Kiss and Kill (19 page)

“Then I think the time has come,” Claire said, “to prove it.”

He lowered the binoculars then.

“Here we are, velvet sky, black velvet, with pinholes, light shining through, on top of a pyramid—a pyramid!—and you stand there looking at nothing through a pair of binoculars. Lie down here beside me.”

“That,” said Barney, “would be more than I could stand or afford.”

“What do you mean!”

“We're here on a job. I can't watch and make love to you at the same time.”

“You're actually turning me down!” He could have sworn that she had gone into her involuntary blushing act again. “It serves me right. Throwing myself at you.”

“There's always been something to make me fumble the catch. Our time will come.” Barney moved over to straddle her body, standing above her against the star-pricked sky like a mountain. “And then I'll be the high priest and you the sacrificial virgin.”

She laughed up at him. “Your acolytes goofed.”

“I suspect they sampled the product beforehand. You always catch me between two fires. Claire, I've
got
to watch the road.”

“You're a single-minded cuss.”

“Ed will come up on duty in half an hour. If you're still awake …”

She rose. “Enough said. Let's not plan all the fun out of it.” She went down like a woman sleepwalking.

Ed came up early. “You expect them tonight, Barney?”

“Not if they're retracing the whole route. But they might decide to bypass some places, the way we did. So they could show any time. Don't leave your post here.”

“Don't worry.”

“And sing out if you see a car.”

“Okay.”

“Keep yelling till you get an answer. Hear?”

Barney left. By the time he reached the bottom of the pyramid, the blood was pounding in his throat. He stepped inside the tent. “Claire?”

“Here, Barney.”

He turned and she took his hand and dropped to her knees on the blanket and drew him down.

Afterward they took the blanket and went out under a tree and looked up at the stars and smoked.

“‘We who are about to die,'” Claire mused. “I've always wondered how the gladiators could stand it, what motivated them. Oh, I know they couldn't help themselves, but how did they adjust to the idea of I-may-be-dead-in-five-minutes? As a daily diet?”

“I'm going to be profound,” said Barney. “You only die once.”

“How did you come to take up such a dangerous profession?”

“It's about as dangerous as sitting in a teller's cage. I made it dangerous.”

“Why?”

“It makes me appreciate life.”

“Yes, I can see that. Everything intensified. But what about afterward?”

“I don't borrow tomorrow's troubles. Tomorrow never comes.”

“But it does, Barney.”

“Never.”

“Wait and see.”

He chuckled. “I'll sleep while I wait.”

He started to get up, but she pressed him back. “Lie here. I'll watch over you.” He lay back and fell asleep as she was covering him.

Hours later he awoke to the tickle of her hair. She lay beside him under the blanket.

They watched the morning star rise, so bright it was a visible disc. Then the sun, and purple turned to rose and rose to yellow. Reluctantly Claire left him and went to the tent to cook breakfast. Afterward, Barney walked with her to the pyramid; it was her watch.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Poke around and look for the money.”

“You really think it's here?”

He shrugged. “
¿Quién sabe
?”

At midday Ed relieved Claire so that she could eat. She made a sandwich and walked over to where Barney was searching the tunnel that drained the ball court. Then she followed him to the unexcavated part of the ruins.

“Let's look down there,” she said, pointing to a brush-choked ravine.

Under an arch of thornbush, she gave him a pixie grin and held out a tube of ointment. “It's my sunburn again.”

She swelled beneath his hands like a kitten being stroked. After a moment she sat up and removed her halter.

“Did anybody ever accuse you of being oversexed?” Barney asked.

“On the contrary. ‘Frigid' was the word they used.”

“Were you?”

“I didn't want to use myself up. But I didn't realize how it worked. You empty yourself and immediately you fill up again. It's wonderful.” She held out her arms.

As they were walking up the hill, Barney asked her: “But don't you want to find the money?”

Claire shrugged. “There are more important things.”

“I agree. But if I found the money here, I'd be sure they hadn't found it elsewhere and disposed of Liz.”

The day passed, and the night. The money was not found, nor did their quarry appear. In midmorning Barney and Ed were sitting before the tent, trying to decide what to do next, when they heard Claire's voice:

“
Olé! Olé! Olé
!”

Barney shouted a response. Ed's face had turned gray.

“Check your gun, Ed.”

Ed's hands were shaking. He dropped the gun. Barney picked it up, jacked a shell into the chamber, and handed the gun back.

“I can't stop shaking, Barney.”

“Just remember they've got your wife.”

“Yes,” Ed said. “Liz. They've got Liz.” He stopped shaking.

Barney shoved a sketchpad under his arm and climbed to the central plaza. Claire had already taken her place behind her low wall. She was very pale.

“Where were they, Claire?”

“They parked and started toward the ball court.”

“All of them? Liz, too?”

“Yes.”

“How were the men dressed?”

“The big man has on a gray suit. The little one is wearing chocolate-brown.”

“Both wearing suits. That means they're armed. Were they holding on to Liz?”

“She walked between them, but they weren't touching her.”

“Okay. We don't know which way they'll come from. I'll try to get between them and Liz. Then I'll explain the situation to them. When I make this gesture”—he raised both hands, palm up—“you show yourself and your gun. I'm hoping they'll be smart” enough not to start a gunfight. If either of them draws a weapon—of any kind—shoot to kill, Claire. You take the one in the chocolate suit. You won't fail me?”

She shook her head stiffly. Barney ran over to Ed's little fortress. He gave Ed the same instructions, except that Ed's target was to be the big man in the gray suit. Ed seemed all right now, and Barney felt relieved.

He took his position on the steps of the Great Pyramid, sketchpad on his knee, facing the open square. He stuck an unlit cigarette in his mouth and drew a few lines on the pad. He kept going through the motions of sketching.

Barney heard the scrape of shoes on gravel off to the right. Good, they were using Approach Number One. He forced himself to continue drawing for another thirty seconds, then raised his head.

The three were directly between him and Claire's hiding place. Liz was wearing a flowered print skirt, a white blouse, and T-strap sandals. She looked clean. She walked with a stiff, almost overbearing carriage. The expression on her face was of cold disdain, saying, I do not belong with these animals. But nobody was paying attention except Barney, who heard such things in his mind's ear.

The man nearest Barney wore a gray suit. He was broad and meaty, with florid cheeks and a smashed nose. A cigar stuck out of his heavy lips. He might have been a retired butcher or an ex-prizefighter. Barney decided that he was Green. The other man was tiny and skeletal, with a ratty complexion and no shoulders. His expensive brown suit hung shapelessly. He looked more like an old jockey than a killer-tycoon. He must be Brown.

“Got a match?” said Barney.

Green sent him an annoyed glance and shook his big head curtly. Barney got up and walked toward him, sketchpad under his left arm. Green stopped, glaring at him.

“I don't have any matches, brother. Out of my way.”

Barney looked conciliatory. “May I have a light off your cigar, then? Sorry to bother you, but I've been chewing on this damn cigarette for an hour.”

“It's all right,” said the tiny man in brown. “I've got a match.”

For an instant they made a tableau. Liz was between her two captors, slightly to their rear. Of course, she did not know Barney, and there was no life in her fine eyes, which were underscored with bluish, puffy pads. Barney planned his course to pass on Green's right to reach the woman. From the corner of his eye, he saw Brown reach into his pocket and pull out a paper-match folder. The dried-up little hand had just cleared the pocket when there was a
splat
! from Claire's hiding place. Brown made a slow pirouette and fell face down. He had not quite struck the ground when Barney heard the roar of Ed Tollman's .45. Green clawed his jacket, his beefy face furious with surprise.

Barney sprang past him and seized Liz around the waist. She screamed and began to struggle. He kicked her legs from under her and bore her to the ground, covering her with his body.

“Your husband's with me, Mrs. Tollman. Stay down. Don't raise your head.”

Her eyes went wide. Barney drew his gun and turned. He was aware that other guns had gone off and that slugs had whistled across the courtyard, but he had no idea who had fired. He saw Ed dart out of his shelter and race toward them. A red ribbon was weaving down his forehead. Green was raising himself on his elbows, aiming at Ed.

“Ed, look out!” shouted Barney.

But Ed Tollman could see nothing but his wife. He ran like a blind man, his weapon forgotten. Barney aimed at Green's broad back and squeezed twice. Two rips appeared in the beautiful fabric, one low in the spine, the other an inch below the collar. Green jumped like a rabbit. Then he came down in a sprawling dive and settled on the stones as if they were his friends. The back of his coat began to turn red. He lay there quite peacefully.

Time had stopped on the plain. Everything looked razor-edged, as though polished and honed.

Barney looked toward where Brown had fallen; there was only a hat and a wavering smear on the stones, like a snail's track. The trail led behind the reclining figure of the
Chac-mool
. And there was Brown, resting a gun on the stone belly. It was a ludicrous sight: Brown's lips peeling back from dark-stained teeth, Indian-black hair hanging over his eyes. Beside him the imbecile countenance of the
Chac-mool
stared at Barney in a centuries-old stupor.

He snapped off a shot, but the bullet spanged off the statue and Brown's head slipped out of sight. He sought another opening.

Brown's gun appeared under the square ear of the
Chac-mool
.

A white-hot pain seared Barney's right arm. He dropped his gun. He scrambled to retrieve it, but to his surprise his right hand would not work. A shot scored the pavement beside him. He scrabbled for the gun with his left hand and raised it to shoot, but then he held his fire. Claire English was coming up behind Brown with the expression of a sleepwalker. She held her .32 not more than a foot from the back of the man's head and fired. Brown dropped. Claire pointed the gun down and fired again. And again. Four shots jolted her arms; her eyes were glassed over and her teeth showed pink. She was a total stranger to Barney, lost in a killing frenzy, unable to stop.

As he approached, she turned the gun on him.

“Claire, this is Barney!”

“Barney?” It was a thin voice, like a little girl's. The .32 fell from her hand. Barney caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. She sat there blinking.

“Is it over?”

“Yes.”

“Liz?”

He looked over at the Tollmans. They were clutching each other. Ed waved. His face was new, alive. Liz was sobbing and laughing.

“She's fine.”

“And those … those two?”

“They're both dead.”

Claire touched her forehead. “I don't remember anything.”

“The first time affects some people that way. You were terrific.”

“Did I kill anyone?”

“Don't you remember firing that first shot?”

“The last thing I remember is you going up to them. I saw the little one reach for a gun. Then, nothing.”

So Mr. Brown, big shot, had died because of a match. Barney decided not to tell her that. Or about the four bullets she had pumped into a dead man.

“I can walk now,” Claire said, getting up. “I want to see Liz.”

She walked, not too steadily. The two women embraced and wept.

“What happened to your head?” Barney asked Ed.

“A chip of rock. What about your arm?”

Barney looked down. Blood dripped from his fingers, but he could move them. “Nothing much. A graze that numbed my arm for a minute.”

They were like old friends meeting after a long and dangerous journey. Liz Tollman took Barney's good hand and said, “You saved my life. Ed says words aren't enough, but they're all I can think of now.”

He heard sirens approaching from the city. A motorcycle and a police car rolled into the square. Barney said, “Here comes the red-tape brigade. Let me do the talking.” He started forward, then looked back. “Don't mention the money. If they get wind of that, we'll never get out of here.”

10

The police confined them for a week in Tula's main hotel, a guard at each room. At Barney's suggestion—and Ed's expense—the police wired Indianapolis, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, Colorado, and Texas. The return wires began to shift the balance in their favor; the arrival of the crusty old sheriff from Colorado, accompanied by a laboratory expert, brought their release. The paint sample found on the Bartons' wrecked car exactly matched the scratches on the black Buick.