“That’s right. The secretary was going to try to find his number, and that’s when I left.”
“And you didn’t think this was important enough to tell me about?”
“Nothing came of it. He never mentioned it again.”
“Did he get the guy on the phone?”
“I don’t know. He never said.”
“And you couldn’t ask?”
“Pete’s sharp. If I start pumping him for information about his dealings, he’ll be suspicious and I’ll be in trouble.”
“More trouble than you’re in now?”
Jake said nothing, hoped it was over.
It wasn’t.
“This guy is supposedly good?” Sammy said.
“To hear Pete tell it, he was one of the best.”
Sammy nodded imperceptibly. Slythe slipped the straight razor back into his pocket. “Okay, good to know. Keep your ears open. If you find out anything, anything at all, about Billy Barnett—without blowing your cover,” Sammy conceded in a mockingly ironic tone, “you bring it straight to me.”
* * *
—
Slythe watched Jake go out. “When are you going to let me kill him?”
“When he stops being useful.”
“How will you know?”
Sammy chuckled. “Patience,” he said. He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m concerned about this Billy Barnett.”
“You want to know what he’s doing?” Slythe said.
“I don’t care what he’s doing,” Sammy said. “I just don’t want him to do it.”
Slythe’s face relaxed. Without changing expression, he resembled a contented cat. “Then he won’t.”
46
Slythe flew into L.A. He waited impatiently at baggage claim. He had no clothes, but there was no way his straight razor would make it through security. He collected the small bag he had checked for that purpose, rented a car, and drove into town. He stopped at the first closed gas station he came to and put a rock through the window. He went in and stole every gas can he could find. It took him two more gas stations to get as many cans as he needed.
He drove to an open self-service station and managed to fill the cans while pretending to fill his tank.
He stopped at a news kiosk, bought a couple of newspapers, and drove out to Billy Barnett’s address.
The Barnett residence was a two-story house set back from the street. The lights were on, and there was a car in the drive.
Slythe drove by slowly. As he passed the house, he could see someone in the living room. He checked the time. Ten-fifteen. Good. Billy Barnett shouldn’t be up long. He was a movie person, and movie people had early calls. A producer would want to be on the set, parading around like a big shot and impressing the actresses.
Slythe began driving irregular patterns through the neighborhood, occasionally passing Billy Barnett’s house in different directions at varying speeds.
By eleven-twenty the light was out and the car was still there.
Perfect.
Slythe found an all-night diner and ordered French toast. He sat sipping coffee and reading the papers he had bought. Around one-thirty he availed himself of the bathroom, paid his bill, and took one last swing around Billy Barnett’s neighborhood. By now all the homes were dark.
He parked two houses down and began the laborious task of lugging the gas cans to the house.
47
Teddy woke up and smelled smoke. He was sleeping upstairs, which saved his life. By the time he leaped out of bed, the downstairs was a blazing inferno. He grabbed his gun off the nightstand. If the fire was due to natural causes, he wouldn’t need it, but if it had been set on purpose to drive him out in the open, he’d be a sitting duck.
Teddy touched the doorknob and found it warm but not hot. When he opened the bedroom door, the hallway was ablaze, the stairs were blocked, and flames were licking up from below. Teddy slammed shut the door and rushed to the window. It was worse. The window was engulfed and already too hot to get near.
Teddy backed into the center of the room, thinking hard. He ran back to the door. The knob was heating up, but still cool enough to turn. He wrenched it open again. There was no way to get to the stairs, but at the other end of the hall there was a spare bedroom he never used. There was no furniture in it to burn, and the floor was covered with linoleum, which might be flame retardant. It was a long shot, but a long shot was all he had.
Teddy held his breath to avoid the smoke and sprinted down the fiery hallway. He wrenched the spare bedroom door open and plunged in.
The linoleum appeared to be fireproof, but it was peeling up from the floor, and the boards beneath it were glowing embers.
The window was engulfed in flames, but he had to get to it. He darted gingerly across the room, careful to step on what linoleum still clung to the floor. He tried for the window, but it was already too hot to touch. He took a step back into the middle of the room and glanced around desperately for another way to escape.
Teddy heaved a huge sigh, breathing in what was now largely carbon dioxide, in helpless frustration.
There was no way out.
* * *
—
Slythe approached through the bushes. There was no danger of being discovered. He would hear the sirens long before the police and firemen arrived on the scene.
It would be fast. He had taken pains to ensure it would be fast, drenching the house in gasoline on all four sides, and pouring gas through the windows to make sure the interior went up as fast. He just had to see with his own eyes that no one got out. No one could get out. Even so, it was important to know for sure.
The house was ablaze, and it had taken only seconds. Billy Barnett could not even have gotten up that fast. Most likely he would be overcome with heat and smoke and die in his bed. Every second that passed made escape less and less possible.
Slythe worked his way around the house, making sure that each and every direction was blocked. It was. The flames had enveloped the upstairs windows and reached the roof. Still, should a hopelessly charred figure stumble blindly from the house, his razor was ready for the coup de grâce.
The first siren was heard in the distance, followed immediately by another. That was it. It was over. They were coming.
Slythe headed back to the car.
An upstairs window shattered. A shapeless form hurtled through it and landed on the lawn.
Slythe started for it.
The shapeless form was a man. He shrugged off the linoleum he’d been wrapped in and stood up.