
    â€œVery well.”
    I stood at the silent phone, looking out through the glass of the booth. The filling station wasn’t doing much