The Last Hard Men - Brian Garfield [23]
No one inside the building gave any alarm. There was only one window on this side anyhow—possibly a latrine or storeroom. Provo made an arm signal and two heads appeared at the lip of the cutbank. Weed and Lee Roy came humping it over the edge, Menendez right behind them. They came in tight, sweating, and Provo nodded to Portugee. Portugee palmed the latch of the door and tested it. It wasn’t locked. He swung it open and went in. Provo twisted through the doorway right behind him and braced the riot gun against his lip.
They were in a clerical office—four desks: two women secretaries, a clerk type in a green eyeshade, and a middle-aged man at the back desk in shirtsleeves and mining-engineer boots.
“Not a word out of anybody,” Provo hissed, “or you get dead.”
Shock and terror chased each other across the four startled faces. Menendez whipped inside and strode across the office to the nearest door: wrenched it open and went in gun first.
One of the women started to babble something incoherent in a tiny falsetto voice. Portugee took two long strides and clapped his palm over her mouth, digging his thumb and fingers into her cheeks, holding his big .45 auto on the others. Weed sidled toward the front of the room to post himself on the front door.
Menendez came out of the back office prodding a man at gunpoint. That had to be the paymaster. The man was loose-fleshed, florid, overweight, pale hair going thin over a pink scalp. He was swallowing in regular spasms and his eyes looked like the fishy popeyes of a hyperthyroid victim.
Provo wheeled to the door near him and pulled it open. It was a closet, filled with shelves of order blanks and stationery. He pushed it shut and moved deeper into the room. Portugee Shiraz took his hand away from the woman’s mouth. She scrubbed her lips violently but didn’t make a sound. Portugee said, to no one in particular, “Everybody stay quiet like a mouse and nobody gets their-selves hurt.”
Provo said, “We’re going to tie you up and put gags in your mouth.” He talked in a very low voice; he didn’t know how thin the walls were, or how many others were in the building. “Don’t fight us and we won’t hurt you.”
Lee Roy put down his gunnysack and produced cut-up lengths of rope and wads of rags. Provo and Menendez kept guns on everybody while Portugee and Lee Roy went around tying them up. It didn’t take long. They tied everybody in the back corner of the office and left them there on the floor—everybody but the paymaster. Portugee knotted the paymaster’s hands behind his back and prodded him in the kidney with the muzzle of the automatic. The paymaster stumbled forward.
Provo said, “Where’s the safe? Back in that room?”
“Ye-yes. But you won’t——”
“Please don’t tell me I’ll never get away with it,” Provo said. “Just give us the combination.” He was walking the man into the back office as he spoke.
The vault was built into the back wall. Big, substantial, with wheels on it like steamship valves. There were two big combination dials.
The paymaster whimpered and Provo struck him along the cheek with the barrel of his gun. “Quit it. The combination. I ain’t going to ask again.”
“I’ve only g-g-got half of it, mister. I swear to God. The company manager, he’s got the combination to the other d-dial.”
“And where’s this company manager?”
“D-d-d-down at the depot.”
It didn’t surprise Provo. He propelled the paymaster back to the outer office. “Tie him down and gag him. Lee Roy, in here. Get to work.”
Lee Roy lugged his sack in and looked around. “Sheeyit. That’s a big ’un.”
“Don’t stand there griping. Just blow it.”
“Will you quit awderin’ me around, Zach? Jesus.” Lee Roy studied the furniture. “Reckon I’ll have to back that big desk up against it to shape the charge. Christ, Zach, I’m gonna have to use all the blastin’ powder—it’ll make a cocksucker of a noise.”
“Get busy,” Provo said, and went back to the outer