Killer's Town (14 page)

Outside the walls, the Patrol and the police heard the firing. Once more they asked each other, "What's going on in there?" And once more, Colonel Weeks thought, is that the signal? But the big gates remained closed. Now, there was a lull in the pitched battle, as men looked for a target or reloaded.

"FIVE MINUTES LEFT. GO NOW!"

The big voice had come from somewhere out of the dark sky. No one was sure just where. The men stared at each other, their mutual hatred forgotten for the moment in the face of the common, unknown enemy.

"This is too much, everything's out of hand," groaned Koy, nursing his aching jaw.

"You've got a civil war on your hands. Got to stop this first," said Eagle, the lawyer. He waved a white handkerchief in the general direction of the concealed Pretty.

"Boys—Pretty, Moogar, all of you—we got to find the spook."

"There's no spook. It's a trick of Killer's, trying to get rid of us," Pretty shouted. He fired in Eagle's direction, and the barrage began again.

The Phantom moved quietly toward the gate. There were no guards there now. The entire town was down at the wharf in the gun battle. At the gate, he peered carefully outside. He knew there was a concealed car in the bushes. It was too dark for him to be seen clearly. He moved quickly, grasped the heavy chain and big padlock, and with a single powerful twist, snapped the chain in two, then vanished in the dark. Weeks and Togando looked up quickly.

"What was that?"

But once more, the steady gunfire inside the town claimed their attention. What was going on?

Once more there was a lull, as the men reloaded, or wondered what they were doing. It all seemed aimless and pointless since that spook was still in their midst. At that moment, the spook chose to speak again. The great voice boomed out.

"THE GATES ARE OPEN. ONE MINUTE LEFT."

"Koy," yelled Pretty, "go to the gate!"

"No tricks?"

"No tricks."

Warily, respecting the armed truce, the men moved to the gate.

Koy, Pretty, Eagle, and a few others examined the chain.

"Chain's torn apart," said Eagle.

"That chain could hold an elephant. Who could tear it?" said Koy.

"Phantom could. Phantom did," said Moogar, pressing the handkerchief against his head. "Look at the lock."

They saw it on the lock. The Skull Mark—the same mark had been floating through their heads all night.

"I've got this spook thing figured," announced Pretty to the others. "Koy hears Moogar spouting this jungle malar- key. He knows a good thing when he hears it. He's got his boys making that Skull Mark and painting that stuff, trying to scare us."

"And why would he do that?" said Eagle as Koy snorted.

"Why? Keep our money, and scare us out of this tow \ '. » make room for other chumps and their money," innm. icsd Pretty without hesitation. It all made sense to him.

"That's the kinda crazy idea you would come up with," snarled Koy. "Think I'd blow up my own plane, my million-dollar beauty?"

"Why not? You've got plenty of dough. Our dough. Enough to buy a dozen."

Koy turned imploringly to the crowd which was listening skeptically to Pretty. He didn't make much sense to them either.

"Listen, you guys, I know nothing about the spook, but I've had just about enough of this "

And now for the last time, the great voice boomed out of the dark sky. All froze at the familiar sound.

"THE TIME IS UP. GO."

Something in this simple announcement carried final

truth. They believed it. The time was up. Go. Go where? The men began to mill around uncertainly. Some turned back toward the wharf. A few started through the gate. Pretty held them at gunpoint.

"Wait. Dont fall for his bluff. He wants to get rid of us and keep our dough."

"This is no bluff," shouted Koy. "You want this town? Take it. I'm going," he yelled as he threw open the gates.

"No, you don't, you !" said Pretty, and shot him in

the back. Clutching the bars of the gate, Killer Koy looked at him bewilderedly as Pretty stood there grinning with his smoking gun. Mad dog—have to take care of him, thought Koy as he dropped to the ground. He vaguely heard the explosion as he blacked out.

The explosion was enormous, not one but a series, building to a vast crescendo as the explosives in the warehouse blew up. The destruction of the amphibian plane was like a firecracker next to this. Flames and smoke soared a thousand feet. Wood and metal filled the air, crashing for a half mile around. Everyone in that area took cover as best they could. Most escaped injury. Others were less lucky. Hearing the explosion, Weeks hesitated only for a moment. This had to be the signal. Then a slight beep on his walkie-talkie told him. The deep voice he knew so well, coming from somewhere: "This is it, Colonel Weeks. Take over."

That was all, but it was enough. He just had time to alert his teams, when the gates were flung open and armed men rushed out of Killer's Town.

Searchlights hit them in the face, and voices shouted at them through megaphones.

"We are the Jungle Patrol and the police. Surrender. You are under arrest."

The men were caught by surprise.

They leaped into the bushes, some behind trees, some running back into the town, taking cover as best they could, and opened fire on the teams. The teams replied with a concerted blast. It was the closest thing to modern warfare the jungle had ever seen. Several criminals tried to escape over the walls. They threw blankets over the broken glass on the wall and started over, when powerful searchlight beams sprang out of the dark to pin them there. Automatic rifles were trained on them; they had nowhere to go but into the waiting Patrol cars. The battle between the criminals of Killer's Town and the law was short. The relentless pressure of the mysterious Phantom, the civil war waged among themselves, the earth-shaking explosions, and now the trap formed by the Patrol and the police sapped whatever fight remained in them. None carried enough ammunition for a sustained effort. So after the first minutes of gunfire, they dropped their empty guns and began to surrender.

At the first sound of the Patrol guns, Pretty and Moogar had raced back into the town. They ran to the small gate near the wharf area. The wharf itself was blazing, and small shells and grenades were still detonating inside the inferno that had been the warehouse. Reaching the gates, they looked back to see that no one had followed or noticed them in the confusion. But one had noticed them. As they started for the gate, a scraggly old man blocked the way. Matthew Crumb. He held a rusty old saber in his hands, found in one of his ancient attics. The old man waved the saber threateningly.

'I saw you shoot Mr. Koy," he shouted. "He owed me money for this town and never paid."

Pretty raised his gun to shoot the old man, but Moogar touched his arm. He knew Matthew Crumb and pitied the old derelict.

"Mr. Crumb," he said, "you can have your town back. Nobody wants it any more."

"There's been crime in this town and killing but the time's come for justice," said Matthew Crumb defiantly. "And you're not getting away," he said, pointing the saber at Pretty, "because I seen you shoot Mr. Koy and I'm handing you over to the Jungle Patrol."

"Wait, let me talk to him," said Moogar as he saw the wild light in Pretty's eyes. But Pretty grinned and fired.

Matthew Crumb dropped the saber, clutched his stomach, and dropped to the ground.

"You didn't have to do that," shouted Moogar.

"You coming with me or you going to stand here and argue?" said Pretty, the wild light still in his eyes.

"Let's go."

They jumped over Matthew Crumb and ran to the water. In the distance they saw a Jungle Patrol speedboat in the flickering firelight of the burning wharf. A searchlight beam sprang out toward them like a long finger and a voice boomed through a megaphone.

"Stay where you are. You're under arrest."

Pretty and Moogar dashed behind a clump of trees near the shore.

"Are you kidding?" yelled Pretty.

He fired a quick shot at the distant boat. Then the two men raced into the bushes as a barrage of bullets zinged into the trees behind them. Ahead was the swamp fringing the shore. They plunged into it, and began to move as fast as they could away from the sea. They could hear the roar of the motorboat following them along the coast. A voice called through the megaphone; an occasional bullet whizzed near them. Soon, motorboat and voice became faint, then were gone as they went deeper into the swamp.

They had reached a small area of dry ground when Pretty stopped suddenly. His mouth fell open, his body tensed as he drove his fist angrily into the palm of his other hand, then dug his fingers into his hair.

"What's the matter?" said Moogar, amazed by this sudden anger that seemed to come for no reason.

"Matter?" screamed Pretty between clenched teeth. "We got to go back."

"Back there? You crazy?"

"The diamonds. All the stuff we brought from New York. In Koy's safe. That's the matter," shouted Pretty, shaking with fury. He turned and started to go back. "Come on," he growled.

Moogar shook his head and didn't move. His rifle was in his hands.

"We can't go back. Don't be crazy. Cops and Patrol took over the place. They're cruisin', looking for you and me right now. Know what they'd do if they found us, Pretty?"

Pretty stared at him, too frustrated to talk.

"In this country, they hang you, man. They hang you by the neck till you're dead. I'm not going back."

Pretty breathed deeply, then sat on the ground. His moods could change like the breeze.

"After all that in New York. And that's not all. All that other stuff sitting in that safe. The cash from the bank job. You know, Frenchy and Dutch, and that stuff Sharp brought from Hong Kong—jewels and drugs. And the London heist, Ossie and Pug. And lots more we never knew about. We coulda blown that damn safe, brought it with us. What a fool. I was stupid. Stupid," he shouted, his voice rising. He pounded his legs, lowered his head, and, to Moo- gar's amazement, began to cry.

While the battle went on at the gates and wall, the Phantom roamed through the alleys and buildings of the town. A few thugs had hidden in cellars and attics. He flushed some of them out with gas grenades he'd brought from the warehouse. They came out, staggering, choking and blinded by the fumes to perceive the grim, menacing figure, masked and hooded like a medieval executioner. The sight was enough to send most of them stumbling in a panic to the gates and into the hands of the waiting Jungle Patrol. For the remainder, a few well-placed shots within an inch of a nose or big toe sent them hurriedly after the others.

The Phantom found Matthew Crumb lying at the small gate near the wharf. He knelt beside him and held the frail old man in his arms.

"Who shot you, Matthew?"

The old man coughed and choked.

"That one they call Pretty," he gasped, talking with difficulty. "He was the worst. Shot Mr. Koy in the back. Good riddance. He was a rat. Never did get my money." He had a fit of coughing, then went on, "I'm gonna kick that whole crowd out. Bunch of bums. Say," he said in sudden alarm, "did that poor girl get out?"

"She did, Matthew, thanks to your help. Where did Pretty go?"

"That way," he said, pointing feebly. "Had the black with him."

Matthew relaxed. He smiled and looked at the masked face.

"I know who you are," he said. "I saw the mark. I mean ... are you really him ... the one?"

"Yes, Matthew," said the Phantom, as he felt the old man's life slipping away.

"Heard about you for years. Always wanted to see you. Here you are. Now ain't that something."

He looked toward the smoldering warehouse.

"Who done that?"

"I did. Sorry, but I had to to get them out."

"I know. Like we usta, to clear cobra out of the sugar cane," he said, his mind wandering to other times and places. "You did good." Those were his last words. His eyes remained open, staring as the light and shadow of the flames flickered across his face. The Phantom closed his eyes, then walked across the town carrying Matthew Crumb in his arms. He went to the veranda of the inn, the former Governor's mansion. There was new furniture. He put Matthew on the chaise lounge, and folded his arms on his chest. Matthew was back where he belonged, on his own front porch.

The Phantom went through the inn, searching every room from roof to cellar. The huge mansion was empty. He paused in one large, luxuriously furnished room that held a huge safe. Koy's office. He looked at it thoughtfully. The loot of Killer's Town must be kept somewhere. Probably here. He examined the safe. It was big, heavy, old-fashioned. He looked at the big dial, and, half-smiling, twirled it. Then, kneeling by it, he began to twirl and listen. He had once captured a celebrated safecracker who had hidden in the jungle. In the long trip back, the wily criminal talked about the tricks of his calling. From time to time after that, it had amused the Phantom to practice what he had been told. He had found a warehouse full of new and old safes, all empty and open. He closed one, spun the combination dial, then tried to reopen it. That took three hours. The next one took an hour. He opened a dozen more in the next hour. In his pursuit of evildoers, this ability had become useful on more than one occasion. This was such an occasion. He opened Koy's safe in five minutes, and quickly examined the contents: loot worth several millions. He closed the safe door, leaving it unlocked, and moved on.