One-Way Ticket to Nowhere Part 4

"You're going to face that giant, Harror," she pleaded haltingly. "Jeff, please...?"

He took her hands in his, and smiled down at her.

"Wade wouldn't want you to put on a scene," he said gently. "I'm in this thing up to my neck. Wade's name and my own are both involved."

She hesitated and stepped away from him. Her arms dropped hopelessly.

O'Toole reached the door with Blake.

"What are the plans," he asked? "I'm in on them remember."

"Then start howling at the top of your lungs," Blake grinned. "Call Harror every name you ever heard of, but remember there are women in the car. We're going to get dragged out of here and have a talk with that freak."

O'Toole nodded.

"Okay!" he said. "I get the idea. If we can be bad boys, maybe Harror will spank us himself."

"He'll try," Blake answered quietly. "From then on it will depend on us who does the punis.h.i.+ng."

Blake turned to the door and ignoring Dauna, started to pound on it with all his strength, O'Toole added his weight to Blake's and they started to shout loudly.

"We want to sock that big goon, Harror," O'Toole howled. He turned and winked at Dauna. "How'm I doing?" he asked.

Dauna smiled gamely.

"So well, you'll probably be shot at once," she said. "Please Blake, be careful."

They pounded again, harder than ever. The door started to sway and buckle under their weight. There was a heavy step outside, and a murmur of angry voices.

"Shut up in there."

"We want to talk with your boss," Blake shouted. "Let us out or we'll clean up on the whole gang of you."

The door swung open, and a guard came in. Two more were close behind.

Guns swung around, covering the car.

"You'll talk with Harror," the first man said. "And you'll be d.a.m.ned sorry you did."

He pushed a gun into Blake's side.

"Now walk," he ordered. "And walk straight. No monkey business."

O'Toole started to follow them.

"You're staying here," the guard growled. "This monkey is going to get the business."

O'Toole reddened with rage.

"Why you masked ape," he said. "Let me out of here or I'll push your chin into your scalp."

That did the trick. The second guard twisted around and punched O'Toole in the face. The Irishman reeled, caught himself and said through b.l.o.o.d.y lips, "You'll pay for that."

The masked man pushed him from the car and O'Toole went a little uncertainly down the steps and after Blake.

They crossed the floor of the cave toward the series of doors in the wall. Two more guards joined the group and they paused before the first door.

"We got some wise guys," the man who was covering Blake shouted. "Want to give them a going over, Chief?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Grudge Harror's heavy voice said from beyond the door.

"Bring them in."

Blake kicked the door open and strode into a small, mercury-lighted room. There was a single chair and the desk behind which Harror was seated. His huge arms rested across its top. His expression darkened as he saw Blake.

"What's he been up to?"

The guard stepped close to Harror and pocketed his weapon.

"He was shouting his head off," he said. Then, in an almost apologetic voice he added, "The Irishman insisted on coming along."

Blake's eyes were on Harror's face. The giant's fists were clenched, his lips tight and cruel. He was searching for something.

"All right," Harror growled finally. "What's the game?"

"Nothing," Blake answered shrewdly. "We were waiting for you to murder us, and got impatient, that's all."

Two of the guards left and Harror swung to his feet. He was leering.

Blake watched the remaining guards from the corner of his eye. O'Toole was still standing quietly by the door, alert and ready. He saw Blake's eye on his, and winked deliberately. O'Toole, Blake decided, was ready any time.

"You were right on the murder angle," Harror admitted. "Pretty smart, ain't you?"

"About some things," Blake admitted. "I don't fall for everything I read in the papers. I know you used a hidden mono track to get us here, and that you'll probably send us back over it into a nice deep canyon, when you have everything you want off the train."

Harror leaned over silently and spat into his face. Blake saw red. With a lightning thrust he smashed the lamp from the table and plunged the room into blackness. From O'Toole's side of the room a ray gun belched fire, but Blake was already out of range. He heard a cry of pain and realized that Harror had caught the flame on the arm. Harror, outlined in the light of the ray was almost on top of him.

From the spot where O'Toole had been, Blake heard a sullen thud and a long groan of pain. Dodging from Harror's plunging fall, Blake knew O'Toole was doing his part. He grasped the edge of the table and tried to thrust it in front of Harror. The man swore loudly and kicked it away. There was a slit of light coming from under the door.

In its path, Blake saw Harror standing above him, a hairy fist descending like a ton of lead. He twisted his face around, sensed Harror's blow miss him by a fraction of an inch. Diving low he hit Harror a body blow with his shoulder and the giant doubled in pain.

Blake swung upward before Harror could regain his balance, and set his fist cras.h.i.+ng into Harror's face. The giant swung backward like an enraged elephant. Two more flashes of electro-fire went spurting over his head and O'Toole started to sing in a loud, off-key voice.

"Slug 'em," O'Toole chanted. "It's the Irish that are in this mess tonight."

In the darkness, Blake grinned painfully. His lip was split and bleeding. His arm ached from the forceful contact with Harror's jaw.