Dirty Harry 12 - The Dealer of Death (19 page)

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

The Dan Wesson Turner had given him had been left in his cottage. But he made sure never to step out unarmed. His .44 Magnum rested comfortingly against his chest. That he carried a gun even when he was off-duty went unquestioned in the Silk household. After all, he’d been hired not just as a chauffeur but also as a bodyguard. In Jay Silk’s opinion, security was a round-the-clock business.

Hastening down the stairs, he reached the living room only half a minute before Silk himself.

Silk regarded Gallant questioningly. Obviously, he wanted to know what he was doing in his living room in the middle of the night when he should have been asleep in his own bed, but he determined the source of the commotion was of more pressing significance at the moment.

“I heard a gunshot,” Gallant said.

“So did I.” Silk was in his bathrobe, a small caliber pistol in hand.

At that instant the alarm went off, producing a shrill rhythmic blast. All over the house lights flashed on as the servants, abruptly shaken from their sleep, awoke to see what was responsible for this disturbance.

“It’s coming from the right wing of the house,” Gallant said, bringing his own gun into view.

The two of them raced through the many halls and rooms that constituted the right wing. Before they got to the new kitchen, which was to be distinguished from the older one in the left wing, Gallant stopped Silk.

“Wait, I think I saw somebody up there. You stay back, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

It was Gallant’s hope he could singlehandedly overcome the intruder and prove to Silk not only was he a shrewd judge of art, but he was a courageous, and highly efficient, bodyguard as well. Who knows, if he succeeded at this his promotion might come about that much sooner.

Silk stayed back although he wasn’t happy about it. He too was anxious to be in on the kill.

Gallant advanced forward. The kitchen was in darkness, but he could still make out the broken glass in the door the intruder had broken through.

At that moment, he heard a voice behind him. He whipped around, but too late—the man had somehow managed to slip behind him.

“I’m not here to harm anybody,” he said though he kept his gun trained on him. “I’m just here to talk.”

With the absence of light, and in view of his position, Gallant was able to get only a partial glimpse of the man addressing him. He didn’t need to see him with any greater clarity. The voice served to identify him well enough. It was Harry Callahan.

For several moments, Gallant remained stationary. He didn’t drop his gun, he stayed where he was. Did Harry know who he was? If not then he was safe. There was no need to act as anything other than a loyal employee of Jay Silk.

Silk had also heard Harry’s voice. He approached him

“Callahan,” he said, “what is the meaning of all this? Most of my visitors generally phone ahead. They seldom feel a need to break into my house.”

“The situation didn’t allow me that luxury,” Harry said. “I came to warn you and Sheila.”

Silk stepped closer to Harry. Both men seemed to have momentarily forgotten about Gallant.

Even so Gallant was breathing easier. There’d been no sign of recognition on Harry’s part although Gallant knew exactly why he was here.

“Warn us?” Silk’s voice betrayed his anger and incredulity. “Warn us about what, for God’s sake?”

“I believe the man who killed your son-in-law has infiltrated your estate.”

“You’re mad.”

Slowly, Gallant turned so he now faced Silk and Harry. Harry barely glanced at him. Gallant was thoroughly convinced his disguise was effective. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to Jonas Pine, quack that he was. The man could do wonders with cosmetic surgery.

Harry was attempting to explain why he believed James Gallant might well be a member of his staff. Gallant was shaking his head. “I think you have jumped to conclusions that are unwarranted by the facts. You are making suppositions, Callahan.”

The alarm was still going. It was getting on Silk’s nerves. He interrupted his discussion and told Gallant to shut it off. “And call the police, tell them it’s a mistake. You know the code, don’t you?”

Gallant allowed he did and hurried off to obey Silk. He was happy to keep the police out of this affair. It was messy enough already.

When he’d done as Silk had requested, and come back into the kitchen, he still found the two arguing. But they were no longer alone. Sheila, clad in a robe of red terrycloth, had joined them. She seemed utterly confused. Her eyes sought Gallant’s as though she expected he would be able to explain everything.

“I have heard you’ve been in grave difficulty with your own colleagues,” Silk said. “Look at you! You look like somebody’s just swept you up off the corner of Mission Street. I think you are deranged.” All his animosity toward police officers was coming out. “Haven’t you done enough to make my daughter’s life miserable?”

“Daddy!” Sheila protested. “Don’t!”

Silk wouldn’t even look at her. As far as he was concerned, this was no longer any of her business.

Harry realized he was making no headway.

Silk was growing impatient, he wanted to be through with this disagreeable encounter. “I will do you a favor, Callahan. If you will go on your way peacefully and promise never to come back here, I will let the matter rest. Otherwise, I will be obliged to notify your superiors and see to it you are placed under arrest.”

Harry gave Sheila an imploring look, but she seemed too stunned, too bemused, to intervene on his behalf. Maybe, Gallant thought, she wanted Harry to be on his way, just like Silk did. Just like he did.

It seemed Harry was about to capitulate. He shrugged, and forlornly started toward the door minutes before he’d broken through.

To get to the door, he had to pass by Gallant. The kitchen was too narrow to avoid him. Gallant couldn’t restrain a small smile of triumph as Harry came close to him. This was not the kind of revenge he’d imagined, but it was satisfying enough in any case.

Just then Harry looked into his face. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then continued on a few steps, only to stop again. Gallant observed the path Harry’s eyes were taking. He realized Harry was staring at the gun he held. A .44 Magnum just like Harry’s.

Harry stared hard at Gallant’s face. Their eyes met.

“You!” was all Harry said.

C H A P T E R
S i x t e e n

J
ust then they were distracted by the sight of six-year-old Louise. Clad in a nightgown, she wandered dazedly into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” she inquired, startled by the sight of three armed men surrounding her mother.

“Get back, sweetheart,” Sheila urged her. “Go back to bed.”

Before anyone could react, the woman responsible for the child’s welfare came into the kitchen. Evidently, she’d been chasing after Louise.

“Miss Travis, please take Louise back to bed.”

Miss Travis, sensing the danger without, however, being exactly sure of its nature, attempted to do just that.

Gallant sprang forward and wrested hold of the little girl, placing the gun to her head. Sheila screamed. Harry automatically turned his own weapon toward Gallant, but quickly realized that there was nothing to be done. He couldn’t fire without jeopardizing Louise’s life. Meanwhile, Silk remained motionless, confused to the point of paralysis. “What is happening here?” he demanded. No one answered him.

Miss Travis was the only one who refused to acknowledge Gallant had the upperhand. Without thinking, she pounded her fists against Gallant’s back, shouting, “Let her go! Let the child go!”

“Miss Travis, no!” Sheila took a step forward as though she meant to restrain the woman, but Harry stopped her.

“Both of you, drop your guns,” Gallant commanded. He was doing his utmost to ignore the feeble blows the spinster was raining down on him.

“We have no choice,” Harry told Silk. “Do as he says.”

“I don’t understand. Who are you?” He was addressing Gallant.

“James Gallant,” Harry said.

Although the man had put a gun to his granddaughter’s head, Silk couldn’t seem quite able to believe this was possible, that he had been taken in by such a grand deception. Harry had the feeling he wouldn’t mind so much if the man identified himself as someone other than Gallant, no matter how notorious or criminally inclined.

Gallant only confirmed Harry’s pronouncement. Silk looked aghast. The gun dropped from his hand.

Miss Travis refused to give up. On the contrary, she was growing more desperate. Paying no heed to Sheila’s cries, she reached her hands around and with her sharp nails began clawing Gallant’s face. This was something he could no longer ignore. He wheeled about to confront her, spinning the terrified little girl with him, and discharged his gun.

The woman was hurtled back into the other room, an enormous hole in her stomach. A small sound, like a sigh, escaped from her lips, and she promptly died. Blood continued to seep out of her in copious amounts. It was astonishing, a woman so slender and frail could have contained so much blood.

“My God, man!” Silk said incredulously.

Sheila ran to the woman, but nothing could be done for her.

“Look what you did!” she shrieked at Gallant. “You murdered her!”

“She’s not the first one,” Harry remarked.

“And won’t be the last.”

“Your quarrel’s with me,” Harry said, understanding too well Gallant’s intention. “Let the others go.”

Louise was staring at them with wide, moist eyes. Her small body kept trembling with sobs. But her terror was so pronounced she couldn’t cry anymore.

“Don’t tell me who my quarrel’s with. My quarrel’s with the world, my quarrel’s with God. Now, all of you, into the other room.”

As they prepared to obey his instruction, one of the other servants appeared. He regarded the scene with stupification and fear.

“Silk, tell him if anyone calls the police, I’ll kill her, and the rest of you too.”

His voice shaking, Silk communicated Gallant’s threat to the man.

“I’ll let the others know,” the servant replied, enormously grateful to be released from this chamber of horrors.

Harry recognized Gallant was facing a grave dilemma. He could not be absolutely certain the servant would keep his word or the police hadn’t already been summoned. If he was to have any hope of escape, he would have to act quickly. There was little time to savor his vengeance.

The chairs in which they were told to sit were white and old, dating back to the time of Louis XV. Gallant, still keeping Louise close to him, turned on the light of an impressive chandelier. He used the dimmer, apparently enjoying the incongruous romantic effect he was creating. Harry gazed into his eyes and saw only madness there. The man might do anything. It was possible the threat of police intervention and the prospect of dying did not matter to him. Reasoning with him was out of the question.

He stood there, at the far end of the room by the fireplace, looking from one of his hostages to the other. Sheila had her head down on the table, quietly weeping.

It was Harry’s impression Gallant really had no idea of what to do next. Simply killing them all was not quite diabolical enough.

He might just as well have been reading the murderer’s mind.

“Silk!” he said. “Stand up and come over here.”

Silk stayed in his chair. It was likely he had not understood this simple directive. He was not used to being thrust into such a humiliating position.

“Stand up, asshole!”

“Dad,” Sheila said. It was enough of a jolt to mobilize him.

He lumbered over toward Gallant. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Where’s all your power now?” Gallant taunted him. “What good’s all your millions doing you, answer me, asshole?”

Silk had no answer for him.

“You know,” Gallant said, his voice strangely detached as though he wasn’t understanding the words issuing from his mouth, “you know, I’m told the IRA and the Red Brigades boast they’re able to kneecap people so precisely they can tell in advance whether you’ll be in the hospital one month or three months or six months. I read about that in prison. You learn a lot of interesting things in prison, am I right, Harry?”

“That’s right, Gallant.” Harry decided that there was no alternative but to try and humor the man.

Gallant lowered the .44 so it was trained on the back of Silk’s right knee.

Harry rose from the table, but Gallant quickly sighted the gun on Louise, forcing him to sit back down again.

“Now I want to ask you a question, Mr. Millionaire. Would you do anything for your granddaughter?”

Silk hesitated a moment. At last, he said, “Yes, yes, I would.”

“Would you give up the use of your legs for her?”

“For God’s sake, will you listen to me? I can make it worth your while if you will only go and leave us in peace.”

“Your problem, Silk, is you can’t deal with people on any level that doesn’t involve money. I don’t want your money, I just want your answer. Think of me as a kind of sociologist. I like to see how far people will go is all.”

“Yes, I told you, go ahead.”

“I am glad to have your permission.”

For an instant, he didn’t do anything, leading both Harry and Sheila to think he might not carry out his threat.

Silk was trembling so badly he could barely remain upright.

Gallant lowered the gun and fired twice. Silk flew into the air, blood spurting from both his knees. Howling in agony, he collapsed in a heap. Immediately, he began vomiting over the Persian rug, already saturated with his blood.

A scream was torn from Louise’s lungs. It was a furious, uncomprehending cry of protest.

Suddenly, Sheila reached out, taking hold of one of the Italian bronzes, and hurdled it at Gallant. “No!” she shouted. “No more, goddamnit!”

The bronze glanced off Gallant’s shoulder, but the blow was painful enough for him to stagger back, momentarily surrendering his grip on Louise.

Harry leapt out of the chair and grabbed the girl, pulling her down as Gallant fired at them. The bullet passed right overhead, penetrating one of the 19th Century Russian silk screens that Gallant had once praised to Silk with such admiration.