The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [1]
As he moved alongside the car a voice said, 'Hallo, Hugh. We've been waiting for you. It's been a long time.'
Marlowe stood quite still. The skin had tightened over his prominent cheekbones, but otherwise he showed no emotion. He approached the car and looked in at the man who sat behind the wheel. 'Hallo, you bastard!' he said.
A rough voice snarled from the rear seat. 'Watch it, Marlowe! You can't talk to Mr Faulkner like that.'
The man who had spoken was thick set with the coarse, battered features of a prizefighter. Next to him sat a small wiry man whose cold beady eyes were like holes in his white face.
Marlowe's gaze flickered over them contemptuously. 'The old firm. It must smell pretty high in there when you have the windows closed.'
The large man made a convulsive movement and Faulkner cried warningly, 'Butcher!' He subsided, swearing violently under his breath, and Faulkner said, 'Yes, the old firm, Hugh, and don't forget you're still a partner.'
Marlowe shook his head. 'You dissolved our partnership a long time ago.'
Faulkner frowned. 'I think not, my friend. We still have some unfinished business to settle.'
Marlowe smiled coldly. 'Five years inside has made me greedy, Faulkner. I'm not declaring a dividend this year.' He laughed harshly. 'What kind of a mug do you think I am? Go on, get out of it. And keep away from me.'
As he straightened up, the rear door started to open and a hairy paw reached out towards him. He slammed the door shut with all his force, trapping the hand so that blood spurted from beneath the fingernails. Butcher gave a cry of agony, and Marlowe leaned in the window and said, 'That's for leaving me in the lurch the night we did the Birmingham job.' He spat in Butcher's face and turned away.
He ducked into a narrow alley and began to walk rapidly along the uneven pavement. Behind him car doors slammed and there was a heavy pounding of footsteps. He threw a hasty glance over his shoulder as the small man rounded the corner, steel glinting in his hand. Behind him lumbered Butcher, cursing freely as he wrapped a handkerchief about his right fist.
At any other time he would have turned and faced them, but not now. He had other things to do. He started running along the alley, splashing in the rain-filled gutter, his feet slipping dangerously on the greasy cobbles.
The small man gave a cry of triumph and Marlowe ground his teeth together with rage. So they thought they had him on the run, did they? They thought the years behind the high wall had made him soft. He resisted the impulse to stop running and increased his pace.
He rounded the corner at the end of the alley into a quiet street of terrace houses. For a brief moment he hesitated and then, as he started forward, he slipped and crashed to the pavement. As he scrambled to his feet a door opened and a woman stepped out with a shopping-basket on one arm. Marlowe lurched towards her and she stepped back quickly with a cry of alarm and slammed the door in his face. There came another shout from behind, and as he started to stumble painfully along the pavement a large black saloon turned into the road and came towards him.
A sudden burning anger rose inside and he clenched his fists as the car swerved into the kerb a few yards away. The rear door opened and a large, heavily built man in a brown raincoat and Homburg hat clambered out and stood, hands in pockets, waiting.
Marlowe came to a sudden halt. Behind him he could hear the sound of his pursuers' footsteps fading rapidly into the distance. The large man smiled and shook his head, white teeth gleaming beneath a clipped moustache. 'You haven't wasted any time, Marlowe.'
Marlowe grinned and walked towards him. 'I never thought the day would come when I'd be glad to see