The Death of Lorenzo Jones (20 page)

Lockwood ran like a son of a bitch around the side of the house and toward a little gully. He leaped over the side of the
dirt embankment just as the whole place exploded. Lockwood’s ears were deafened by the blast. He was blown off his feet and
sent spinning onto the ground.

The sky was lit with an orange fireball—probably Wade’s arsenal going up with the dynamite. Pieces of burning woodwork, glowing
red and yellow in the black night, floated down from the sky.

The investigator sat up and pulled a Camel from his jacket pocket; only one in the pack was still not broken. He lit it up
and watched the big old house burn merrily. Nobody staggered out. He took a long drag and warmed his palms by holding them
up toward the house.

Lockwood sat there on his haunches, thinking about the case, about Amanda, and about Robin. He remembered how Stinky had looked
when he died, and the corpse of Doc. Also Johnny Sykes with the bullethole in his head.

The pathetic thing was that all had died in vain. Wade didn’t have to kill Lorenzo Jones. If Wade had just spoken to Dr. Dallas
in Philadelphia, then he would have known that dumb and cheap Doc Carruthers had made a mistake: Lorenzo Jones’ arm was not
permanently damaged.

Next season Lorenzo would have made a lot of money for Wade. But Wade figured from talking to Doc that Jones was through as
a pitcher. His ironclad contract with Jones to pay him whether or not Jones could pitch and his greed had left him no way
out but to kill the young pitcher.

Wade had bought a prescription for digitalis, a medicine which, used in quantity, will burst the heart. He had slipped a lot
of the stuff in the thermos Lorenzo always took in his biplane. And boom, that was it.

And then there was all this killing because one crusty old doctor had made a dumb diagnosis. In a way, it was funny. Wade
was a victim of his own greed.

The roof of the house collapsed onto the burning pyre. Lockwood stood up and began walking back to his Cord. It sparkled in
the night as flames reflected off its shiny chrome.

He got in and had the key in his hand when the first shot rang out.

The windshield spidered into a jagged network of glass. A second shot exploded but by that time Hook was moving. He flung
the door open and dove to the ground. The bullet tore into the leather cushioning of the seat where his backbone had been
resting seconds before.

He rolled under the car and pulled out his .38. So the lizard was still alive! How was it possible? He should have known it
would take more than ten sticks to kill a crocodile like Wade.

“Lockwood! You hear me? This is Wade! Didn’t think you’d ever see me again? I’m smarter than you, Lockwood. You should have
held the dynamite a few seconds longer.” A loud laugh followed. Jesus.

Lockwood fired in the direction of the voice. It sounded like it was coming from a cluster of six or seven leafy bushes about
a hundred feet from the Cord.

“Too bad, Lockwood. You missed by a mile. You should have paid attention in target practice, but too late now, isn’t it?”

The left front tire of the Cord exploded inches from Hook’s head. He pulled back farther under the car. Jesus, wherever the
bastard was now, he had a good view of the car. Probably using a telescopic sight.

Bullets slammed everywhere around Lockwood, ripping into his beautiful car, making more holes in her door and hood.

Bastard, Hook thought. He wanted to destroy the man, run from underneath his wounded Cord and strangle the murderer with his
own two hands. But that was just what Wade wanted. He was playing with Lockwood now.

“Yoo-hoo, Lockwood. Come out, come out. Or must I come and get you?”

Wade let loose another volley toward the car. There was a loud crash right above Lockwood’s head. The left window of the Cord
came loose and fell in the dirt right beside him.

Gotta keep cool, real cool, Hook said to himself. He’s just trying to force me out for a better shot. He probably can’t see
me from where he is right now.

But that wouldn’t last long. With that rifle and a superscope against Lockwood’s puny .38, the odds weren’t too good. He checked
his ammo. Four shots left. His spare box of lead was in the glove compartment. Forget that, he would never get to it.

He pulled himself to the right side of the car and looked out. Shrubs jutted up about twenty feet away. Then came an open
field with not much cover at all. Woods began after about another hundred feet, and they looked thick and safe.

Bullets continued to zip and whine through the night air, searching for Lockwood. He looked up. The moon, damn it, was bright
as a spotlight and seemed to be aimed right at his head. But in about ten seconds, Hook saw, a big puffy cloud was going to
cross its path.

He quickly leaned back under the car, counted to eight, and let off two shots in Wade’s general direction. He waited another
second, just long enough for Wade to catch him on his scope and then rolled back. Without stopping his motion, he leaped to
his feet and tore toward the group of seven or eight big gnarled-looking shrubs. The moon disappeared suddenly, and it was
as if a black blanket had been thrown over the whole scene.

He heard Wade’s bullets thudding into his car, so the rat still hadn’t seen Hook. Just one more second and he would be safe.

But Wade suddenly realized something was wrong. The bullets were whizzing like mosquitoes in the air all around Lockwood.
He leaped toward the bushes, trying to dive over the top, and barely made it. The bushes were thick and covered with thorns.
Lockwood’s stomach and legs were ripped by tiny claws that left long trails of blood. He hit the ground and lay there hugging
the earth.

The moon peeked through again, looking for Lockwood. He wanted to shoot it out of the goddamn sky as it slowly lit up the
bushes and the field.

“Ah, there you are, Lockwood.” A foot to the right a bullet flew by and sliced a thick branch of the bush Lockwood was hiding
behind.

“It’s all over now, Lockwood. You know that, don’t you? I’m sure you do. You’re a smart fellow. You just met someone smarter!
Me! That was your big mistake!”

Wade laughed that creepy, high-pitched almost effeminate laugh again and let off three shots in quick succession.

Each missed Hook by inches and dug into the dirt around him. Wade was playing with him. These bushes were no protection at
all. With the scope, his pursuer could easily see the trace of his body through the tangle of vegetation. He was going to
be hunted down like a rabbit.

Another cloud was flying in for a rendezvous with the moon. There was only one thing to do: head toward the woods. Hook was
being cut off and channeled in one direction, like one of the deer Wade must have hunted here in the wilds. But he wasn’t
going to go down without a fight.

Again a big cloud draped itself across the bright eye of the moon, darkening the terrain.

Lockwood took off his jacket, stripped off his white shirt, and put it over some of the thorns that were sticking out, looking
to pierce somebody. He spread the arms out and stepped back. Not too bad.

Lockwood shook the branches hard and the shirt’s arms wiggled violently. He put the jacket on his bare torso. He pushed himself
off with a runner’s start and began the dash for his life across the open field.

The ploy worked for a few seconds. Wade blasted away at the shirt. Lockwood heard the bushes splintering as if a tornado was
ripping through them.

So far, so good. Lockwood could barely see the ground beneath his feet. He jumped and leaped and twisted across the meadow
as if he were back at war again.

He was halfway across it now. His foot caught on a big rock that came out of nowhere, and he fell flat on his face. By the
time he had scrambled to his feet, Wade was onto his trick.

Little clouds of dust popped in the ground around Lockwood as Wade’s bullets searched the field for their target.

Lockwood jumped to his feet. He was so close to the woods now! He dodged to the right and then just as quickly jumped back
to the left. “Move! Turn!” he shouted to himself. “Don’t repeat the same motion twice or you won’t get a third chance!” The
words his army sergeant had screamed in his ears a hundred times screamed back at him.

Almost! Almost there! The trees were just ahead, another twenty feet or so.

Suddenly, the moon ran from behind the cloud that had been covering it. I hate that goddamn moon, Lockwood thought, as the
ground all around him suddenly became illuminated like a movie set.

He saw every detail of the field around him. Every rock, bush, rabbit hole, and branch, clear as day.

Rabbit hole! He tried to stop himself from putting his foot in it—the ground rushed up at him—he put his hand out to stop
the rock from hitting his head. Everything went black.

When he came to, Wade was standing in front of him about fifteen feet away with the elephant gun lifted to his shoulder and
aimed directly at the investigator.

“I told you I would win, Lockwood,” Wade said. “You really didn’t seem to understand that. But now it will become clear, clear
as the moon shining on your forehead.

“Oh yes, Lockwood, right now you look rather perturbed. Licking your lips? Nervous, Lockwood?”

“Not particularly.” Lockwood said.

Wade ignored the cool reply. He let off another shot right between Hook’s shoes.

“I could aim higher next time,” Wade yelled. He laughed.

“You think you’re so tough—but I’m a thousand times tougher than you, Lockwood. I’m one of the
wolves
of the world, and we prey on the
sheep.”
He laughed again. “Prey on the stupid, bleating, timid little sheep of the world. It’s our destiny, Lockwood. They
need
to be ruled by strong men like me who dare to rule.

“You have ‘wolf in you, Lockwood, but you think like a sheep. You’re tough in your gut, but up top you believe in the sheep.
That’s why you’ll die and I’ll survive.

“There are many like me, Lockwood. Ready to make wolves the leaders of the world.”

Lockwood stared across the long open space at the madman who grew louder and more fanatical as the house burned behind him.

“Lockwood, a new day is dawning. A big change is about to come over this world, and
I
will be in the forefront. These few puny people I have had to eliminate—they were just practice for me.

“But enough talk. Now it’s time for you to die. Quick or slow, Lockwood? Just do me one favor, and I’ll make it quick. Lockwood,
I want you to say, no, yell, ‘Wade is the wolf!’ ”

Hook looked across the field shining with the light of the moon and the burning house. The man was absolutely mad. Why, he
had killed Jones because the man became a financial burden to him. He had taken people’s lives as easily as slapping a mosquito.

Wade was more than a criminal, he was a force of evil. Somehow, Hook had to stop the slime from spreading his poison.

“Lockwood, did you hear me? ‘Wade is the wolf!’ Say it, Lockwood, or I’ll start with your balls, one at a time.”

The bullet banged and creased Hooks’ inner thigh.

Wade suddenly lowered the gun and quickly began pushing shells in. The “wolf” had forgotten to reload!

Lockwood didn’t waste one precious second. He dropped to one knee, lowered his right hand with his .38 into position on top
of his left hand, and sighted.

Wade glanced up, and a look of horror darted across his face. He slammed the rifle breech shut and raised it up to Lockwood.

Bam! Bam! Lockwood got off his two remaining shots. The first missed Wade, the second slammed into the butt of Wade’s rifle
and knocked it into the air. Wade dove to retrieve it. Hook couldn’t jump him in time.

Hook ran as fast as his aching legs would carry him to the woods. Suddenly, he was inside their comforting darkness. Jesus,
it seemed like it had taken him a lifetime to get from the bushes to these trees.

He ran in only a few feet, stopped, and turned quickly around. Wade was running now, too, toward the woods. Every few seconds
his rifle spouted flame.

But Hook didn’t feel like running any more. No! Enough. He had had enough of this man and his disease.

He looked around and found a branch about four feet long. That would do just fine. He pulled off the few small branches that
grew out of its sides and swung it in the air. It made a whistling sound, and it was damned heavy.

Wade was now about thirty feet away from where Hook was crouched. He was going a little slower as he approached the woods.

Lockwood waited beside a large oak tree. Wade would walk right alongside it if he followed Hook’s path.

Yes, Wade was slowly walking into the darkness, following Lockwood.

Lockwood counted to three and jumped from behind the tree, swinging the club with every ounce of strength in his body.

It caught Wade in the middle of his stomach. He flew back about five feet, crashed into a bush, and kicked and thrashed. He
tried to aim the rifle.

Hook ran the two yards separating them in half a second and again swung the branch. The rifle sprang out of Wade’s hands as
if it was alive. Wade reached to his belt and pulled out a large bowie knife. He jumped to his feet and waved the long blade
at Lockwood, but there was no more time for games.

“Enough!” Lockwood screamed at the top of his lungs. With his club he knocked the knife out of the now terrified “wolf’s”
hand.

“Enough!” He smashed the thick club against Wade’s head. The killer fell to the ground screaming, his hand over his left ear,
which streamed dark blood.

“Enough!” He hit Wade in the ribs.

“Enough! Enough!” Lockwood was out of control. He flailed away at the crawling, groaning lizard who had done so much damage,
hitting him in the arms and the legs, striking his back and neck. He wanted to hit back for every wound that had been inflicted
on Doc’s burned feet. For every word Stinky had spat out as he lay dying. He wanted to hit at Wade’s poison flesh till there
was nothing left.