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Read Ebook: The King of the City by Laumer Keith Finlay Virgil Illustrator
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Ebook has 405 lines and 29565 words, and 9 pages
"Douse 'em, Rube."
I went back and cut the lights. Three men sauntered out onto the highway.
"Keep the hands away from the sides, Rube."
One of the men was a head taller than the others. I couldn't see his face in the faint red light from the beacon, but I knew who he was.
"Hello, Naples," I said.
He came up to me. "You know me, Rube?"
"Sure," I said. "The first thing Haug told me was pay my respects to Mr. Naples."
Naples laughed. "You hear that, boys? They know me pretty good on the outside, ha?"
He looked at me, not laughing any more. "I don't see you before."
"My first trip."
He jerked a thumb at the hack. "Who's your trick?"
"A businessman. Name is Stenn."
"Yeah? What kind business?"
I shook my head. "We don't quiz the cash customers, Joe."
"Let's take a look." Naples moved off toward the hack, the boys at his side. I followed. Naples looked in at Stenn. Stenn sat relaxed and looked straight ahead. Naples turned away, nodded to one of his helpers. The two moved off a few yards.
The other man, a short bullet-headed thug in a grease-spatted overcoat, stood by the hack, staring in at Stenn. He took a heavy old-style automatic from his coat pocket, pulled open the door. He aimed the gun at Stenn's head and carefully squeezed the trigger.
The hammer clicked emptily.
"Ping," he said. He thrust the gun back in his pocket, kicked the door shut and went over to join Naples.
"Okay, Rube," Naples called.
I went over to him.
"I guess maybe you on the level," he said. "Standard fee. Five hundred, Old Federal notes."
I had to be careful now. I held a bland expression, reached in--slowly--took out my wallet. I extracted two hundred-C notes and held them out.
Naples looked at them, unmoving. The thug in the dirty overcoat moved up close, and suddenly swung the edge of his palm at my wrist. I was ready; I flicked my hand aside and chopped him hard at the base of the neck. He dropped.
I was still holding out the money.
"That clown isn't worthy of a place in the Naples organization," I said.
Naples looked down at the man, stirred him with his foot.
"A clown," he said. He took the money and tucked it in his shirt pocket.
"Okay, Rube," he said. "My regards to Haug."
I got in the hack and moved up to the barrier. It started up, trundled aside. Naples was bending over the man I had downed. He took the pistol from the pocket of the overcoat, jacked the action and aimed. There was a sharp crack. The overcoat flopped once. Naples smiled over at me.
"He ain't worthy a place in the Naples organization," he said.
I waved a hand vaguely and gunned off down the road.
The speaker in my ear hummed.
I grunted an acknowledgement and a blurred voice said, "Smith, listen. When you cross the South Radial, pick up the Midwest Feed-off. Take it easy and watch for Number Nine Station. Pull off there. Got it?"
I recognized the voice. It was Lefty, Haug's Number One boy. I didn't answer.
"What was the call?" Stenn asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Nothing."
The lights of the South Radial Intermix were in sight ahead now.
I slowed to a hundred and thought about it. My personal motives told me to keep going, my job as a paid Escort was to get my man where he wanted to go. That was tough enough, without detours. I eased back up to one-fifty, took the Intermix with gyros screaming, and curved out onto the thruway.
The speaker hummed. "What are you trying to pull, wise guy?" He sounded mad. "That was the South Radial you just passed up--"
"Yeah," I said. "That's right. Smitty takes 'em there and he brings 'em back. Don't call us, we'll call you."
There was a long hum from the speaker. "Oh, a wiseacre," it said finally. "Listen, rookie, you got a lot to learn. This guy is bankrolled. I seen the wad when he paid Haug off. So all right, we cut you in. Now, get this...."
He gave me detailed instructions. When he was finished, I said, "Don't wait up for me."
I took the speaker out of my ear and dropped it into the disposal slot. We drove along quietly for quite a while.
I was beginning to recognize my surroundings. This section of the turnpike had been opened the year before I left home. Except for the lack of traffic and the dark windows along the way it hadn't changed.
I was wondering just what Lefty's next move would be when a pair of powerful beams came on from the left, then pulled onto the highway, speeding up to pace me. I rocketed past before he had made full speed. I heard a loud spang, and glass chips scattered on my shoulder. I twisted and looked. A starred hole showed in the bubble, above the rear seat.
"Duck!" I yelled. Stenn leaned over, put his head down.
The beams were gaining on me. I twisted the rear viewer, hit the I/R switch. A three-ton combat car, stripped, but still mounting twin infinite repeaters. Against that, old 16 was a kiddie car. I held my speed and tried to generate an idea. What I came up with wasn't good, but it was all I had.
A half a mile ahead there should be a level-split, one of those awkward ones that caused more than one pile-up in the first few months the turnpike was open. Maybe my playmates didn't know about it.
They were about to overtake me now. I slowed just a little, and started fading to the right. They followed me, crowding my rear wheel. I heard the spang again, twice, but nothing hit me. I was on the paved shoulder now, and could barely see the faded yellow cross-hatching that warned of the abutment that divided the pavement ahead.
I held the hack in the yellow until the last instant, then veered right and cleared the concrete barrier by a foot, hit the down-curve at a hundred and eighty in a howl of gyros and brakes--and the thunderous impact of the combat car.
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