The Brass Cupcake by John D. MacDonald

Author:John D. MacDonald [MacDonald, John D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: murder, suspense, crime
Publisher: Gold Medal
Published: 2012-04-05T13:45:42+00:00

10

THE CREAM-COLORED Cadillac was parked down in front of the office. The greasy female Buddha stood squinting in the sun, staring up at the three of us.

“Get your hands off me,” I said.

“Now, laddy. We’re just a couple of aging beach boys trying to get along.”

I tried to make my tone reasonable. “Look. I don’t want to leave the girl back there with Trumbull. I’ll come right along.”

“Tony said to bring you, Bartells. He didn’t say urge you.”

We approached the car. The motor was purring softly. The top was down and the boot on. With the two hands on me, I couldn’t move. But I knew that one of them was going to have to let go of me to put me in the car. I had taken enough pushing around for one day—for the rest of my life, if it came to that

Larry was on my left. They walked me up to the right-hand door. Larry opened the door and let go as Harry shoved me into the seat. I brought my left arm around and stabbed at Harry’s eyes with my spread fingers. He was quick enough to see it coming, and he let go of my arm and dodged back. I slid across the seat, slapping the gear arm up, stamping on the gas with my left foot before I had hold of the wheel.

Larry was trying to swarm in after me as the big cream-colored car leaped backward. The open door knocked him flat as the old lady screamed. I got behind the wheel and got the automatic shift arm into the right position. Larry was picking himself up, spitting sand, and Harry was running toward the car. I swung it toward him and he changed his mind. He turned and tried to run across toward the high hedge on the other side. The big car rocked after him and he started screaming as he ran. The rear wheels spun in the sand. He tried to cut to the side when he was still five steps ahead of me. I swung toward him, got him centered, and then swung hard right just as I made contact. The front left fender bunted him squarely in the seat of the tailored slacks. He pinwheeled once in the air before he hit the top of the hedge. I jammed on the brakes with the nose of the car buried in the hedge as I heard the sick thud he made as he struck the stucco back wall of the neighboring tourist court.

I backed the car in a tight spin and saw that Larry was standing transfixed, his face greenish under his tan. Beyond him and off to my left, Melody stood with her hands at her throat, Trumbull in the doorway behind her.

“Don’t, Cliff!” I heard her scream over the roar of the motor as I started toward Larry. He broke out of his trance, spun around and ran for Melody’s coupe. He yanked the door open and clawed his way inside, yanking the door shut, sobbing aloud with fright.

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