Killer's Town (4 page)

"He pulled one on us," said Chief Togando bitterly.

"He checked that place out before he bought it. Must have spent a fortune on it," said Sergeant Hill.*

"He's safe inside, said Togando. "But if he comes out . . ."

"Right, he's harmless in there. Might as well be in jail," said Colonel Weeks, suddenly cheerful.

"Right!" said Sergeant Hill. He's made his own jail."

They were happy about that for a few minutes, then Colonel Weeks became somber.

"Why would he go to all that trouble? Just to make a hideout for himself? One house would be enough. Why a whole little town? What's Koy really up to?"

They would all find out soon.

The word spread fast in the right places. Koy's men saw to that. The word was—a luxury hideout, safe from cops, narcs, Feds, Scotland Yard,
Surety,
Interpol, MP, SP, Jungle Patrol— in short, safe from the law of all nations.

Across Bangalla's southern border, in the prosperous little capital of Lower Gamma, the National Bank was robbed in a daring daylight robbery with dynamite and automatic rifles. Two guards and one bystander killed, four wounded. A half million in gold bullion had arrived at the bank from the refinery the day before, intended for the metal artisans of India. The four robbers, plus two drivers, escaped into high-powered cars across the Bangalla border. The crossing occurred at noon when, as everyone knew, the sentries were always away from their posts having lunch. The Lower Gamma police pursued, well behind, as far as the border. When the Jungle Patrol was alerted by radio some time later, the trail was cold. The thieves had vanished into the jungle.

They had "vanished" behind the high iron gates of Killer's Town. Koy was waiting for them as they rolled up to the shining new Killer Hilton. The thieves, a mixture of Frenchmen and Dutchmen, were excited by their successful adventure, shouting happily, roaring with laughter at the humorous incidents of the robbery, like the fat man who caught a dum-dum in the belly. "You shoulda seen his face."

"You boys had a big caper," said Koy as soon as they had quieted down at the bar and were gulping whiskey.

The men agreed noisily and began to tell him about it. He listened for a moment.

"Radio says you got a half million in gold," he went on. They nodded, looking through the window at the trunks of their cars parked outside.

"You want to hide out here?" Koy asked.

They grinned at him. That had been the idea, even before they started, arranged by mutual friends.

"We'll take you in . . . for half the loot," said Koy.

They stared at him. Half!

The gang looked quickly for their guns. Koy's men had

takn them from the cars, and were standing with them behind him.

"Half? Jeez, Killer," said the gang's spokesman, a Parian called Frenchy.

Koy shrugged and waved to the jungle outside.

"Rather go out there and find another place?"

The gang put their heads together.

"What do you think, Dutch?" said Frenchy to another thug. (The underworld is not bright about names. A fat man is Fats; a skinny man is Slim; a man with scars on his face is Scarface; a man whose name sounds like banana is ba
nana.)

What else could they do? They agreed.

"Show the boys to their rooms—with baths," said Killer Koy grandly. His share of the half million went into the safe. The remainder soon found its way to Killer's gambling casino next door. Money that went into the casino rarely came out. .

A short time later, there was excitement * at Killer's wharf. As Koy and his men watched, a large amphibian plane landed with a splash. They cheered and passed champagne around as the pilot climbed out on the dock. He was n dashing fellow with a small mustache and wavy hair, a favorite with airline stewardessess until he had been fired from the airline and the Pilots' Association for being drunk on the job. He had a name but he would be known to Koy and his thugs only as "Pilot." Anything more was too much trouble to remember.

"How about that. A cool million!" shouted killer.

"Wow!" said everybody.

"Three million new," said Eagle. "We got a good deal." "It can fly across the ocean," said Spaghetti.

"From New York or London or Paris?" asked Moogar, the only local black thug in this gang of foreign whites.

"From anywhere. And it's ours!" said Sport loudly.

Killer Koy looked at him coldly.

"Mine," he said.

The plane and pilot were kept busy in the following months. Clients came from London, Rome, Johannesburg; one came all the way from Hong Kong, a smiling Oriental with two suitcases full of opium. On Manhattan's West Side, in the famous jewel mart, there was a million-dollar diamond heist. The robbery had been carefully planned by Fingers, a veteran safecracker, fresh from a ten-year stretch at Sing Sing. It was his boast that he could open an combination safe in the world.

The heist was carefully planned because Fingers had no desire to return to Sing Sing, and had prearranged a trip to Killer's Town with his loot. Fingers cased the job meticu lously. The night watchman had a coffee break for ten min utes every night at exactly one o'clock. That was more time than Fingers needed to open a padlock on an alley door, get to the diamond vault, open it, and get out So he figured. He actually did it in seven minutes. As insurance, he took along a young up-and-coming thug named Pretty as lookout.

Pretty was a strong young man with curly blond hair, blue eyes, and the face of a Botticelli angel. He was also as dangerous, unpredictable, and deadly as a rattlesnake. His beautiful face had kept him in trouble since he was twelve, with girls who wouldn't let him alone, and with boys who provoked him to fight. His childhood home in a Brooklyn ghetto had been sordid. He had never known his father, and it is doubtful if his mother was certain who, among her acquaintances, had had the dubious honor of fathering him. She was an alcoholic who brought men home. As a small boy, Pretty watched these drunken scenes while cowering in his cot, pretending to sleep. At twelve, he had a fight with one of the men, a sailor who tried to beat him. Pretty stabbed him with a kitchen knife and ran away. From that time on, he lived in the streets, avoiding school and the law as best he could. He was finally arrested for assault and rape, and sent to reform school. After two days there, the authorities sent him to a mental hospital, where he was diagnosed as a psychopathic personality prone to violence. Pretty escaped from the place one night, and promised himself never to be caught again. He progressed from petty thievery to street mugging to holdups. It was soon learned that behind that angelic face was the cold and twisted mind of a relentless killer.

The old night watchman in the jewelry mart learned about Pretty that night. He returned from his coffee break in eight minutes instead of the usual ten. He met them in the alley as Fingers was closing the padlock. The old man was unarmed. It was a simple matter to tie and gag him, which Fingers was about to do. But Pretty shot the old man dead. Fingers took one horrified look at the cold angelic face then, clutching his suitcase, fled from the alley to the waiting car. Pretty followed. As luck would have it, a police squad car was passing and the lone cop at the wheel had

heard the shot. He jumped out, gun in hand, as Fingers and Pretty reached the curb. Pretty shot him dead, too. A pretty girl in hot pants, heading back to her hotel room after a

stint in the streets, saw the shooting and screamed. As he

lopped into the car, Pretty fired at her. The shot knocked her to the sidewalk as the car sped away.

"You lunatic! What did you do that for?" shouted Fingers.

Pretty's eyes were shining and he was smiling and breathing hard, like a man who's just won a tough set of tennis.

"No witnesses," he said hoarsely.

These were his first killings. Later on, he would be less excited. The car sped on to the remote dock where the big white amphibian plane was waiting in the bay. The plan had been for Pretty to drive the car back to town after Fingers's departure. Pilot was waiting at the dock with one of the blond "ladies" from Killer's Town who'd become his special friend.

"Everything okay?" he said, looking at the suitcase!

"Yeah. Let's get out fast," said Fingers. "The whole town will be looking for you," he said to Pretty.

"And for you," said Pretty, grinning, as Fingers swore. I"ll go with you, wherever that is."

"I'm only supposed to have one passenger," said Pilot.

"Now you got two," said Pretty.

"Killer said one," said Pilot stubbornly.

Pretty put a gun under Pilot's chin, and stared into his eyes. Pretty had pale-blue eyes, like a wolf.

"Two," he said.

"Okay," said Pilot, with a weak laugh. "I see what you

mean."

When the plane reached the wharf at Killer's Town, after a stop in the Azores, Koy was waiting. He looked appreciatively at Fingers's suitcase. The radio had already brought him news of the successful heist, and also of the murders.

"Who did the bang-bang?" said Koy.

Fingers gestured to Pretty who was breathing the tropical air and staring at the palm trees. This was his first time away from concrete and asphalt.

"This is Pretty," said Fingers.

The two looked at each other. Young killer—old killer.

"You want a room here?" said Koy.

"Sure," said Pretty.

"It'll cost you two hundred a day."

"Okay. See my banker," said Pretty, and strolled off following Pilot and the girl.

"What's with that kid, Fingers?"

"His first time out, he knocked off the old man and
a
cop. I don't know if the girl died. He didn't have to shoot the old man. Then nothing would have happened."

"Why did he do it? Buck fever?"

"No, Killer. I think he
liked
it," said Fingers.

Koy looked thoughtfully at the retreating figures, then nodded. "A mad dog. I know that kind. I can use him, but he'll need watching."

Not all refugees who came to Killer's Town had money.

There was a jailbreak at Bangalla's penitentiary. Two lifers escaped from Death Row. They surprised a guard, disarmed him, then shot him, and got away over the wall. There was a Lovers' Lane a short distance away, a little road in a wooded area favored by romantic couples. The escaped cons found such a couple in an open car in each other's arms. Alarm sirens and barking dogs could be heard in the distance as the search for the escaped men began. This probably saved the girl from an attack. The frightened couple were left on the road as their car raced off. Guards found them a short time later and pursued the stolen car into the jungle. The trail led to the new-walled town, Killer's Town.

The police cars screeched to a stop at the closed gate, their sirens wailing, flashing green-red searchlights revolving, as they roared through amplified megaphones.

"Open up. We want those two men."

Laughter answered them, then a voice also using a power megaphone—Koy's voice.

"Get lost, fuzz." More laughter. Female and male.

"Those two are lifers, escaped murderers," shouted the chief guard.

"Don't tell us your problems. This is private property. No trespassing. Get lost, fuzz."

More raucous laughter, male and female. The guards debated the possibility of crashing in through the gates. It appeared to be impossible without a tank or dynamite. They discussed the legality. They had heard about this place. Who hadn't? Private. Inviolate. Better report back to the Jungle Patrol. Let them handle it.

Yes, word had gotten around about Killer's Town. In the prisons, in the underworld, in the police bureaus, and especially in Bangalla's capital of Mawitaan. The news had as yet failed to reach in one direction—into the interior, to the jungle tribes, and beyond that to the mysterious Deep

Woods. In that forbidden place, guarded by taboo and the deadly poison weapons of the pygmy Bandar, behind the hidden entrance under the roaring waterfall, word had not yet reached the fabulous skull throne of the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks. Busied with internal problems involving the peace of the jungle—the arrogant and powerful princes of the Misty Mountains; the rampaging Tirangi, returning periodically to their head-hunting raids—all this and more occupied the legendary figure loved by jungle folk, but hated and feared by evildoers everywhere. So far, Killer's Town had escaped the notice of the Phantom. That would not last for long.