|
"THE ADVENTURES OF VIC SOCOTRA, PRIVATE DICK"
TODAY: "SHOWDOWN ON STEEL BEACH" THE FIRST THING I MET WAS A BUNCH OF GUYS HEADED DOWN THE HALLWAY toward the fire. I was headed the other way and they were in my way. I was on the trail of the Fat Man. The big Thompson chopper was heavy in my hands. This bunch of the Fat Man's gang had "Flying Squad" stenciled on their T-shirts. There wasn't a chance in the world that they were going to stop me. I cut loose with a few dozen rounds and backed them out of my way. I could be only minutes behind the corpulent kingpin of crime. He was going to regret the day he ever crossed Vic Socotra, and I knew that because I was him. Vic Socotra, I mean.
I stepped over what was left of the Flying Squad and came to a ladder that led upstairs. I gripped the chopper in my teeth and started climbing. A little sign said "Flight Deck." He had to be up there. No escape was possible downstairs, as I had every reason to believe that there was water in the basement. The gray paint fumed to black, and I saw the rays of sunlight for the first time in days. I blinked like an owl. There was a sudden roar of jet engines. The Fat Man was trying to escape by air! I took the chopper out of my choppers and stepped boldly into the light.
I scoped the long expanse of black metal. The Fat Man must be hiding somewhere behind one of those sleek strato-liners. I was under the shadow of a black and gray high-rise building with some penthouse apartments at the top. I walked out into a clear area where I could see better. That big loudspeaker started rumbling again. I couldn't seem to get away from it. This time a deep voice started out: "Man in the landing zone with the machine gun. Get into a complete flight deck uniform and get out of the landing zone! We have a recovery in two minutes!"
The guy sounded real impatient. If anyone around this place needed a recovery, it was me. I hadn't had a drink - or a Lucky Strike; for that matter - in days. I was hungry and hurt and in no mood to take any guff from a loudspeaker. I put a couple of rounds through the nearest speaker. That didn't seem to discourage the voice, though. "Man with the machine gun. I'm telling you to get off the flight deck! Now!" It was too loud for my taste, and I was finished taking orders from these mugs. I turned around and started firing at the penthouse in the high-rise. It got real quiet for a minute. I was starting to think I had a handle on the situation when I heard the roar of a jetliner. I looked toward the blunt end of the boat. What I saw filled me with as much fear and loathing as I have felt since Roosevelt's third term. It was a jet and, what's more, it was coming right at me! I started to run, but it was too late. As I hit the floor, the world turned into a roar like fifty express trains. The rough surface of the floor bit into my face. There was a noise like Doomsday ... and then a gigantic thud that I knew spelled the end of Socotra....
TOMORROW: "WHERE EAGLES DARE" ' |