Mr Majestyk

  "Ritch!"

  And he looked up to see the panel truck coming like crazy on the wrong side o f t he street, swerving around from behind the bus to take a sweeping right at th e i ntersection. Ritchie jumped back out of the way, though the truck had room t o s pare. He saw one of the rear doors open and the bottle with the lighted rag fo r a wick come flying out and he was moving to the right, running hard, waving a n o ncoming car to keep back when the bottle smashed against the rear deck of th e s quad car and burst into flames. Five seconds later the gas tank exploded an d i nstantly the entire car was on fire, inside and out.

  Ritchie was across the street now, waving at the traffic, yelling at cars t o s top where they were. He didn't see his partner or know where he was. From thi s a ngle he could see the second squad car close behind the bus and the driver-sid e d oor swing open.

  In the same moment he saw the station wagon coming up fast from behind. He sa w t he shotgun muzzles poke out through the side windows and heard them and sa w t hem go off as the station wagon swerved in, sheared the door off the squad car , and kept coming, beginning a sweeping right turn around the bus.

  Ritchie raised his big Colt Special, steadying it beneath the grip with his lef t h and and squeezed off four shots into the station wagon's windshield. The firs t t wo would have been enough, because they hit the driver in the face and th e w agon was already out of control, half through the turn when the driver slumpe d o ver the wheel and the wagon slammed squarely into the burning squad car.

  One of the men in the back seat of the wagon tried to get out the left side and Ritchie shot him before he cleared the doorway. But then he had to reload an d t he two who went out the other side of the wagon made it to a line of parke d c ars before Ritchie could put his Colt on them. He still didn't know where hi s p artner was until he got to the station wagon, looked out past the rear end o f i t and saw his partner lying in the street.

  Watching from the bus, Majestyk recognized Ritchie, the one with the tattoo wh o l ooked like a pro lineman. He was aiming and firing at two men crouched behind a p arked car--until one of them raised up, let go with a shotgun and they took off , running up the street past a line of storefronts. Ritchie stepped out fro m b ehind the station wagon, fired two shots that shattered two plateglass windows , then lowered his Colt and started after them, waving his arm again, yelling a t t he people on the sidewalk and pressed close to the buildings to get inside, t o g et the hell off the street.

  Now there were no police in front of the bus.

  The moment Renda moved, Majestyk's gaze was on him, following him up the aisl e p ast the two Chicanos huddled low in their seat. He watched Renda--who did no t b other to look at the dead driver lying on the floor--reach past the steerin g w heel and pull a control level. The door opened. Renda approached it cautiously , looking through the opening and down the cross street a half block to where Eugene Lundy and the panel truck were waiting. He seemed about to step out, the n t wisted away from the opening, dropping to his hands and knees, as two shot s d rilled through the pane of glass in the door panel.

  Majestyk's gaze came away and he looked down at the deputy lying in the aisle.

  He was sure the man was dead, but he got out of his seat and reached down t o f eel for a pulse. Nothing. God, no, the man had been shot through the chest.

  Majestyk was about to rise, then hesitated as he saw the ring of keys hangin g f rom the deputy's belt. He told himself to do it, now, and think about it late r i f he had to. That's what he did, unhooked the ring and slipped the keys int o h is pants pocket. As he rose, turning toward the rear of the bus, he saw th e b lack guy, only a few feet away, staring at him.

  Neither of them spoke. The black guy looked away and Majestyk moved down th e a isle to the back windows.

  The second squad car was close behind, directly below him. He could see th e d eputy behind the wheel, his face bloody, talking excitedly into the radio mike.

  The next moment he was out of the car with his revolver drawn, moving around th e b ack end of it to the sidewalk. Majestyk watched him. The deputy ran in betwee n t wo cars that were facing out of a used car lot, then down behind the row o f g leaming cars with prices painted on the windshields to where his partner wa s c overing the door of the bus from behind the end car in the line.

  Majestyk made his way back up the aisle in a crouch, watching the used car lo t t hrough the right-side windows. He saw both deputies raise their revolvers an d f ire.

  With the closely spaced reports Renda dropped again away from the door an d b ehind the first row of seats.

  Halfway up the aisle Majestyk watched him.

  Renda was looking at the two Chicanos now who were also crouched in the aisle , close to each other with their shoulders hunched.

  After a moment Renda said, "Come on, let's go. We're getting out of here."

  When they realized he was speaking to them the two Chicanos looked at hi m w ide-eyed, frightened to death, and Renda said again, "Come on, move!"

  One of the Chicanos said, "We don't want to go nowhere."

  "Jesus, you think we're going to talk it over? I said we're going." Renda wa s r eaching for them now, pulling the first one to his feet, then the other one , pushing them past him in the narrow aisleway.

  The other Chicano said, "Man, I was drunk driving--I don't run away from that."

  And the Chicano who had spoken before was saying, as he was pushed to the front , "Listen, please, they see us coming out they start shooting!"

  "That's what we're going to find out," Renda said.

  He crowded them, jamming them in the doorway, then put a foot behind the secon d m an--as the man said, "Please, don't! We don't want to go!"--pushed hard and th e t wo Chicanos were out of the bus, stumbling, getting to their feet, starting t o m ake a run for it.

  Majestyk watched the two deputies in the used car lot swing their revolvers ove r t o cover them and was sure they were going to fire. But now the two Chicano s w ere running toward them with their hands raised high in the air, screaming , "Don't shoot! Please! Don't shoot!" And the deputies lowered their revolvers an d w aved them into the used car lot.

  Renda was watching, crouched by the open door as Majestyk came the rest of th e w ay up the aisle.

  "Go out there, you give yourself up or get shot," Majestyk said.

  Renda looked over his shoulder at him. He watched Majestyk step over the dea d d river and slip into the seat, lean against the steering wheel and reach wit h b oth hands to turn on the ignition.

  "What're you doing?"

  Majestyk didn't answer him. He put the bus in gear, began to ease it forward a f ew feet, then braked and shifted into reverse.

  The two deputies in the used car lot saw it happen. They moved the two Chicano s o ut of the way and returned their attention to the bus--in time to see it star t u p abruptly in reverse and smash its high rear end into the grille of thei r s quad car. The bus moved forward--God almighty--went into reverse and agai n s lammed into the car, cranked its wheels and made a U-turn out of there, leavin g t he radiator of the squad car spewing water and the two deputies watching i t p ick up speed, back the way they had come. They wanted to shoot. They wer e r eady, but at the last moment had to hold their fire because of the people i n c ars and on the sidewalk, on the other side of the street.

  Then the two city police cars were approaching the intersection from th e s outh--off to the left--their sirens wailing, and the two deputies ran out to th e s idewalk, waving their arms to flag the cars down.

  Majestyk heard the sirens, the sound growing fainter, somewhere behind them. He h eaded west on the street they had taken into town, turned north on a sid e s treet, then west again a few blocks up. Finally he slowed down and eased th e b us into an alley, behind a row of cinderblock industrial buildings tha t a ppeared deserted. He pulled the lever to open the door and looked around at th e b lack guy.

  "Here's your stop."

  "Man," the black guy said, "you know whe
re you going? If they don't shoot you?"

  Renda was in the aisle, moving toward the black guy. "Come on, Sambo, move it.

  And take them with you."

  Majestyk helped the black guy lift the bodies of the driver and the deputy an d e ase them out through the narrow doorway. Renda told them to hurry up, for Christ sake, but Majestyk paid no attention to him.

  As he got behind the wheel again the black guy, standing outside, said, "Man , what did you do?"

  Majestyk looked at him. For a moment he seemed about to say something, the n c losed the door in the black guy's face and took off down the alley.

  Move out fast and try to get to high country before the police set up roadblock s a nd got their helicopters out. That's what he had to do. Keep to the back roads , working north, get far enough away from the highway and find some good cover.

  That's what he did. Found an old sagging feed barn sitting out by itself on a d ried-up section of pasture land, pulled the bus inside, and swung the doubl e d oors shut to enclose them in dim silence.

  Majestyk remained by the crack of vertical light that showed between the doors , looking out in the direction they had come, seeing the dust settling in the su n g lare.

  Somewhere behind him in the gloom Renda said, "You move, don't you? I figure d y ou for some kind of a local clown, but you move."

  Majestyk didn't say anything.

  "What'd they bust you for?"

  "Assault."

  "With what?"

  "A shotgun."

  "Assault, shit, that's attempted murder. They were going to jam you the same a s m e."

  "Maybe," Majestyk said.

  "Maybe? What do you think you're going to do about it?"

  "I got an idea might work."

  "Listen," Renda said, "we get to a phone we're out of the country befor e m orning. Drive to Mexico, get some passports, we're gone."

  His back still to Renda, Majestyk pulled the deputy's keys out of his pocket.

  He'd almost forgotten about them, hurrying to get out of there, maybe hurryin g t oo fast and not thinking clearly. He would have to slow down a little. No t w aste time, but make sure he wasn't doing anything dumb. He listened to Renda a s h e began to study the keys and select one that would fit his handcuffs.

  "I got friends," Renda was saying, "as you noticed, huh? It was set up in a h urry and they blew it. All right, I call some more friends. They get us out o f t he country, someplace no extradition, and wait and see what happens. I go t e nough to live on, I mean high, the rest of my life. It won't be home, shit no , but it won't be in the fucking slam either. I couldn't make that. Couple o f w eeks I'd be sawing my fucking wrists." He paused. "What're you doing?"

  Majestyk didn't say anything and Renda came over to him, his face brightening a s h e saw the keys.

  "Jesus, it keeps getting better. You not only move, you think. Give me those , hold your hands up." As he tried the keys in Majestyk's handcuffs he said , "Figure if you take a long chance, get me out of there, it'd be worth something , huh? Okay, you do something for me, I do something for you. Maybe fix it so yo u c an go with me."

  Renda snapped the handcuffs open. As Majestyk slipped them off Renda handed hi m t he keys and raised his own hands to be unlocked.

  "How's that sound?"

  "I think you got it ass-backwards," Majestyk said, returning the keys to hi s p ocket. "I'm not going with you, you're going with me."

  He found an old hackamore that did the job. Looping it around the link of th e h andcuffs, he could pull Renda along by the length of rope, yank on it when Renda resisted, held back, and the cuffs would dig into his hands.

  Leaving the feed barn, hauled out into the sunlight, Renda put up a fight , yelling what the fuck was going on, calling him a crazy insane son of a bitch.

  So he belted Renda, gave him a good one right in the mouth that quieted hi m d own, and brought him along. But, God, he didn't like the look in the man's e yes. The man wanted to kill him and would probably try. So his idea had bette r t urn out to be a good one and come off without any hitches.

  All afternoon and into the evening he led Renda by the hackamore, forcing him t o k eep up as they moved through the brush country, following dry washes an d a rroyos that gradually began to climb, reaching toward the high slopes.

  Majestyk, in his work clothes and heavy work boots, had little trouble; h e s eemed at home here. He seemed to know what he was doing, where he was going.

  Renda, in his tailored suit and thin-soled shoes, stumbled along, fallin g s ometimes, getting his sweat-stained face and clothes caked with dust. Majesty k j udged the man's endurance and let him rest when he felt he was near the end o f i t. Then would pull him to his feet again and they would continue on, throug h b rush and pinyon thickets, climbing, angling across high slopes and ope n m eadows.

  He brought Renda more than ten miles this way, up into the mountains, and a t d usk when they reached the cabin--a crude one-room structure that was part timbe r a nd part adobe--he had the feeling Renda would not have gone another ten yards.

  "We're home," Majestyk said.

  Renda looked at the place with a dull, lifeless expression. "Where are we?"

  "Place I use sometimes. Mostly in hunting season."

  Inside, he found a kitchen match on a shelf, feeling for it in the dark, an d l ighted a kerosene lamp that hung from the overhead.

  "We got coffee and canned milk. Probably find some soup or some beans. I haven't b een up here since spring."

  Renda was looking around the room, at the two metal bunks with bare mattresses , the wooden table and two chairs, the cupboard with open shelves that showed a f ew cans and cobwebs, but were nearly empty. Renda went to the nearest bunk an d s at down. Majestyk followed him over, taking the keys from his pocket.

  "Hold up your hands."

  The man sure looked worn out. Renda raised his arms slowly, too tired to move.

  But as soon as Majestyk freed one of his hands, Renda came off the bunk , pushing, chopping at Majestyk with hard jabs. It took him by surprise, Renda's f ists stinging his face, and he had to back off and set himself before he coul d g o after Renda, jabbing, feinting, then slamming in a hard right that stunne d h im and dropped him to the bunk. Majestyk put a knee on him and got hi m h andcuffed to the metal frame before he could move again.

  It took something out of him. Majestyk had to sit down on the other bunk an d r est, get his breath.

  There was silence until Renda said, "All right. What do you call this game?"

  Majestyk looked over at him. "You'll find out."

  "Tomorrow night," Renda said quietly, "we could be in L. A . Stay at a place I know, get some broads in, booze, anything you want to eat or drink, get some ne w c lothes. A couple of days later we're in Mexico. Get a boat, some more broads. I mean like you never seen before. Cruise around, anything you want, it's on th e h ouse. You ever have it like that? Anything you want?"

  "I been to L. A .," Majestyk said. "I been to Mexico and I been laid."

  "Okay, what do you want?"

  "I want to get a melon crop in. That's what I want to do." Renda gave him a p uzzled look and he added, "I grow melons."

  "Hire your work done."

  "I hope to. But I got to be there."

  "I'll tell you something," Renda said, taking his time. "I've killed seven me n w ith a gun, one with a crowbar, and another guy I threw off a roof. Fiv e s tories. Some people I didn't kill but I had it done. Like I can have it don e f or you, even if I get put away and they let you off. Any way you look at it , you're dead. Unless we go out of here together. Or, we make a deal."

  "What kind of deal?"

  "Put a price on it. You take the cuffs off, I walk away. What's it cost?" Rend a w atched him closely. "If you think it's going to be hot out there, all right , you'll have dough, you can go anywhere you want." He paused. "Or if you fee l l ike taking a chance, turn yourself in, you can tell them I got away. Serve som e t ime, come out, the dough's
waiting. How much?" He paused again. "You don't kno w w hat your price is, do you? Afraid you might be low. All right, I'll tell yo u w hat it is. Twenty-five."

  "Twenty-five what?"

  "Twenty-five thousand dollars."

  It was Majestyk's turn to pause. "How would we work it? I mean how would I ge t t he money?"

  "You call a Phoenix number," Renda said. "Say you got a message for Wiley. Yo u s ay where you want the money delivered and where I can be picked up. It's al l y ou have to do."

  Majestyk seemed to be thinking about it. He said, "Twenty-five thousand, huh?"

  "Tax free."

  "Could you go any higher than that?"

  Renda grinned. "Getting greedy now. Like what's another five or ten."

  "I just wondered."

  "Twenty-five," Renda said. "That's your price. A nice round number. Buy yoursel f a tractor, a new pair of overalls. Put the rest away for your retirement." He w aited a moment. "Well, what do you think?"

  "You say I call somebody named Wiley," Majestyk said. "What's the number?"

  Chapter 5.

  THE PAPAGO TRADING POST was a highway novelty store in the desert, about thre e m iles below and east of the hunting cabin. Big red-painted signs on and aroun d t he place advertised AUTHENTIC INDIAN SOUVENIRS . . . ARROWHEADS . . . MOCCASINS. . . HOMEMADE CANDY AND ICE COLD BEER. There was a Coca-Cola sign, an Olympi a s ign, and a Coors sign.

  Majestyk came down from the cabin about nine in the morning and approached th e s tore from about three hundred yards up the highway, reading the signs an d l istening for the sounds of oncoming cars. Nobody passed him. He reached th e s tore and went inside.

  Beyond the counters displaying the trinkets and souvenirs, the Indian dolls an d b lankets, and sayings carved on varnished pieces of wood--like, "There's only on e t hing money can't buy. Poverty"--he saw the owner of the place sitting at a c ounter that was marble and looked like a soda fountain. The man was abou t s ixty, frail-looking with yellowish gray hair. He was having a beer, drinking i t f rom the can.