Shoot Angel! (7 page)

‘
He
never stood a chance,’ Birdy murmured. ‘He knew they wanted him
dead. Jesus, Angel, the poor bastard just had no place to hide from
them. He was only here for four days and then he was dead.’ Birdy
shook his head. ‘Bastards said it was an accident! Accident my ass!
They made him work on a real bad stretch of the road all on his
own. An’ then a damn rockslide comes down right on top of him!
Everybody goes runnin’ to see if they can help him but I stuck
around, keeping out of sight. An’ I saw that Trench coming down off
the slope where the slide started. He couldn’t see me but I saw
him. Saw him drop an iron lever-bar in one of the wagons too. Then
he goes on up to where they’re trying to dig Culp out of the rock
an’ makes all the right noises.’ Birdy fell silent.

‘
You
told anybody else about this?’ Angel asked.

Birdy threw him a bitter glance.

‘
You
think I want to end up like Harry Culp? Listen, Angel, I was there
when they dragged Culp out of that rockslide! Ain’t a sight I want
to see again. You ever seen a man after he’s been squashed flat
like a stepped-on bug? He just didn’t look like a man any more.
Angel, I don’t know why they tossed you in here but it seems it
must be something to do with Culp. I was you I wouldn’t admit to
being a friend of Harry Culp’s. Hardly worth all the trouble it’ll
bring you.’

‘
Only
thing that’s troubling me, Birdy, is how I’m going to get out of
this place,’ Angel said.

Birdy grinned.
‘Ain’t ever been
done yet, Angel. But I’ll stake my life you’re the man to do it.’
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘You … er … wouldn’t be needing a
partner … Angel?’

‘
All
depends, Birdy. I’ll let you know.’

Angel eased away from the little man. Birdy
glanced up, wondering why Angel had moved so suddenly. And then he
saw.

Capucci was on his feet.
Swaying slightly he was staring in Angel
’s direction with open hostility
blazing in his eyes. An angry blotchy bruise had already begun to
form on his cheek where Angel’s fist had caught him. Capucci
repeatedly touched his cheek, wincing at the discomfort it was
causing him. He held Angel’s stare for a time, then reluctantly
backed off. He stalked along the row of cots until he reached his
own, throwing himself across it.

‘
Now
you got more problems, Angel,’ Birdy whispered. ‘Don’t show him
your back ’cause he’ll find something to stick in it if you
do!’

In the chill dawn light the guards began to
rouse the camp. Bleary-eyed prisoners, stiff from uncomfortable
hours on rigid wooden cots, stumbled from the huts. They stood
shivering in the compound until a nod from the guards allowed them
to cross to the cookhouse. Here on long wooden tables, steaming
iron pots held the only meal the prisoners would get during the
day. Armed with a tin plate, mug and spoon, each prisoner shuffled
along the tables, receiving a ladle of soggy beans, a hunk of dark
bread and a mug of bitter black coffee.

Eyeing his breakfast with less
than rapturous enthusiasm, Angel wandered over to a nearby hut and
squatted on his heels. He placed his mug of coffee on the ground
beside him while he ate. The beans were tough,
flavorless, and the bread was
stale. But it was all he was liable to get for some time, so Angel
ate.

Birdy appeared and joined
Angel. He sat for a
while, busy with his meal. He ate with the deliberation of
a man who knew what it was like to go hungry.

‘
I see
another bean after I leave this place I’ll go crazy,’ he said as he
put down his empty plate and picked up his mug of
coffee.

Angel smiled thinly.
‘What happens when
we leave here, Birdy?’

Lifting a scrawny arm Birdy indicated the
distant peaks.

‘
We go
up there. ’Bout hour and a half ride. Then we make a road.’ Birdy
drained his coffee. ‘Nice when life’s simple, ain’t it,
Angel!’

At that moment the guards began to move
across the compound. The breakfast period was over. The prisoners
were herded into wagons, each with two armed guards and a driver.
The gates were opened and the wagons rolled out of the camp.

The dusty trail, grinding its way up the
mountain slopes, was a crude, dangerous track. On one side the
rocky slopes rose above the wagons, on the other lay a long, almost
sheer drop to the jagged mass of tumbled stone below.

Frank Angel shut himself off
from the physical discomforts of the ride. His mind was concerned
with only one line of thought. How to get himself free. Until he
did get away from this place there was little he could do to
conclude the business of Cranford and Sherman. Like it or not he
had stumbled on a nasty little racket being operated by the
so-called law of Liberty. It needed stamping out
before anyone else
finished up like Harry Culp. It was typical of life’s complexities
to bring a man to a place on one pretext and then go and drop into
his lap a whole mess of other problems. As far as Angel could see
his whole life had been one continuous round of swapping one set of
problems for another. Not that he had ever worried over it. At
least it kept life from becoming dull.

He heard a sudden shout. The wagon lurched,
slipping sideways. Angel glanced over the side and saw that the
front wheel had gone clear off the edge of the trail. The driver
was fighting the jittery horses and not doing too well. The wagon
jerked forward a little, then slid back again. Loosened rocks and
dirt cascaded over the edge of the trail, rattling down the long,
shale slope. Glancing at the slope Angel realized that they had
left the earlier sheer drop far behind. Now this steep, but
comparatively easier slope lay below.

Angel took one look at the
slope and saw instantly a chance for escape. A slim chance, with
the odds stacked against its being successful, but
nonetheless a
chance. Angel had learned through bitter experience that in his
line of business opportunities were there to be grabbed with both
hands.

The guard, perched on the seat beside the
driver of the wagon, hunched himself round, eyes wide with fright
as he anticipated being hurled over the edge of the trail.

‘
Get
out!’ he yelled. ‘Move, you bastards! Jump!’

The prisoners surged towards
the far side of the wagon. Angel moved too
—but he crossed to the opposite side.
He didn’t hesitate. In the scant seconds before he went over the
side of the wagon he heard a familiar voice somewhere
close.

‘
I’m
with you, Angel!’

Out of the corner of his eye Angel caught
sight of Birdy. The skinny little man, moving with surprising
agility, was sticking to Angel like a second shadow.

Angel hurled himself over the
side of the wagon, dropping towards the near-vertical slope. He
struck the loose sale on his feet, falling forwards. He
didn
’t try
to hold himself back because there was no way he was going to be
able to control his descent. Angel allowed his body to go slack.
The downward fall seemed endless. The world spun about Angel as he
was catapulted clown the slope. Dust billowed up around him, acrid,
blinding dust. It stung his eyes, clogged his nostrils, filled his
lungs. A roaring noise blotted out every other sound.

And then with startling
abruptness it all stopped. Movement and sound ceased. Angel lay,
stunned, almost
paralyzed. He couldn’t have lain there for more than
seconds but it had the feel of eternity. Dimly, sound and feeling
returned. Far off Angel heard angry voices. He lifted his head,
pawing gritty dust from his eyes. A single rifle shot sounded. The
bullet whacked into the earth yards to one side of where Angel lay.
He jerked to his feet hurriedly while the echo of the shot faded
among the rocks. Throwing a swift glance up to where the abandoned
wagon now hung halfway over the edge of the trail, Angel made out
the tiny figures of the armed guards, some of them pushing curious
prisoners back from the rim of the trail. Other guards began to put
rifles to shoulders. Angel decided it was time to move. He turned,
cutting across an open stretch of ground. Yards away thick brush
offered scant shelter. Beyond lay broken stretches of crumbling,
eroded rock.

‘
Angel!’

The whispered call came from
Angel
’s
right. Birdy’s scrawny figure dragged itself out of a clump of
thorny brush. He looked extremely sorry for himself.

‘
You’re liable to get your ass shot off if you don’t get
moving,’ Angel told him brusquely.

Birdy managed a wry grin as he fell in beside
Angel.

‘
Hey,
we got company, Angel! Did you know? Friend of yours!’

Angel followed
Birdy
’s
finger. Moving in their direction, obviously intending to conceal
himself in the brush, was Capucci. He glowered in Angel’s
direction, seemingly offering to fight Angel if he even threatened
to make any kind of objection.

‘
Capucci’s a son of a bitch,’ Birdy said conversationally,
‘but he’s a hard one. Trench ain’t going to let us go easy, Angel.
The way things might get we might end up being grateful Capucci’s
along!’

‘
We?
I’m starting to get the feeling I’ve suddenly got more friends than
I ever realized,’ Angel grunted.

They reached the brush and plunged on
through, ignoring the clawing bite of thorn tendrils clutching at
flesh and clothing. The sporadic gunfire coming from the distant
rise behind then was spur enough to keep them moving.

‘
Won’t
take ’em long to find a way down that hill,’ Birdy yelled. They
come after us they’ll be shootin’ first and sayin’ sorry while they
bury us!’

‘
Yeah?’ Angel managed a tight grin. ‘They do tell me you got
to catch your bird before you pluck it.’

Capucci, who was close enough
to hear Angel
’s words let go a derisive snort.

‘
Easy
enough to talk—Mister Angel!’

Angel didn
’t reply. Even so he admitted
that Capucci was right. Talk was easy enough. Backing up those
casual words was where the difficulty arose.

The brush thinned out just before the first
outcropping of rook. Angel led the way in amongst weathered stone
already too hot to touch. The jumbled mass of stone contained the
oppressive heat and it radiated up off the ground and from the
curving walls of rock. It sucked the moisture from their overheated
bodies, leaving them damp and sticky with sweat.

Angel called a halt. Each man
selected himself a
place where he could sink down on his heels. For a time
there was silence, broken only by their harsh breathing as tortured
lungs fought to supply weary bodies with life-giving
air.

‘
Shit,
Angel, this is crazy!’ Capucci suddenly exploded. ‘What the hell we
doin’ sitting here like it was a Sunday picnic? Trench’s boys ain’t
going to be standing around playing with themselves!’

Angel raised his head. Sweat glistened on his
brown face, mingling with the grimed filth to give him a savage
expression.

‘
Let’s
get something straight, Capucci. I didn’t ask for company. Right
now I’m in enough trouble to keep me going for a long time. The
last thing I need is you round my neck. If you don’t like the way
I’m doing things, mister, all you have to do is leave!’

Capucci half-rose from his position, then
paused, as if something had caused him to hesitate. Indecision
clouded his face, then he resumed his former pose.

‘
Angel, hey, Angel,’ Birdy said. ‘Take us out of here,
Angel. You can do it!’

Phil Sherman shouldered his way past Amos
Cranford the moment the judge opened the door of his neat,
white-painted house. Cranford closed the door and walked down the
passage, entering the room he used as his office. He ignored
Sherman while he closed the door, crossed the room and seated
himself behind his desk. Leaning back in his large leather armchair
Cranford surveyed the panting, sweating sheriff calmly.

‘
Something wrong, Phil?’

‘
You
better believe it, Amos,’ Sherman almost yelled. He pulled a
crumpled sheet of buff paper from his hip pocket and waved it under
Cranford’s nose. ‘I said things had gone too far. This time we went
and hung ourselves!’

‘
Calm
down, Phil, before you wet your goddam pants. Just tell me what it
is that’s got you excited.’

‘
I
told you I was
worried about that Angel feller. More I thought about him the worse
it got. So I did some checking, Amos. Sent a couple of wires to
people I know.’ He shook the paper he was holding. ‘I got this back
from a feller I know works in the federal building in the capitol.
He owed me a favor and by God he’s paid me in spades! Frank Angel,
the man you sent out to Trench’s camp, the man you figure to have
killed—he ain’t no drifting hard case, Amos! He’s a special
investigator for the Justice Department. Works out of Washington
for the goddam Attorney General! Jesus Christ, Amos, we’re way out
of our depth this time!’