Redemption - Leon Uris [225]
AHUGAH! AHUGAH!
The six police were cuffed with their own handcuffs and stuffed into the closet. Rory had proudly remembered to bring the belt cords from their robes at Villa Valhalla. He shut the door.
“Come on, Rory, let’s get the hell out of here,”
“Give me just a minute.” Rory was dancing on his toes throwing out his jab. He had not gotten his fill, not just yet.
AHUGAH! AHUGAH!
Rory walked to Inspector Rawash, who was too terrified to plead out loud. “I got into a fight with this big Aussie at Fort Albany, see…”
“Come on, Rory, we’re clear,” Johnny cried.
“Shut up!” Rory answered, near frothing. “Do you know what that fucking Aussie did to me?” Rory seized Rawash’s lapels. “This is what he did to me,” and promptly smashed his forehead between the Inspector’s eyes. The bespattered man fell, crushed. Rory, nearly knocking himself out with his blow, wiped Rawash’s blood from his own forehead, then focused on Farouk el Farouk. “So you know what I did to that son of a bitch?” Rory wrapped his arms about the Egyptian, lifted him off the ground, and squeezed him till the air was nearly gone from him, then bit his ear lobe so that it dangled by a thread. “That’s what I did.”
The two were quickly gagged and tied.
AHUGAH! AHUGAH! the horn cried desperately.
“Come on, Rory!”
Rory dragged Christopher Hubble from under the bed, tossed him over a shoulder, tucked a pair of pistols into his belt, and led them out.
An angry and threatening crowd had gathered at the bottom of the stairs.
AHUGAH! AHUGAH!
Rory took one of the pistols out, cocked it, and fired at the chandelier. The protesters scattered. He came down the stairs firing at the mirrors, the windows, the check-in desks. Emptying one pistol, he began firing the other.
“Move, you assholes! I’m coming through!”
73
Jeremy shaved very carefully around assorted nicks, cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his face, recipient of stray blows in the Hotel Aida encounter. A knock.
“Come in, please.”
Christopher, still in ragged condition, slumped in the easy chair and draped a leg over its arm.
“How’s it?”
“I got a laboratory report. There were traces of, what the devil was it, chloral hydrate. I had ordered a number of drinks trying to find the wherewithal to write a glorious note of farewell and take that other stuff, the cyanide. You might say they saved my life by drugging me. I was either chloroformed first and they forced the drink down or vice versa. I was too drunk to know. Bad show,” he whispered.
Jeremy dunked his face, patted on some bay rum carefully, grimaced at the sting and sat on the edge of his bed close to his brother.
“How’s your mind holding up?”
“Not very well,” Christopher said. “I know I own an apology and expression of gratitude to the gaffers, but I’m not really certain if I ever learned how to apologize, at least with any sincerity. Not a notable Hubble trait. I’ve humiliated myself like a common beggar and I’m having difficulty managing that as well. Jeremy, I don’t know if I can change. I don’t know how to change or even if I want to change.”
“No one really expects you to change.”
“I do feel duty-bound to say I’m grateful.”
“You don’t have to tell them anything. You were in deep trouble and they didn’t hesitate for a minute.”
“They came because of you, Jeremy.”
“We’re all just a bunch of chaps from all over the place who have been thrown together to get through a war. We have to take care of each other.”
“They hate me.”
“They think you’re a horse’s ass. But these are good men. They understand wars can’t be won without officers like you. They are also deeply pained and compassionate over what happened to you back home.”
“I find that so difficult to comprehend.”
“You should. You’ve never been there for anyone.”
“That’s not true, Jeremy. I’ve been there for Father, for General Brodhead.”
“To cover yourself with glory. Or, you were there to protect your privilege. You were never there for love of anyone.”
Christopher was stunned and tried to think back. It was cloudy in the past. When?