Collected fiction, p.432
Collected Fiction, page 432
Billie nodded. I went on.
“You take me to the circus, see? We’ll wander around. I can spot Smith and the two lugs he had with him. When I do that, you call a cop. Make up some yam—anything. Get the cop to arrest Smith, or—well, the trick is to get that satchel. After that, it’s in the bag.”
“Maybe I could grab it.”
“Uh-uh. Those Nazis have guns. I don’t want you to take chances. You do what I tell you, and play safe. Blast it!” I said. “I wish I could get my hands on an automatic, or a Mills.” I thought that over and chuckled. “They don’t hang babies in this state, do they?”
“Don’t talk like that, Jerry!”
“Well, where are we?”
“On Eighth.”
“Avenue? Near the Garden? Swell! Let’s so.
“Without tickets?”
“Oh-oh. Got any dough?”
Billie nodded. “Yesterday was pay-day. Anyway, I won’t have to pay for you.”
“It’s a loan,” I said firmly. “I’m no gigolo.”
“Not at your age,” she agreed. “You’d look funny doing the samba with those muffin-like feet of yours.”
I swallowed that, though I didn’t like it. “Let’s go,” I said with dignity, and Billie picked me up, paid the check and carried me out. She didn’t know much about holding babies, I could tell. I sort of dangled. The sidewalk looked to be a mile down.
Billie had to get a ticket from a scalper, but, anyway, we got in. After that, it wasn’t easy to know what to do. The Garden’s a big place.
“Any idea where Smith was to meet Number Three?”
“Nope,” I said helplessly. “We better just wander around. I’m bound to spot the lug sometime—I hope.”
We wandered. Anywhere there were crowds. But I didn’t catch a glimpse of the Nazi with the mustache and the sleepy eyes, or his two sidekicks either. Naturally I didn’t even know what Number Three looked like.
WE WENT in the freak show and looked at fix-e-eaters and sword-swallowers, midgets, skeletons, and fat ladies. We watched lions, elephants, a couple of hippos, and a giraffe or two. We saw a big crowd at one cage and we went over there. It was a gorilla, almost as big as Gargantua or Tony Galento, squatting behind bars and glass and jamming a food-basin on his head and yanking it off again. The keeper, standing by the door, kept up a long spiel that drew the crowd like flies, but I still couldn’t find Smith. Or the Doc’s satchel, with the Transfer helmets in it.
I was beginning to feel sleepy again. I also felt awful. If Smith got away with this gag, it would mean—whew! Spies scattered all through our lines—up at the top, too! They’d be completely undetectable spies!
I had my own troubles, also. Suppose Doc died? Suppose he got amnesia? Suppose he couldn’t make more of the helmets? I’d have to spend the rest of my life with Captain Dawson as my old man! Unless he murdered me, for—for—what was it? Kidnaping? What if he broke me and put me on permanent K.P.? I could see myself, a fat, blobby-looking squirt in diapers, peeling spuds day and night—or maybe in the guardhouse, loaded down with chains—uh!
One thing I knew—I couldn’t be Sergeant Jerry Cassidy like this. How could I handle a machine gun? As for a rifle, I wouldn’t even be able to lift it.
Maybe they’d send Stinky, in my body, back on active service. Yeah! With a Jap coming at him, bayonet ready, he’d fall over on his back and start playing with his toes. Oh-oh!
Billie shook me. I was getting sleepy again, and showed it. I managed to prop my eyes open, though it was still hard to focus them.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. And yawned.
“Jerry, you can’t take a nap now.”
“I—uh—won’t.” But I did. I couldn’t help it. Babies need lots of sleep, and I felt dead beat.
However, Billie pinched me. I woke up with a squeal, and noticed a battleship of a dame bearing down on us, a steely glint in her eye. Billie didn’t see her coming till it was too late.
“What are you doing with that child?” the battleship demanded.
“Nothing,” Billie said, looking confused. “I just pinched him. He keeps wanting to go to sleep.”
“Pinched him! Good heavens! What sort of mother are you?”
“I’m not,” Billie snapped, trying to keep me from falling out of her arms. She had me by one foot and one hand and was sort of wrapping me up in myself, like I was an octopus. “I’m not even married.”
The old girl froze. “What are you doing with that baby, then?” she asked, as if it was any of her business.
Billie was getting confused. “I’m going to marry him.” she said wildly. “I’m just waiting for him to grow up. Oh, go away. We’re busy.”
“Hmph! This seems very suspicious to me. Have you been drinking, young lady?”
“No. I’ve been trying to keep this—this—”
She waved me in the battleship’s face “—trying to keep it from drinking, if you must know. It—he—keeps yelling for beer.”
“What? You mean you give that infant beer?”
“I don’t have to, usually,” Billie gasped, as I nearly flipped out of her grip. “He orders it himself, when he isn’t gargling rye. This lug has drunk his way around the world.”
“My gracious! That poor little innocent child! I’m going to take steps to have you punished.”
Just then the poor little innocent child made a few well-chosen remarks.
“You blathering old buzzard.” I howled. “Beat it and stop upsetting Billie. You’ll have her dropping me in a minute. If you want to help, drag yourself off and come back with a bottle of beer. I’m thirsty, drat it!”
“Ook!” said the battleship, turning green under her camouflage paint. She made a few vague gestures, clawed at the air, turned, and toddled off as fast as she could.
“See what you’ve done?” Billie said. “The poor woman thinks she’s crazy.”
“Serve her right,” I growled squeakily. “Hurry up and let’s find Smith before I go to sleep again. Try that show over there, where the acrobats are.”
THERE were seats here, and Billie stood at the entrance, while I looked around. Suddenly I let out a muffled yipe.
“There he is! See, up by that column? The guy with the mustache?”
“Where? Oh—I see him. What—what’ll I do now?”
Smith wasn’t sitting with anybody. He was humped up on his seat, intently watching some gymnasts on a trapeze, and I noticed the black satchel was between his feet.
“Maybe we’d better hunt up a cop,” I whispered. “Don’t take any chances, Billie.”
But she didn’t seem to hear. Still toting me, she went up the aisle, edged across, and sat down right next to Smith. I felt my stomach go cold. The sleepy-eyed Nazi gave us a quick, sidewise look, and then turned back to staring at the show. He didn’t recognize me, I figured. All babies look pretty much alike, fat and droopy.
There, not three feet away from me, was the satchel, with the Transfer helmets in it—I hoped. They were there unless Smith had already turned them over to Number Three. I guessed he hadn’t done so. He’d have given Number Three the satchel, without risking attracting attention by digging out the helmets.
I looked around for Smith’s two pet thugs, but I couldn’t find them in the crowd. Billie didn’t dare say anything to me, nor would I have dared answer her, with our enemy right beside us. I sat in Billie’s lap and wondered what she was planning, and tried to make a plan or two myself. If I could sneak off with the bag.
It was an idea. I caught Billie’s eye and winked, pointing down. After a minute she put me beside her, on the seat, and when Smith wasn’t looking, lowered me to the floor. I ducked in under the seats, where I couldn’t be seen, and felt dust choking me. I was thirsty again.
There wasn’t any beer on draught where I was, so I crawled behind Billie’s legs and kept going till I was behind a pair of blue serge pants. Between Smith’s feet was the black bag, partly under the seat, where he’d pushed it to keep it hidden, I guess. I didn’t dare touch the satchel. He’d have felt me trying to slide it away.
If I could open it, I could sneak out the helmets.
I tried that I had an idea that Smith would look down any minute and then step on me. But I had to get those helmets. That was the first and most important angle. After that, even if Smith managed to escape, he’d have to do it without the helmets.
The snap lock on the bag gave me a lot of trouble. My fingers were filled with mush. They kept bending back. When finally I did click the lock open, it snapped like a pistol shot. I froze, knowing that I’d be stepped on in another second or two.
But the band had been playing plenty loud, and the sound hadn’t been as explosive as I’d thought. Anyway, Smith didn’t glance down. After my heart came back where it belonged, I started to open the satchel, inch by inch. Not far, just enough so I could slip my arm in and feel around. When I did that, I touched the smooth fabric of one of the helmets right away.
I sneaked it out and went after the other one. As I got it, there was a thump, and another pair of pants-legs appeared. Somebody had sat down beside Smith. I saw the new guy’s foot reach over and press Smith’s shoe, tapping out what looked like a code.
Number Three!
CHAPTER IV
Heavy on the Muscles
WHEW! I looked at those brown-tweed legs and those brown oxfords, with a long scratch across one toe, and started sweating. If Smith discovered what had happened now, it’d be curtains for Cassidy, or Stinky, or whoever I was!
But nobody made a move. Apparently neither Nazi wanted to take chances, with Billie sitting right beside them. That gave me a breather, anyhow. What next?
The problem was settled right away. I heard a squalling, familiar voice squawking. “That’s the girl!” the voice said. “That’s her! I’m sure she’s kidnaped the baby.” It was the hatchet-faced battlewagon!
She’d come back with cops. The minute I heard a deep brogue telling Billie to come along quietly, I knew the lid was off. Wow! If Billie went off, leaving me here with those two lugs, it’d be all up with Jerry Cassidy!
Billie knew it too. I couldn’t see much, but I heard a scuffling, heard the battlewagon cry out in pain, and heard Billie’s voice raised in argument. She was talking about Nazi spies.
“Those men, officer,” she insisted. “Right beside me, here. They’re enemy agents. They’re stealing an important invention.”
“Now, now,” said the cop. “Take it easy, lady.”
But Smith made a mistake. He reached down for the bag, and his fumbling fingers discovered that it was open.
“Dormer und—officer! This girl is a thief. She has my helmets stolen.”
Number Three’s foot kicked Smith’s leg, and the dope shut up, but it was too late. He’d made a fatal break. New York cops are quick on the uptake.
I heard a shout, a banging noise, and the blue serge pants flipped apart. I looked right into Smith’s face as he bent down and peered under the seat. He saw me, crouching there gripping the Transfer helmets. His hand shot out to grab me. I scrambled back just in time.
“Hold it, mister,” the cop said. “Hey! Drop that gun, you!” I guessed he meant Number Three, for Smith was busy trying to crawl over the back of his seat and get at me. This time the banging noise wasn’t feet clumping. A gun had gone off.
The cop didn’t fire in that crowd. He just went for Number Three. The two of them got tangled up with Smith, and that gave me a chance to duck out into the aisle. People were getting up, startled, a whistle was shrilling, and Billie and the battlewagon were rolling down the incline, fighting like wildcats. Somebody who looked familiar was ducking out into the animal show next door. It was the thug with the squint, Smith’s side-kick.
I only got a glimpse. Smith had freed himself from the tangle and was coming at me again. I dived under the seats again. I had a slight advantage in being so small, but I was weak, too, and I had to keep hold of the helmets. Smith had his Webley out.
I dodged toward the other aisle. Just in time I looked up and saw Smith’s other pal coming to meet me, with a nasty grin on his pan. I scooted away like a tadpole. A baby ean crawl pretty fast, especially when he doesn’t have to bother about broken-field running. Those rows of seats were slowing down my pursuers a little, and that helped.
Then the lid blew off completely. There’d been quite a rumpus anyhow, but I heard a tumult of sound that nearly deafened me. People were shouting and screaming and stamping all around.
“Gott!” the Nazi on my left yelped. “Erik has let the gorilla loose. Shoot the brat.”
“Nein.” Smith snapped. “This will give us a chance to get away in the excitement. But first the helmets, quick.”
They came after me again. This time I reversed my route—I’d been scuttling up the ramp—and went down. It was faster. I wasn’t being shot at, luckily. The Germans were afraid of putting a bullet through the helmets, I guess.
I ducked a hand that swooped down at me, slipped, and went rolling down like a ball. I couldn’t stop myself. But I still kept a tight grip on the Transfer helmets. When I stopped, I was a little ways out in the arena, and it was empty. The exits were jammed with people fighting their way out.
Twenty feet away, coming toward me with his mouth wide open, was the gorilla!
I BEAT a retreat faster than Rommel ever did. Of course the seat under which I crouched wouldn’t protect me at all if that big monkey took a notion to grab me, but there weren’t any bomb shelters handy. I didn’t know what had happened to Smith and his pal, though I could hear the cop and Number Three still fighting above me somewhere. Billie had vanished, too.
The gorilla was hesitating, getting ready to wander off somewhere. When he did that, I knew, Smith would close in, and I’d be trapped.
Then I remembered something—seeing the gorilla, in his cage, fitting his food-basin on his bullet head. Maybe—maybe there was an out.
I clicked the switches on both the helmets, leaving them turned that way, and threw one of the gadgets at the monkey. My pitching arm wasn’t so hot just then. But the gorilla saw the helmet, and it aroused his curiosity. He picked it up, blinked, and wandered away. I yelled at him. Smith was beginning to pluck up courage. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear him starting to move nearer:
The gorilla turned and looked at me. I scuttled out into the arena. A glance behind me showed that Smith’s pet thug had ganged up with Number Three on the cop. The officer was still fighting, but he was being pistol-whipped.
Also, circling around toward me, through the seats, was not only Smith, but the squint-eyed lug who’d let the gorilla out.
My legs were too wobbly to be useful. I was pooped out. For a baby, I’d been having a devil of a lot of exercise. If Smith rushed me now, I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl away fast enough to elude him. So I sat there, with the gorilla staring at me, and put the helmet on my head.
Then I took it off. Monkey-face opened his mouth stupidly. He’d forgotten about the helmet he was holding. Lame-brain!
I kept jamming the helmet over my head and yanking it off again, and finally the gorilla got so interested he took a step toward me, dropping his own helmet as he did so. I saw him look down, pick up the thing, and finger it inquisitively.
“Hey!” I squealed. “Over here! Like this!”
He stared at me. I put the helmet on and, just then, a big hand clamped down on my arm. I tried to jerk free, but I just wasn’t strong enough. I had a brief glimpse of Smith’s sleepy-eyed face, with its hard, rat-trap mouth, and then—
Then I wasn’t there any more. I was standing in the arena looking across to where Smith was picking up a baby. My arms were lifted, fitting something on to my head.
The helmet! It wasn’t my head, either. The helmet hardly came over the top of the furry crown. I took one look down, and that was enough.
I wasn’t a baby any more. I was a gorilla. Wow!
The helmet almost fell off my head, and I caught it awkwardly, not yet used to my new body. As I wondered what to do with the thing, I saw Billie across the arena, rising from the prostrate body of the battlewagon. I yelled at her, and it came out a deep, booming roar. But she looked at me.
I tossed her the helmet. Then I went for Smith!
Guns were popping off somewhere, which didn’t mean anything. The bullets went wild. Did you ever try to fire a snap shot at a bellowing gorilla charging straight at you? Okay, then.
Smith dropped the baby as I got there, and hurdled a row of seats. I caught the kid, set him down gently, and kept going. I didn’t bother to jump over the seats. I just tore ’em up. I ploughed ahead toward Smith, stopping only to gather in the squint-eyed thug and pick him up in one mighty hand. He wasn’t so heavy. I threw him at Smith.
They went down, hard. I landed on top of them, with a crash of splintered wood. They didn’t bother to get up.
Somebody fired a shot at me. It was the squint-eyed Nazi. He and Number Three had finally managed to knock out the cop, though it took two of them, clubbing their guns. I couldn’t see Number Three.
THE gunman thought he was out of my reach, but he’d forgotten how long a gorilla’s arms are. I didn’t realize that myself till I swung hard, heard a klunk, and saw the guy go spinning off like a pinwheel. He didn’t get up, either.
Billie screamed. That whirled me around in a hurry. She was halfway across the arena, running to pick up Stinky and the other helmet, running as fast as she could, and Number Three was racing after her, his gun ready. The crowds around the exits were making so much rumpus that hardly anybody noticed what was happening. But I did.
Gorillas can’t go fast, except for short distances. Number Three had too good a lead. He’d catch Billie before I could catch him—unless I did something quick.
I charged down the swathe of destruction I’d made, and leaped up with all my strength. The gymnasts had fled, but their equipment was still here. One trapeze was hooked back right where I wanted it. I caught the bar, and my weight ripped it free from its hook. It carried me sailing across the arena, straight for Number Three.
