Killer's Town (3 page)

"He says we've already seen the police chief," said Eagle.

"We're not police. We're Jungle Patrol. Our Colonel Weeks. wants to see Mr. Koy."

Sorry, not today. Mr. Koy is busy," said Eagle, blocking the inner door.

Dave Hill brushed him aside. Koy was seated at the table, a chicken leg in his hand. Three other men seated on a no In got up as Dave entered. Koy stared at him, speechless for the moment.

"Sorry to break in, but I have my orders. I'm Sergeant Hill of the Jungle Patrol. Our Colonel Weeks wants to see you, Mr. Koy."

Koy glared at Dave Hill. Patrolmen wear khaki shorts, hn h socks and short boots, tan shirts, pith helmets. No Ktins, except during jungle duty. Dave Hill was unarmed.

Koy glared and swore, a string of obscenities that ended with ". . . and I've got no time for tin colonels and Boy Scouts. Get lost before we throw you out!"

Dave Hill moved forward swiftly. He kicked the table over, spilling dishes, glasses, and plates all' over Koy and the floor. The violence of the move threw Koy back in his chair so that he fell against the wall. Before the other men could move, Dave Hill had grabbed Koy by his collar and produced handcuffs from a back pocket.

"On your feet, you miserable hood," barked Sergeant Hill. "Are you coming with me, or do I have to put on these bracelets?" The other men had started forward. The sight of the gleaming handcuffs made them pause. All had served time in jail and the handcuffs meant the law, authority. Then Eagle held up a restraining hand.

"Of course we'll go along with you, Sergeant," he said. "We want no trouble here, do we,
Mr.
Koy?"

Koy breathed deeply.

"Right. We'll go along with you, Boy Scout."

"Good thinking," said Sergeant Dave Hill.

Koy stood before Colonel Weeks, lighting a cigar. He threw the burning match on Weeks's polished desk. Weeks put it out, and tossed it into an ashtray. Eagle, at the side of the room, watched Koy nervously.

"We already saw the police chief. He runs this town. Why do I have to see you?" said Koy.

"This is not the police department. This is the Jungle Patrol. We cover the jungle borders. You and your men were seen entering the jungle on the Phantom trail. That makes you our business."

Koy glanced at Eagle.

"We took a ride. Do we need your permission?" said Eagle.

"Not ordinarily," said Colonel Weeks. "In the case of known criminals, we ask questions."

"You can't talk to me like that. I did my time. I'm a free man," shouted Koy.

Colonel Weeks looked at him quietly.

"No need to shout, Mr. Koy. My hearing is quite adequate for normal conversation."

Koy held back his anger. The quiet manner and aristocratic British accent of this smooth, gray-haired soldier infuriated him.

"What is your business in the jungle? Why did you drive directly there upon your arrival at the airport?"

Koy looked at Eagle, his mouthpiece.

"We'd been in the air a long time. We wanted a ride. We wanted to see the jungle. That's all," said Eagle.

"Yeah, that's it," said Koy.

The Colonel studied the two men for a moment.

"That's it, for now," he said softly. "Remember, this is our country. There's no room for your mob here."

"Who needs a jungle?" snorted Koy. "I'm a city boy.*"

'Your visa expires in three months. There will be no extension. Not an hour. Good day," said Colonel Weeks. Koy left the office muttering. Back in the hotel suite, he exploded.

"That idiot! If I ever get my hands on him!" he roared.

"Easy, Killer," said Eagle. "He's the law."

Koy turned on him.

"The law?" he shouted. "I said I wanted a place with no law. Jungle patrol, police chief—here they've got two laws."

He swung his heavy fist, hitting Eagle in the face. The slim lawyer fell back onto the couch, then onto the floor. Koy was boiling with anger. He pulled a switch-blade knife from his pocket and snapped open the long blade. His eyes were wild as he glared at the fallen Eagle.

"Two laws—that policeman—that idiot Colonel!" he shouted.

Eagle stared at him, paralyzed with fear. He'd seen this murderous rage in this boss before.

"Jeez, Killer, take it easy," he managed to choke out. 'You're getting your own town. You'll be the law, the only law."

"Yeah," rumbled big Sport, coming forward to protect Eagle, "your own town, Killer. Call it Killer's Town." "Yes, Killer's Town," said Eagle quickly, and the other Watching men picked it up, making laughing sounds, but their eyes remained hard, watching Killer's big knife.

"Yeah, Killer's Town," said Koy. "That's good. Killer's

Town."

He breathed deeply, and walked to the window, closing the knife as he tried to recover from his maniacal rage.

Eagle got slowly to his feet with Sport's help, and felt his throat. That had been a close one.

In Jungle Patrol Headquarters, Colonel Weeks and .Sergeant Hill discussed their visitors.

"Murderous hoods, all armed. How do you figure them, sir?" asked Sergeant Dave Hill.

"Don't know yet, Dave," Weeks replied. It was rarely that he called a patrolman by his first name. "I was wrong to send you alone into that snake pit."

"I managed, sir," said Dave Hill. "For a minute there, it didn't look good."

"That Koy deserves his nickname. He's a bad one. We'll keep an eye on them."

"Yes sir."

27

The work at New Metropolis went on at a furious rate around the clock. Construction, remodeling, demolition. Big fires burned night and day, consuming the almost endless trash, rotten timbers, and junk. Tracks rumbled in at all hours loaded with materials. Some deliveries were made by boat. A finger of salt water from Bangalla Bay reached in to touch the property. There were old crumbling wharfs and a deep-water anchorage where the ore-carrying boats had been loaded in the old days. Workmen were housed in a small city of tents. There were no union rules to delay matters here. They worked night and day with time out for meals and sleep. The work was supervised by two of Koy's specialists, Slim and Spaghetti, both of whom he had met in prison.

Slim, an architect, had served time for embezzlement. Spaghetti, a former construction foreman, had been sentenced after he tried to settle a labor dispute with a sledge hammer. The union delegate, en the receiving end of the sledge hammer, spent six months in a hospital; Sphagetti got six years in jail. Sport, the ex-bouncer, moved among the workmen with a club, discouraging any cigarette or coffee breaks. Koy was not seen during this time, remaining in seclusion in his hotel suite, entertained with endless sessions of poker, which he always won, and occasional visits from "ladies" of the town.

Matthew Crumb watched all this activity in dazed amazement. He had rescued his sagging chaise lounge from a pile of trash just as workmen were about to burn it. He dragged it into a clear space among the weeds and settled himself there with a case of beer. The never-ending cases of beer, appearing at his side as if by a miracle, were supplied by the indulgent Eagle. In answer to Crumb's repeated question of "where's my money?" Eagle would nod and wink and send over another case of beer. From this happy vantage point, Crumb watched the turmoil that was transforming the ghost town.

All this activity could not be kept secret, nor was there any attempt to do so. Word reached town of the construction work going on in the jungle. There was speculation

Hint the attempt was being made to reopen the old gold mines. Others said that timber interests were at work. Hut since the area was far beyond the city of Mawitaan and its suburbs, none of the official bureaus was involved.

A casual watch had been kept on Koy at the hotel, both by the police and the Jungle Patrol. Some of his henchmen were no longer observed there. It was assumed they had left the country. But it was obvious that Koy himself remained m seclusion in the hotel. As long as he behaved himself, there was no reason to interfere with him. Besides, his time in Bangalla would soon be up.

The morning before that final day, Colonel Weeks, Chief Togando, and the Immigration Department discussed the matter by phone. It was agreed they would jointly escort Koy to the airport and make sure he took off. All were relieved that the ganglord's stay in Mawitaan had caused no trouble. But the next day, when a patrolman inquired at the front desk for Koy, the clerk told him Koy and his party had checked out during the night, leaving no forwarding address. They'd left in three big limousines, with all their luggage and a few "ladies" of the town who had joined the group.

Koy had not disappeared. The Patrol quickly learned where he had gone. To that old ghost town, New Metropolis.

"What's he trying to prove?" said Colonel Weeks on the telephone to Chief Togando. "That place is still Bangalla." He was wrong about that, as he was to learn. He called in Sergeant Dave Hill.

"Our man skipped into the woods, to that old town," said the Colonel. "Who is that old man out there?"

"Matthew Crumb, sir. I just looked it up. He calls himself the Governor-General," he added, grinning.

"Go out there and escort Koy and his crowd back to the airport. Take eight men, with automatic weapons. If Koy resists, use whatever force is necessary."

"Yes sir."

The three Patrol vehicles sped along the bumpy jungle road known as the Phantom trail. (Nobody in town seemed to know where that name had come from. Arvbody in the jungle could have told them.) The road seemed bumpier than ever. As the Patrol cars reached the last turn, they stopped to examine a large new sign at the side of the road.

KILLER'S TOWN
Private—No Admittance

That was good for a laugh among the patrolmen, and they rode on. What they saw next was no laughing matter. They were amazed.

A new little town was growing behind high new walls, topped with spikes and broken glass. A gate of heavy iron bars was closed and locked. A man armed with an automatic rifle peered at them from the gate. Behind him, on the newly paved street, there was much activity. Towering over the smaller new buildings was the remodeled forty-seven- room mansion, now bearing a large neon sign—The Killer Hilton.

Sergeant Hill went to the gate, gun in hand.

"Jungle Patrol," he said. "Open up."

The guard, hulking Sport, glared at him.

"You saw the sign back there. No admittance. This is private property."

"None of your lip. Unlock this gate or we'll blow it open. We want Koy."

A voice called to him from the background. Through the bars, he saw Koy standing on a second-floor balcony near the hotel sign.

"You heard him, Boy Scout. Ever hear of trespassing? This is my town. You got no right here. Blow!" shouted Koy. The ganglord wasn't angry now. He appeared delighted with himself, and the men with him laughed appreciatively. Hill hesitated. Koy's words seemed to carry the ring of truth. A raggedy man shuffled toward the gates. He was drinking from a beer can as he walked.

"That's right. All his now," said Matthew Crumb.

"The Governor-General," said Hill. "What is all this, Crumb?"

"I sold it to him. The whole place," said Matthew.

"So what?" said Hill. "You're under arrest, Koy. You and your whole gang," he shouted.

Koy and the men on the balcony laughed.

"You can't arrest me, Boy Scout. Your law's no good here. I'm the law here now. Tell that to your scoutmaster, Colonel Weeks—the idiot!" More laughter from the balcony.

Hill went back to the other patrolmen.

"What do you think? Shall we break in?" he said.

"There is something about this place that's special, I seem to remember," said an older patrolman.
"An
independent enclave, something like that. Bangalla almost fought a war over it ten years ago."

"We'll go back and check it out," said Hill. He turned

back to the gate and shouted to Koy, still visible on the
bal
cony.

"We'll be back, Koy."

They could still hear the thugs' shouts and laughter as (hey made the turn at the new sign:

KILLER'S TOWN
Private—No Admittance

They checked the records. It was true. The Jungle Patrol had no authority over New Metropolis, now Killer's Town. Neither had the Mawitaan police. Nor the Bangallan military. Nobody had. It was an independent free port.

"How in hell did that happen?" bellowed Colonel Weeks. It was rare that Weeks, a quiet and religious man, either roared or used profanity.