The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [188]
I ducked back in the corridor while he went out the door, waited until it closed then snapped the light on and stepped over the junk. One quick look at the papers he had found in the envelope told me what it was. This will was made out only a few months ago, and it left three-quarters of his estate to Ruston and one-quarter to Alice. York had cut the rest out with a single buck.
Junior Ghent had something more important, though. I folded the will into my pocket and ran to the door. I didn’t want my little pal to get away.
He didn’t. Fifty yards up the drive he was getting the life beat out of him.
I heard his muffled screams, and other voices, too. I got the .45 in my hand and thumbed the safety off and made a dash for them.
Maybe I should have stayed on the grass, but I didn’t have that much time. Two figures detached themselves from the one on the ground and broke for the trees. I let one go over their heads that echoed over the grounds like the roiling of thunder, but neither stopped. They went across a clearing and I put on speed to get free of the brush line so I could take aim. Junior stopped that. I tripped over his sprawled figure and went flat on my kisser. The pair scrambled over the wall before I was up. From the ground I tried a snap shot that went wild. On the other side of the wall a car roared into life and shot down the road.
A woman’s quick, sharp scream split the air like a knife and caught me flat-footed. Everything happened at once. Briars ripped at my clothes when I went through the brush and whipped at my face. Lights went on in the house and Harvey’s voice rang out for help. By the time I reached the porch Billy was standing beside the door in his pajamas.
“Upstairs, Mike, it’s Miss Malcom. Somebody shot her!”
Harvey was waving frantically, pointing to her room. I raced inside. Roxy was lying on the floor with blood making a bright red picture on the shoulder of her nightgown. Harvey stood over me, shaking with fear as I ripped the cloth away. I breathed with relief. The bullet had only passed through the flesh under her arm.
I carried her to bed and called to the butler over my shoulder. “Get some hot water and bandages. Get a doctor up here.”
Harvey said, “Yes, sir,” and scurried away.
Billy came in. “Can I do anything, Mike? I . . . I don’t want to be alone.”
“Okay, stay with her. I want to see the kid.”
I opened the door to Ruston’s room and turned on the light. He was sitting up, holding himself erect with his hands, his eyes were fixed on the wall in a blank stare, his mouth open. He never saw me. I shook him, he was stiff as a board, every muscle in his body as rigid as a piece of steel. He jerked convulsively once or twice, never taking his eyes from the wall. It took a lot of force to pull his arms up and straighten him out.
“Harvey, did you call that doctor?”
Billy sang out, “He’s doing it now, Mike.”
“Damn it, tell him to hurry. The kid’s having a fit or something.”
He hollered down the stairs to Harvey; I could hear the excited stuttering over the telephone, but it would be awhile before a medic would reach the house. Ruston began to tremble, his eyes rolled back in his head. Leaning over I slapped him sharply across the cheek.
“Ruston, snap out of it.” I slapped him again. “Ruston.”
This time his eyelids flickered, he came back to normal with a sob. His mouth twitched and he covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he sat up in bed and shouted, “Mike!”
“I’m right here, kid,” I said, “take it easy.” His face found mine and he reached for my hand. He was trembling from head to foot,