Bonded Dead by M. E. Chaber

Author:M. E. Chaber [Chaber, M. E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: http://archive.org/details/bondeddead00chab
ISBN: 9780446646840
Amazon: B000OEEIBE
Publisher: Paperback Library
Published: 1971-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

7

There wasn’t much time. I took a fast glance at the road ahead of me, then turned my head, lifted the gun and shot twice, as fast as I could pull the trigger. At the same time I stepped on the brakes. The last glimpse I had of the dark-haired man, he was sliding down on the seat. I wasn’t really sure whether I’d hit him or if he were sliding to safety.

I brought the car to a halt and glanced in the rearview mirror. There were no cars in sight behind me. I looked ahead. The other car had also stopped. Ketcher, the driver, had just opened the door on his side and had one foot on the ground. I shifted the Cadillac into drive and stepped on the gas. The Cadillac plowed into the back of his car. His door swung back and hit him and I saw him starting to fall out.

I backed up quickly, put it into drive again and pulled around him while he was still rolling on the ground. I gunned my car and kept my foot down on the accelerator until I was out of sight. I kept the speed up and watched the rear-view mirror, but the other car didn’t show up.

There was still nobody behind me when I reached the hotel. I turned the car over to the boy and went inside. I checked with the desk. They said I’d had one call, but the person hadn’t left his name. I went on into the bar. Buck brought over a drink.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Mostly in low gear,” I said. “You know how it is.” “As a matter of fact, I’m glad I don’t know how it is. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“Look how much you miss by sleeping so much.” “Yeah,” he said and moved away to serve another customer.

I tossed off the drink to calm my nerves, then went upstairs. I removed the two empty shells from my gun and put in two fresh ones. Then I cleaned the gun very carefully and replaced it in the holster. I went back downstairs, stopping at the desk for a handful of change.

In the phone booth, I looked up the phone number of Jack Daly. I dialed it.

“Mr. Daly?” I asked when a man answered.

“He ain’t here right now. Who’s calling?”

“First,” I said, “who’s answering the phone?”

“I live here, too,” he said. “I’m Bobby Dixon. You want to leave a message for Jack?”

“I do,” I said. “You may have heard of me. My name is Milo March. I . . .”

He interrupted to tell me what he thought of me. It wasn’t worth repeating, but it did give me a general idea of his thinking—and his vocabulary. He continued until he ran out of breath.

“I didn’t know you were educated,” I said when he finally stopped. “I guess I never realized that men’s rooms had such a rounded curriculum. I just wanted to tell you boys it’s about time for you to find out where you can retreat under a rock.

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