Killer's Town (6 page)

"As usual. Say, do you happen to know—is Miss Weeks having lunch with the Colonel?"

"Now what business is that of yours, bub?"

"Put it down to unrequited love."

"We're in the same club, bub. Nope, the beauteous lady took off on her brown charger this
A.M
. I saw her go. Wished I was going too."

The two patrolmen looked at each other in alarm.

"Find out if she's back yet."

"Why bub?"

"No questions. Please, just make it fast. Urgent."

"Urgent? Er, sure."

They waited in their vehicle on top of the shaded hill, a mile from Killer's Town. Then the radio broke in.

"This is Colonel Weeks. Sergeant Hill?"

"Yes sir."

"Why are you asking about my daughter."

Sergeant Hill gulped, looked at his partner, then plunged

in.

"I don't wish to alarm you, sir. Maybe it wasn't Miss Weeks at all."

"What wasn't? Come to the point, Hill."

"We watched a red-haired girl in a red shirt ride a brown horse into Killer's Town a few minutes ago, sir."

"Killer's Town. Who was it?" % ,

"We're a mile away, sir, as you know. Wc were both watching through binoculars."

"How could you imagine it was—she was—my daughter?"

"It's stupid, sir, but we both got the same idea."

"Was the woman taken in by force, Hill?"

"No sir. Rode up by herself, went in by herself. No force."

"My god!" A silence. Then, "Can't be. I'll send out men to find her. Keep in touch. Over."

The men went out. Naturally, they didn't find her. But they did talk to people who'd seen her racing by, entering the Phantom Trail. The men, patrolmen trained in tracking, followed the hoofprints of Dynamite all the way to the sign:
"Killer's Town
—Private—No Admittance."

As Caroline rode into the town, she was surprised by the empty streets. It should be buzzing with people at midday. She couldn't know that the inhabitants of Killer's Town caroused all night and slept half the day. Most of them were just now having breakfast. There were a few native workmen sitting in the shade eating a simple lunch. One man walked out on the street, ah old barefooted man with a scraggly beard and ragged clothes, carrying a can of beer. Caroline reined up the tired Dynamite beside him.

"Sir, where can I go for a sandwich and tea?"

He shaded his eyes and looked up at her. Ages had passed since anyone called him sir.

"The inn over there, I guess," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

She rode off. He shook his head. He knew a lady when he saw one. Such a fresh, lovely young woman. What was she doing here? Caroline rode to the middle of the block, to the big white building set back from the street, fronted by a broad green lawn. She giggled at the sign: Killer Hilton. She dismounted, tied Dynamite to a gatepost, and walked into the inn. It seemed an odd hotel, no bellboys, no desk clerks, no front desk. In fact, no one but a tall thin man who looked at her curiously and, in answer to her query about food, pointed to a side door.

She entered a room that was filled with laughing and shouting men and a few women. It appeared to be a bar and grill, more bar than grill. The room quieted as all turned to look at her. She was used to men's stares, but not like this. She had the sudden feeling that she'd walked into a den of wild animals. She turned to leave. A young man walked up to her, and took her arm. He had curly blond hair and pale-blue eyes, like a wolf.

"Help you, Miss?" he said, grinning.

"I just wanted a sandwich and some tea," said Caroline, pulling her arm away.

The blond man turned to the others.

"She just wants a sandwich and tea," he said, trying to imitate Caroline's prim British accent. Everyone howled with laughter.

"1*11 fix you up—and I mean fix," he added loudly for the others. This caused more laughter and shouting. Caroline was frightened now. She tried to pull away, but the man held her tightly and started to lead her to a side door. Two other men had come in another door, Slim and Koy. Slim was pointing to the girl.

"Just a minute," said Koy, walking toward Caroline and Pretty.

"I saw her first," said Pretty.

"Who are you? How did you get here?" said Koy, ignoring Pretty.

"I was out riding. I just saw this place. I came in for lunch," said Caroline, bewildered now as well as frightened.

"Just saw the place. Do you know what place this is?"

"No. I saw a silly—I mean an odd—sign on the road."

"Silly? Odd?" said Koy, grinning at the girl's obvious confusion, as he took inventory of her clear skin and youth- ful figure. "Come with me into my office, and we'll discuss this." I a

"I saw her first," said Pretty.

"There's nothing to discuss," said Caroline, becoming angry. "I've done nothing. I wish to leave."

Koy grinned again, still ignoring Pretty.

"How do I know you're not a spy?"

"A spy! For what?" she said indignantly. "My name is Caroline Weeks. My father is Colonel Weeks of the Jungle Patrol."

A bomb dropped in the middle of the room might have caused the same surprise. The men and women at the tables stared. Even Pretty reacted with a backward step. But Killer Koy grabbed her arm and pulled her to him so that his eyes glared into hers.

"You're who? Are you putting me on?"

"Caroline Weeks," said Caroline weakly.

"Your father's who?"

"Colonel Weeks."

"I thought you said that."

He stepped back and surveyed her from head to toe.

"How about that! You just dropped in for tea and toast."

"No, for a sandwich," said Caroline unhappily, aware that something was terribly wrong.

"Does your daddy know you're here?" continued Koy, while the crowd listened alertly.

"No. He knows I took a ride into the jungle."

"Knows you took a ride. Didn't he tell you about this place?"

"This place ... uh ... no, what place?"

"Killer's Town."

"Is that a real name?"

The crowd laughed at that, a quick, ugly laugh.

_ Koy looked at the girl thoughtfully. He couldn't believ his luck. The one man he'd met in this new world whom h thoroughly hated was Colonel Weeks. And this was hi daughter who had just walked in. He waved to Sport, standing at the side with squat, powerful Baldy.

"Lock her up in that room next to my office," he sai

Pretty stepped up to Koy, his pale-blue eyes narrow.

"I told you, I saw her first."

Killer Koy looked at him thoughtfully. This mad do. was bound to cause trouble, unless he knew who was givin the orders. He smiled for a moment. Pretty relaxed. The Killer Koy slammed him in the mouth. As Pretty staggere back, Sport chopped him on the back of his neck, and Bal dy kicked him in the stomach as he fell. He lay on th floor, clutching his stomach and writhing. Baldy was read with another kick to the head, but Koy stopped him.

"Any more trouble from you, and you're stone dead. Got that, Pretty boy?" he snarled.

Pretty groaned. Koy kicked him in the side.

"Got that?"

"Yes."

"Throw him outside till he cools off," said Koy. Sport and Baldy did just that. They tossed Pretty from the veranda to the grass. Pretty lay there, curled up, his head filled with murder. When the time comes, when I get my chance, he told himself. Koy talked quickly to his little group of aides. "Keep an eye on that guy all the time. If he acts up again, blow his head off."

Caroline, pressed back against the wall, watched the action in horror. What kind of place was this? Who were these awful men? Nobody told her. Koy's orders were carried out, and she was locked up in a small bare room on the top floor of the inn—a room without windows.

Colonel Weeks, desperately anxious, waited in his office until night. Though the hoofprints could have been Dynamite's, though the red-haired girl might have been Caroline, she could have been someone else. He tried to recall if he had mentioned Killer's Town to her. He couldn't remember for certain, but he had a sinking feeling he hadn't. Why would she enter the place? If she was ignorant of the place, could she have gone in out of curiosity. Why? He tortured himself, waiting, wondering, hoping that his precious daughter would come bouncing into his office, telling about her great day on Dynamite, and all this worry would be for nothing. The entire Patrol was worrying with him. The new off-duty men watched from the windows or the gates. The word spread to the far-flung patrolmen on missions—and they kept in touch by radio. "Has the girl returned yet?" "No." Tension mounted each hour. As it was reaching the snapping point—it snapped.

A
note for Colonel Weeks was on its way from Killer's Town. One of the native workmen had come out of the gates waving a white handkerchief on a stick. Obviously scared, he had walked directly to one of the Jungle Patrol observation vehicles. The man had been forced to do this. His wife, who worked as a cleaning woman in the Inn, was held as hostage to guarantee his behavior. Koy watched him approach the Patrol car through binoculars, pleased with his own cleverness. The Patrol car raced, back to town with the man, sending the word ahead by radio. Weeks waited nervously at the front gate, pacing back and forth until the car arrived. He snatched the note from the frightened man.

Weeks:

She's here. Want to make a deal to get her out? Drive back with this man to our gates. Come alone, or you'll never see her alive.

The note was unsigned. Weeks ordered the patrolmen out of the car and took the wheel. The trembling black man sat beside him. A group of patrolmen massed around the car protesting.

"You can't go alone."

"I've no choice."

He was wearing no jacket, no hat, no gun, as he backed the car out of the Patrol driveway and sped off into the night. The patrolmen stared after him, angry, helpless. He raced through the town, out to the Phantom Trail, and sped on grimly through the woods, disregarding the bumps. The black man held on as the car bounced.

"Did you see my daughter?" asked the Colonel.

"No sir."

That was the extent of the conversation. The Patrol cars still posted about Killer's Town saw the lights of the car as it approached. They had been forewarned by radio and did not interfere. The Colonel sped past the road sign—Killer's

Town—then stopped at the closed gates. There were no lights on in the town behind the wall and also no sounds. They were waiting. The Colonel jumped from his car and ran to the gate. He grabbed the bars, shaking them, and called out.

"I'm here."

Brilliant light flashed into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. A dozen powerful searchlights were trained on the gate. He covered his eyes with his arm. A voice boomed out, amplified by a megaphone.

"You got my note, Weeks."

"Where's my daughter?" Weeks shouted, still covering his eyes.

"She's with us. Safe—not hurt yet."

Weeks groaned at that.

"Want her back? Here's the deal. Get off our backs. Get your guys away from my town for good. We want your promise in writing. We want those Boy Scouts of yours out of those hills and gone for good. Got it?"

"Listen to me, you miserable ... if you think," began Weeks, boiling with fury.

"Easy, pop. We're holding all the cards—your kid."

Weeks doubled his fists, trying to control his anger, and shouted through clenched teeth.

"How do I know she's safe and unhurt as you say?"

"Don't you trust our word?" came the mocking reply.

"No!"

"Okay, wait a minute." Then some indistinct mumbling. Weeks waited tensely, still blinded by the bright lights. Suddenly, he was in the dark. Another searchlight turned on, shining not at him but at the roof level of the high building called Killer Hilton.

On top of the renovated old building that had formerly been the Governor-General's mansion, there was a railing and platform, the kind known as a widow's walk. Two searchlights illuminated it. Several figures appeared up there, a girl held by two burly men. In the dark, outside the gates, Weeks stared. Caroline's voice came through the megaphone.

"I'm—I'm alright, daddy," she said.

"Caroline, have they hurt you?" shouted Weeks.

"No, daddy," came the slight, frightened voice.

Evidently the megaphone switched hands. The next voice was the first one he had heard.