GET STRYKER!
CHAPTER 1
"Lawrence Norman Stryker, the Jury finds you guilty of the murder of two Control Agents and attempted murder of a third. The penalty for murder is death by electrocution, and you are thus sentenced, to be carried out in two weeks' time at San Quentin State Penitentiary. The case is closed."
Stryker, standing to receive the verdict, visibly blanched and swayed with the shock of realisation. Still weak from the recent surgery on the bullet wound to his left shoulder when Max Smart shot him, his legs gave way and he sat down abruptly, head bowed, behind the dock. The guard standing behind him roughly prodded his back, causing him to wince in pain and grasp his arm, which was supported by a sling. Slowly he rose and preceded the guard out of the court and into a waiting van, which took him to the downtown Precinct where he awaited transportation the following morning to San Quentin.
"I'm gonna die ... I'm gonna die ... Oh, God, I'm gonna die!" his mind kept repeating itself as he sat alone in the van, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing of everything around him.
During the trial his Counsel had lodged a plea for mercy, citing his war record and Purple Heart medal. "He has served his Country with valour, distinction and dignity." proclaimed his attorney. "He is a victim of circumstances and merely the perpetrator of other evil men' s will. I plead leniency." But there could be no mercy for a hired assassin, a 'hit man' -especially as the men Stryker had killed were Control Agents.
Kept apart from other, lesser, convicts, he was bundled into a solitary cell and the door slammed behind him, its echoes vibrating round the metal walls. It was winter time, the cells were not heated (why bother, he was going to die anyway) and, trying to find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his wounded shoulder, he curled up on the cold, hard bunk, wrapping himself in the single blanket provided. Dressed only in prison issue shirt and slacks, he hugged his shivering body for warmth, and tried vainly to sleep some of the few, miserable, remaining hours of his life away.
---oo0oo---
Meanwhile, on the Outside, a man was sitting in warmth and luxury, watching the news on TV with a handful of his cronies around him. His penthouse suite was lavishly furnished, the heating turned up to a comfortable temperature. He tossed peanuts into his mouth and sipped wine as he listened to the latest bulletin. When the item about Stryker was read, the dapper little man sat up and took notice.
"'Hired assassin , eh?" he turned to his chief lieutenant. "Know anythin' about this-a Stryker, Louie?" His voice had a heavy Italian accent.
"Sho', Boss," replied Louie, his voice as heavily Brooklyn as his boss's was Italian. "He was workin' for 'The Shark'. They say Stryker was the best in the pool."
"Best? Schmest! They nailed him, didn't they? That was-na very clever, huh?"
"Wasn't his fault, Boss. Dis dumb Control Agent got lucky and shot him with a pool cue.
"A POOL CUE??!!" the Boss roared with laughter. "You-a havin' me on or somethin'?"
"No, Boss, honest injun, dis guy had a gun made into a pool cue - Stryker got off a shot but missed, got his shoulder shot through."
The Boss was wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. "I don'ta believe it!" and Louie, not wishing to be left out, joined in the laughter, without quite seeing the joke. When the Boss stopped, Louie stopped.
"Okay, okay, whaddelse d'ya know about dis Stryker - tella me now."
"Uh, he fought in 'Nam till a flare went off near him, damaged his eyesight some. Dat's why he's gotta wear dark glasses alla time. He sees OK, though, but bright light hurts him real bad."
"I see. How-a many hits-a he done?"
"Gee, Boss, cain't say off like that, but he's good, real good, real fast and eff - uh - effish - uh - clever. Never leaves no clues."
"Until now."
"Uh, yeah, but, like I said, his luck ran out."
"Hm. Sounds just likea da kinda guy I need for Project Cowboy."
"Project Cowboy, Boss? Whassat?"
The Boss made to light up a cigarette, and another of his gangsters flicked a lighter and offered him the flame. The Boss took his time before replying. "None-a yo' business, Louie. Where's Stryker now?"
"Downtown Precinct, Boss."
"Ah, good. I gotta cop friend there. Now, this is what I wanta do ... I wanta get Stryker ..."
---oo0oo---
Stryker was passing a sleepless night, shivering with cold and lack of food. Grimacing and rocking in pain as he sat or paced the tiny cell, he was unsure himself whether the tears in his eyes were from the pain of his wound or mental despair and self-pity at his impending fate. His distraught mind kept going in circles. "What's it gonna be like to die?" he wondered. "Is it gonna hurt any worse than I do now? They say you smoke before the current burns you out. Oh, God, I don't wanna die ... I don't wanna die!" and he leaned against the cold cell wall, sliding down and lying curled up, crying like a little lost boy.
Upstairs at the Precinct duty desk a change of shift had just taken place. It was just after 2 a.m. and the place was quiet. The young cop had read a note, signed by his Captain, which told him to make Stryker's removal as easy and quick as possible. He therefore did not ask awkward questions as two State Troopers presented themselves to him, showed him their badges and papers for the removal of the prisoner. All appeared to be in order. The only remark the young cop made was "Kinda early in the day for shipping a prisoner, ain't it?"
"We got our orders, son." explained the sergeant gruffly.
In his cell, Stryker's mood suddenly changed. "No!" he thought, a new determination erasing his despair. "I've been in worse spots than this in 'Nam. I got outta them, and I'll sure as hell get outta this somehow." His intelligent mind started to explore the possibilities of escape ... He got up off the floor, straightened himself up and sat on the bunk.
The spyhole in the cell door was suddenly flicked open and shut, then came the sound of keys and the heavy lock being thrown. Stryker saw the two burly State Troopers standing outside, rifles at the ready. Weak, tired and in pain, Stryker suddenly realised that he was in no shape to offer any kind of resistance at all. He glared at the men, his dark eyes smouldering hatred.
"Geddap!" ordered the sergeant. Slowly and reluctantly, his face a mask of hate, Stryker got to his feet. The sergeant came into the cell and, roughly turning Stryker around, he ordered "Flat against the wall."
"Huh?"
"I said - spreadeagle - I gotta frisk ya."
"Aw, come oooon - I'm clean - I been frisked before I was put in here." growled Stryker.
"Do it!" shouted the sergeant. Pushing Stryker roughly against the wall, his probing hands made Stryker flinch. "Turn around!" and the sergeant, standing between him and the younger guard, examined his injured shoulder. Stryker' s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he felt a light weight drop into his sling and Stryker felt the first ray of soaring hope he had experienced since his capture. "So that's why he's frisking me." thought Stryker. The apparent inspection completed, the sergeant pointed to the head in the corner and crudely said: "You wanna piss, do it now - we're goin' on a looooong journey and you ain't gettin' out for nothin'."
Stryker went to the corner, realising as he did so that one of his possible escape opportunities had been denied him. When he was ready, the younger guard stepped into the cell, handcuffed himself to Stryker's uninjured hand, and marched him up and out into the night. Surprised but relieved it was still dark, Stryker said "Hey, where're my shades? I can't go without my shades - my eyes hurt real bad without them!"
"Where you're goin' you ain't gonna need no shades - you on a trip to nowhere, buddy!" answered the sergeant, and Stryker was bundled into the waiting armoured van, where his handcuffs were removed. The door slammed shut and Stryker was alone. He reached for the package in his sling and discovered that his dark glasses and a small pistol were wrapped together. His mouth quirked in a speculative smile as he settled on the bench. The van lurched into gear and began its 400-mile journey to San Quentin Prison.
CHAPTER 2
In the van, Stryker's mind was working overtime. Would the guard who had slipped him his shades and the gun create an opportunity for him to escape, or would he have to pull it off himself? If so, how? Stick the gun through the spyhole and shoot? No, the van might crash and still he'd be trapped, maybe badly injured. Well then, how?
Up front the sergeant was driving. It was getting near the pickup point and he had to get the van off the road. Approaching Fresno, he saw the lights of a fast-food restaurant ahead. That was the one. Turning to his unsuspecting partner, he said "Hey, pard, I gotta go to the john. Reckon I'll pull up at that Macdonalds up ahead."
"Aw, c'mon, Jack, you know the rules as well as I do - no stopping."
"I'm aware of that," he replied with sarcasm in his voice, "but I gotta get rid of this pain in my gut." An unsavoury aroma suddenly permeated the cab.
"Aw, Jeez!" exclaimed his partner as he rolled down the window. "OK, OK, I get the message!"
Sergeant Jack swung the van off the freeway.
It was still dark and the attack came suddenly in the restaurant's parking lot. A black car swept past them and one of its occupants tossed out a plastic bag that hit the hood, burst and sprayed black paint onto the van's windshield, making the sergeant swerve blindly to a halt. The sergeant put his hand under the seat as though going for his rifle. Instead he set off a tear gas bomb. His partner jumped out of the van, gun at the ready, but the hijackers were waiting and a silenced gun spat once. The impact threw him off his feet and he was dead before he hit the ground. The sergeant, holding his breath against the fumes inside the van, jumped out and ran round to the back of the van. Quickly he opened the door. Stryker, aware that something was happening, leaped to his feet and jumped out.
"See that blue sedan up there?" the sergeant pointed to the parked car, engine running, further down the sliproad.
"Yeah."
"Get to it, fast. Go on!"
Stryker brought out the gun from his sling and, as the sergeant ran towards the idling black car to make his own escape, Stryker turned and pulled the trigger twice. The sergeant died with an expression of surprise on his face.
Safe in the other car, Stryker looked back as they pulled away.
"Why'd you kill-a the guard?" the man with the Italian accent asked Stryker as he sat down heavily beside him in the sedan.
"It woulda looked bad, only one of the Troopers gettin' hit." he replied unemotionally.
"You fool - he was one-a my inside contacts!" The Boss was angry.
Stryker turned and looked for the first time at the man he was sitting beside "Anyway, who are you?" he asked, as the car sped along the freeway.
"You just call-a me The Boss."
"Hmm. What do you want with me?" said Stryker, well aware of The Boss's anger but feeling no remorse. He knew that he was not being sprung for nothing.
The Boss controlled his anger. He needed this man and he had just seen how dangerous he was. "I have a job for you."
"Oh. Who?"
The car turned into a small airfield, where an executive jet was preparing to take off. The Boss did not answer Stryker's question - for the moment.
---oo0oo---
An hour later the jet landed in Phoenix, Arizona and the group transferred to a private helicopter, which set down on a penthouse roof soon afterwards. The early morning sunshine jarred Stryker's eyes. He put on his sunglasses, keeping them on indoors. The luxury of his new surroundings impressed him. "Hey, quite a place you got here, Boss." he said, openly admiring the furniture and decor.
"This gonna be your home till you do da job."
"Yeah, you still haven't told me who it is."
"Later, later. You go rest up. You use dis bedroom." said The Boss, opening a door. "One t'ing - don'ta shave. Nobody recognise you with a beard, huh?" and he laughed.
Stryker shrugged his agreement. "Say!" he said, moving over to a clothes rail. "These clothes for me?" and he lifted a fawn polo-neck with matching slacks. "Who chose these? They look real fine!" and a rare smile lit Stryker's sombre features.
The Boss lifted a control and the drapes drew across, darkening the room. "My girl choose dem. You meet her later. You rest up now, I tell-a you da job when you-a fresh." and he left Stryker, closing the door behind him.
Alone, Stryker paced around the room, enjoying its luxury from the misery of the cells he had been experiencing just a few short hours before. "Hey, old son, you got lucky again!" he thought, laughing to himself. He showered quickly, then sat on the soft bed, bouncing the mattress experimentally. "Real fine!" he thought, appreciatively. Then he stretched his weary body under the silk covers and was asleep in an instant.
---oo0oo---
CHAPTER 3
As Stryker slept, the news media was alight with his escape and total disappearance:
HIRED ASSASSIN ON THE LOOSE
the headlines screamed.
"Lawrence Norman Stryker, yesterday sentenced to death for the murder of two civil servants, escaped in a dramatic pre-dawn attack on the armoured vehicle which was transporting him to San Quentin Prison. The attack took place in Fresno. The two armed guards escorting the prisoner were gunned down and were dead on arrival at the local hospital. A Statewide search has, at this time, proved unsuccessful, but every law enforcement officer in the State is on the alert."
The Boss laughed. "Hey, Louie, that-a means they don't-a know where he is!" and, again, Louie laughed loudly. Suddenly irritated, The Boss said "Turn offa da set, Louie. Louie, quickly silenced, obliged.
A smell of perfume wafted before her into the room as a small, blue-eyed woman with long, curly, blonde hair, dressed in a halter neck and mini-skirt, drifted in, walked seductively up to The Boss and planted a kiss on his cheek.
"Hiya, baby." he greeted her. "You find someplace?"
"Just the right place, Big Boy!" her voice was akin to Betty Boop.
"Louie, go wake up Sleeping Beauty in there, will ya? It's time-a he started earnin' his keep."
Dusk was falling over Phoenix as Louie entered Stryker's bedroom, turning on the light. Stryker jumped awake and yelled in pain at the sudden onslaught of brightness to has light-sensitive eyes, covering them with his hands.
"Da ... sorry, big guy - I forgot." Louie apologised, and turned off the light again.
In the darkness, Stryker uncovered his eyes, muttered under his breath, then flung the bedclothes off, swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood in front of Louie. "You do that again, it's the last thing you'll ever do - get it?" he growled, a finger poking Louie's chest menacingly.
"Uh, sho' sho' I get it." Louie replied nervously, backing off. Even in the darkness, Louie could see that Stryker had no clothes on.
Calming down, Stryker moved back and said "Okay. What is it?"
"B-boss wants to see ya." stammered Louie, then quickly left the room. This stranger scared him. Stryker showered in the darkness, taking care not to wet the bandages around his wounded shoulder, then dressed in his new clothes and put on his dark glasses, carefully placing his wounded arm in its sling. It was still stiff and painful. Finally, he put on the light to admire himself in the full-length bedroom mirror. Yeah, the clothes fit real well. Beard was coming on nicely, too, he thought, rubbing the lengthening stubble.
Ready for the world, Stryker strolled casually into the main room. Behind his dark glasses his eyes flicked around, seeing the big lunkhead who had just wakened him and two other men, who were lolling about, apparently inattentive, but in reality quite the reverse. He stopped short when he saw the girl standing beside the seated Boss man and gave her a thorough and furtive appraisal from behind his dark glasses whilst apparently looking straight at the Boss. He quickly summed her up as a dumb broad hanger-on.
"Stryker, this is Cindy, ma girl." Stryker raised his uninjured arm to the side of his head in a casual salute. "Hi!" A sudden smile lit up his sombre face.
"Hi yourself, big guy!" Cindy moved away from the Boss and stood, motor running, chewing gum. Cindy liked the sound of Stryker's deep voice and, sensing his close appraisal, she made her own inspection, her blue eyes looking him up and down, her glance lingering on his slim hips for a little longer than propriety dictated. She saw a tall, dark, very slim man in his mid-thirties, physically fit, with a cat-like spring to his short stride as he moved around the room. "Hm." she thought. "Interesting."
Stryker's thoughts about her were a little more basic, but The Boss was speaking. "You ready for-a some chow, Stryker?"
"What? Uh, yeah, sure." He had not eaten since before he had appeared in court the morning before.
"Come on, then, first we eat, then-a we talk - OK?"
"Yeah, fine by me." Stryker drawled laconically.
During the meal The Boss quizzed Stryker about his past life, dwelling mainly on his war service, which Stryker was somewhat reluctant to talk about. "Ah, come on, Stryker, don't-a be shy. Tell-a me how you won-a da Purple Heart."
Stryker hesitated before replying, the memory still causing him mental anguish. Then he saw the admiring look in Cindy's eyes, collected his thoughts and told his story.
"I was helping to fly some wounded civilians out of the firing line." he stated flatly.
"Oh? You fly, Stryker?" The Boss was interested.
Annoyed at the interruption, Stryker replied curtly "Yeah." and continued with the story. "Them gooks had opened fire and a village had been bombed. Us Marines had just got the last casualty on board when we came under fire. My sliding door was open, I heard the bullets hit the fuselage. I guess one ricocheted, grazed my head, but I lifted the bird outta there - fast. I don't remember doin' it, but my co-pilot told me later that, after I got the bird out of danger, I collapsed over the controls and it was only then he saw I'd been hit. He flew the bird home. They sent me back to Laos to recuperate, then I was sent back to the Front. Just before we were finally pulled out, I was checkin' my equipment and a Very flare exploded in my face. My eyes got burned." He had stopped eating as he spoke. He didn't want The Boss to see his free hand shaking, so abruptly he rose from the table and turned away to look out of the penthouse window into the sunset.
Cindy broke the silence. "Gee, Mr Stryker, you're terribly brave!" Her high-pitched voice grated somewhat on Stryker's ears.
"That's-a why ahm'a hirin' him, baby." cut in The Boss, sarcasm in his voice.
Turning suddenly to face them again, Stryker said impatiently "OK, OK, I've done all the talking I'm gonna do. Now s'pose you tell me what the scam is."
The Boss's tongue nervously licked his lips as he rose from the table. "Boys, Cindy, come-a back in half an hour, hey?"
A chorus of "Sure, Boss." was heard, and they filed out. The Boss indicated a nearby settee and Stryker sat. The Boss remained standing. He took a picture out from his inside breast pocket. "Recognise him?" he asked, handing Stryker the picture.
"Oh, sure. He's a B-movie cowboy actor - Regan, or something."
"Reagan - Ronald Reagan. He was an actor, now he's in politics. There are some people in high places who don't-a like his politics. You understand?"
"Yeah, I understand. When?"
"There's gonna be a Scout Jamboree in Eloy in a coupla days' time. Lotsa people around. He's-a gonna open it. That's when."
"Uh-huh. What's the deal?"
"You do the job, we pay you $50,000, get-a you outta da country while da heat's on. We pay you after da job's done."
"Hu-uh. You pay me now or no job." growled Stryker, jabbing an emphatic long index finger into The Boss's chest.
The Boss turned his back, annoyed, and rubbed his chin pensively. "Tell-a you what, $25,000 now, the rest after da job. OK?"
Stryker hesitated for a moment. "OK." he agreed reluctantly.
"S'good. You know-a da area?"
"No - I know Phoenix, but not Eloy. I'll haveta recce the place."
"Cindy's done that for you. I gotta map." and he produced a map of the town. Stryker pored over it, concentrating on the area where the Jamboree was to be held, then curtly said "No good."
"Whaddaya mean 'No good'?"
"It's too exposed. I'd have no chance of escaping unseen." Stryker thought for a moment. "Is he doin' anythin' else in town, preferably in the evening?"
"He's-a gonna be guest of honour at a political meeting in a cinema hall."
"That's more like it!" Stryker enthused. "Where's the cinema on the map?" The Boss pointed to the spot and Stryker examined it. "Uh-huh. Plenty of buildings around. Security?"
"Maybe guards at the door, a couple in da hall."
"Mmm. Say, it's dark out. Can someone drive me down for a look-see just now?"
"Hey, Louie!" yelled The Boss. "LOUIE!" Louie arrived at the run.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Getta-da car out, take Mr Stryker down to Eloy, show him around."
"Uh, now, Boss?"
"Now, Louie." and Louie departed. A few moments later, Cindy came in, sat on the other end of the settee from Stryker but casting a surruptitious glance in his direction.
"Boooooss ..." her tone was wheedling.
"What is it now, baby?" The Boss was a little annoyed at her intrusion.
"Louie says he's taking Mr Stryker to Eloy tonight."
"What of it?"
"My sister lives in Eloy. Do you think I could go see her? Pleeeeease, Boss." and she got up and sat on his lap, running her fingers through his dark hair. Her mini-skirt was practically a pelmet around her hips and The Boss took full advantage of the opportunity. His wandering hands made her giggle, and Stryker quickly left the room to hide his obvious discomfort. He packed an overnight bag.
---oo0oo---
Cindy's tactics worked on The Boss and, half an hour later, Stryker found himself sitting in the back seat of the car, her perfume filling his senses, her nearness enticing but just out of reach as she took the front seat beside Louie.
Stryker's alert mind shut out the distraction, and observed the route taken to Eloy. The powerful black sedan did the 100-mile journey in two hours and it was approaching midnight when they arrived. Cindy had phoned her sister that she was coming and had arranged for an overnight stay. Dropping her at the house, Louie called "I'll be back for ya in da mornin', Miss Cindy." after her retreating figure. She turned, waved and walked up the pathway to her sister's front door. Louie drove Stryker round the cinema. He noticed a small hotel facing the entrance, made Louie stop the car round the corner and went into the sixth-rate lodging house. Louie went to seek other accommodation elsewhere.
The caretaker, dozing in a chair at the reception desk, grunted awake at the arrival of the tall, slim man in the dark glasses with his left arm in a sling. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked as he rose to stand behind the desk, surprised at the man's late arrival.
"I wanna room for a few nights - tonight, tomorrow and the next night." he spoke pleasantly.
"Uh, sure." replied the caretaker, checking his register. "I can show you the room now, if you want." The name Stryker signed in the register was not his own.
"Yeah, fine." and Stryker followed him up a narrow flight of stairs. "No good for escape." thought Stryker. "Must check the fire escape."
As they climbed the stairs, the caretaker asked casually "Just arrived, sir?"
"Yeah, bus dropped me off - I'll be stayin' for the Jamboree." Stryker replied.
The room was small and dirty, but the outlook to the cinema was perfect. He checked the fire escape outside the window. Yeah, that would do fine. He paid in advance, leaving the proprietor with the money in his hand and a smile on his face - the tall stranger with the dark glasses had paid $10 more than the cost of the room. The caretaker gave Stryker the key and left him there, wondering cynically when the stranger's girl would arrive, but $10 was $10 and he said nothing. However, Stryker's remark about the bus bothered the caretaker - the overland Greyhound was not due till the morning from Phoenix ... Back at his reception desk, he drew a sheaf of papers from a drawer, flicked through them, stopped suddenly, then quickly made a phone call ...
The next morning, Stryker strolled out of the hotel, calling "I'll be back later!" to the watching caretaker.
Louie was parked nearby, and the caretaker saw the stranger get into the car. He made another phone call.
Louie drove out to pick Cindy up. He honked the horn and she flounced out, waving goodbye to her sister, and slid into the back seat beside Stryker. "Oh, oh." he thought, but said nothing. He crossed his long legs and leaned away from her. He reckoned it would be a bad idea to get involved with The Boss's woman. As the car pulled away, Louie, in a talkative mood, said "Mr Stryker found a real good place, Cindy. He's staying there again tomorrow night. You know the Oakland opposite the Rio Cinema?"
"That sleaze-joint?" responded Cindy, revulsion in her voice.
"It'll do me juuuuust fine." drawled Stryker, settling further back in the seat and trying to ignore her nearness. He had a job to do. Maybe afterwards ...
Cindy, however, had other ideas. "Gee, I wish I had brought my wrap with me, this car's air conditioning sure is cold!"
"I need it on, Miss, while I'm driving." explained Louie.
For Louie's benefit, Stryker said "I'm afraid I don't have a jacket to give you, Miss."
"That's OK, Mr Stryker." she nestled close to him, touching his uninjured arm "I feel warmer just sitting beside you. Oh, look, here's a rug on the seat!" and she spread it over their legs.
Stryker enjoyed the journey back.
---oo0oo---
Meanwhile, at his Phoenix penthouse, The Boss was waiting for Stryker's return. The first glimmer of dawn was lighting the skyline when the phone rang unexpectedly. One of his henchmen, dozing on a couch, roused himself and answered it. "It's for you, Boss - guy says he's callin' from Washington."
The Boss grabbed the phone and listened intently. "Yes, sir we got-a him. He's down there now, lookin' round ... Yes, he's agreed to the terms ... When? Two nights from now. What? Why waste him after ... No, no, I'm not questioning you, sir. I'll ... see it's done. Yes, sir - goodbye." and the line clicked. The Boss stood for a moment, looking with shocked surprise at the handset before replacing it.
---oo0oo---
CHAPTER 4
It was mid-morning before Stryker, Cindy and Louie returned. The Boss quickly sensed something between Cindy and Stryker and felt an upsurge of jealousy and anger. He couldn't be sure, it was just a feeling, but ... Remembering his recent telephone conversation with Washington, he suddenly felt no regrets about his orders.
Stryker, full of energy and enthusiasm at the new challenge presented to him, sat down and started talking rapidly. "I want a high-velocity, recoilless fast-repeater rifle - this shoulder of mine couldn't take the kick, otherwise. I want telescopic night sights and thread focusing, too. And, I want dark clothes, black or navy blue sweater and slacks - these clothes are too conspicuous. I got a room in a joint with a clear view of the movie house from the window. I'll go back tonight, set things up - I'll need to hire a car, and I want that executive jet of yours ready to fly me to Mexico immediately afterwards. I passed by the airfield when we drove there - it's only a ten-minute drive away from the hotel. I'll fly the plane myself. Can you arrange all that by then?"
"Of-a course, Stryker. Anyt'ing you need, I get for you. Here, have a drink." He snapped his fingers and Louie brought two bourbons. Cindy drifted off towards The Boss's bedroom, but with a backward glance towards Stryker, whose eyes were on her, although once again The Boss couldn't be sure where he was looking behind his dark glasses.
Arrangements made, Stryker went to his bedroom, drew the blinds and lay down to rest. The Boss followed Cindy. The thought that something may be going on between her and Stryker made him want her urgently. Stryker's bedroom was adjacent to The Boss's, and the sounds of love coming through the wall disturbed him unendurably, but he could not leave the apartment for fear of being recognised. He paced the room like the caged tiger he was She was interested in him - he knew she was, after what had gone on beneath the travelling rug. Tortured, he threw himself onto the bed, face-down, the pillow smothering some of the sounds, but no solace he found. Only Cindy could do that - only Cindy ...
Afterwards, when The Boss lay quietly smoking a cigarette, Cindy, tracing a figure-of-eight on The Boss's naked chest with her finger, was trying to think of the best way to ask him more about Stryker. "Booooss ..." her familiar wheedling tone alerted him. She wanted something. "Boss, where'd you find Mr Stryker?"
"Knew it!" he thought. Then an idea came to him, one that gave him malicious pleasure. Casually, he replied "He-a come from Los Angeles, mi amor. But don't-a get friendly with him - he hasna got long to live." He laughed drily.
Cindy froze, but said nothing, though he saw the look of shock cross her features. Now he was certain. He continued, just to hammer it home to her: "I just gotta da word from Mr Big - we gotta take him out after he done-a da job."
"Kill him?" Cindy had found her voice again. "Why do you have to kill him?"
Because you want him, he thought, but said instead "Because Mr Big says so. He says to me 'Be sure and get Stryker ...'"
---oo0oo---
Later that day Cindy went shopping for Stryker while he sat in his room, preparing for the task ahead of him. The Boss made a phone call and Louie collected the rifle and ammunition from a downtown contact. Stryker checked and serviced the gun, ensuring that the action worked perfectly. As the day drew on, he changed into the black slacks, polo-neck sweater and leather jacket that Cindy had brought back for him. The Boss's pilot flew him and Louie to Eloy in the jet and, on arrival, Stryker hired a car back to the hotel and took his key from the caretaker, who gave him a knowing nod. Then he climbed the stairs and locked the door behind him. He set up the rifle, tried the sights, worked the mechanism and satisfied himself that he had made as many preparations as were necessary. He would have to go out in the daylight tomorrow to drive a couple of times over his getaway route to the airport in order to familiarise himself with it, and check out the jet. Yeah. Tomorrow was a busy day ... He lay, wide awake, on the dirty mattress, trying to imagine all the possibilities that may occur. The room light was out and the dim landing light outside made a slit of illumination under the door. He closed his eyes ...
A floorboard creaked outside his door and a shadow blotted out the slit of light. Stryker was on his feet and behind the door in two strides, the small pistol, which he kept in his arm sling, cocked and ready in his hand. Someone very gently knocked the door three times. Stryker stiffened. "Mr Stryker? Mr Stryker, are you there?" The voice, and the smell of perfume wafting in the air, were unmistakably Cindy's. In one fluid motion he threw down the gun onto a sideboard, swiftly unlocked the door, pulled her inside and pushed her onto the bed, then relocked the door. Furious at the unwanted interruption to his plan and that she had called his name aloud for all to hear, especially as it was not the name he had signed on the register downstairs, he strode over and towered over her as she lay, suddenly frightened of him, on the bed. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her upright, and growled "Why the hell are you here?"
"Oh! You're hurting me! Please don't hurt me!" He eased his painfully tight grip then threw her arm away. He could see she was frightened by his reaction. That was good. "I said -why're you here? You tryin' to blow everything?"
She wriggled up the bed away from him till the bedboard stopped her. "I-I've come to warn you - The Boss'll kill me if he knew I was here ..."
"Warn me?" Warn me about what?" His voice was harsh as he gripped her wrist again.
"They - they're going to kill you!" she sobbed.
"WHAT?"
"I-I overheard The Boss say - after you did the job - someone was going to kill you!" She was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed and weeping. She was frightened of him and frightened for her own safety, as this angry man was a stranger to her.
"Why the dirty, double-crossing ..." Stryker turned away from her, started to rapidly pace the small width of the room, running his hand through his brown hair in perplexity. "Where? When?" His voice was flat.
"Boss didn't say, honestly, Stryker." She was rapidly regaining her composure now and was watching him closely.
He spun round to face her. "Why're you telling me this?"
"Because ...
"Because what? he spat out.
"Because I - like - you." Though now she wasn't so sure - she'd never seen his violent side before. She stood up, averting her eyes, the top of her head scarcely reaching his shoulder.
"Oh, yeah, that business in the back of the car. I reckoned that was just a bit of fun." he said, irony and ridicule in his voice.
"It was fun, wasn't it?" she giggled mischievously. He saw the look in her eyes.
"No way, baby, I've got a job to do and I want no distractions. Besides, you're The Boss's girl. Isn't he gonna come lookin' for you?"
"No, I left him a note saying I was going to see friends in LA for a few days. Are you still going to do the hit?"
"Hm." He thought for a moment, weighing up all the facts. "You coming here to tell me has given me the jump on them. I guess the wisest thing to do would be to get the hell out before the net closes in. If they're gonna kill me for doin' their dirty work for them, I guess they're gonna haveta find another stool pigeon. No, I'm not gonna do the hit, baby, I'm gonna get out while the goin's good - and I'd advise you to get back to The Boss before he wises up on you."
"I don't like him any more." she said plaintively.
"Look, baby, he can give you so much more than I ever could - nice place to live, pretty clothes, an easy life. If you came with me to Mexico, it would be hard."
"Honey, life was hard before I met The Boss. You have the $25,000 he gave you for the job, don't you?"
"Yeah." He padded the wad of notes in his hip pocket which The Boss had given him before he left Phoenix.
"Well, then ..." He had turned to start packing, but Cindy moved up behind him, her arms encircling his slim waist as she hugged him, pressing her ample bosoms against his back. The scent of her perfume filled his senses and the feel of her body held tight against him had the desired effect. He stopped packing and straightened, enjoying the sensations coursing through him. Hugging him even tighter, her hands explored his body, but he said "Baby, there isn't time - we gotta get outta here while the goin's good ... Ah!" He gasped in surprise. As she stood behind him, her probing hand had revealed his state of readyness. Well, he thought, turning, maybe there is enough time ...
At 34 years of age, Stryker had lived a fast and dangerous life, where the credo was "Kill or be killed". As far as women were concerned, he had taken his pleasure wherever and whenever the opportunity offered itself. It was offering itself now. Cindy was willing and eager, and he was quite ready to oblige.
He kissed her hungrily, on the lips, on her neck, his growing beard rasping against her soft skin, his hips thrusting his hardness insistently against her. Uninjured arm tight around her waist, he laughed a mirthless laugh of desire as he pushed her quickly under him onto the bed, but he suddenly cried out as pain lanced through his injured shoulder. He rolled away from her and lay face down on the bed, clutching the wound. "Aaaah! Shoulder hurts ... real bad ...!" he groaned through gritted teeth. Cindy gently eased him round onto his back and saw a trickle of blood seeping through his fingers. He had opened the wound again. She quickly took off the old dressing and examined the injury. It would have to be attended to soon, she realised. All she could do at the moment was to re-dress it with a clean handkerchief she had in her pocketbook. He watched her closely as she attended to him. "Hey, baby, you pretty good at this!" he smiled through the pain. She could see his desire was unabated.
"Aw, gee, it's nuttin'." she replied, finishing the task. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, putting his arm back into the sling.
"Yeah, a lot." he replied, a big smile on his face.
She knew he did not mean the pain in his arm. "Well, then ... She climbed onto the bed. He lay on his back and closed his eyes. Soon, very soon, he forgot all about pain ...
---oo0oo---
CHAPTER 5
He was awakened next morning by the sudden influx of daylight as Cindy pulled open the blind.
He yelled in pain as the light seared his eyes and he groped for his dark glasses. Swearing, he put them on and then he saw Cindy. She was standing over him, his pistol in her hand, pointing at his head.
"Awwww." he lay back on the bed. "Was I that bad last night?"
"No, Honey, you was good, real good. But I need the money, real bad, an' I'm gonna take it, right now!" She had the wad of notes in her hand. "But first, I'm gonna make a citizen's arrest, an' get the reward for you, too, big guy!"
"Aaah, come ooooon!" he lay in bed, considering his options. She had the drop on him and his left arm was swollen, numb and painful. He had a problem.
"Geddap!" she said, waving the gun. He was unsure whether or not she knew how to use it, but was unwilling to find out.
He rose, pulling the bedclothes with him to cover his embarrassment. "Where you goin'?" she asked as he edged around the bed.
"Lemme get my pants on, will ya?"
"Okay, okay, but do it real fast!"
He went into the bathroom, closed the door. She heard the head being pulled and a few moments later he emerged, dressed, his arm still in the sling. He moved back towards her. "Hold it, right there!" she commanded.
"I gotta get my jacket." and he leaned forward, very near her. Lightning fast, he brought out of his sling a can of hair lacquer, which he had taken from where she had left it on the bathroom shelf the night before, and pressed the button. The spray blinded her and, throwing down the can, he was on her, pushing her onto the bed. The gun fell to the floor out of reach. She struggled, her long nails raking his injured arm. One punch landed directly on his gunshot wound and he cried out as he fell heavily on the floor, clutching the wound, which began to bleed heavily. She made a dive for the door but he recovered in time to snatch up the gun and cock its hammer. She heard the sound and froze. He got to his feet and staggered, the pain of the wound a searing agony, his whole arm throbbing and swollen.
"Turn round, ya dumb broad!" he snarled. She complied, terrified. "I oughtta waste ya right now ..." a wave of pain made his head spin and he dropped the barrel of the pistol for a moment. She made to move forward but he recovered in time. She gasped as she felt cold steel poking deep into her stomach. Then he heard footsteps running up the stairs, and shouting. Desperately he looked round the room - the fire escape! "Come on, baby, out the window - fast!" He had no option but to leave the rifle behind, but he took the money and stuffed it into his sling. A frantic knocking at the door spurred him on, and he followed Cindy out the window, down the fire escape.
---oo0oo---
CHAPTER 6
The Jamboree was due to begin at 2 pm. The town was waking up and starting their final preparations for the spectacle when Stryker forced Cindy at gunpoint down the hotel fire escape towards the waiting parked car.
Silent watchers moved into position. A pair of binoculars glinted in the morning sun. The man with the binoculars exclaimed suddenly in surprise. "Hey, Boss, he's movin' out - an', Boss, he's got Cindy wit' him!"
The Boss grabbed the binoculars to confirm Louie's observations. "He ain't gonna do da job! The bitch! She's squealed ... I'll-a get her for this - I'll-a get-a dem both!" and they raced for their car, which was parked round the front of the building backing onto the alley at the rear of the hotel.
But there were other observers, too. "Positive ID, Captain - he's grown a beard, but that's Stryker all right."
The Captain raised a loudhailer to his mouth. "FREEZE, STRYKER - THIS IS CAPTAIN DEMARCO OF THE STATE POLICE - YOU'RE SURROUNDED - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE - LAY DOWN YOUR GUN!"
Stryker spun round in the direction of the sound, then pointed the gun at Cindy. "No way!" he shouted back. "The girl is my hostage - one false move and she gets it!" He pointed the gun at her head. "Get in the car! GET IN!" She sat in the driver' s seat and he sat in the passenger's, the gun's barrel pressing painfully into her side. "Now, baby, we're goin' for a riiiide! Drive to the airport!" and he poked the gun in her ribs. She started the car and moved off. "Faster! Faster!"
Two cars swung out onto the main road behind Stryker and he heard the dreaded howl of the police cars' sirens. "Damn!" He swore as she accelerated down the main road.
"STOP OR WE FIRE!" the loudhailer from the leading police car blared. In answer, Stryker made Cindy swerve down a side street and came out at the other end, throwing the car in a right-angled turn and gunning it down the road, heading ever nearer to the airport.
"Yeah, they're headed for the airport - alert all units in the area - roadblock in place!" ordered the police Captain. But so intent were the police on the chase that they did not notice the large black sedan following them ...
Stryker swore as he saw the road ahead. "There' s a roadblock up ahead - shoot through it!" She accelerated through the wooden barrier, the cops standing around it scattering to save their lives. Bullets pinged off the chassis of the car and he suddenly felt like he'd been punched in the side. Cindy swerved but kept control of the car. The airport was just up ahead ... if only he could reach it ... His injured shoulder was very painful, his arm useless ... and why did the side of his sweater feel damp? He painfully moved his left hand to his side for a moment and his hand came away red with blood. He doubled up and groaned softly. Cindy noticed and laughed callously. "Hah! You're hit!"
"I'll make it, I'll make it ..." he gritted his teeth. The airfield was just up ahead - she swung the car round the small airport buildings, round the side - where was the damn plane? Ah! His side hurt real bad. He coughed blood. Find the plane, find the plane! Yes, there it was! The red and white jet! Can I reach it? Cars behind me, shooting wide. I can make it, I can make it ...
She screeched the car to a halt under the wing of the plane, the fuselage protecting their backs. "Get out fast, Cindy!" He threatened her with the gun but his side hurt and he clutched it, grimacing. He was having difficulty breathing.
Four cop cars screeched to a halt in a semi-circle round Stryker. "Get me you get the girl, too!" Stryker yelled defiantly. There was a stand-off as the police considered the situation, levelling their guns at him. He placed himself between the car and the encircling police. Behind the police cars the large black sedan slid to a halt at a spot where its occupants could get a clear view of the proceedings. So intent were the policemen on covering Stryker that they did not notice its presence. The Captain raised his loudhailer to his mouth again.
"This is Captain Demarco. Lay down your firearm and surrender, Stryker. You're surrounded!"
Stryker paused a moment, surveying the situation. The plane's hatch door was open and invitingly near. If only they could jump in, he could start the engine and take off ...
In the black sedan, The Boss was thinking fast. "If the cops arrest her, she knows the identity of 'Mr Big' in Washington and she'll squeal. Can't take that risk. Pity." He turned to the man with the rifle who was sitting beside him and said flatly "Do it - the cops'll take care of Stryker." The sedan's window rolled down and a rifle barrel protruded. A single shot cracked. Stryker, holding Cindy's arm, felt her tug away from him and watched in horror as she crumpled at his feet. The black sedan accelerated away, tyres burning rubber. The startled police spun round, and the Captain indicated to a patrol car to pursue the speeding car, then returned his attention to Stryker.
Stryker had now missed his only chance of escape. Instead, he was kneeling over Cindy's body, a look of incredulity on his face. As he got shakily back to his feet, a sudden dizziness assailed him and he staggered against the wing of the plane, bumping his head on the engine casing. His dark glasses fell from his face and shattered on the ashphalt. The bright sunshine blinded him. Desperately he looked around him. "Trapped! I'm trapped!" he realised. "I'll never be able to get the jet off the ground! They'll take me back to San Quentin to burn! NO!" Suddenly galvanised into action, he shouted. "YOU BASTARDS! You've killed an innocent girl! It's me you want! ME! But you're gonna haveta come and get me! Come ooooon! Come ooon and get Stryker!" His seared eyes were streaming tears of pain, anguish and futility as he fired his pistol indiscriminately. One policeman spun away, lay still. Stryker's gun clicked emptily. The Captain shouted "FIRE!" and a fusillade of shots hit Stryker. His jerking body was thrown against the fusilage of the plane by the impact of the bullets. The shooting stopped. For a moment there was an expression of amazement on Stryker's face as he looked down at his bullet-ridden, blood-spattered chest, then he pitched to the ground, writhing in agony at the crescendo of pain in so many places.
He thought clearly "So this ... is what it's like ... to die. Cindy - beside me. Wait for me, Cindy ..." With the last vestiges of his strength he reached out and grasped her hand. Dimly he heard an explosion a short distance away as, police bullets tearing into its petrol tank, the black sedan exploded. The last thing his dying mind registered was surprise and comfort at the feel of a slight squeeze of her hand in his before his pain-wracked body shuddered one last, convulsive time. Then the life went out of his sun-seared eyes as the eternal darkness claimed him.
---oo0oo---