Mr Majestyk (1974) (4 page)

Looking out at the land he wondered when he would be coming back. When, or if h e w ould be coming back. He said to himself, What are you doing here? How did i t h appen? Sitting handcuffed in a prison bus. His fields miles behind him. Goin g t o stand trial again. The chance of going to prison again. Could that happen?

No, he said to himself, refusing to believe it. He could not let it happen , because he could not live in prison again, ever. He couldn't think about i t w ithout the feeling of panic coming over him, the feeling of being suffocated , caged, enclosed by iron bars and cement walls and not able to get out. H
e r emembered reading about a man exploring a cave, hundreds of feet underground , who had crawled into a seam in the rocks and had got wedged there, because o f h is equipment, and was unable to move forward or backward or reach the equipmen t w ith his hands to free it. Majestyk had stopped reading and closed the magazine , because he knew the man had died there.

Prison was for men like Frank Renda--sitting across the aisle with his ow n t houghts, slouched low in his seat, staring straight ahead, off somewhere in hi s m ind. What was he thinking about?

What difference did it make? Majestyk forgot about Frank Renda and did not loo k a t him again until almost a half hour later, when the land outside the bus ha d c hanged again, submitting to signs and gas stations and motels, and the empt y h ighway became a busy street that was taking them through a run-down industria l a rea on the outskirts of the city.

He noticed Renda because Renda was sitting up straighter now, stretching to se e a head, through the windshield, then turning to look out the windows as the bu s m oved along in the steady flow of traffic. The man had seemed half aslee p b efore. Now he was alert, as though he was looking for a particular store o r b uilding, a man looking for an address written on a piece of paper. Or maybe h e h ad lived around here at one time and it was like revisiting the ol d n eighborhood, seeing what had changed. That was the feeling Majestyk had. He wa s c urious about Renda again and continued to watch him and glance off to follo w h is gaze. Through the windshield now--to see the intersection they wer e a pproaching, the green light and the man standing in the middle of the street , caught between the flows of traffic.

Later, he remembered noticing the man moments before it happened. Maybe te n s econds before--seeing the man in bib overalls holding a paper bag by the neck, a f armer who'd come to town for a bottle of whiskey, guy from the sticks wh o d idn't know how to cross a busy street and got trapped. He remembered thinkin g t hat and remembered, vividly, the man in bib overalls waiting for the lead squa d c ar to pass him and then starting across the street, weaving slightly, walkin g d irectly into the path of the bus.

There was a screeching sound as the driver slammed on the brakes and the tire s g rabbed the hot pavement. Majestyk was thrown forward against the seat in fron t o f him, but pushed himself up quickly to see if the man had been hit. No , because the driver was yelling at him. "Goddamn drunk--get out of the way!"

He saw the man's head and shoulders then, past the hood of the bus, the ma n g rinning at the driver.

"Will you get the hell out of the way!"

The deputy who'd been in the rear was coming up the aisle, past Majestyk, an d t he driver was standing now, leaning on the steering wheel.

The man in the overalls, whose name was Eugene Lundy, was still grinning as h e t ook a .44 Colt magnum out of the paper bag, extended it over the front of th e h ood, and fired five times, five holes blossoming on the windshield as th e d river hit against his seat and went out of it and the deputy was slamme d b ackward down the aisle and hit the floor where Majestyk was standing.

Lundy drew a .45 automatic out of his overalls, turned and fired four times a t t he squad car that had come to a stop across the intersection. Then he wa s m oving--as the doors of the squad car swung open--past the front of the bus an d d own the cross street.

Harold Ritchie knocked his hat off getting out of the lead squad car, swingin g o ut of there fast and drawing his big Colt Special. He put it on Lundy, trackin g w ith him, and yelled out for him to halt, concentrating, when he heard hi s p artner call his name.

"Ritch!"

And he looked up to see the panel truck coming like crazy on the wrong side o f t he street, swerving around from behind the bus to take a sweeping right at th e i ntersection. Ritchie jumped back out of the way, though the truck had room t o s pare. He saw one of the rear doors open and the bottle with the lighted rag fo r a wick come flying out and he was moving to the right, running hard, waving a n o ncoming car to keep back when the bottle smashed against the rear deck of th e s quad car and burst into flames. Five seconds later the gas tank exploded an d i nstantly the entire car was on fire, inside and out.

Ritchie was across the street now, waving at the traffic, yelling at cars t o s top where they were. He didn't see his partner or know where he was. From thi s a ngle he could see the second squad car close behind the bus and the driver-sid e d oor swing open.

In the same moment he saw the station wagon coming up fast from behind. He sa w t he shotgun muzzles poke out through the side windows and heard them and sa w t hem go off as the station wagon swerved in, sheared the door off the squad car , and kept coming, beginning a sweeping right turn around the bus.

Ritchie raised his big Colt Special, steadying it beneath the grip with his lef t h and and squeezed off four shots into the station wagon's windshield. The firs t t wo would have been enough, because they hit the driver in the face and th e w agon was already out of control, half through the turn when the driver slumpe d o ver the wheel and the wagon slammed squarely into the burning squad car.

One of the men in the back seat of the wagon tried to get out the left side and Ritchie shot him before he cleared the doorway. But then he had to reload an d t he two who went out the other side of the wagon made it to a line of parke d c ars before Ritchie could put his Colt on them. He still didn't know where hi s p artner was until he got to the station wagon, looked out past the rear end o f i t and saw his partner lying in the street.

Watching from the bus, Majestyk recognized Ritchie, the one with the tattoo wh o l ooked like a pro lineman. He was aiming and firing at two men crouched behind a p arked car--until one of them raised up, let go with a shotgun and they took off , running up the street past a line of storefronts. Ritchie stepped out fro m b ehind the station wagon, fired two shots that shattered two plateglass windows , then lowered his Colt and started after them, waving his arm again, yelling a t t he people on the sidewalk and pressed close to the buildings to get inside, t o g et the hell off the street.

Now there were no police in front of the bus.

The moment Renda moved, Majestyk's gaze was on him, following him up the aisl e p ast the two Chicanos huddled low in their seat. He watched Renda--who did no t b other to look at the dead driver lying on the floor--reach past the steerin g w heel and pull a control level. The door opened. Renda approached it cautiously , looking through the opening and down the cross street a half block to where Eugene Lundy and the panel truck were waiting. He seemed about to step out, the n t wisted away from the opening, dropping to his hands and knees, as two shot s d rilled through the pane of glass in the door panel.

Majestyk's gaze came away and he looked down at the deputy lying in the aisle.

He was sure the man was dead, but he got out of his seat and reached down t o f eel for a pulse. Nothing. God, no, the man had been shot through the chest.

Majestyk was about to rise, then hesitated as he saw the ring of keys hangin g f rom the deputy's belt. He told himself to do it, now, and think about it late r i f he had to. That's what he did, unhooked the ring and slipped the keys int o h is pants pocket. As he rose, turning toward the rear of the bus, he saw th e b lack guy, only a few feet away, staring at him.

Neither of them spoke. The black guy looked away and Majestyk moved down th e a isle to the back windows.

The second squad car was close behind, directly below him. He could see th e d eputy behind the wheel, his face bloody, talking excitedly into the radio mike.

The next moment he was out of the car with his revolver drawn, moving around th e b ack end of it to the sidewalk. Majestyk watched him. The deputy ran in betwee n t wo cars that were facing out of a used car lot, then down behind the row o f g leaming cars with prices painted on the windshields to where his partner wa s c overing the door of the bus from behind the end car in the line.

Majestyk made his way back up the aisle in a crouch, watching the used car lo t t hrough the right-side windows. He saw both deputies raise their revolvers an d f ire.

With the closely spaced reports Renda dropped again away from the door an d b ehind the first row of seats.

Halfway up the aisle Majestyk watched him.

Renda was looking at the two Chicanos now who were also crouched in the aisle , close to each other with their shoulders hunched.

After a moment Renda said, "Come on, let's go. We're getting out of here."

When they realized he was speaking to them the two Chicanos looked at hi m w ide-eyed, frightened to death, and Renda said again, "Come on, move!"

One of the Chicanos said, "We don't want to go nowhere."

"Jesus, you think we're going to talk it over? I said we're going." Renda wa s r eaching for them now, pulling the first one to his feet, then the other one , pushing them past him in the narrow aisleway.

The other Chicano said, "Man, I was drunk driving--I don't run away from that."

And the Chicano who had spoken before was saying, as he was pushed to the front , "Listen, please, they see us coming out they start shooting!"

"That's what we're going to find out," Renda said.

He crowded them, jamming them in the doorway, then put a foot behind the secon d m an--as the man said, "Please, don't! We don't want to go!"--pushed hard and th e t wo Chicanos were out of the bus, stumbling, getting to their feet, starting t o m ake a run for it.

Majestyk watched the two deputies in the used car lot swing their revolvers ove r t o cover them and was sure they were going to fire. But now the two Chicano s w ere running toward them with their hands raised high in the air, screaming , "Don't shoot! Please! Don't shoot!" And the deputies lowered their revolvers an d w aved them into the used car lot.

Renda was watching, crouched by the open door as Majestyk came the rest of th e w ay up the aisle.

"Go out there, you give yourself up or get shot," Majestyk said.

Renda looked over his shoulder at him. He watched Majestyk step over the dea d d river and slip into the seat, lean against the steering wheel and reach wit h b oth hands to turn on the ignition.

"What're you doing?"

Majestyk didn't answer him. He put the bus in gear, began to ease it forward a f ew feet, then braked and shifted into reverse.

The two deputies in the used car lot saw it happen. They moved the two Chicano s o ut of the way and returned their attention to the bus--in time to see it star t u p abruptly in reverse and smash its high rear end into the grille of thei r s quad car. The bus moved forward--God almighty--went into reverse and agai n s lammed into the car, cranked its wheels and made a U-turn out of there, leavin g t he radiator of the squad car spewing water and the two deputies watching i t p ick up speed, back the way they had come. They wanted to shoot. They wer e r eady, but at the last moment had to hold their fire because of the people i n c ars and on the sidewalk, on the other side of the street.

Then the two city police cars were approaching the intersection from th e s outh--off to the left--their sirens wailing, and the two deputies ran out to th e s idewalk, waving their arms to flag the cars down.

Majestyk heard the sirens, the sound growing fainter, somewhere behind them. H
e h eaded west on the street they had taken into town, turned north on a sid e s treet, then west again a few blocks up. Finally he slowed down and eased th e b us into an alley, behind a row of cinderblock industrial buildings tha t a ppeared deserted. He pulled the lever to open the door and looked around at th e b lack guy.

"Here's your stop."

"Man," the black guy said, "you know where you going? If they don't shoot you?"

Renda was in the aisle, moving toward the black guy. "Come on, Sambo, move it.

And take them with you."

Majestyk helped the black guy lift the bodies of the driver and the deputy an d e ase them out through the narrow doorway. Renda told them to hurry up, for Christ sake, but Majestyk paid no attention to him.

As he got behind the wheel again the black guy, standing outside, said, "Man , what did you do?"

Majestyk looked at him. For a moment he seemed about to say something, the n c losed the door in the black guy's face and took off down the alley.

Move out fast and try to get to high country before the police set up roadblock s a nd got their helicopters out. That's what he had to do. Keep to the back roads , working north, get far enough away from the highway and find some good cover.

That's what he did. Found an old sagging feed barn sitting out by itself on a d ried-up section of pasture land, pulled the bus inside, and swung the doubl e d oors shut to enclose them in dim silence.