Читать книгу The Suicide Squad Reports for Death - Emile C. Tepperman - Страница 4

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OUT in the bar-room, Stephen Klaw and Dan Murdoch listened to the sounds of the battle in the hallway. Dan held the grenade high in the air, grinning affably at the tense and watchful gunmen, who were crowded together against the bar. Steve Klaw held his two automatics ready, in case any of them should get up courage enough to rush them.

They heard the first burst from the machine-gun, then the second. They heard Johnny Kerrigan say, "Okay mug, I can take it!"

Steve Klaw's lips tightened. "I'm going after him, Dan!" he said, and leaped from the table.

He cleared the space in front of the cowering gunmen, and sprang through the doorway. He saw Johnny Kerrigan facing the machine-gun, saw the gunner ready to pull the trip.

Steve Klaw's two automatics began to roar in beautifully synchronized time. One, two—one, two—one...

The gunner never pulled the trip. He went hurtling backward, his arms flailing the air, the machine-gun dropping from nerveless fingers.

Steve Klaw jumped over the supine body of Russ Kimber. "Get out, Johnny," he shouted. "I'll get the Robbins girl for you!"

He raced down the hallway, and through the door. There was a steep flight of stairs here, and Steve took them two at a time, with his guns leading the way. Halfway up, he fired twice, to discourage anyone who might be waiting at the top.

Then he was on the landing. Nobody was there. He looked around, and saw Johnny Kerrigan painfully dragging himself up the stairs, one at a time. "Go back, Johnny," he called. "I can handle this."

"Nix," groaned Kerrigan. "Always—like to finish—what I start!" He kept coming up.

Steve Klaw shrugged. He started down the hall. There were doors on either side. He tried each in turn, flinging them open, peering inside. He looked in three rooms that way—found nothing. As he came to the fourth room, he heard a shuffling inside, and the quick sound of a scuffle. Then a girl's voice came clear and loud.

"Don't come in, Johnny. They're waiting for—" Her words were cut off suddenly.

Steve Klaw's eye glittered. He reached over, turned the knob and pushed the door open. As he did this, he stepped quickly to one side. At once a fusillade of shots burst through the open doorway. They spattered against the opposite wall, smashing away the plaster.

Steve Klaw dropped to his knees. At the far end of the hall he saw Johnny Kerrigan crawl up the top step, drag himself forward. He motioned to Kerrigan to lie still, then poked his gun and face around the edge of the open doorway, from which the shots were still coming. He was close to the floor. He saw two men in the room. One was holding the girl, Selma Robbins, around the waist covering her mouth with his other hand. The second man was shooting steadily with two heavy revolvers at the doorway.

Steve Klaw got only a quick glimpse of the interior of the room. The man holding Selma Robbins saw him, yelled a warning to his partner. But he yelled too late.

Steve fired twice. He got the two-gun man high in the stomach. His second shot, fired more carefully, caught the other man full in the face—over Selma's shoulder.

Steve Klaw came lithely to his feet and sprang into the room just in time to catch Selma Robbins as she swayed.

"Hold everything, kid," Steve told her. "This is no time to faint!"

Selma Robbins was a slim-waisted, chestnut-haired girl of nineteen or twenty. She stared at Steve, gulped. "You—you're not Johnny Kerrigan. I—I thought Johnny was coming for me."

"Johnny's here, all right. Come on. We have to get out of this!" He started to drag her toward the door—suddenly he stopped short.

The whole building was shaken by a tremendous concussion. The floors shook. Plaster fell from the walls and ceiling. Window panes were shattered.

"Dan Murdoch!" Steve exclaimed. "Those rats must have tried to rush him and he threw the grenade!" He rushed out into the hall with Selma, almost fell over Johnny Kerrigan, who had crawled up to the door.

Flames were already roaring up the stairs at the far end of the hall. They could not get out that way.

"God!" groaned Johnny Kerrigan. "Dan'll burn to death—if he's not dead already!"

He pushed himself up to his feet. "I'm going down there and see what's left of him."

"Like Hell you are!" said Steve Klaw. "You're shot up. You could never make it. Here, take one of my guns—and get Selma back in that room. You can go down the fire-escape with her."

He gave Johnny Kerrigan no chance to argue. He thrust the gun in his hand, dashed down the hall. When he got to the stairs, the flames were lancing up hungrily. He took off his coat, wrapped it around his head, and plunged down the stairs.

Kerrigan groaned. He swayed on his feet, and glared at Selma Robbins.

"Damn it," he said, "why did you have to get mixed up with Kimber? You've cost the lives of two of the best men living. You're not worth it!"

There were tears in her eyes. "I didn't know—" Kerrigan gave her no chance to finish. "Come on," he said gruffly.

He led her back into the room where the two men lay whom Steve had shot. He was swaying on his feet, and there was sweat on his face. Blood seeped through his coat on the right side, and also down his right trousers leg. But he held himself erect.

He knelt over one of the dead men, pulled back his coat. A small button was pinned to the man's vest. It was a cheap brass button, stamped out by machine. The stamped figure on the button represented a man in shirtsleeves, standing, and holding two swords, which were crossed over his breast. There was no lettering on the button.

Grimly, Johnny Kerrigan thrust the button into his pocket. Then he got painfully to his feet and motioned Selma Robbins to the window. He peered out past the fire-escape bars, and frowned.

The street below was filled with the gunmen who had been in the barroom with Dan Murdoch. They were thronging the sidewalk and the gutter, and some of them were looking up at the window.

As his head showed, they fired. Just in time, he ducked back. He looked blankly at Selma.

"I don't get it," he said. "I thought Dan Murdoch threw the grenade down there. I thought he killed all those rats—and himself as well. But they're out there—alive!"

He turned back to the window, and saw that a policeman had come running around the corner. The officer was tugging at his gun as he ran. But he got no chance to use it. A half-dozen shots took him full in the chest, and he went down.

Kerrigan snarled, and fired three times. Each shot was well-aimed, and three of the thugs fell. Johnny didn't know how many cartridges were left in the clip, but hoped there were at least a couple more.

"Get out on the fire-escape," he told Selma Robbins. "Climb down. I'll follow, and cover you. It's the only way out of this trap. The flames will reach us in about two minutes—and I doubt if the fire engines will get here in time."

Selma nodded wordlessly, and started for the window.

At that moment, a wide gun-barrel was suddenly thrust in at the window, and Johnny caught a glimpse of a man with a cap, leering at him. It was a tommy-gun. The man must have come down the fire-escape from an upper floor, to get him.

Johnny thrust Selma Robbins away, and fired at the same time. He pulled the trigger again and again, but only one shot was left. That single bullet was enough, however. It took the machine-gunner directly between the eyes. He fell forward, and lay half in, half out of the window.

Johnny Kerrigan's eyes were gleaming. He reached over now, seized the tommy-gun.

"Go ahead, Selma," he said.

He pushed her toward the window, and, at the same time, turned the tommy-gun down toward the street. He pulled the trip. Lead sprayed from it among the gathered gunmen below. It cut through them like a scythe, and they scattered in panic, leaving a dozen of their number in the gutter.

Selma Robbins was out on the fire-escape now, and climbing down. Kerrigan followed her, keeping the gun trained on the street. A couple of desultory shots came his way, but they were too far away to do any damage. In a moment he and Selma Robbins had reached the street.

The whole building was in flames. Fire was pouring from the street entrance.

Johnny Kerrigan looked toward the doorway, somberly. Steve Klaw and Dan Murdoch were in there. He was filled with a terrible, murderous desire to avenge them.

He forgot about Selma Robbins, crouching against the wall. He saw only the figures of the scattered gunmen—watching him, like vultures, from a distance. He felt dizzy. His two wounds were throbbing, sending fiery messages of pain to his brain. Another man would have been unconscious by this time, but Johnny Kerrigan was holding his feet by sheer brute, astounding strength.

He took a swaying step forward, aimed the machine-gun, and pulled the trip. He sprayed lead all the way down the street, and had the satisfaction of seeing two men fall before the rest of them could scamper to safety. The machine-gun drum was empty. He flung it from him, uttered a sobbing cry, and turned to go back into the flaming inferno of the building. He picked up a discarded gun that lay in the street—fired a final shot at a lingering thug.

Fire-engine bells clanged in the distance, and a police patrol siren screamed.

Johnny Kerrigan heard none of those. He was out on his feet. Only one thought persisted in the subconscious part of his mind—to go in there and die with Steve and Dan. He took two staggering steps forward, then stopped. His mouth opened.

For a ghastly, flaming figure came marching out of the burning doorway. It was Steve Klaw. He walked with difficulty, because he had Dan Murdoch over his shoulder. Both his and Murdoch's clothes were on fire, and Stephen Klaw's face was blistered, burned. But he walked,—his gun still in his hand. He kept going until he got clear of the blaze. Then he keeled over, with the unconscious Dan Murdoch on top of him. Johnny Kerrigan uttered a queer, choked cry, and sprang forward. He pulled off his own coat, began to beat out the fire in Steve's and Dan's clothing. He kept up those mechanical slapping motions long after there was actually any need for them.

It was thus that the fire engines and the police emergency cars found him. As soon as they took the coat from his numb fingers, he closed his eyes and collapsed.

Selma Robbins, sobbing softly, took his head in her lap and stroked his face. She watched them carry Steve Klaw and Dan Murdoch into the ambulance, then return for Johnny Kerrigan.

"They did it all for me!" she said—and fainted.