I'll Get You For This (19 page)

  "You're not touching her," she snarled. "They've done enough to her. I'll stop you and I'll stop them touching her again. Come closer, copper. I want to get my hands on your dirty neck."

  I tried to pull away, but she dragged me closer, her hooked fingers moving in little jerks up to my neck. She was so intent watching my face that she didn't see that I'd drawn back my leg.

  I placed my foot gently on her chest, then kicked out with all my strength.

  She shot over backwards, the breath rushing out of her body. Released, I staggered to my feet, reeled against the wire screen. I was trembling, and could scarcely stand.

  "That gave you a fright," Edna Robbins sneered.

  I went cold, turned.

  Edna was standing just inside the grill. She was watching me. Her small, sharp nose looked pinched, her eyes dangerous.

  The raddled old woman had disappeared to the back of her cell. The mad woman lay on the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath.

  I straightened my torn jacket, ran my fingers through my hair. I felt like hell.

  Edna came down the gallery.

  "I told you to scram, didn't I ?" she said bitingly. "All right, wise guy, you're going before the Warden."

  I backed away, my eyes darting to the cell next to the mad woman's. I could see a woman lying on the cot; a woman with honey-coloured hair. My heart lurched. I knew who that was.

  "Don't get mad," I said in a croaking voice. "I didn't mean any harm. I wanted to see what this cuckoo looked like."

  Edna smiled spitefully. "Well, you've seen her. I've a mind to stick you in with her and let her

work on you. Come on, you rat, you're finished here. The Warden will fire you out."

  I knew then it was Edna or me. I eyed her small body over. She looked capable, but I was sure I could handle her. I had to get my hands on her throat before she could raise the alarm.

  I slouched towards her, looking crestfallen, sullen.

  "You might give a guy a break," I muttered, as I reached her.

  "You'll get no break from me ..." she began.

  I shot out my hands, seeking her throat. Then I got the surprise of my life. Moving like a lizard, she caught my wrists, pulled me towards her, bent. The next second I was flying through the air. I thudded against steel bars, bounced to the floor. I lay there, stunned.

  "I told you I could handle anything on this floor," she said, standing over me. "And that includes you." She drew back her foot and kicked me in the face. "Get up, and come quietly, or I'll break your goddamn neck."

  Gritting my teeth, cold with rage, I rolled towards her, grabbed at her legs. I heaved. I heard her quick gasp as she lost her balance, but she was smart enough to throw herself forward, breaking her fall on me.

  I clutched at her body, hard as steel under my fingers. I tried to jab her in the face with my head.

  She hit me in the eye with bony knuckles, rammed her knee in my chest and caught hold of my wrist with both hands. She was strong and full of jiu-jitsu tricks. She was getting a lock on my arm which threatened to break it. Pain crawled into my brain.

  "I'll teach you to fight me," she panted, heaving down on my arm.

  Somehow I rolled over, taking her with me. She clung to my arm like a bulldog as I threw her about. Each heave I gave sent fresh waves of pain up my arm. My sinews cracked.

  I caught a glimpse of her blonde head and I slammed a punch at it. My fist caught her in the neck. She let go of my arm, flopped on the floor.

  I got slowly to my knees, my right arm useless. There was| no keeping her off. She raised up, swearing softly, her blonde hair down to her shoulders. She came back at me. I was ready for

her, and socked her in the ribs with a left that travelled about three inches.

  She went over, completed a somersault and was on her feet before I could get to mine. She scared me. She was as tough and as dangerous as any man.

  This time she didn't rush me, but spun on her heel and ran towards the grill gate. I was after her in a lurching run. Whatever happened she mustn't give the alarm.

  I grabbed her as her finger was reaching for the red button of the alarm bell. I tried to close with her.

  She clutched me to her, fell straight back, her feet in my stomach. I shot over her head, crashed against the grill. By the time I sorted myself out, she was climbing over me to get at the bell. I got my hands around her waist and pulled her down. She bit, punched and scratched. We rolled over. I pounded her body. At first she hit back, but after three or four of my punches she tried to keep them out with her elbows. They were hurting her as I meant them to hurt. She was panting and sobbing with rage. I caught hold of her throat, but she dug her thumbs in my eyes. I let go. I heaved away from her, my eyes streaming. She staggered to her feet, came at me again, wobbly, but out to finish me. I set myself and hit her with a long, raking left in her throat.

  Her mouth opened, and she gave a thin wail as she fell against the door of the mad woman's cell.

  There was a moment's pause. I, on my knees, she, with her shoulders against the bars, her knees buckling; then two greedy, claw-like hands shot between the bars and closed round her throat. She gave a wild scream as she felt the hands touch her. Her scream was throttled back into her throat almost before it sounded.

  The mad woman, yammering with excitement, pulled backwards. The bars were a shade too narrow for Edna's head to pass through. She couldn't scream, because the mad woman's hands were squeezing her windpipe. She kicked and twisted. One of her shoes flew off and hit me in the face. Her knees burst through her stockings. I couldn't move. I stood against the grill, shivering, staring.

  The mad woman continued to pull, bracing hard with her feet. Edna tried to reach inside the cell, but her arms weren't long enough. She looked at me, her eyes starting out of her head, her tongue swelling in her mouth. The mad woman gave a sudden jerk. A horrible muffled sound came from Edna's throat as her head passed through the bars, leaving skin behind. One side of

her face was a mass of blood.

  "I've got her," the mad woman whispered to me. "Thinks she can handle anything up here, does she? We'll see."

  She sat on the floor, her arms raised, her hands round Edna's throat.

  The raddled old woman tried to see what was going on, but she couldn't. She hammered on the door with her hands, cursing in a rasping voice.

  Edna was arched backwards, her heels digging into the rubber flooring, her head through the bars. Her hands clutched at the bars for support and to relieve her weight from her head. Blood from her face ran down on to the floor, dripped on to her Nylon hose.

  The mad woman, grinning at me, not looking at Edna, began to take in and let out slow, long breaths. Her shoulders seemed to grow lumpy, sweat appeared on her face.

  I hooked my fingers into the wire mesh of the screen, and watched.

  The raddled old woman, her face against the bars, suddenly stood still, listening.

  Edna's face, where it wasn't blood-stained, was liver-coloured. Her eyes stood out, blind. Her tongue came out blue between bluish lips. Her slender body writhed. One of her hands began to beat on the bars, mechanically, without force.

  The mad woman nodded to me, closed her eyes and strained. Edna's hand stopped beating on the bars. There was a muffled crack, almost immediately, a sharper one. Edna did not writhe now. She sagged, her head still trapped between the bars.

  Sick with horror, I stepped past her dragging feet towards the next cell.

  The mad woman let go of Edna's throat, sprang to the bars and reached for me. I pulled my gun and beat down her hands with it.

  She jumped back, howling.

  Even with that horror so close to me, I could now only think of Miss Wonderly.

  She was in there. She lay flat on the cot, her eyes closed, her hair like spilt honey on the coarse pillow.

I unlocked the cell, stepped in.

  The mad woman's fingers grabbed my arm. Half-crazy with fear, revolted, I struck her between the eyes with my gun butt.

  Her eyes rolled back and she dropped.

  Shuddering, I snatched up Miss Wonderly and blundered from the cell.

  The raddled old woman began to scream.

  I slid back the door of the elevator, peered into the passage. Mitchell, wide-eyed, hopping with excitement, was standing at the far end. He waved to me.

  Up on A floor the old woman continued to scream.

  I ducked back into the elevator, scooped up Miss Wonderly's limp form in my arms and stepped into the passage. As I did so, Mitchell waved me back, then turned and bolted up the stairs.

  Warned, I laid Miss Wonderly on the floor, reached for my gun.

  A prison guard, automatic rifle wedged into his hip, came running around the corner. I didn't give him a chance. My .38 cracked once. The guard stumbled, curled up on the floor. His automatic rifle fell out of his hands, exploded. The slug brought plaster down from the ceiling on my head.

  I turned, snatched up Miss Wonderly, tossed her over my shoulder. She moved feebly, but I gripped her tight. I ran.

  Somewhere in the building an alarm bell began to ring. Its jangling note mingled with the cries of the prisoners, a great rattling of steel doors, and the old woman's screams upstairs.

  Half-way down the passage a door flew open, two guards spilled out. I shot one of them in the leg, the other ducked back into the room, kicked the door shut. I sent a slug through the door, heard the guard yell.

  I kept on, moving more slowly, turning to look back at every step. I was fighting mad, not

going to be beaten now I'd got so far.

  I heard heavy feet pounding down the stairs, and I broke into a run. The P.M. room was too far away. I knew I couldn't make it in time. I pushed open the first door I came to, stepped into a small, coldly furnished office. Again I put Miss Wonderly on the floor. She opened her eyes, struggled to sit up, but I pushed her back.

  "Stay still, honey," I said. "I'm going to get you out of here."

  It gave me a hell of a bang to see the expression in her eyes when she recognized me. She caught her breath, but she lay still, watched me.

  I jumped to the door, knelt and peered into the passage. Four guards, one with a Thompson, were staring down at the bodies in the passage. I picked off the guy with the Thompson. The others made a frantic dash for the stairs, disappeared.

  I grabbed Miss Wonderly, kissed her, and whizzed down the passage with her. I reached the bend as someone opened up with a chopper. One of the slugs nicked the heel of my shoe. I stumbled, made an effort, rounded the bend.

  I burst into the P.M. room, closed the door.

  Maxison was crouched against the wall, his face livid with fright. He gave a gulping gasp when he saw me, but he didn't or couldn't move.

  I ran over to the coffin, swung Miss Wonderly off my shoulder and into the box in one movement. She sat up, her face stiff, her eyes bewildered.

  "Lie down, and don't make a sound," I panted.

  She looked at the coffin, and her mouth opened to scream. I put my hand over her mouth, but she struggled, frantic with fear.

  I hated doing it, but there was no other way out. I half closed my fist and hit her on the side of her jaw. Her head snapped back, she passed out cold.

  Feverishly I straightened her out in the box, whipped in the false bottom and turned the screws. Then I grabbed the long, black overcoat, struggled into it. I put on my glasses, put the pads into my mouth. I stepped across to Maxison and dragged him to the porcelain table.

"Get that body in," I snarled at him, and grabbed the stiff, cold shoulders.

  Somehow he managed to pull himself together, and taking the woman's feet, he helped me across the room with her, and together we lowered the body into the coffin. It only just fitted, and I knew the lid would have to be forced down. I snatched up the lid, had it on the coffin as the door was flung open.

  Flaggerty and three prison guards stood in the doorway.

  I acted like I was scared, backing away and throwing up my hands. Maxison didn't have to act. He thought his last hour had come.

  Flaggerty, sweating, white with rage, gave us a quick glance, then looked around the room.

  "Anyone been in here?" he grated, glaring at Maxison.

  Maxison shook his head. He couldn't speak he was so scared.

  "Come on," Flaggerty snarled to the guards, and turned, then he turned back, walked to the coffin and threw off the lid. He stared down at the dead woman, his eyes narrowed, his lips grimacing. He made a gesture of rage, stamped out.

  The door slammed.

  I wiped my face, tried to recover my breath.

  "Take it easy," I said to Maxison. "This is only the half of it."

  I grabbed a screw-driver and screwed down the lid of the coffin. I had just finished when the door opened again and Clancy, the guard, came in. His face was red with suppressed excitement.

  "Whatja know, fellas?" he said. "That guy Cain's gate-crashed the jail. He's snatched his floozie."

  "You don't say," I returned, wiping my face and hands on a towel. "Got him yet?"

  Clancy shook his head. "He can't get away. Flaggerty's out of his mind. He's going through the jail with a tooth comb." He gaped at me. "What the hell's happened to your face?"

  "One of the guards thought I was Cain," I said. "He pushed me around before Flaggerty stopped him."

  "They're sure crazy," Clancy said. "I've never seen so many nuts under one roof. Well, they'll catch Cain. He can't get out."

  "Sure of that?" I said.