The distant sound of an approaching police siren penetrated Baird’s brain. It grew louder until it filled the inside of his head with a vibrating scream of warning.
With an effort he forced back his eyelids and looked into darkness. He felt weak and cold, and there was a stiff, tight feeling of pain down his right side.
He turned his head. There was an open window to his left. He could see the dark night sky, pin-pointed with the white brilliance of the stars. The faint haze of reflected light from the street lamps climbed the wall of the building and outlined the cross sections of the window.
Below, a car skidded with a squeal of tortured tyres to a standstill. The siren died down in a slow and reluctant wail of sound. Car doors opened and slammed. Feet ran across the street.
Baird suddenly realised there was someone standing against the wall, looking cautiously out of the window into the street: a woman.
It was too dark in the room to see much of her: she seemed small, and her hair hung loose to her shoulders. She was pressing her hands to her breasts, and she stood very still.
More police sirens wailed in the distance. A car started up suddenly close by, and drove away with a noisy change of gears. A dog began to bark furiously.
Baird lifted his head, his hand groped for his gun holster, but it wasn’t there. He felt light-headed and weak, but the sound of the approaching sirens was like a spur to him, and he made an effort to sit up.
The woman at the window heard him and looked quickly in his direction.
‘Don’t move,’ she said, her voice coming across the intervening space in a frightened whisper.
‘They’re down there: hundreds of them.’
Baird got one foot to the floor. The bed on which he was lying creaked under his weight. He raised himself on his elbow. Pain rode through him, bringing him out in a cold sweat. He struggled against it, but it proved too much for him, and he dropped back on to the pillow, his mind seething with vicious, frustrated rage.
He was bad all right, he thought. He remembered the last time he had been shot. It had been nothing to this. This time he was cooked. He must have bled like a pig. The great strength he had always relied on to see him through in a jam had deserted him: he couldn’t have pul ed the wings off a fly.
More cars squealed to a standstill; sirens died down, car doors opened and slammed. A murmur of voices came up from the street.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. His voice was so weak he didn’t recognise it. It was almost as if some other person had spoken.
‘They’re searching the houses,’ she said, not moving from the window. ‘They are split ing into groups of five, and each group is taking a house.’
Baird snarled into the darkness.
‘Where’s my gun? Where’ve you put it?’
‘It’s on the bed by your side.’ She didn’t look in his direction, but continued to stare down into the street, as if what she saw there held her with an irresistible fascination.
Feverishly he groped over the crumpled coverlet. His fingers closed round the butt of the Colt. He managed to lift it, but the effort made him pant.
‘You’d better get out,’ he said. ‘Go and tel them I’m here if you want to. They won’t get me alive.’
This time she turned her head and looked in his direction, although he knew she couldn’t see him in the dark.
‘They may not come here,’ she said. ‘If they do, I can tel them I haven’t seen you. They wouldn’t force their way in here, would they?’
For a moment he couldn’t believe he had heard aright.
‘Of course they would. They won’t take your word. Besides, I left blood in the passage. They’l find that.’
‘I’ve cleaned it up,’ she said simply. ‘It didn’t take long.’
Again he had a feeling he was dreaming this, and he peered at her, trying to see through the darkness.
‘You cleaned it up?’ His voice revealed his suspicious surprise. ‘Why? What’s your game? Don’t you know you’l get into trouble if they find out?’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I was sorry for you.’
He bit down on his lower lip. No one had ever said that to him before. Sorry for him! He didn’t like that. He didn’t want her damned pity!
‘You’d better get out,’ he said furiously. ‘There’l be shooting.’
She turned back to the window.
‘They may not come,’ she said.
Cautiously, Baird touched his wounded side. He wondered if he was still bleeding. His fingers moved over a wad, bound tightly against his side. He realised she must have taken off his coat and shirt. He touched the pad wonderingly.
‘Did you stop the bleeding?’ he asked.
‘Yes. You’d better not talk. You may be heard. The wal s are very thin.’
‘Is it bad?’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘It feels bad.’
‘It’s bad enough, but the bleeding’s stopped. You mustn’t move. It may start again.’
‘What are they doing now?’ he asked after a long pause.
The street was suspiciously silent.
‘They’re standing about,’ she said, watching intently. ‘One of them is looking up here. They seem to be waiting for something. Some of them have machine-guns.’
Baird grinned savagely. He remembered Chuck Fowler, who had been trapped in a house. He had been one of the crowd that time, watching the fun. He had seen the police shooting it out with Chuck. He remembered how they had sprayed the front of the house with their Thompsons. The stream of lead had smashed windows, broken window-frames, brought down plaster. It had been hell while it lasted. Then they had tossed in their tear-gas bombs and had gone in, shooting like madmen the whole time; wrecking the house, smashing down the front door, shooting their way up the stairs; and Chuck had been dead long before the final assault.
‘You’d better get out,’ Baird said. ‘I know what’s coming. They’l cut this room to ribbons.’
‘There’s nowhere for me to go,’ she began, then stopped, and he saw her stiffen, her hands going once more to her breasts.
‘What is it?’ he asked, knowing at once what it was.
‘I think they’re coming now,’ she said breathlessly.
Again he made the effort and raised himself on his elbow. This time he succeeded in getting both feet to the floor.
‘Help me up,’ he gasped. ‘I don’t stand a chance on the bed.’
‘You must stay there,’ she said, turning. ‘You must. You’l start the bleeding again.’
‘Help me up!’ he snarled. ‘Goddamn it! Do you want me to shoot you?’
She came over to him.
‘They’l hear you,’ she warned. ‘You must keep your voice down.’
He caught hold of her shoulder. His fingers felt the thinness of her. Her skin was tight over the bones.
He pulled himself upright and leaned heavily on her. He felt her wilt under his weight. She was only a tiny thing, he thought. Her head was just above his shoulder.
‘Get me against the wall near the door,’ he panted, ‘and then get out.’
A violent hammering sounded on the street door. A voice bawled, ‘Come on, open up!’
Baird felt a little trickle of sweat run down his face. Five minutes: no longer. Well, upright and on his feet, he wouldn’t go alone.
She helped him across the room and against the wall. The Colt hung heavily from his hand, too heavy to raise. He set his shoulders against the wall. The pain in his side made his breath hiss through his clenched teeth.
‘Get out!’ he said, giving her a feeble push. ‘Tel them I’m here. They won’t do anything to you if you tell them I’m here. Go on, get out.’
She went to the door, unlocked it and opened it. A shaft of light came in from the passage, and he saw her plainly for the first time.
He had only a quick glimpse of her. He saw the long, sensitive face, the wide, dark eyes and the firm, bitter mouth of a girl who was good-looking rather than beautiful: a girl of about twenty-three or four, whose young-old face had a force of character that had come from a life of hardship, poverty and sorrow.
She was wearing a white slip that clung to her thin but beautifully proportioned body, no stockings, and her narrow, long feet were thrust into a shabby pair of heelless slippers.
He watched her go out on to the landing, leaving the door ajar. From where he stood he could see through the opening without being seen.
A buzz of voices drifted up from the ground floor: men’s voices, and a woman’s voice screaming hysterically.
More hammering sounded on the front door. Then a hard, loud voice bawled, ‘Okay, okay, break it up! Get back to your rooms and stay in them. Hey, you! Seen a big guy in a brown suit around? He’l be a stranger, and he’s wounded. Come on, now! Open up! The guy’s a kil er!’
Baird ached to lie down on the bed again. The pain in his side was torturing him, and his legs began to sag. He pulled himself together, pressing his shoulders against the wall, his lips coming off his teeth in a snarl.
He watched the girl lean over the banister rail.
‘Toni! Toni!’ she cal ed sharply. ‘What’s happening?’
Baird stiffened. What was she up to? Why didn’t she get down stairs? The cops wouldn’t bother about her if there was any shooting.
‘Some killer loose,’ a man’s voice cal ed up to her. ‘The cops think he might be hiding in this house.
You got him under your bed, Anita?’ He laughed excitedly as if he had made the best joke in the world.
‘You bet,’ the girl said, and laughed. ‘I’ve got him right here. Want to come up and see him, Toni?’
‘I wil come up and see you, bambino.’
‘With the cops coming up, too?’
‘No cop stops me loving a girl,’ the man said, and laughed. ‘Not even a cop with a gun.’
‘That’s what you say,’ the girl said, and snapped her fingers. ‘You’re al talk, Toni.’
‘Yeah? This time I don’t talk. I come up.’
‘Bet er not,’ the girl jeered, ‘they’l take you away in their little black wagon.’
Baird heard quick, heavy footsteps on the stairs. He saw a fat, powerfully built fellow, going bald, with a blue-black growth of beard, come bounding on to the landing. He was wearing a soiled singlet and black trousers, and his face was shiny with sweat.
Laughing, he rushed at the girl, who avoided him. They dodged about on the landing. She was very quick, but she hadn’t much room to manoeuvre, and he finally trapped her in a corner.
‘No, Toni! I was only fooling,’ she said, trying to push him back as he crowded her, holding her arms and grinning like a mischievous monkey as she wrestled with him. ‘Not now. Some other night. Stop it!
They’l be coming up!’
‘It’s always some other night,’ the man said, giggling excitedly. ‘To hel with them! Al talk, you say.
I show you it’s not al talk!’
He grabbed her around the waist and under the knees and swung her off her feet.
‘Put me down, Toni!’ the girl said, keeping her voice low. She struggled to break away, but not so violently that he couldn’t handle her.
‘Not even a cop with a gun is going to stop me this time,’ he said, and there was a sudden change in his voice that made Baird stiffen.
‘No! Stop it, you fool!’
He ran with her across the landing, kicked open the door and blundered into the dark room. He kicked the door shut and stumbled over to the bed.
Invisible against the wall, Baird lifted the gun. He stood motionless, every nerve in his body tense, while he listened to the struggle going on on the bed.
‘You devil!’ he heard the girl gasp. ‘You mustn’t!’
‘Not even a cop with a gun!’ the man panted as he struggled with her. ‘You asked for it this time, bambino. You get it.’
Baird made a move towards the bed, then stiffened back as he heard a quick rush of feet on the stairs.
A voice shouted outside the door, ‘Open up!’
The door was flung open, catching Baird and pinning him behind it. The white light of a flashlight swept into the room and lit up the bed.
The man on the bed twisted his head around and glared along the beam of light. There was a savage, animal expression on his round, sweaty face.
‘Ain’t there any privacy in this goddamn world?’ he shouted violently. ‘Get the hell out of here!’
The two cops, one with a Thompson at his hip, the other with an automatic rifle, gaped at what they saw.
‘For crying out loud!’ one of them exclaimed, grinning. ‘If I’d known, mister, I’d’ve knocked.’
‘Get out!’ Toni shouted furiously. ‘Leave us alone!’
The two cops backed out of the room, laughing, pulled the door shut and Baird heard them clattering down the stairs.
‘You see,’ Toni said, ‘not even two goddamn cops with two goddamn guns!’
‘Let me go!’ the girl gasped. ‘Get out!’
‘Yeah?’ Toni said. ‘I go in a little while.’
Baird stood motionless, sweat running down his face, listening to the struggle going on in the darkness. He heard the girl catch her breath sharply. He slid the barrel of the gun into his hand, and took a step forward, but away from the support of the wall, his legs wouldn’t hold him, and he slithered down on hands and knees.
As he struggled to get back on his feet, Toni gave a sudden yell of pain.
‘You bitch!’ he shouted. ‘You’ve blinded me!’
‘Get out!’ the girl said, her voice low. ‘Let me go!’
The bed creaked; feet struck the floor.
‘I fix you for this!’ Toni snarled. He pul ed open the door.
In the light from the passage Baird saw blood running down Toni’s face. Four deep scratches, just missing his eyes, were like deep red ruts in his face.
The girl crouched on the bed. She was naked to the waist. Some of Toni’s blood was smeared on her shoulder. Her eyes smouldered as she glared at Toni.
‘Get out and stay out!’ she said, stil keeping her voice low.
Toni snarled at her, his hand to his face. He went out and slammed the door.
‘You all right?’ Baird asked hoarsely, crawling over to the bed.
He heard the girl slide off the bed on the opposite side.
‘I’m all right,’ she said curtly. ‘Are you bleeding again?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Baird pul ed himself up on to the bed and lay flat, his breath coming in long, painful gasps. ‘You didn’t have to do that for me.’
The girl didn’t say anything. He could hear her groping in the darkness. After a delay, the light went on.
She was fastening a shabby coat about her, and she looked sharply at him. They stared at each other for several seconds.
‘I’ll look at your wound,’ she said, coming over to him. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘A little,’ he said, watching her. ‘I don’t think it’s bleeding.’
She bent over him. Together they inspected the pad on his side. There was no sign of blood.
‘No. It’s al right,’ she said, and as she straightened he caught hold of her wrist. She remained bending over him, looking down at him.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ he asked. ‘They could put you in jail for this.’
She pulled free.
‘I don’t like coppers,’ she said, her face hard. ‘They won’t get you now.’
‘I guess I owe you something,’ Baird said uneasily. ‘If it hadn’t been for you I’d be dead now.’
She smiled cynically.
‘I dare say you’d have been better off,’ she said, turning away. ‘And you don’t owe me anything.’
‘What’s your name?’ he said, wiping his damp face with the back of his hand.
‘Anita Jackson,’ she said. ‘You’d better try and get some sleep.’
‘I’m Verne Baird,’ he told her. ‘Those punks think I kil ed a copper.’
She looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
‘You’d better get some sleep,’ she said after a long pause.
‘You’re a knock-out,’ he said, shut ing his eyes. ‘What did the cops do to you to make you hate them like this?’
‘That’s not your business,’ she returned curtly.
‘I guess that’s right. Give me an hour, and I’ll get out.’ He touched his side and winced. ‘I owe you something.’
‘You’l have to stay here until you’re better,’ she said, sit ing in the armchair. ‘You won’t get far with that wound.’
‘What about you?’ he said, opening his eyes and staring at her. ‘The longer I’m here the bigger risk you’re running. Suppose that fat guy comes back?’
She shook her head.
‘He won’t. I know Toni. He won’t come here again. I’m out al day. It’s only the nights. I don’t care.’
‘You’ve got to have the bed,’ Baird said, a little surprised he was thinking more of her than himself.
‘I’l lie on the floor.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ she said crossly. ‘Go to sleep and don’t talk so much.’ She pul ed another chair forward and put up her feet. ‘I’m al right here.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’l be okay by tomorrow.’
She reached out and turned off the light.
‘Go to sleep,’ she said.
Baird lay in the darkness, staring at the night sky through the open window. Below, the police still went on with their search for him. The voices, the trampling of feet and the hammering on doors became fainter as they moved farther down the street.
He felt an odd stirring inside him as he thought of the girl. She had saved him. Why? It was something right out of a book. He owed her something, and the thought made him uneasy. Gratitude was a new sensation to him. He felt restricted. No one had ever done anything for him up to now. He tried to push this feeling of indebtedness out of his mind, but he couldn’t. Sooner or later he knew he would have to do something about it. He felt in his hip pocket for the five hundred Rico had given him. He could always give her some of the money, he told himself. From the look of her, she could do with it.
Yes, he’d do that. But at the back of his mind, he was aware that money wouldn’t square himself with her. His mind recreated the struggle on the bed. That had been something no other woman he could imagine would have done, and she had done it for him. No, money wouldn’t square that.
The sound of her quick, light breathing told him she was asleep. She had guts, he thought: guts and nerve.
Eventually he fell asleep himself. He dreamed the girl in the drug store, with blood on her white coat, came and sat at the foot of the bed and looked at him. He wasn’t afraid of her.