The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

“Get down — Cormanda — it is not good—”

The first machine-gun started a staccato clatter from an alley on the right. Almost instantly there was the drum of a second one — from a shuttered window on the left. Metal started to make sound. The chauffeur ran a few feet and sprawled to the street. At that moment, the Chinese sprang from the car, doubled over and ran to a door nearest the car. He disappeared. The other occupants of the car were crouched, out of sight, below the metal sides.

Jo Gar slipped out the right side of the small car and bent his body forward. He ran back over the street, keeping his short arms close to his sides and his head low. Suddenly he turned and moved down a second alley. One machine-gun had stopped drumming, but the other was still beating sound against the quiet of the night.

In the darkness of the alley Jo Gar paused for a second. He breathed heavily as he got his head slightly exposed and looked towards the Carlysle machine:

“The Chinese — was lying—”

A door shot open — the figure of the Chinese was pitched into the alley. Almost instantly it jerked, half spun. Then the man dropped to the pavement. The second machine-gun started to clatter again.

Jo Gar muttered: “And yet — they murdered him!”

Cormanda was reversing the small car now. It whined back from the red lights and the drum of bullets. Jo Gar swung back into the alley, moved rapidly along it. At the far end he saw the Pasig water and the silhouette of a sampan.

The machine-gun fire died. No sound but the whine of the reversing car came from the street behind the Island detective. He thought: They got the diamonds, but they were forced to kill. Ramon Delgado, Mattlien — Juan Arragon. And now the Chinese, perhaps others. Why do they trap and kill? Is it because they must leave the Islands? He thought: It is because they are clever and must clear the way.

He reached the row of sampans, moored abreast. There was a narrow path between piled, rotted planks and empty fish baskets. It led towards the next alley. Jo Gar gripped his Colt firmly and moved along it. At intervals he stopped and listened. The street he had left was very quiet. Only the river sounds reached his ears.

He had almost reached the next alley when he saw faint shadow. It was directly ahead — moving slowly.

A machine made sound in the distance; the engine getting into a roar — and dying gradually. A voice reached the ears of the Island detective; it sounded much like Carlysle’s, raised hoarsely.

And then the shadow ahead of him became a figure. Jo Gar lifted his automatic and said very quietly:

“Raise your arms!”

The figure swung towards him — he caught a glimpse, in the wavering, reflected light from a sampan, of a brown, lean face and wide, staring eyes. The man drew his breath in sharply — his hands swung upward. But the left one went up first, and the right brushed the belt of his soiled duck trousers as it moved.

Jo Gar said sharply: “No!”

The reflected light caught the gleam of the blade. Jo Gar steadied the muzzle of his automatic and squeezed the trigger. He rocked back on his heels, curved his body to one side. The other man’s right wrist made swift movement, even as his body jerked convulsively. The knife dug its blade point into the wood of a basket within six inches of Jo’s left arm.

The man sank to his knees and pressed both hands against his belt, at the stomach. He groaned. Jo Gar stepped out from the piled baskets and jerked a small flashlight from his pocket. For a second he stood close to the man who had fallen, and listened for sound from the alley ahead. There was none. But in the distance voices were calling.

He flashed the beam on the one hunched near his feet, widened his almond-shaped eyes. Then he moved the beam to the knife that had been thrown. He breathed very slowly:

“Malay—”

He kneeled beside the groaning man, held the gun close to him. He said quietly, in the Malay tongue:

“Why was the Chinese murdered?”

The man widened his eyes and shook his head. Jo Gar smiled coldly and pressed the muzzle against the man’s right side.

“If I shoot again — you will die,” he said. “You were with others — what were their names?”

The Malay shook his head. He was muttering to himself. Jo Gar said:

“The Chinese told the police that a man named Cantine committed the great robbery and murder. He was lying — and yet he was murdered. Why?”

The Malay was getting his breath with difficulty now. There were footfalls in the alley from which he had come. Jo Gar lifted his head, and heard the voice of Lieutenant Mallagin, cautioning one of his men. The Island detective spoke softly:

“Quickly — the police come. I am not of them. Why was the Chinese killed?”

The eyes of the man hunched beside him were staring. He said weakly, in his own tongue:

“His family — was given money. He was to lie — and then to die. He was — very poor.”

Jo Gar straightened a little and sighed. Then he lowered his head again.

“Who made — the arrangement?” he asked quietly.