skittering sounds, squeekings, scratching. A few of the gray rats came climbing out through the ruined windows.
Harmon laughed and took a shot at them. “Take that, you rats!”
The slug blew one of them to pieces. The rest tried now, desperately, to climb back into the chalet.
Harmon laughed again, pounded on the door, and then kicked it open. “More fun with a .22,” he said.
Some of the rats had been feasting on something in the moldy hallway.
Harmon kicked it aside, then reached back and pulled the girl into the house. “Not as fancy as the place you and Gil have, but still on the Sound.” He gave her a shove toward the living room.
The slant roof covered almost all of the room. It smelled of damp, of the rats, and of decay. The face curtains hung in shreds, and there were black ugly streaks of mildew across the remains of the bold paintings on the peeling walls.
“There’s good King Art being ferried to his final rest,” said Harmon. “Nice piece of work, very good figure sense the guy had. Too bad the rats got to it. I guess maybe you don’t feel these things, not being an artist yourself. But I really get to worrying sometimes. The guy that painted all this was famous once, really famous. Now nobody even knows who he was. And here’s one of his best pieces of work falling apart.”
“Maybe the Wonderman comic books you helped out on will last longer.”
“Sure, it’s possible,” said Harmon. “Oh, I know you’re digging at me, Jeanne, in that sweet way of yours. But I’m serious. I’m a very good artist. Gil isn’t bad, for that matter, though he hasn’t got the real spark.”
“He’s done all right.”
“How much talent you have and how much money you make, those things don’t always go together, dear.” He pointed at a gutted sofa that stood next to the sooty fireplace. “You go sit over on that like a nice girl.”
“Wayne, you must realize that what you’re trying to do isn’t going to work.”
“Sit down, like I told you, Jeanne,” said Harmon in a slow, careful voice. “You don’t seem to understand what I’ve been telling you. If I’m caught, I’ll be executed. I don’t want that to happen. But, get this through your head, if they try to close in on me . . . If the FBI or the cops or that fool Avenger come near me, I’ll kill you. See, they’re not going to win, no matter what. Not going to win everything. The only way they can get you back alive is to do exactly what I say. The minute anything funny happens, then you’re dead, dear. Do you understand me?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, seating herself on the wreck of a sofa. “I think I really do. You were probably the one who first suggested the whole scheme to your superiors, weren’t you? The idea of using Gil’s strip, the plan to make him have another breakdown.”
“Yes, dear, that was my idea. And a damn good one, if the idiots I work with hadn’t fouled it up.”
“Really, Wayne, I don’t think you care any more for their cause or for your homeland than you care for anything else,” said the girl. “You did all this because you’re jealous of Gil and of me.”
Harmon said, “Very profound, dear. You’ve got little Wayne all figured out, haven’t you? Well, you can tell that lovely theory of yours to all the rats here. I’m sure it’ll make more sense to them than it does to me.” He pointed the gun at her. “Now, you just sit there and you say nothing. I’m going outside for a while. Don’t try to leave, or I’ll shoot you down. You understand me?”
“Yes,” she said.
CHAPTER XXIII
Dropping In
Cole took three steps out of the private hangar, then stopped dead in his tracks. He put one hand against his chest, against the harness of his parachute. “It’s you, Nellie,” he said. “For a moment I thought it was Amelia Earhart come back to haunt us.”
Nellie, in flying suit, helmet, and goggles, made a curtsy. “Nerts to you,” she said demurely.
The Avenger, adjusting
Harmon laughed and took a shot at them. “Take that, you rats!”
The slug blew one of them to pieces. The rest tried now, desperately, to climb back into the chalet.
Harmon laughed again, pounded on the door, and then kicked it open. “More fun with a .22,” he said.
Some of the rats had been feasting on something in the moldy hallway.
Harmon kicked it aside, then reached back and pulled the girl into the house. “Not as fancy as the place you and Gil have, but still on the Sound.” He gave her a shove toward the living room.
The slant roof covered almost all of the room. It smelled of damp, of the rats, and of decay. The face curtains hung in shreds, and there were black ugly streaks of mildew across the remains of the bold paintings on the peeling walls.
“There’s good King Art being ferried to his final rest,” said Harmon. “Nice piece of work, very good figure sense the guy had. Too bad the rats got to it. I guess maybe you don’t feel these things, not being an artist yourself. But I really get to worrying sometimes. The guy that painted all this was famous once, really famous. Now nobody even knows who he was. And here’s one of his best pieces of work falling apart.”
“Maybe the Wonderman comic books you helped out on will last longer.”
“Sure, it’s possible,” said Harmon. “Oh, I know you’re digging at me, Jeanne, in that sweet way of yours. But I’m serious. I’m a very good artist. Gil isn’t bad, for that matter, though he hasn’t got the real spark.”
“He’s done all right.”
“How much talent you have and how much money you make, those things don’t always go together, dear.” He pointed at a gutted sofa that stood next to the sooty fireplace. “You go sit over on that like a nice girl.”
“Wayne, you must realize that what you’re trying to do isn’t going to work.”
“Sit down, like I told you, Jeanne,” said Harmon in a slow, careful voice. “You don’t seem to understand what I’ve been telling you. If I’m caught, I’ll be executed. I don’t want that to happen. But, get this through your head, if they try to close in on me . . . If the FBI or the cops or that fool Avenger come near me, I’ll kill you. See, they’re not going to win, no matter what. Not going to win everything. The only way they can get you back alive is to do exactly what I say. The minute anything funny happens, then you’re dead, dear. Do you understand me?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, seating herself on the wreck of a sofa. “I think I really do. You were probably the one who first suggested the whole scheme to your superiors, weren’t you? The idea of using Gil’s strip, the plan to make him have another breakdown.”
“Yes, dear, that was my idea. And a damn good one, if the idiots I work with hadn’t fouled it up.”
“Really, Wayne, I don’t think you care any more for their cause or for your homeland than you care for anything else,” said the girl. “You did all this because you’re jealous of Gil and of me.”
Harmon said, “Very profound, dear. You’ve got little Wayne all figured out, haven’t you? Well, you can tell that lovely theory of yours to all the rats here. I’m sure it’ll make more sense to them than it does to me.” He pointed the gun at her. “Now, you just sit there and you say nothing. I’m going outside for a while. Don’t try to leave, or I’ll shoot you down. You understand me?”
“Yes,” she said.
CHAPTER XXIII
Dropping In
Cole took three steps out of the private hangar, then stopped dead in his tracks. He put one hand against his chest, against the harness of his parachute. “It’s you, Nellie,” he said. “For a moment I thought it was Amelia Earhart come back to haunt us.”
Nellie, in flying suit, helmet, and goggles, made a curtsy. “Nerts to you,” she said demurely.
The Avenger, adjusting
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