The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [52]
It was all plain now. All very plain. The old man hadn't passed out at the wheel. He'd crashed through that wall because the truck had got out of control on the hill. It had got out of control because somebody had tampered with the brakes. It was as simple as that.
He scrambled behind the wheel of the truck and pulled the starter. The engine roared, drowning Mac's cry in the background, and Marlowe took the truck across the farmyard in a burst of speed and skidded out of the gate into the main road.
As he drove towards Barford he was conscious of one thing only. He was going to kill O'Connor. He was going to wrap his hands round that fat neck and squeeze all life out of the grotesque body. Anyone who got in his way would get stamped into the ground.
It started to rain and lightning forked across the sky. As he turned the truck into the square a clap of thunder tore the heavens apart and rain started to fall in a torrential sheet.
Marlowe braked to a halt in front of O'Connor's place and stepped from the cab on to the loading-platform. The rain buffeted him as he went towards the great sliding-doors. He pulled on them with all his strength, but they refused to yield. There was a small postern gate set slightly to one side, with a Yale lock. He tried the handle several times with no success. He pushed the rain away from his eyes and stood back a little. He took three quick paces forward and stamped his right foot hard against the little door. It burst open with a splintering crash as the lock yielded, and he stepped inside.
An eerie silence reigned except for the hard drumming of the rain against the windows. The warehouse was in half darkness, and he moved forward, senses alert for any sound. There was a slight click and the vast room was flooded with light. 'Who's there?' a voice called.
Marlowe raised his eyes. Blacky Monaghan was standing on the landing at the top of a long flight of wooden stairs. He had been sleeping, and he rubbed his eyes several times and blinked. After a while he seemed to get Marlowe into focus. 'What the hell do you want?' he shouted.
Marlowe approached the bottom of the stairs. 'I want O'Connor,' he said. 'I want O'Connor, and if you try to stop me getting to him I'll kill you.'
Something like fear flickered in the Irishman's eyes. 'You're wasting your time,' he said. 'He isn't here.'
Marlowe started to mount the stairs slowly, his eyes fastened unwinkingly on Monaghan. The Irishman licked his lips and stood back a little. 'I don't want any trouble with you, Marlowe,' he said. 'I've no quarrel with you.'
Marlowe smiled terribly. 'But I've got a quarrel with you, you bastard,' he said.
Stark terror showed in Monaghan's eyes, and his voice cracked like an old woman's. 'I tell you he isn't here,' he said. 'He's at the girl's place. It's the truth, I tell you.' He backed away along the landing as Marlowe neared the top of the stairs and screamed, 'Go on, get out of it. I've told you what you want to know.'
Marlowe shook his head and laughed tightly. 'I haven't finished with you yet,' he said. 'Not by a long way.'
An expression of utter desperation appeared on Monaghan's drink-sodden face. He looked around wildly. Hanging on the wall there was a fire extinguisher, a shovel, and a felling axe, all brightly painted in red. He grabbed at the axe and wrenched it from its fastenings on the wall. He turned to face Marlowe, gibbering with fear, the axe poised. 'Keep away from me,' he shrieked. 'I didn't kill the old man. It was the boss this time. You were supposed to go out in that truck.'
Marlowe stood rooted to the spot, staring at the Irishman, and then a terrible surging fury rushed through him and he sprang forward.
Monaghan swung desperately with the axe. If he'd taken his time and judged the distance he could have split Marlowe's skull on the spot, but blind panic took possession of him. Marlowe ducked and the axe whistled