Hell Gate by Jeff Dawson

Author:Jeff Dawson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2020-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

She was sitting on the bunk. When she saw him, she rose and brushed his cheek with her lips.

‘Hello, darling. I was getting worried.’

She pulled him in close. She smelled not of perfume, just clean – soap, a hint of cedarwood. But he felt the Luger silencer again, just below the ribs, just out of sight.

The porter gave a knowing smile at the apparent display of affection.

‘Gotta be goin’. You folks have a good trip.’

Finch rooted in his pocket for some change and, with a ‘thank you’, but without breaking the embrace, pressed some coins into the man’s hand.

‘My pleasure, Mr Travers. If you folks kin be waitin’ a few minutes, one of my colleagues gon’ be here with the dinner menus.’

As the porter departed, Finch resisted, but she jammed the barrel in hard.

‘I’m going to tell you for the last time. If you want to live, you’ll do as I say.’

Outside, there came the cry of ‘All aboard!’ and the vibrations of a powerful locomotive ready to take the strain of its carriages. Soon there was a conductor’s whistle and a great hiss of steam.

‘Do you understand me?’

He nodded.

‘I’m serious.’

‘Yes… I understand.’

Katia eased off, but only a fraction. He felt her move the gun to one side as a safety measure – his ‘accidental’ killing, he figured, not part of her plan. The chains clanked and the wheels began to creak. Then came a judder as the great Missouri Express began to pull away.

The staccato jolt was Finch’s moment. With the unexpected lurch, he took a chance and struck a blow to her wrist. To his surprise, he smacked the weapon clean out of her hand.

For a second the gun lay on the bed, incongruous on the gold satin quilt. Thrown off balance, caught off guard, she failed to right herself in time. Finch scooped it up, turned and shoved it straight back at her.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Now I’d like some answers.’

The stare came back at its most resolutely steely, as if this were only a minor setback in the greater struggle. She threw a contemptuous look down to the gun. Finch snarled back.

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re up to but, the way I see things, you’re nothing but a sadistic killer. Last night, for Christ’s sake, you were torturing me! And don’t even get me started on that crazed fancy-dress ritual you were part of. I think I deserve an explanation for what the hell’s going on!’

She issued a snort of derision.

‘You call that torture? You haven’t been in this line of work very long.’

‘You broke two fingers. And rather professionally, might I add.’

He waved the bandaged hand for effect.

‘It was the least damage I could get away with,’ she said. ‘And your left hand at that. It had to look convincing. I even let you get a glimpse of me, remember?’

Finch felt his blood rise.

‘You tell me what I need to know right now or I swear to God…!’

He jabbed the gun at her again and, for a fleeting moment, he thought she looked scared, something he hadn’t yet witnessed.

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