Slayground by Donald E. Westlake

Author:Donald E. Westlake [Westlake, Donald E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Police Procedural, Criminals, Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, Crime, Fiction, Amusement parks, General, Parker (Fictitious character)
ISBN: 9780226770925
Publisher: University of Chicago Press
Published: 2010-08-31T23:00:00+00:00

P14 Slayground

PART THREE

P14 Slayground

One

PARKER SHOT the chest without the white circle on it. All the overcoated men in all the mirrors staggered back, their guns and flashlights falling. They fell against a mirror, and leaned there for a long second, and then toppled forward, only to bounce their heads against other mirrors and wind up crumpled over and over again on the floor.

Parker moved cautiously forward, not wanting to get caught in the maze of mirrors, but at the same time wanting to get the dead man’s gun.

Except he wasn’t going to get it. People were shouting at each other, not far away. Getting closer. Parker retraced his steps, moving slowly, knowing it was no good to hurry through the mirrored labyrinth.

Two men burst through the entrance at the far end, a cop and another one in an overcoat. The one in the overcoat dropped to his knees beside the dead man, shouting, “Call” but the cop held his pistol out at arm’s length and began methodically shooting mirrors.

Everywhere Parker looked, there was the reflection of a cop with his gun aimed at him. Given enough time, the cop would work his way through the mirrors and find the man. Parker tucked his own gun away in his jacket pocket and moved away, running his hands along the mirrors, finding the narrow channels through the glass. He didn’t have a good enough or a close enough shot at those two over there with the dead man, not when he had only four bullets left.

They were blundering after him now, bumping into mirrors and one another, the cop still plugging away with his service revolver, the other guy shouting names, calling for help.

Parker’s hands pushed against cloth. He stepped through the black-draped doorway into a room with distorting mirrors. There was a clear path through them to a dark doorway on the far side. Parker trotted down the room, flanked by tall Parkers, fat Parkers, long-necked Parkers, dwarf Parkers. He stepped through the doorway as a shout sounded behind him, and then the roar of a gunshot in a confined space. He heard the bullet ricochet off something in front of him, and he bent forward and hurried through the darkness.

The orientation he had given himself was beginning to pay off already. He knew where he was now, he didn’t need light to guide him. He was in a long passage shaped like a giant barrel lying on its side. He had come in one end of the barrel and would go out the other, in the meantime moving with his feet widely spread on the curving floor and his arms stretched out to the sides, his fingertips now and then glancing off the walls.

He reached the end of the barrel and stepped out onto normal flat floor. His hand touched a waist-high chain on his left. He ducked under it, went to one knee beside the barrel opening. He took out his pistol again, while with his other hand he stroked the curved side of the barrel.

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